Diary of a Sick Day. Sort of.

by Parent Co. February 25, 2015

This morning, I woke up with my head seemingly sewn to the pillow. The aches, chills, and hacking cough that had wound their way into my body yesterday had hunkered down much like the winter, which has completely worn out its welcome.

It's February break this week, so the kids are off of school, but in the interest of everyone living through it, our son is at camp. There's only so much entertaining you can do in sub-zero temps before someone loses an eye.

Our three year old is bouncing around from one caregiver to another while my husband and I work. Today, they had planned to stay home together.

This is the diary of my sick day.

7:15 Three year old wakes me by telling me, "We slept a long time." I politely disagree and attempt to continue.

8:45 Nine year old, who has yet to master the art of smoothness, yanks out a bag of candy he has no intention of sharing with his little sister so that he can put a piece in his lunch box. Full Fukushima Nuclear Reactor style meltdown from both parties ensues. I didn't see it with my eyes, but my husband recounted that as he snatched the bag of junk from their warring hands, they clutched one another in a sea of radioactive tears. My headache reaches peak pounding. They bring me tea and tylenol.

9:05 Already 5 minutes late for camp, the 3 year old decides she does in fact want to leave with them (turning 180 degrees on the steadfast refusal of the previous half hour.) Husband scares up clothes that are too small while the 9 year old whines about being late while also (as I deduced from the yelling) wandering around shoeless and without a packed bag.

9:15 Silence. Sweet, glorious silence. I drift in and out of sleep, weaving dreams with weird crap I read on the internet before almost dropping my phone on my face.

12:18 "MOOOOOOOM!!! WE'RE HOME! WE'RE BACK! WERE YOU MISSING ME?" She trudges up the stairs and crawls into my bed. She shoves her hands and feet, possibly just one degree shy of frostbite up my shirt and between my knees. If I had more energy, I might have launched her across the room. I decline invitations to play "the wizard game" (aka Monopoly), sand tea party, and anything which requires sitting up. I bore her into leaving.

2:05 Three year old ascends the stairs once again inquiring about the whereabouts of a particular necklace of mine. I inform her it is in my jewelry box. She retrieves said box from the dresser and proceeds to dump the contents all over my bed. Going full pirate, she declares, "I love this necklace and this bracelet. I'm going to keep them and put them in MY jewelry box. Ok?"

"Actually, no. That's not ok. Those are mine."

"But I LIKE them."

"That's not the way things work. How would you like it if your friend came over and told you that she really likes your Anna dress and so it's hers now?"

"She can have the Elsa one."

"You're full of baloney."

"Well, can I have it when you die?"

2:45 She comes back to visit with a bowl of chips. I eat one to be courteous and she devours the rest in my bed. I wish I could care.

3:30 Again she returns with her icy hands and feet. She requests my phone and I oblige. She navigates her way into YouTube and finds Peppa Pig.

"They're speaking Spanish. Don't you want one you can understand?"

"No. I like Spanish."

She stays and dots the foreign dialogue with her own cough. A sharp hack/screech that marries empathy with a penchant for the dramatic.

4:08 I request more tylenol an apple which I proceed to eat laying down. 3 year old came thisclose to having that jewelry to herself.

4:48 Husband and 3 year old leave to retrieve our son. Tylenol has yet to kick in and I fight the urge to google "brain tumors" mostly because the screen hurts my eyes. I fall asleep again, wondering if you're supposed to feel your heartbeat in your palms.

5:25 "MAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAA! WE'RE HOME AGAIN! ARE YOU ASLEEP? MAMA? DO YOU HEAR ME?" (Note the layout of our 1,100 square foot house and that as she enters, she is literally 18 feet from my head.) I pretend that I'm dead. The sunlight has begun to fade, so the 3 year old flicked on the light at the bottom of the stairs- the light that beams directly into my eyeballs when I'm in bed. Both kids stomp up the stairs to tell me things I have to pretend to care about.

5:35 Headache mildly subsided, I decide to finally get out of bed, if for no other reason than to make coming back to bed in a couple hours feel like an event. I yank the sheets off and take them with me because of potato chips and sickness.

The rest of the evening was made up of tacos, the kids belting songs from Frozen, and my 9 year old nearly launching the 3 year old through the living room in a Jennifer Grey/Patrick Swayze failed lift attempt. You know, typical stuff.

I think I'll be better by tomorrow. And I'll wear that jewelry just to prove a point.




Parent Co.

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