I miss sick days

I would wake up congested, feeling icky and moan, “I’m sick,” to no one in particular. I would then call my boss and croak out a very pitiful plea to stay home from work. All that effort would send me flopping back into bed and I would sleep until hunger drove me stumbling to the kitchen for some chicken noodle soup. I would eat the soup right out of the Pyrex measuring bowl that I heated it in and lay on the couch. After flipping through my 6 network channels and finding that Montel Williams is not entertaining even when I am sick, I would put in a movie. I would stumble again onto the couch, cover myself with a blanket and fall fast asleep before Lucy (Sandra Bullock) heard Jo Jr. say, “Nice, uh….. sweater.” When it was dark I would wake up, eat something else, take some Nyquil and go to bed, sleeping soundly until morning.

Well, I’m sick and I requested a few sick days, but was refused. Emma and Mandy have been sick as well and now Jeff too. Emma is pretty good when she is sick, although quite whiny and takes advantage of my distraction – I will get to that story later. Mandy, on the other hand, decided she wanted me to hold and rock her for days on end. She would whimper when I put her sleeping body into her bed, saying, “Mommy, don’t do it. Just hold me close because as soon as I hit this cold sheet I am going to wake up and start crying. And when I start crying I will start coughing and I will remind you of the horrible anti-smoking commercial with the crying/coughing baby on the monitor. So, don’t put me down. Rock me some more.” It was a rather endless cycle that continued into the nights with getting her to sleep, putting her down, her waking up, crying, and me rocking her back to sleep as she coughed. No Nyquil sleep for me!

One of the worst moments this week was when a recovered Emma took advantage of my illness and went off to her room. I had high hopes that she was sweetly playing with her baby dolls. When she didn’t answer my calls, I got up and went to her room to find her standing on a pile of her beautiful blond hair, scissors in hand. I moaned, “Oh, Emma,” and started to cry as I surveyed the damage. She took all but ¼ inch off the top in a several different cuts and a big chunk out of the middle of her bangs. I called Jeff and said, “Where are you? Come home. Emma cut her hair.” Apparently my weeping worked and he came home, disciplined Emma, made me chicken noodle soup, cleaned the house, ran the dishwasher, did laundry, rocked Mandy, put both girls to sleep, all while I took a much needed nap.

I feel well enough to go in to work today. My head is still stuffed up, but I finally have my voice back. My body no longer aches, and my throat isn’t sore either. I will recover, life will go on, and Emma’s hair will grow.