“I dunno.” Poke, poke, poke. “Do you sink she’s ok?”
“Yeah, she’s pro’b’y jus’ sweepin’.”
Pitter patter, pitter patter of little feet through my room—and I bury my NyQuil-fuzzy head further beneath the covers. Surely Jason will realize there are stray children running loose in the house and come to retrieve them soon. If Mommy plays dead, which is not altogether far from the truth when one is in a NyQuil-induced coma, then they will go away and not need things like Band-Aids and stories and non-itchy pajamas and such.
That was last night, or as I lovingly refer to it: Night of the Living Dead. Dear Friends, My sinuses have taken over my body, and I fear it will not be long before my head simply explodes from the pressure. I tried to garner sympathy from my closest family members, only to have them begin fighting over who gets the waffle iron and who has to run the dishwasher when I’m gone. Jason did inform me, quite solemnly I might add, that they will all miss me when I die of SINUS CANCER or whatever equally horrible disease I must certainly have. Thank you all for the generous amounts of sympathy, and for not believing me about the depths of my misery, I hope you all slip and fall on a giant lung-goober when I do finally cough up the entire lung I’ve been threatening to cough up for days.
Every five minutes or so, the kids escaped in pairs and ventured into the cold, dark cave I created for myself in the bedroom. I had two fans blowing directly on me, and my entire body was buried under at least 7 blankets. I could vaguely hear them when they approached, even though they tried to tip-toe quietly through the room. Their curious whispers about my condition gave them away every time, and if that didn’t do it, someone always followed them in and bellowed, “YOU GUYS!! MOM IS SICK! LEAVE HER ALONE SO SHE CAN SLEEEEEEP!”
Oh yeah, totally sleeping through that. But I made a valiant effort at playing dead under all my blankets, and I’m pretty sure if it hadn’t been bedtime for the little guys, they would have come in and started poking me with a stick to make sure I was still alive. After all, it was a normal day, and their pajamas were itchy, and they needed to watch cartoons, and they also needed new socks, and could I fix their blankets, and also the other one needed help with Spanish, and also oh yeah don’t forget to quiz the other one on the Social Studies test. Sheesh, can’t a woman die in peace around here?