Quarantine

The Mumples should be, by this time next week, on a full-fledged government crackdown--we should be forcibly quarantined.

The Howler started puking AGAIN this morning at 4:30am. I got to hold her little body as it was wracked with the spasms. I got to hold back her hair. I got to talk to ButtCrack at 5:30am to inform them that I was, yet again, not coming to work due to copious amounts of vomit.

While I'm sure they're happy that I'm not actively infecting others, I'm sure they're sitting around doubting that we're bringing it all up. That I am, in fact, making it all up. I wish I were. I'd rather get sleep during the hours of 4am and 6am. I'd rather not be holding anyone's head in the bucket (or toilet). I'd really, truly, honestly, rather be at work--even if it's Freak Day and they're bussing them in.

I'd also rather not argue with the 5 year old about whether or not she's taking the meds; I'd rather not listen to 2 solid hours of whinging about how her tummy hurts and whyyyyyyyyyyyy can't she have milk and cereal for breakfast.

I'd rather have dental work sans novacaine. I'd rather have an internal exam by a guy who hates women. I'd rather gouge my own eyes out; chew my own leg off; watch Wonder Pets for 6 hours with no commercial breaks.

Can a person actually apply for a quarantine?