Someone once gave me false hope by explaining that after 2 or 3 years, a teacher's immune system adjusted and the person wouldn't get sick as often.
I don't remember who that person was, but he or she is a big fat liar and should be damned to the part of hell where kids sneeze in your face, let you know that they had swine flu AFTER they've been coughing in your classroom for three weeks, and pick their noses just before they turn in essays.
After conquering a bout of the flu, with the assistance of self-harm-inducing Tamiflu, I had a week or two of peace before my darling husband, whose job requires him to meet with teachers all over the area, brought home a precious little sniffle.
I was hoping to stay late on Friday to help my students with a project. Didn't happen. I had to resort to "I shall stay until the Kleenex runs out." Not as poetic as Poppins, but hey, she's practically perfect in every way.
I was hoping to spend the weekend brainstorming new and amazing lesson plans for the new and amazing grading period, attending church for the first time in weeks (It's St. Nicholas day, and our church is named for St. Nick, so it's a pretty good day to go), and picking out a Christmas tree. Instead, I spent it in bed reading mediocre but loveable novels. Made it through a Temperance Brennan and 1-1/2 Twilight volumes. I crawled out of my room this afternoon to throw together examples for tomorrows lesson, and now I'm ready to crawl back.
Tomorrow, I'm hoping just to make it through the school day. Let's see what happens.
Good night, and good health.
1 hour ago