In the past few years, since Parker’s big sickness, I have rarely gotten sick. I have terrible allergies, so I spend quite a few days out of each month wanting to tear my eyeballs out and sneezing, but as far as big sicknesses go I think i’ve been pretty lucky lately. Maybe a cold here or there, nothing to raise eyebrows over or call the CDC about.
Since I got back from the Hanson concert, I have pretty much wanted to die. Sickness has hit, and it is not pretty. Nose so stuffed i’ve had to resort to mouth-breathing, swampy groggy head, mallet-slamming headache, exhaustion, the whole 9 years. being that I don’t get sick often, when I DO come down with something more severe than the sniffles- I go into “Man Sickness” status… and we all know what that is. Whiny, lazy, and annoying.
When I made the decision to be a stay at home mom, I basically agreed that I would be the house wench. Cooking, cleaning, wiping the kids asses… that’s all my “job.” Generally I think I do this job pretty well. No, the house isn’t always clean (I DO have two small children) and I most certainly don’t think i’m up for the “Mother of the Year” award (I actually snorted while typing that)- but i’m good at what I do.
Add the feeling of death to the mix? Everything goes to hell.
It’s not that we have a strict schedule to keep to, but we do have a routine to keep things from being completely chaotic. There has been no order to anything we’ve done… and I just can’t muster up the energy to care.
The living room is a WRECK, because when Mommy is sick, instead of bitching at the kids for dumping out buckets of toys and then laying in them and making “toy angels”, she dozes off on the couch because Dayquil is a big fat effing liar and DOES make you drowsy.
Don’t expect dinner to be cooked- the last thing I want to do is to hack into the food and get the REAL men of the house sick. The whining alone would quite literally make my head explode. Dinner now consists of leftovers, things found in the fridge, and things picked up from the store that are already made.
When Mommy is sick- laundry is a foreign concept. There are no clean clothes. Parker hasn’t worn actual underwear in days. Instead, he’s been free balling it in pajama pants.
We got so low on laundry today that no one wore pants until after lunch- and only because I forced my sick ass off the couch to throw in a load.
I was so tired, disgusting feeling, and lazy that I didn’t even bother getting my lower half changed until the boys were well into nap time (well, Parker was. Holden is on nap-strike). When I did, I also finally yanked out a pair of underwear for Parker.
Leave it to me to completely space and attempt to put HIS size 2Tunderwear on.
Sickness+ Dayquil= the delusion that my ass isn’t fat.
Being sick means that instead of making Holden do “school work”- we all veg out on the couch and watch “Tangled” like a group of squeeing little girls. Only Mommy passes out half way through and the kids tear the house apart in her absence.
Yes, Mommy being sick is a disaster of epic proportions. One might think Daddy would help out- but SOMEONE has to go to work and make the monies, or the boys won’t have a house to destroy anymore… and we can’t have that, now can we?
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