After a week of barfalicious togetherness, I was all set to send my herd of brats to school today. Because no matter how much I love them, a week of whining, moaning, vomiting, hacking, nose-blowing, feverish quality time is enough for any mother.
The alarm went off at 7:30, I lurched up the stairs. Looked at my coffee-maker. Looked at it some more. Poured myself some iced tea and washed down a handful of pills. Then I stumbled back downstairs and crawled back into bed.
I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Fever, joint and muscle aches, chills. Only good thing is my cough seems to have improved and I'm not walking around with a wadded kleenex shoved up each nostril. But holy crapping damn, my body HURTS all over. No way could I have stayed upright long enough to get my monsters to school. Driving? Not a freaking chance. Only reason my fingers are obeying me so I can type this is because I've just had another handful of T-1s.
Does this make me a bad mom? I don't care. One more day off school will not doom them to failure come report card time.
For me, I'm just gonna go lie in the middle of the street and hope some kindly passing motorist runs me over. Blurgh.