Dear Miss Julie,
As you’re about to discover, we’re sending Lionel back to preschool today after his two-week-long illness-related absence. Although we had a wonderful time hanging out with our boy twenty-four hours a day, taking him to multiple doctors’ appointments, neglecting urgent deadlines, and waking up intermittently at night to pin him down while injecting syringes of ibuprofen into his mouth, he’s finally well enough to return to school, according to a telemedicine appointment with a Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Holistic Healing Center receptionist temp. A few small notes:
You may notice that Lionel produces a loud, barking cough at two-minute intervals for approximately 115 consecutive seconds. While we’ve asked him to muffle it in his elbow, or at least not run toward the nearest person and (it appears) intentionally aim at their mouth, his small body is too buffeted by the spasms to muster the requisite coordination. Rest assured that the spittle he expectorates is “somewhat unlikely” to be contagious to “most people” the “decent majority” of the time, based on the assessment of a doctor from a YouTube ad selling all-natural ADHD-remedy supplements whom we tracked down at his bungalow in the Cayman Islands.
Lionel categorically refuses to use tissues, so we’ve equipped him with several dozen monogrammed handkerchiefs. The little guy gets attached to them—you know how kids are!—so we ask that you help him cycle through these every fifteen minutes by forcibly but carefully prying each mucus-covered handkerchief from his itty-bitty hands (do not accidentally tear it—trust us) and discarding it into his “special hanky bag” (a kind of rat’s-nest-style thingie itself made up of previously used and unwashed handkerchiefs). It may be a little tough at first to deal with the clawing, but after the first six or seven, his spirit is usually broken.
Although he no longer has a fever, per the infrared thermometer we vaguely waved in his general direction just before the school bus picked him up, Lionel sometimes likes to pretend that he has “the cold feeling” in his entire body and, to make it more fun, simulates incessant shivering. (Future Oscar contender here—watch your back, Timothée!) We’ve sent along his blanky, which he cutely wraps himself up in for “warmth” and, even more adorably, also uses to clean the weeping discharge from his eyes. (The drops in his backpack have to be applied every eight minutes, or his eyelids will crust over and seal shut.)
He’s on an adult dose of pseudoephedrine, so prepare for an extra-large helping of Lionel. Nap time is obviously a nonstarter.
Feeling crummy for so long has caused Lionel to throw a tantrum around eight in the morning, but he’s getting much better at learning to self-soothe by late afternoon. We advise against using adverbs that end in -ly around him; they set him off for reasons no one can explain.
Thank you in advance for taking care of our precious boy, and if there are any problems, you can reach us anytime by postal mail.
See you at after-school pickup,
Lionel’s parents
P.S. Before you ask, no, we’re still not getting him vaccinated.