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I’m writing this post in a fever. I don’t know what kind of infection I’m fighting off, but my temp got up to 102-103 degrees last night, chills, shakes, then down to 101 degrees this a.m. I feel okay now, like it’s broken for good, but I’m still woozy and a little off my game. Please let this be a 24-hour bug and nothing more.

As always, I’m resentful about being sick. I don’t want to go to the doctor, it’s a major hassle. I’m busy. I have writing to do, children to watch, meals to cook, cleaning and laundry, errands to run, meetings and trainings and job interviews. I’ve been trying, without success, for some time to find a “real” job. Wish me luck. I’ve been out of the game so long now, who’s going to want to hire me? (I’ve worked temp jobs only, part-time or full-time, off and on, for the last nine years. Plus the writing and editing gigs.)

I have an undergrad degree — a bachelor of arts in English — but no master’s degree. I’m smart. I don’t mean to be a jerk, here, but I am a smart woman. I have a brain. I’ve tried to hide it but it keeps peeking out from underneath my hairdo. A brain can be a disadvantage, at times, when employers realize you’re not 22, you’re married with two kids to support, you don’t have a master’s degree but want one (which means time away from work, possibly), that you won’t be willing to work 50 or 60 hours a week and get paid for 40 or 45. If you’re not a brain donor, it can pose a problem for some employers.

They don’t want you to know that they could be coerced into paying for your master’s. (State jobs and university jobs, yay!) They want that to be a little secret, so you’ll go get the MBA or the MSW by yourself, then come work for them. Paying for grad school is not in my budget at the moment, what with saving for the children’s college, trying to tuck a little away into our retirement accounts, trying to pay off the credit cards, make the mortgage, pay the medical bills. We are lucky to own our home — I’m glad we’re paying on a mortgage and not rent. We’re fortunate that my husband has a good job that he likes. We’re lucky to have health coverage. But $500 per year deductibles? Per family member? $20-$40 co-pays on prescriptions? $10-$20 co-pays on doctor visits? Fighting it out with the insurance company, because they don’t want to cover ER or urgent care visits? It sucks. Those of you who are uninsured, or underinsured, you have my sympathy, because our insurance is OK and it still sucks.

How can I go back to work right now, with two little kids who need me, and a school district that’s out of session half the time? It would mean going to the babysitter’s every day after school, instead of playing at the park, going to tap-dance class, playing at home.

My kids are playing Littlest Pet Shop at the moment. Are you familiar with these critters? They’re described in the publicity materials as “itsy-bitsy bobblin’ cuties!” (Shouldn’t that be “cuties!!!“) (Note to self: Try to find a job in PR.) They have fish, birds, cats and dogs, and they’ve named them Brownie, Fluffy, Princess, Stripey, Gray, Gulp, Dally, Butterscotch, Furry, Hatchling, Blue, Black-White and Fast. They’re Very Important Critters, to my children, their Pet Shop brood.

“I’m going to brush my hair now,” my daughter singsongs, making the tiny white Littlest Pet Shop poodle be-bop across the coffee table, “I might take a shower later.” The voice she is using sounds like a miniature version of my voice. Some days, even though my kids haven’t been newborns for years (they’re five and seven now), it still takes an “act of Congress” as one of my girlfriends put it, to get a shower in.

To get a work-out in.

To get a job.

Whenever I’m making a business call, be it to a potential employer, an editor, the phone company, the insurance company, I always yell, “Business call!” and glare at the kids if they come into the room. Why do I not lock them out? Because they panic and beat on the door. “Mom, Mom!!!” “Is she in there?” “She’s not in there!” “Where is she? Mom!!!”

Bemused employer on the line, “So, busy there, huh?”

Me: “Ha, ha, yes, it gets busy over here.”

If I put in a movie, to entertain them, they immediately begin fighting because they no longer like the same movies. Except “Goonies.” They could watch “Goonies” fifty times a day. Thank God for “Goonies.”

My husband came home to work this afternoon — he was worried about me. He’s a sweetheart, that one.

“I had this image of the kids running over your head while you were trying to sleep, then running out the door and down the street.”

It could happen, but not as long as they’re engaged with Little Pet Shop. They have the Playhouse, the Bakery, the fancy Doghouse, and once I told them I wasn’t going to buy them more accouterments, they turned a shoebox into a fancy condo. I don’t know where I’m going with this exactly, but I would like for life — my life — to be more than maybe I’ll take a shower later, and another session of Littlest Pet Shop. Although this afternoon, with the fever and the exhaustion, I’m glad to be at home.

[tags]kids, children, parents, mom sick, illness, parenting, health, family, support[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by Betsssssy, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved