a letter to my darlings, and to small children of sick mommies and daddies everywhere,
would it be so much to ask to just be a little quieter and a little more gentle with each other seeing as i've only told you both 437 times that mommy is feeling really sick? i know you might not understand what congestion is, or a headache, or a throat that feels like a thousand needles every time you swallow, or how painful swollen glands are, or just how achy one's neck can be, or what it feels like when every part of you is throbbing...in fact, even your eyelashes hurt.
i appreciate that your volume goes down for about 13 seconds after i say, "girls, please- mommy feels so sick right now." but perhaps those inside voices could stay quiet for, oh, say 5 minutes or even 10? or even three. i will take three minutes.
when i say that i'm sick and need to rest for a minute? that means i feel really, really horridly awful as if i've been struck with a plague or am slogging through quicksand. i promise i'm not kidding or exaggerating my sickness. i've tried as valiantly as possible to carry on and now i'm afraid the sickness has won and i'm waving my white flag at the germs. and you, my tiny little munchkins climbing all over me and shouting at the tops of your lungs and wreaking a little extra havoc because you sense i'm not quite on top of my game? i'm waving my white flag at you too.
please, for the love of all things good in this world, can you be kind to your sick mommy?
the woman passed out on the couch with no energy to stop you from destroying the house
aka your mom.