Calling in Sick

Sometimes, when I’m wishing on the Evening Star, I find myself dreaming of a sick day. Just one, or maybe two, where I’m laid up in bed, unable to manage my daily routine.

It’s not that I enjoy being ill but to have that day off is like a mini-vacation. The house falls to pieces, the kids run naked covered in orange Cheetos cheese, the household subsists on what little can be found in the pantry, but it’s all ok. Mom is sick, no guilt, no judgment.

See, that’s what I mean about the vacation.

So here I am, it’s Sunday night and I’m lying in bed writhing in pain as my stomach twists and turns, tying itself up in knots. I’m not sick, just crampy. It’s almost a wish come true, except…

All I can think about is the laundry list of things that need to be done, one being the fact that I haven’t written in my journal for 3 days and Sunday’s are best for that kind of thing. As expected, my children are running wild, but instead of being ok with it, their incessant loud and violent play is destroying the last of my ill-tempered patience. And to top it all off, I’m feeling intensely guilty about the fact that I’ve been a non-presence in my family’s life all day except to scream and yell as my little one continually whined and fought and pushed my buttons.

Not a vacation day.

What was I thinking? Moms do not get vacation days and feeling cruddy only makes matters worse.

Next time I’m going to wish for a “mental health” day instead. At least then the only writhing I will do will be to find a new position on the couch for reading a good book.