As an astute commenter (is that a word?) noted, Moms aren't really allowed to be sick. You can get sick; you just can't be sick. No lolling on the couch watching Oprah for a week, half-heartedly munching on the corner of a Sky Flakes cracker, and sipping Sprite while moaning about how crappy you feel. Although, thanks to the spousal unit, I did get to stay in bed thrashing about in my own sweat for quite some hours. That would be sorta sexy except it's so not.
Also, our home will be a construction site for the next ten weeks, and today is day #2. So in addition to the steel ball the size of an orange that seems to be banging around in my head, a thin film of dust coats me.
I am now going to do what any sane person would do: I'm going to my Mom and Dad's.
And, yes, I suppose I'll bring the children with me.
***
P.S. Everyone probably saw this yesterday, but just in case...here's the super-cute Boondocks strip that the Chicago Tribune declined to run. I swear, some people have no sense of humor.
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