My brother in law, Will came to visit this weekend.He drove a long, long way to say hello and see his oldest nephew get baptized.
It was sweet.
He left behind…
A yellow shirt
A thumb ring
Snot germs of the Satanic sort.
He left his snot germs somewhere in this house…and as I innocently strolled by them, they jumped on me and crawled up my nose holes.
I don’t think moms with this many kids should ever have to be this sick.
There should be some sort of exemption.
A loop hole.
Like that list on the back of a jury summons that says you can dodge jury duty if…
You are over 70 years old.
You are a volunteer firefighter, rescue squad member or ambulance crew member.
You must care for young children or elderly adults, if your absence will put them at risk.
You are so important to the operation of a business that your absence will cause that business to fail.
You are an attorney, physician, dentist or registered nurse.
You do not have a car and are unable to use public transportation.
When I get sick, that’s how I feel…
Like this is all a terrible mistake…a huge misunderstanding…because…
I can’t be sick.
I just can’t.
Monday morning, I should have been able to take proof of my mother-of-a-million status to someone, somewhere and hear them say, “Oh…we’ll take care of this Mrs. Hendrick…right away…we’re sorry…it’s all been a terrible mistake. You can’t be sick. If you’re sick, how are you supposed to take care of all those kids? What were we thinking?”
I would smile, look relieved and say, “I know! I knew this had to be some sort of clerical error.”
And, then, they would take the sick away, delete it from their files, clickety-clack on their sick-assigning computer…and wa-la…I walk out of that wonderful, make-believe place snot free...free to do the 900 things I need to do that day with out bringing along 900 tons of nose fluid.
That’s the world in which I want to live.
The one where mothers getting sick is a mistake…something that can be quickly remedied with a little bit of quick typing on a computer keyboard in an office down town.
No matter how much Nyquil I take, I can’t seem to find that wonderful world anywhere.
Instead, I’m stuck in this one, where blowing my nose is my new hobby.
Where I lie in bed, coming in and out of consciousness trying to imagine what on earth sinuses are.
What are they?
Are they buckets?
Are they flat?
Can they be removed?
Can you donate your sinuses to someone who will appreciate them?
I have no idea.
I do know that some people don't have them...like children people...because I took Anson to the doctor one time because I thought he had a sinus infection and the doctor told me that was impossible because Anson didn't have sinuses yet.
So why do I have to have them?
And why do mine have some thug riding around inside them driving a tricked out car with hydraulics, blasting base from his radio that’s blaring “All my Friends Drive a Low Rider.”
I mean, I like that song…just not in my sinuses.
The last few days feel like a blur to me.
I know I went to staff meeting.
I made tacos.
Some man came to our door and asked if the jeep was for sale.
Who does that?
Who just comes up to your house and asks if your car is for sale when there isn’t a for sale sign on it?
I told him I was really sick.
He almost fell off the porch to get away from me.
There were three dirty diapers tied up in three separate HEB bags right in front of the door.
It was a miracle, in this phlegm filled condition I was even able to change three dirty diapers…but carry them all the way to the outside trash can…come on…really…who could do that.
So, I just looked down at them and then looked up at the man wanting to buy a jeep that’s not for sale and said, “Those are diapers.”
That’s what I said to him!
However, at the time, I was mortified that this man I don’t know, was looking at my dirty diapers…not mine…but you know…
I told him my husband’s name was Aaron.
That was his name too.
For goodness sakes, Will…next time bring me flowers, or a remote control sprinkler…not your kill a mother germs!