Well, I've sold my soul to the devil; joined the Bad Mothers Club; become a replica of Sue Ellen Ewing (if you're old enough to remember "Dallas".)
The Little Guy was off school last week with a fairly bad cold. I pride myself not on molly-coddling my children but on keeping them home when they are clearly full of snot and germs. It bugs me when other parents send their offspring into school when they are obviously going to spread the cold far and wide. I understand that people have to go to work, but school is not day care, yada, yada, yada.
LG was off with your common-or-garden cold on Thursday, but it seemed to get worse over the course of the next few days. The Ball & Chain and I had an unusual "posh dinner" on Friday night and left the 16 year old in charge. About 9.30pm, (before the main course had arrived) came the first phone call. "Mom, he's thrown up four times, but he's gone back to bed now and is being a champ." Oh. OK, then. Given that we were less than half a mile away, we decided to stay. Then came the second call about 15 minutes later, reporting another up-chuck episode. OK, napkins folded, good-nights all round.
Poor little mite was not at all well when we got home. And what a mess too!
Saturday was not a good day for him, but yesterday he perked up a lot. "Oh good," I thought, "
He coughed a lot last night, but was fast asleep on the two occasions I dragged my carcass in to check on him. (See, I am a good mother, really. A very tired mother at this point also.) This morning he dressed for school and I made his lunch, helped pack his school bag and generally behaved as if everything was normal. Unfortunately I made "We'll see" sort of noises to the Ball & Chain, and could possibly have muttered that if he was deemed unfit for school I would simply go and pick him up. All of a sudden I swear the Little Guy's colouring went from human to half-dead, and he began suggesting that he might not be well enough to go in. What's that saying "Give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile?"
So I bustled him out the door with his dad, saying "Oh I'm sure you'll feel better when you get there."
I hate mothers like me. Who do I think I am, deliberately sending a germ-ridden child to mingle with his peers? But it's Thanksgiving on Thursday; I have people arriving tomorrow; I haven't been across the doors since Friday night; we have no food in the house; I am going insane.