I’ve been in a bit of a snit.
I’ve been sick since Thursday (fever, cough, congestion), which means I have had to rely on The Mr. to do everything for me, including taking care of an equally sick Nicholas. Of course, I should be grateful for everything he did this weekend but, alas, right now the vile, wretched creature that I am is in a snit.
I handle all the meal planning, purchasing, and preparing. But, since Mikey was sick at the beginning of the week and I was sick at the end of the week, I never did get to the store. The Mr. went to the store several times this weekend, but only to buy
Sadly, it did not occur to him to buy us food or easy meals for today, so I had to cook for myself this morning. I could have just skipped eating altogether, which I wanted to do when I saw not a loaf of bread in the refrigerator, but that would mean incurring his wrath later at “not putting [myself] first and getting proper nourishment when sick,” so I ended up making myself eggs (what I would have given for simple toast!) after I took apart and soft-scrubbed the stove because, if the layers of burnt are any indication, The Mr.’s pot overflowed mightily at some point over the weekend while making Mac n’ Cheese.
Avoiding Soft Scrub fumes when battling an upper respiratory cold might be as important as proper nourishment, yes? But, like I said, I’ve been in a bit of a snit.
Luckily, the plumbing invoice, mail, and Mikey’s homework (all placed in neat piles in and around the stove) were unscathed.
For the record, I keep the bills, mail, and Mikey’s homework on the table under the window. (The one that never looks as neat as it does in the picture above.)
I was also in a snit this weekend when Nicholas coughed until he couldn’t breath and spit up all over the floor, which I cleaned up with great fanfare, my disheveled hair and sloped shoulders (blending seamlessly with an unwanted but well-timed coughing fit) announcing to all the world–but especially The Mr.–that a mother’s work is never done.
As I walked back towards my bed, weakly sidestepping the three or four baskets of laundry The Mr. washed and folded (who can count when they’re sick?), I daresay my countenance was both regal and martyrish.
Somehow, perhaps because I am incapable of just laying in bed resting when there are people just outside my bedroom door doing things not at all the way I would do it, I managed to read three books over the weekend. Yes, an unwise move on my part, but I really had no idea my eyes would turn into a gelatinous soup shortly before 4pm on Sunday. The Mr. had the nerve to suggest I brought it on myself, and that perhaps I should rest like a normal person. The towel he brought for my eyes was barely cool to the touch, if you can believe it.
This morning The Mr. all but flew out of the house on his way to an early morning meeting, the look of joy on his face firmly pushing me straight into the snittiest of snits. And, sure, maybe he did get both boys up, dress them, and give them breakfast, but he only asked me once how I was feeling and never offered to take my temperature.
It would appear, my fellow moms in arms, that The Mr. is in a bit of a snit, too. The nerve.