I last posted six days ago because a plague of mucus, expectoration, fever and throat pain landed on the family last week knocking four of the five of us flat on our backsides for several days. The snickerdoodle and the cheesedoodle are on amoxicillin, the mackerdoodle was taking a generic version of Robitussin and I was hitting the Nyquil before bed just to keep the head congestion and coughing to maximum acceptable levels.
Nyquil recommends that you not operate heavy machinery while taking it, and I’ve always assumed that was because of the sedative and alcohol contained in that foul green syrup. After being the grumpiest mother on the planet for several days, however, I’m wondering if they’re just suggesting that anyone with the types of symptoms I was experiencing just shouldn’t be trusted with potentially lethal vehicles.
One afternoon in the peak of the plague I was loading them all into the van to go to Aldi, because sick or not the house needs groceries, and I can’t leave alone while I do it. The cheesedoodle was taking his sweet time getting in, and the mackerdoodle tried to push past him making a fairly self righteous remark about obeying. “Oh just be PATIENT!” I said to her. The irony of it stung as it caught me on the rebound. I wondered how dangerous I would be wielding a forklift. The joy with which I contemplated such an event made me think it was a good thing I didn’t have one handy.
The man who was my pastor while I was growing up used to say that you can’t tell what’s in a cup until it’s bumped, and it’s when the trials of life bump up against us that whatever we’re really filled with splashes out. Sickness and lack of sleep always bump me hard enough to let the ugly splash out all over my family. When my medication warns me I’m not fit to operate an excavator, I need to pay closer attention to heavy machinery of motherhood I wield daily and can’t abandon for sick days.