No Time to Get Sick

Good advice about colds

Honk. Wheeze. Snarfle. Cough. I have done my darndest to steer clear of the majority of winter viruses floating around, but I finally succumbed to picking up something a few days ago. Being sick blows. My nose also blows – and drips profusely. My temperature fluctuates as much as our old electric stove did. My chapped lips feel like an over-inflated balloon heading for a prickly cactus. My eyes look like I’ve been using a belt-sander without goggles. I could only look more radiant if I was slinging sludge from our backyard pond. Since it’s still a bit nippy outside, I thought better of that. I’ll just have to be dazzling without the algae.

Sick days – Read the fine print.

I may be a grandmother, but I still have to soldier on. You see, there’s a miniscule clause in the Motherhood for Life contract (which I should have perused more carefully before getting pregnant all those years ago) which states “that as a mother, you are entitled to the same annual allowance of sick days off as your employer (God takes sick leave?), minus one day for each child or family pet under your roof, minus one day for every statutory holiday in the year that has a vowel in its name, to be reviewed when each said child or family pet turns nineteen years of age.”  By my calculations, after two kids and five cats, I’m about 332 days in the hole for taking any absence. As an empty-nester with no pets currently, I’m just not comprehending when, if ever, that down time will happen. I think that’s the “for Life” part. My heavens!

Sometimes moms need a cup of chicken soup too.

So, in the meantime, I’ll rest when I can, sear my throat palate with hot drinks, pop lozenges, boost the vitamins, wash hands, and concentrate on not spreading my germs. My mother always pushed the homemade chicken soup when I was at home sick from school. I’d do that for myself, too, except for the fact that I’ve already cleaned out my soup supply from our freezer, passing along “care packages” to other family members weeks ago. (It was when I was hanging upside down, peering into the recesses of our freezer chest, that I discovered the scientific properties, specifically the freezing temperature, of human snot. Good thing there’s cleanable storage containers in there.) Commercial soup just doesn’t contain “mommy love”, I’m sorry.

When you’re a young mom, there’s often a child slung over a shoulder or on a hip. This week, it’s a heated compress around my neck and a wad of tissues bulging from my hip pocket. It helps. Our daughter has already discovered that the responsibilities of mothering always outweigh down time. It comes with the job – but it’s the most satisfying job you’ll ever have. Unfortunately, I may have shared this virus with Hubby ’cause he’s started to complain about a sore throat too. I hope he has better health benefits in his Fatherhood contract than I do. Yeah for parenthood. And who drew up these contracts anyways!?