Sickness Rivalry and Maternal Guilt

Last night I called home enroute from work to an evening retirement dinner to check in with my sitter du jour, a.k.a. my mother-in-law, to inquire about my offspring and apologize for the state of my house, which FEMA might categorize as a Disaster Zone and flag for government relief if only FEMA would ever pay me a visit.

"Daughter's not feeling well at all," my mother-in-law stated quietly into the phone lest my daughter overhear. "She's been complaining of a headache and a sore throat since she got home from school, and she's got this awful barking cough."

Of course she does.

It only figures that my indefatigable daughter would succumb to a virus when her beloved Grammie was in charge and here to witness all my failings as mother, wife, hostess, and basic human person. The very fact that she acknowledged my daughter's symptoms was Significant, as my mother-in-law does not readily acknowledge minor medical blips like, oh, gangrenous wounds or 115 degree fevers.
So this morning, even before my daughter considered rousing for school, I decided to keep her home for the day. "You're staying home today to rest," I whispered to closed eyelids that curiously started to twitch. "I'll be right back. I'm taking your brother to the bus stop."

When I informed my son that his sister would be staying home from school because she was sick, he screamed, "WHATTTTT?" with furious indignation.

"She's sick," I explained.

"Well I'm sick too!" He stomped his feet, turned his back to me, and croaked, "You don't love me."

No one ever said parenting would be logical.

"Look, son, if you're not feeling well at school, just go to the nurse. If you're sick, I'll stop whatever it is I'm doing and come to pick you up."

Unlike most days when my son waves frenetically as his bus drives away, today he deliberately slumped in his seat, face down, and didn't wave.

You don't love me.

When I arrived back home, my daughter was snuggled in my bed watching cartoons. She did not have a fever, but when asked how she felt, she was quick to cough and make a painful grimace.

I served her pancakes in bed.

At about 1:30PM, the school called. Son had gone to the nurse's office and did not have a fever, but he wanted to speak to me.

"I feel sick," he said in a small voice. "My tummy hurts."

I promised to pick him up right away, but first checked in with daughter.

"Your brother doesn't feel well and I need to pick him up from school," I reported.

""WHATTTTT?" she responded with furious indignation.

On the way home from school with my son, I made sure to clarify the rules. "Now since you're feeling too sick for school, you realize that you can't go outside to play this afternoon, right?"

"WHATTTTT?" he screamed, again with furious indignation.

At about 3:30PM, all the neighborhood children started cruising around on their bikes and scooters, a few ringing our bell to see if their friends could come out to play.

"Mom, I feel much better," my daughter reported convincingly. "Is it OK for me to go outside?"

"No," I replied. "Not today."

"WHATTTTT?"

My son's requests were soon to follow.

"Mom, can I go ride my scooter now? Puh leeeeeeeeze?"

"No. Not today."

"WHATTTTT?"

From 4-8PM in intervals that ranged from 10-20 minutes, my children and I continued playing the game of "Can I?/No/WHATTTTT?" with varying degrees of humor, frustration, and annoyance.

I think we're all onto each other now.

Maybe next time they'll think twice before playing the "sick" card, and maybe I'll think twice before letting my own guilt drive my actions.

"WHATTTTT?"