Knocked Down

Apparently my body doesn't remember how to party like it's 1999:  I have been sick in bed since Monday afternoon, a pile of Kleenex on my nightstand, a bottle of NyQuil on the kitchen counter, the house falling to pieces around me.

I have dragged myself out of bed only to drive Annie and Jemma to school and back (sometimes even pawning that job off on a helpful neighbor) and to make little, pathetic "meals" for the kids:  a constant, embarrassing stream of peanut butter and jelly, macaroni and cheese, or cheese quesadillas with some fruit thrown in for good measure.  I've been taking clean silverware from the dishwasher since Tuesday and letting the dirty dishes pile up next to the sink until Jason got home to wash them in the evening.  I've been lying horizontally on the floor, doing puzzles with Jemma until my chills forced me back under the covers, at which point she resumed her spot in front of the television.  I've read two books and started on a third.  I've reduced my discipline techniques to yelling, "GIRLS! . . ." from my bedroom.  I've thanked my lucky stars that the girls are as old and as self-sufficient as they are; a year or two ago, this kind of "Momma's taking to her bed" would not have been possible.

This morning, I finally feel a little bit better, and I don't know what to do with the newfound energy.  Should I shower?  Take a walk outside in the sunshine?  Maybe . . . put away the clean laundry?  Actually make a real meal for dinner tonight?  Oh, the possibilities are endless.  Just now, the girls are at school for the last day before spring break begins, so eleven days stretch out in front of us.  We have a few little plans - gymnastics, ballet, a visit from the grandparents on their way home from Florida - but nothing major, and I'm hoping the sunshine and warmer temperatures continue so we can lounge around aimlessly much of the time, maybe taking the art easel outside, maybe scooting to the park, maybe deciding to go out for lunch after seeing the butterflies or head to the zoo with friends.  It'll be good, I think, not to have to be walking out the door at 8:01 a.m. - a good taste of what summer will be like with  four- and six-year-old girls.