If your family is anything like mine, you've been hit hard with all the bugs going around the area. Right now, it's to the point where our holiday season should be sponsored by Kleenex.

It seems we spend 45 minutes just to leave the house. Amoxycillin for the ear infections, Tylenol for the sniffles, and whichever of the 20 coats stacked in my living room is appropriate for the ridiculously changing weather we're having. With all our visits to the doctor, and trips to the pharmacist, and hours on the Internet looking up the various illnesses, the twins and I should closer to med school than kindergarten.

Of course, now that we found we can catch any illness floating down 15-501, the one thing the boys want to do is stand with every other runny-nosed child in town, waiting to meet Santa Claus.

One of their school friends had gone to visit Santa and came back with pictures, and Tom and John loved the idea of having their own photo taken with such an important person. However, at the UNC-Kentucky basketball game when I suggested they try to get their picture taken sitting in Ashley Judd's lap, everyone looked at me like I was crazy. Someday they'll change their mind.

The original plan was to visit Santa at University Mall on the day that Rameses was joining him. After a few hours of coughing and hacking and sniffling and sneezing, the boys reluctantly decided not to go, lest they make a mess of Santa's special Carolina blue suit and have Rameses spread the sniffles to Lawson and Hansbrough.

Besides, Tom added, that's wouldn't be the real Santa. He'd be at home now, preparing for his Christmas Night flight.

"That's makes sense," I told the kids. Out of curiosity, I added, "Do you know where Santa Claus lives?"

They answered immediately and in unison. To them, there was only one logical place for Santa Claus to live.

Greensboro.

Now, both sets of grandparents live in Greensboro, so maybe when they think of Santa they think of the Christmas spirit and of the people that they love and care about. A more cynical answer would be they equate Greensboro with older, white-haired people who give a lot of presents. My thinking is that they are 4 years old, and who knows how the 4-year-old mind works? I'm just lucky they picked somewhere close and not Wasilla, Alaska.

A one-hour drive later, the three of us stood in a mall in Greensboro, waiting in line to talk to the "real" Santa Claus and trying to expel all our germs miles away from our friends. Soon it was our turn, and those two guys hopped onto Santa's lap. Tom's suggestions were either something that sounded like a toy for a toddler or something that sounded like lab equipment for the biology department. John described a toy so dangerous, he'd be lucky only to shoot his eye out.

As we walked out of the mall, Tom started to feel sick again and asked me to carry him. As I bent down to pick Tom up, John came over and threw his arm around my neck. "Maybe it's the amoxicillin talking," he said, "but I love you, Daddy."

I laughed. "Say that again."

"Say what?"

"Amoxycillin."

"No."

I reminded him that not honoring his father's requests is a good way to get right back on the naughty list, but he just smiled and coughed all the way back to the car.

Charles Rempel lives in Chapel Hill. He can be reached at rempel@vgg.com