What do you do when the school receptionist calls to tell you one of your kids would like to be picked up because they have a ‘sore tummy’?
The only thing you can do. You make a quick cup of tea, shower, shave your legs, phone a friend you haven’t spoken to in a decade, read a few quick chapters of War & Peace and then race to the school to pick up your poor, ill child.

 
Twice this month, I have received a call from the school that I know involves a child faking sick but what choice do I have other than to run and pick her up?

 
“Chloe, how are you feeling?”

 
Holding her upper thighs she winces, “My tummy hurts. I need to go home and play Jenga.”

 
I happily collect her things and she skips to the car, opening her thermos to eat the chili I packed her for lunch while it’s still hot and spicy—because I think they say “chili powder soothes what ails you,” before asking to stop for hot chocolate.

 
I asked Chloe if anyone else in her class had been picked up today and she said, “Yes, Allison got picked up but she was really over-dramatic.” Hmmm.

 
Allison and Chloe happen to be friends so it makes sense that my daughter would have a) enjoyed the excitement of watching a frantic mother fly into the school to rescue a child who might have really been sick and b) maybe I could make my Mom do that!

 
And so she did.

 
Then yesterday, I got another call. And at the risk of ever being lumped in with those parents whose children vomit on the school bus on their way to school in the morning (how could you NOT have known?) I dash to the school to check things out.

 
Chloe’s colour–normal, temperature—room.

 
I asked her if she wanted to go home and she replied, “Yes, will you make me some ribs?”

 
My ten year old has been complaining for weeks that she’s not well.

 
“My throat hurts” (every day for two weeks)

 
“My face feels weird” (every night for three weeks)

 
“Blurred vision” (Optometrist appointment three days ago shows 20/20)

 
“My face just feels lower, like my eye brows are as low as they can go.”

 
“My legs are wobbly. I can’t walk. I can not walk today. (Snaking across the kitchen on her stomach)”

 
“My hood won’t fit into my coat and my neck won’t fit into my hood.”

 
“Zika.”

 
When do you call their bluff?

 
Have you ever gotten the call that your child has been sick in the classroom?