I went on a retreat over last weekend and came home with a fever of 103. Not pleasant.
My mom packed her bags and was out of there before I could call for a glass of ginger ale and a pretzel rod.
I was left ALONE with three children, one dog, one cat, and one husband.
I was taken good care of, I want to say that right now. Oldest daughter, Kiley, fixed me scrambled eggs for breakfast. Laurel was loyal with drinks with plenty of ice, and Spencer delighted in taking my temperature every ten minutes or so. (Where was that thermometer in between usage?) Lee made sure that I had blankets and movies at all times.
On day three of the flu after I asked Lee to start a load of laundry after he settled the kids into bed he exclaimed, "What do you want from me? I have cooked, cleaned, and gotten them to do school work. I just want to sit down." His voice was kind of cracking at the end there. I just smiled. This was not in my plan, but it did have a nice effect.
On day four when I emerged from the bedroom, more like a slug than a butterfly, the shock I felt over the sight of my kitchen caused me to feel lightheaded. The decongestants could have also added to this, however. There was a thorough coating of salt, jelly, and sprite on the counters and the floor. There was an open jar of peanut butter with three knives sticking out of it. There was a cake plate with finger smears in the left-over icing.
I sometimes feel that I am not vital to the functioning of my family. Now I know otherwise.