But, uh, not in the good way. I’m running a fever. Which is fabulous timing, because it’s not like I have anything I needed to be doing today, or anything….
My ex called on Sunday night to warn me that he had a fever. The call was ostensibly to alert me to the children possibly having been exposed, but I suspect they got him sick, rather than the other way around. I also suspect he was looking for some sympathy. “Get some rest!” I cheerfully suggested. He stayed home from work yesterday, and still had a fever when he called to talk to the kids.
By that time–right before dinner–I was starting to feel a little punky. When he told me he didn’t know if he’d take them for dinner tonight or not, let’s talk in the morning, I said fine.
Him: You okay?
Me: I dunno. I feel a little weird.
Him: Oh, I hope you’re not getting sick!
So we had dinner, baked cupcakes for school today, did our normal evening things, and as the kids were getting into their jammies, I took my temperature. Oh. Hrm. Okay, well, I’ll get the kids to bed and then go to sleep, myself, and hopefully be better in the morning.
Except, I needed to stay up a while so that I could frost the cupcakes. So I did that. And then I made a shocking scientific discovery: it’s really hard to sleep when your eyeballs are too hot. Trust me on this. So I stayed up a while, wrote Monkey’s birthday post, tried to watch some television (also hard to do with firey eyeballs, by the way), and eventually fell asleep.
This morning I gulped some advil as Chickadee dragged me down to Monkey’s room to serenade him, and somehow managed to get both children and all of their gear and two dozen cupcakes out the door on time. Then I came back home and went back to bed.
Oh, wait. Did I say I went back to bed? I meant to say that I sent out my special super-secret CALL ME RIGHT NOW beacon because I felt like talking on the phone to everyone in the world. My mistake! Monkey has a check-up tomorrow, please bring his insurance card. My cable company would like to give me Starz! for free because it’s the suckiest movie channel on the planet and no one is willing to pay for it. The salon is looking forward to seeing me for my haircut. Chickadee has a therapy appointment. Someone will be here for Monkey’s party on Saturday (I probably should’ve paid more attention to that one). Oh, and my ex called.
Him: I stayed home from work again today.
Me: Oh, you’re still sick?
Him: Well, my fever’s gone. I’m just tired, I guess.
Me: Oh. Well, do you want the kids for dinner?
Him: Well… ummm… how are you feeling?
Me: I’ve got a temp of 101.
Him: Oh, then you’re probably too sick to drive them down here. Why don’t we skip it.
Wasn’t that thoughtful of him? I mean, I’m too sick to drive down there. Not, apparently, too sick to feed, bathe, and entertain two children all evening, though. And he can’t come up here and pick them up because… ummm… well, I’m sure he has a good reason.
Like that when you’re a stay-at-home parent you do what needs to be done, and when you’re a wussy self-centered “very involved father” you elect to miss your son’s birthday. Perhaps that’s it.
It might bother me less if my eyeballs were cooler. But I sort of doubt it.
Anyway, I’d better get moving. I asked Monkey at breakfast what he’d like for his birthday dinner. “Anything at all, buddy. You get to choose, because it’s your birthday.” Ever the gourmet, he thought long and hard and finally proclaimed that cheese and crackers sounded very delicious. I tried to suggest some alternatives, but he was not to be swayed. Alrighty, then.
Besides, when I put the cheese slices on the crackers, they’re liable to melt a little bit, which officially then makes them fancy. Never let it be said that we don’t know how to party, here.
UPDATE: The ex called back later and agreed to take the kids for dinner. I don’t know what changed his mind, but that’s good, I guess.