Well, that was something. And by something, I mean a merciless flu that left me in a moist stupor for just over a week. Seriously. The other night I woke up at about 3am and wrote "the dentist buys the tulips, but there's a hole in my watering can" on a Post-It. I have no recollection of the fever dream that might have inspired it, but whatever is was sure sweated up the pillows.
So now that I've just about finished digging out from under, I've suddenly realized that my Movember moustache took over my face while my eyes were too red-rimmed to notice.
I've also realized that, after a week as a shut-in, I don't have much of an interior monologue left. I spent so many hours sequestered in my addled filth that all thoughts became words, and most of my day was spent walking from one end of the apartment to the other and spewing my t0-do list to myself. Often in a Scottish accent.
Most fundamentally, however, was the feeling of pure emptiness that sucked all the air out of my kid-less apartment. Naturally, it was best to keep them away from Typhoid Daddy while his brain simmered in his own mucous, but that didn't change the fact that I'm not much good without them. I missed out on French Fryday, on Friday Night Movie Night, on Saturday Morning Pancack-attack, and on stuff like this, which happened within an hour after they came back to see if I was still alive:
- TwoBert and I were working through his alphabet homework when I asked him, what comes after P? And he said, "Flushing the toilet!" and fell over backward laughing.
- Later on, as T and I were looking through options for his enrichment program, we read one of the course descriptions: "with toys and games for everyone, this class will be a lot of fun!" And Robert interjected, "Dude! You can't take that. When they rhyme stuff you know the course is completely lame."
And then came the knee-buckler, when I dropped Robert off at school. Rather than give me the usual full-Nelson hug, he leaned in, gave me a one-armed bro-pat, and said, "Love you, man."
Wha? When did this happen? This is why being present in as many moments of your kids' young lives is so crucial. If you get sick for a week, and suddenly your 8-year-old son has turned into Jason Segel.
