Why Can't It Be Saturday?

I am sick again. Through the fog of illness, I have uncovered a universal truth today. Despite the pounding headache, the persistent cough, and the uncomfortable sensation of a 50-pound weight sitting on my chest, I have managed to maintain a clarity of thought this morning. And I have discovered a truth about parenthood. No matter how to try to fight it. No matter how many cans of Lysol you spray. No matter how diligently you wash your hands, your kids are going to make you sick. Through the course of their childhood, your little ones will manage to contract every communicable disease known to humankind. They will then bring these despicable germs into your home and cough their phlegm-filled little heads off. Right in your face. Goodbye, health and wellness. Hello, write-ups at work for "Excessive Absenteeism."

This morning, I woke myself up coughing. I laid there for a long time, willing it to be Saturday. Sophie was in our bed between Ruanita and I. Nicholas was sleeping the chair in our bedroom. I laid there for the longest time listening to the cacophony of coughing. I would cough uncontrollably. Then Sophie. Then Nicholas. Then it would start all over again. Despite my best efforts, the day did not miraculously morph into Saturday. So I eventually had to rise, shower, get dressed, and head to work.

So here I sit. Coughing at work. Spreading my germs to my unsuspecting coworkers. Good times.