My Day Off

It's tough to remember my life before children, but if I think hard enough, I can recall a few details from the past. For example, I have a lot of job experience outside of homemaking. I actually started out at a Chick-fil-a, which is ironic, since my kids exist to "Eat Mor Chikin." But I've done plenty of things since then, too. In addition to working the drive-thru, I've been a waitress, a sales-clerk, a receptionist, a jeweler, a switch-board operator, and a teacher. I hated most of those jobs and loved at least one, but the best part of each was, without a doubt, The Day Off. Whether it was a sick day, or too many people on the floor, or inclement weather, I always loved getting that little unanticipated gift of time.

Unfortunately, there's pretty much only one way for mothers of small children to get a day off from work: communicable disease. And let's be honest, it's not really a day off. It's not like the kids are suddenly rendered mute on account of Mommy's throbbing head. If anything, they get louder in order to make sure they're heard over the retching.


I got an unexpected Day Off this past week when I came down with suspicious, flu-like symptoms: fever, aches, chills, and all the gastroenterological indicators for Montezuma's Revenge - in the midst of a 90 degree summer day. Unfortunately, no one received the memo for "Mommy's Sick Day," and life continued in its normal, chaotic fashion: Ella woke up at the crack of dawn, donned her princess costume, and started giving orders; Emily and Evie pulled their diapers off and then redistributed every item of clothing they own from their drawers to the floor; and Ty was... Well, Ty was just as easy as ever, until he came down with similar symptoms that required multiple diaper changes an hour. Unfortunately, since three hyperemic pregnancies have made me permanently nauseous, I didn't recognize my symptoms for what they were until after I hauled all four kids out for a morning of indoor playground fun at Monkey Joes.

After two hours of watching the girls run, bounce, and slide down the assortment of brightly-colored inflatables (which did nothing for my symptoms), I fed them a quick lunch and hustled them out to the car. We barely made it home, and once I had finished wrestling them down for a nap, I gave up and did what any woman in my position would do. I called my mom.

She's a saint, so she showed up just as the girls were getting out of their beds and I was crawling into mine. She did her best to keep them happy and occupied, but nonetheless I had several visitors to my bedside. The first was Ella, who grabbed the thermometer I'd just used, stuck it under her armpit, and asked, "Mommy, do you need a fever?"

I was suddenly worried that perhaps I'd just used the wrong instrument and stuck the kids' thermometer under my tongue. "Um, no thanks, sweetie. I already have one. Can you put that back now?"


"No, Mommy, I want to have a fever, too."


Oh Lord, please no...


Ella left to go talk Mimi into watching Snow White with her and I settled back into my bed. But Evie strolled in a few minutes later, just as I was drifting off to sleep. "MOMMY? MOMMY? YOU SLEEP? MOMMY, YOU SLEEP?"


I kept quiet at first, hoping that she would interpret my silence as an answer. But then she touched her nose to mine. "MOMMY?!?!?"


"Yeah, baby, Mommy's asleep..."


"OH." The bedroom door slammed behind her as she left to report my status to her grandma: "MIMI! MIMI! MOMMY'S SLEEP! OKAAAAY?"


A few more minutes passed and I slipped gratefully into an aspirin-induced coma just as Emily tip-toed in, blankie and paci in tow, to climb into bed with me. I was so tired that I probably wouldn't have noticed her presence except that her foot slipped and she landed butt-first on my face. "I sorry, Mommy! I sleep with you, okay? Okay, Mommy?"


My muffled grunt must have sounded like a "yes," because she lay down next to me and pulled the covers up to her chin. "Night night, Mommy."


I eventually got some rest without any kids in the room, and by the next morning, I thought I was feeling better. But my viral bout ended up lasting three long days, during which time my mom and my husband handled housekeeping, meals, and childcare. I'm not sure who's happier about my recovery - me or them. But one thing I know: unless there are spa treatments involved, I don't want another Day Off!