Well, not all the time. But sometimes.
The Hubby is sick - head cold. The kids have had the sniffles for a week or so; I knew our turn was coming. Started yesterday with a text message saying his nose was stuffed and he felt "woozy." He asked if I felt the same. I did not.
Did my usual Tuesday night thing - which now includes leaving work 30 minutes early to beat the traffic. He arrived home at 9:00 - the same time we got home from the dance studio - and went straight to bed.
I did not go straight to bed. I did not go to bed until 10:30. I had work to do.
So tonight, he calls me sounding all sad and draggy. Cub Scouts was canceled because the pack leader was sick, so what was he supposed to do with The Girl?
"Get her upstairs to dance as usual."
"Well, I'm not going to be able to go get food. I feel horrible. I'm going to bed when I get home."
"That's okay. Are you taking The Boy home or are you leaving him for me?"
"No, I'll take him but I can't get food. I'm going to bed."
"Just worry about him and you. I'll take care of The Girl and I."
"Okay, but I'm going straight to bed when I get home."
Gee, I wonder if he went straight to bed? Well, apparently not judging by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. The dishwasher is six inches to the right of the sink, yet somehow the dishes never seem to get any farther than the sink - in a big, messy pile no less.
Okay, fine. You're sick. I understand. Stop whining about it, take some cold medicine and move on.
Because that's what I have to do. "You didn't come to bed early last night." Uh, no. See there was still work to be done. Put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher (empty it first). Get the mail. Enter the day's receipts in Quicken. Unpack the school bags. Make sure the homework was done (it wasn't - not last night and not tonight). Pack lunches (because the church hall, which they use as a cafeteria, flooded in mid-November and won't be usable until after Christmas so no hot lunch service). Pack the school snacks. Make sure there are clean clothes for tomorrow. Feed the dog. Let the dog out for the last time (has to be around ten because his bladder won't make it until 6:00 a.m. otherwise and he'll get you up at 3:00 a.m.).
You get the point.
See, here's the thing that after 12 years of marriage and 2 kids he still doesn't understand: Mom doesn't get to be sick. Ever. There is always work to be done and unless Mom is on her deathbed, Mom has to keep going. No rest for the wicked.
I'm not even asking him to change and ignore his illness. You're sick, right, got it. Go to bed and let me get on with what I have to do. Don't play stupid and ask dumb questions such as "Why didn't you go to bed early?" Because I can't. The work must be done. The kids are not going to pack their own lunches - yet.
And don't strain my sympathy either. It's a freaking head cold. Not the bubonic plague. Man up and stop sniveling.
Or perhaps I should say "woman up."
