misery

susanna is sick. nothing earth-shattering -- just a runny nose, cough, and a fever -- but definitely enough to keep her home from preschool. and our children are never sick; the last time i had to get the thermometer out was well over a year ago. i had kind of forgotten what it's like to have a child who's not bouncing around and full of energy. so we're housebound, but unlike being housebound because of weather when we can make our own indoor fun, we're housebound and there's no fun to be had. she's just plain miserable, and i'm starting to believe that she's actually enjoying her misery. i'm sure i sound like the most insensitive mother on the planet when i say this, but i think she's already learned how to milk this for all it's worth. how else would she get to watch more than twenty minutes of television in a day, and a lollipop to boot? this morning she was camped out on the couch catching a new episode of sesame street while i attempted to scour and scrub the kitchen free of any lingering germs. from the family room i began to hear a pitiful, "woe is me, mommy" repeated over and over. obviously, i knew that my two-year old daughter was not employing the term "woe" correctly in a sentence -- but i did know that that's exactly the sentiment she was trying to convey. when i reached her, i realized that she was actually requesting, "ho-wuld me." i eagerly scooped her up, ready to wrap my arms around her snuggly little body and soothe her in her time of pain. but she suddenly decided that i was the LAST thing she wanted and insisted on watching the rest of the show alone. and isn't that the way most of us adults operate when we're sick? wanting everyone else to know how uncomfortable we are, but the second someone offers some real assistance, we resist? nothing is quite as pleasing to us as wallowing in our own misery. so i returned to my cleaning. woe is me.