Have you ever tried getting work done when you feel like death? Do you fall behind on daily tasks when you're so sick that you just want to lie still, close your eyes, shut out the world and finally give your body the rest it needs to recouperate, but can't? If you're a mother, you know all too well what I'm talking about. Why is it that we, mothers, must carry on despite the fact that we feel like warmed over road kill?
What inspired this post? Yep, you guess it! I'm freakin' sick again! I thought that Spring would put an end to all the winter illness, but boy was I wrong. It's a new beginning, yes . . . a new cycle of doctor appointments, Thera-flu, and taking care of everyone else, while I put my suffering aside, and drag through my day like a snail running a 5K.
The twins came home from school yesterday with raspy throats and a cough that would wake the dead. I stayed up with them most of the night, ensuring that the Tylenol and Motrin were duly rotated in an effort to keep their fevers down, manning the vaporizer, Lysoling everything in sight, and washing my hands frequently to prevent the spread of germs. HA!
After sleeping a whole two hours on the living room couch, I woke at 6 a.m. to my husband's ever-so-quiet (NOT!) closing (ok, slamming) of the door leading to the garage . . . his escape hatch to work without interruption. I was feeling like I had been in a bar brawl with the OCC dudes! Thanks, Senior! You're hot and everything, but damn; can you pack a punch!
I make my way over to the coffee pot, through the obstacle course of Legos and action figures, only to see that the hubby hadn't made any before jetting out the door to work. I'm usually lucky enough to have it waiting for me, since he leaves before I wake, but (of course) on this day of all days, it was cold, stale leftovers from the day before.
As I'm cleaning the decanter, my 14 year old scares the living daylights out of me by having the nerve to sneak quietly into the kitchen and let out this awful seal-barking cough two feet behind me. "ARWE! ARWE! ARRRWWWE! I jumped from the startling start to my day, and the pot flew through the air like a Kamakasi pilot, smashing to its bitter demise onto my kitchen floor.
The HORROR! The non-caffeine-given remains mocked my desperate need for some extra "go-go" juice as I stood there in disbelief. I simply cannot function without coffee, and today, I really needed this life-long friend to come to my rescue. In my mind, I recalled all the curse words I swore off years ago (oxymoronic, I know) while cleaning up the shards of my poor, poor Keeper of All Things Mighty in the Morning.
Needless to say, the barking sea creature-mimicking kid was sick, too, so now three of my four were staying home from school. Great! If the weak shall inherit the Earth, you can definitely count me in for a small plot of dirt! Oh wait! That's meek! Dammit! I thought I was onto something!
I scavenged the pantry, high and low for something . . . ANYTHING . . . with caffeine. Lo and behold, the Gods were smiling down upon me (ok, so maybe a little smirk)! I found a small glass jar of (dare I say) instant Taster's Choice, and paid homage to the Great Coffee Gods of Columbia! Thanks Senior Valdez!
I quickly made a cup (ok Tub O') coffee, and sucked it down before the little hellions, I mean heathens, I mean sweet little gifts of God awoke, and the day of dosing, wiping, cleaning, comforting, etc. commenced.
I'm trying to keep that same coffee from spewing forth from the gnawing pit of my stomach as I'm making their breakfast. During this time, the twins come stumbling into the kitchen.
"My tummy hurts!" griped Thing One.
"My head makes me hurt! rasped Thing Two.
I feel their foreheads, and sure enough, the fever's back. I leave the stove for just a moment to dose them up, turn on cartoons, and tuck them in on opposite ends of the couch for a fun-filled day of living vicariously through Tom and Jerry.
Note to Self: Never EVER make eggs
when you're already nauseous. The smell of charred eggs alone would make even the healthy person hurl!
Crisis calls, must abort Project: Jump Through Hoops While Sick . . . brb