Monday Morning Musings

 I haven't shared an excerpt from my humorous memoir,  A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck, in quite a while, so I thought I would do that for today. I really can't do Monday Morning Musings because I am actually writing this on Sunday. Tomorrow I will be out of pocket all day.  Enjoy.....

Nothing is worse than having everyone in the family sick at the same time. At least when you take turns, passing a flu bug around like a hot potato, someone is always well enough to tend to the rest of the folks. But when everyone is sick, guess who has to grit her teeth and make chicken soup?

You guessed it. Mom.

One year was particularly bad at our house. I was on the losing side of a persistent flu bug that hung around for four or five weeks. And I used to think a 24-our bug was bad.

That particular run of the flu reached the point where the kids took numbers in the morning to see who would get to stay home from school that day.  I could only handle one or two sickies at a time, especially the sickies who didn’t act sick. Nothing was more wearing than a kid who threw up one minute and knocked his brother senseless the next.

Why couldn’t they take a cue from us adults and just stay on the couch in a semi-comatose position and just moan a lot?

And why did they have to eat. Imagine yourself with a stomach that feels like Mt. St. Helen's revisited, and the sweet aroma of chili dogs and nacho cheese chips comes drifting in from the kitchen. Have they never heard of chicken soup and weak tea?

Usually, when it came to the delicate art of juggling kids to see who got to stay home, my natural instincts served me well, but one day my judgment must have been clouded by my own raging fever. The kid I elected to keep home -- the kid who was at death's doorway with a terrible sore throat and a headache at eight in the morning -- spent half his day with his head out the door playing with the dog and the other half of the day fixing snacks. The kid who went to school with a vague complaint of a stomach ache was sent home right after the stomach ache voluntarily removed itself from the vague status.

And through it all, I spent a great deal of time on the sofa in a semi-comatose position, moaning a lot.

Another Excerpt From My New Book

It's been a while since I posted an excerpt from the book I'm working on, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck, which is a humorous memoir. I first introduced the book back in June... and I can't believe I still haven't finished it. Yikes!!

The following is from the chapter about being sick and what great fun that can be when Mom gets sick. Figured with so much flu going around it was appropriate.


In sickness or in Health...
or, You want to Look Where?

Have you ever noticed that when a kid is sick, he expects meals in bed, unlimited sympathy and continuous entertainment?

Or when a husband is sick, he simply takes the day off work, stays in bed, and accepts juice, aspirin, and a kind word in four hour intervals?

But heaven help a mother who has a cold or the 24-hour flu. Somehow she has to carry on as if all was well, and about the only way she can get any sympathy or understanding is to be approaching death's doorway. Even then, one of the kids might ask if she has the time to wash his soccer uniform before she passes from this earthly life.

I'd like to see some type of parent-child contract drawn up that would grant equal time, consideration, and cough medicine in the middle of the night to mothers.

I'd like to see a clause included in this contract stating emphatically that when a child comes home from school to find his mother still in her robe, it doesn't mean that she was just too lazy to get dressed that day.

If a mother has red watery eyes and a runny nose, it isn't from peeling onions or from watching a sad scene in an afternoon soap opera.

If a mother's face appears to be unusually flushed, it isn't from the exhilaration of an afternoon tryst.

If a mother is making 25 trips to the bathroom in an hour, it isn't just from a need for some solitude and serenity.

If a mother doesn't have the strength to drag her body off the couch to cook dinner, it isn't because she wore herself out playing tennis all day.

I used to believe that if we could get our families to recognize the fact that we were indeed sick, then we could work on getting them to respond in a positive helpful manner. To accomplish that goal, I considered making a big sign and hanging it in the living room where everyone could see it as they come in the door:
"Attention!The mother in this house is sick and has gone to bed. Do not disturb unless extreme emergency arises. (Needing to go to volleyball practice does not qualify.) Somebody cook supper. Wash your own dishes and gym clothes. It would be nice if someone came to check on me in about four hours to see if I'm still alive and to bring me some orange juice. Love, Mom."