I'm sick. I've been sick since Sunday, alternating fever with cold shakes, hacking up a lung, and losing my voice. Good times! Getting sick used to be fun when I was a kid. I got to stay home from school, watch a lot of daytime TV, and get served flat 7-UP and saltine crackers.
Being a grown-up has its disadvantages. My kids know that I'm not up to mediating their disputes (read: nuclear warfare) and making them the elaborate, healthy meals they are used to (insert ironic smilie here). In short, they take full advantage of my weakened state. This includes toast at all hours of the day, a steady rotation of our movie collection, and cereal for dinner. We are all sick of my being sick, I have to say.
I've tried to pretend that I'm not sick, you know, the power of the mind and all that. No luck. I even started painting OldestChild's bedroom, but after about 30 minutes I had to go lie down. I'm getting stir crazy! Oh, and I had such plans for this week. I was going to be efficient. I was going to organise and rearrange and clean and sew stuff. I was going to spend quality time with my almost-four-year-old.
And my birthday! It's on Saturday! Anyone want to join me at the pity table? I promise I'll give you a slice of my birthday cake. And I won't even cough on it. How's that for hospitality?