I am sick. It started Sunday with a fever. Monday night it turned into an achy, fever-filled moan-and-groan fest. Yesterday, I couldn't talk except in a sqawky, raspy, barking sort of way, and then only for short periods of time (I tried valiantly to discuss Poe with my lit class, though). Today, my voice is still not back, I have a cough and runny nose, and my head hurts too much to sleep.
My children, like a pride of lions following the wounded antelope, smell blood. They know I feel terrible. This is clearly the time to ask Mommy for all sorts of ridiculous things, knowing full well that she will say yes just to get them to go away and let her get five more minutes of uninterrupted rest.
No, it's not the best parenting strategy. But I have been mostly on my own for over two weeks now. All my resolve is gone. I just want to lock the bedroom door and let them fend for themselves. Sure, one or two of them might survive solely on candy and sugary cereal, but that's how it is in the jungle.
Now if you'll excuse me, I and my box of tissues are going to go read a book in bed.