It was such a wonderful plan.
When Mr. Baby woke up and required nursing ten seconds after I turned off the back-up alarm, I lay in bed thinking how good it would be to just stay there. Not even just the usual good of avoiding the return to the Monday schedule, but of actual physical benefit to all of us. Mr. Baby and I both got a second attack of the dreaded stomach bug over the weekend, and Miss M spent the last few nights perfecting a throaty, barking cough that can be heard from across the house. And so I thought it would be reasonable and even useful for us to take a day to rest, to build up our strength rather than exhausting all our resources before 7am. The rain was thrumming hard against the window. The idea of putting on heels and walking two children through the downpour made my chest hurt almost as much as my stomach. We could just stay there. We could sleep in, eat a leisurely breakfast, and see what fresh hell Rachael Ray was wearing. But just as I was mentally making the phone calls to my office, Mr. Baby's daycare, Miss M's school and aftercare, I had a rare moment of maternal responsibility. A nagging thought made me get out of bed and search for Miss M's school calendar. I knew that they were celebrating their fundraising successes this week, but I didn't know when. So I sneaked away from Mr. Baby and went to check the homework folder that I'd ignored all weekend. And there, right in front, was a little quarter-page note:
"Miss M can be out of uniform on Monday, Nov. 24 for her class's Mega Party!"
Not just a party day, but a non-uniform day. All of my tidy sick-day justifications melted away. None of us were in top form, but there wasn't anything wrong that was worse than making her miss a big, fun, special day.
So I got up. I showered, I made lunches, I spent 20 minutes trying to get Miss M to pick something both coordinating and season-appropriate to wear (and saying many thankful prayers for the city school's uniform policy).
And of course, when I tried to get Miss M all psyched up for the big day, she just looked at me like I was crazy. She seemed to know nothing about a party and clearly thought I was misinformed about the whole concept. She didn't even buy the note-in-the-folder story. So obviously, I could have just kept her home and let her enjoy a restful day with Spongebob and Drake Bell and she never would have known the difference. But instead, she went to school, Mr. Baby went to daycare, and I went to work with my soggy heels and crampy stomach.
I was there approximately one hour when the phone rang. Mama KT was calling to let me know what Mr. Baby was running a fever over 101 and had exploded all over himself. I needed to come get him on the double. So I fired off a "good morning and goodbye" instant message to my boss and reversed my commute. When I got to Mr. Baby, he was passed out on the couch in borrowed jammies, looking about as puny as could be. Mama KT made it pretty clear that she didn't expect to see him until after Thanksgiving, so it looks like my solace in saving one vacation day to use over the holidays has turned into the full sacrifice of two days.
So let this be a lesson to you, kids. The next time you feel like you shouldn't get out of bed on a Monday morning, just stay there. The universe will conspire against you until you give in.