Suck-O-Rama

I'm sorry to give you another pitiful post so close on the heels of that other pitiful post. But it's not my fault. I can't help it.

You see, the most hideous thing happened in our house last night. Which was, Eric and I both puking all night long and then having to look at each other in the morning and decide who was sicker and would take the kids to camp.

Now, this tanden sickness business makes me filled with hatred and dread. I think there is nothing worse in the category of non-emergency parenting dilemmas. Parenting when sick makes me meaner than swamp crotch.

I just made that up--that swamp crotch thing. Apparently I'm trying out some interesting writerly voice right now. Forgive me. I'm not myself.

My point is that there is nothing that makes me hate my life, my children, and my husband more than having to be a grown up when I'm sick. Because what is the USE of getting sick if you can't be a big, fat pitiful baby over it? If you can't loll in bed and watch tv and drink gatorade and eat saltines? What is the USE?

We ended up splitting the rides, both of us probably breaking a few laws getting each child to her respective camp for the day and then hauling ass back home to crawl back into bed. But we did it because that option was soooo much better than keeping them home and trying to entertain and parent them when we're rowlfing it up, you know?

I should be grateful the kids weren't sick too. I should be grateful that, for once in our marriage, Eric is actually sicker than I am.

That didn't sound right. It's just that you know me and the puking. Nine times out of ten I get dehydrated and end up in the stupid hospital.

I should be grateful I didn't blow out at the Y. I should be grateful we can afford camp and that I could lay on the couch and watch The Big Chill on TNT. And I should be grateful that I feel better now and that it wasn't something more serious.

But really, I don't feel grateful at all. I'm just not there yet. I don't have that particular bit of wisdom in my grasp. I feel like I deserve a freaking spa weekend in the mountains. I feel sad that we couldn't get it together enough to call someone for help. I'm feeling tired and overwhelmed and resentful.

And that's just what parenthood looks like today.

Suck.