I was really sick a week ago. Like couch-ridden, no shower for four days sick. At first the kids loved it. I was too exhausted to fight with them about picking up their messes. And they were thrilled at the fact that I had no energy or voice to yell at them to get to bed, stop hitting each other, get out of the refrigerator, get off the dog, etc. It was a free for all- until the house became such a disaster they actually got nervous and began picking things up on their own.
The center pole of the family tent had collapsed and everyone realized it really was, as Braeden eloquently put it, every man for himself. Suddenly, it dawned on my four children that days of the house being in complete shambles and me not caring was a pretty serious situation. When this grand epiphany occurred, the house became incredibly quiet and clean. Even the dog seemed to take time out from her constant pooping and wetting all over the house and laid quietly on the floor next to the couch.
As sick as I was, the significance of the atmospheric change was so profound, I actually noticed it from my fever induced slump on the couch. Relieved that they (the children and dog) finally understood the state of circumstance within the walls of our home, I slept. Like sleeping beauty, only significantly less attractive.
However, the pinnacle point of understanding for me was when Kian came up to me, gently put his little hand on my head and said, “Momma, how much longer are you gonna be sick like this?”
I managed to opened one eye and croaked out, “I hope not much longer, buddy.”
His response, “Good. Because you being sick like this is really starting to stress me out.”