I was watching TV with my 8 year old daughter the other night. And because it’s sometimes just easier and I was only half-watching anyway, she had control of the remote. I was relegated to watching an age-appropriate kids’ channel–an episode of one of her favorite programs I’ll probably have the pleasure of seeing at least another half dozen times.
Remind me why we ordered the DVR feature again?
Anyway. The mom in the show had the flu. Her hair was a mess, she was dressed in a grungy robe, looked like she hadn’t showered in days all while coughing and hacking with every other strained breath. She looked miserable and her acting actually had me convinced she was really sick.
Nobody wanted to be in the same room with her for fear of catching it.
The story went on with the mom hiring an older neighbor boy to help watch her younger son (about my daughter’s age) and to run his “errands” with him. While she’d paid the 14-ish-year-old to escort her little boy around town for the day (busy Chicago, none-the-less) to get his haircut, buy some new “slacks”, among a myriad of other to-dos, (predictably) they ended up ditching the entire list laid out for them and spent the day at a baseball game instead.
Equally predictable, they ended up on the big screen at the televised game, where the bedridden mom caught them in the act, since she had nothing better to do in her invalid state than watch ESPN.
I actually envied her.
Yes. For a brief moment I thought: If only I had a couple days downtime to myself. How much writing could I get done in that time? Would life go on, seamlessly, without me for a few days? My husband would have to handle school transportation and meals and laundry. Dishes and homework help and straightening the house. Maybe no one would even notice if I were bedridden. I could even call in sick to work. Sure, I could do that.
I was even beginning to feel somewhat feverish and maybe a tickle in the back of my throat.
Then reality hit. Trust me, it didn’t take long.
I realized, that once I was fully functional again, there would likely be a pile of paperwork at my day job when I returned. There would still be a load or two of dirty clothes to be attend to and dishes left undone. And, although my family might have survived during that time on Ramen noodles, I would rather have something with a little more sustenance. Perhaps something in the vegetable group.
Suddenly, I was feeling much, much better.
And, really, would I have gotten all that much writing done anyway? Probably not.