Day Five Hundred Fifty-Six

Being sick stinks. I'm speaking in the figurative sense, of course, because I can't really smell a thing. I'd be fine with all of this involuntary rest if I hadn't just gotten over a really nasty cold (laryngitis and all) a couple weeks ago. And if Jon, Z and I could put a stop to this round robin of hack 'n' wheeze that we've been so generously sharing with each other.

I went into work today for a couple of hours to get things rolling for the day. I think partially my motivation for going to work was to let my scratchy throat speak for itself, so I wouldn't lay in bed at home wondering if the rest of the staff was spending the day standing around the answering machine replaying my call-in-sick message, rolling their eyes to each other and asking, "Didn't she just miss seven days of work?"

The rest of my day has consisted of sleep, drinking tea and watching Pippi Longstocking with Z, my son who is apparently obsessed with crazy red-braided Scandinavian women that wear boots that are eight sizes too big (don't get too excited, G). Sitting down and actually watching one of these movies, instead of plopping Z down in front of the TV so I can get a load of laundry done and feed the dog, has raised some concerns. I mean, the girl throws the dishes out the window after every meal, runs around town buying off neighbors and friends with her big bag of gold coins, lifts horses over her head and lets her monkey cook dinner. Let's just say first order of business around here is making sure Z understands the concept of "imagination."

Being sick isn't all bad. The extra sleep and having the day not speed by is nice. But then when you've got a sore throat, body aches, runny nose and your head feels like it could implode at any moment, you kinda want the day to be over.

Guess it's time to go. Z just climbed the wall in his room to take down the Disney road signs so he can skate around on the hard wood floor. I wish I were kidding.

Thanks, Pippi.