And around the time that I could be awake longer than an hour at a time and could do more than walk to the toilet and back, I tested my ability to do basic things by first doing the dishes. Why? I don't know. The very act of washing dishes makes a mom again. Once I'm free and clear for scrubbing pots and pans, my kids also believe it's time to demand breakfast, lunch, or dinner or a snack or a drink or "Where's my stuffed dog?" or "Put my Batman costume on me NOW!" and NASA calls me on the red rotary phone to ask for a cup of Joe and their lucky nude-y pen because that's how important I become to the household...nay, America! when the cloud of my damn fever lifts.
For a while I'm happy to be doing anything other than leaving butt imprints on my side of the bed, but the happiness soon transitions to remembering. I remember how many balls I've got juggling in the air.
Preparing to travel to Orlando.
Playing with kids.
Homework with Layne.
Wrestling with Gavin.
Movies with Cole.
Cardio work out.
The point is I work myself into a crazy corpse-ish coma. My body just shuts down in protest as if it's the only way I can settle down a little. That's my theory.
My students think I got that sick because I gave them homework over the break. Karma's a bitch, huh. And I bet she does dishes too.