Sick days? Yeah, unfortunately, those don’t really exist in my line of work. So, when I go down for the count like I have the past couple of days, it’s just not pretty. Not pretty at all. Nope, I still had to pick my snot-nosed self up and motor on with the program whether I liked it or not. And even though my husband tried his very best to help out in getting the kids off to school yesterday and today, I still found myself having to perform my motherly duties even as I lay at death’s door.
My very nice, loving, thoughtful, considerate, helpful (do you get that I’m sucking up here?) husband insisted that he’d handle the morning routine so I could stay in bed and rest. Very sweet, right? However, Papa Nucking Futs has his own idea of how the AM schedule should go, and it’s not at all like mine. One crucial difference? I allow for one t.v. show while they eat, while he decided that the boob tube should remain off during breakfast. That’s like taking a freaking cigarette out of a chain smoker’s hands. As you can imagine, this did NOT bring about happy results. There was screaming, there was crying, and there was lots of counting to 3 going on below me as I “rested” in bed. I cringed as I listened to him laying down the law with threats of Wii priveleges being revoked and playdates being cancelled. I finally dragged myself out of bed to explain the whole “picking your battles” part of parenting to him. Nevertheless, the t.v. still remained off.
I then heard the sounds of fumbling around in the pantry and realized that my husband wouldn’t have a clue what to pack for snacks or what to put in my son’s lunch (since the kid refuses to EVER eat the school’s food). So I once again slithered out of bed to tell him what to pack and where to find it. (And apparently, I forgot to mention that my son needs something to drink, so the poor kid went thirsty at lunch.) My husband fussed at me to get back in bed and rest, since he had everything “under control. ” (Ha!)
When I climbed back into bed, I breathed a very nasally sigh of relief to FINALLY hear everyone packing up to leave. But then the front door slammed shut at least two hundred times as they all ran in and out of the house, the dog went crazy barking at all the madness, and the kids screamed as loud as their lungs would allow to their friends walking down the sidewalk. It was seriously like a damn circus had rolled into town.
Thank goodness I could “rest” in bed though. I reminded myself over and over and over again that it was the thought that counts, right? Even still, though, one point was abundantly clear — a mom’s work is never ever finished.