I picked up a bug over the weekend and spent most of Saturday and Sunday playing phlegmy sick person.  Happily no one else in the house was sick, — so they could tend to me.  (Eliot made me an apple pie.  It was like the traditional apple sauce and toast sick person fare, but so much better.  Try it the next time you’re bedridden.)  Anyway, I woke up this morning from my Nyquil induced slumber to find Asa in bed next to me.  He turned to me and said, “My stomach hurts.”  “Oh no it doesn’t!  Not until after I pick you up at 2:3o this afternoon from school.”  I advised him to go back to sleep.  I told Eliot about it as we fixed our microwave coffees in the kitchen and he looked at me like I was some kind of monster.  (He raised his eyebrows suggestively anyway.  That’s about the extent of Eliot’s reproach.)  “I have things to do today,” I whined.  “I’ve got to run 10 miles, roll on a PVC pipe, do a core workout, do four loads of laundry…  I’ve got to shower and dry my hair.”  Eliot looked about as unimpressed as he’s ever looked.  I’m sure he was too full of compassionate thoughts for our potentially sick son to think up an appropriate reply.  (For the record, I think Asa said his stomach hurts because he’s having trouble with a four year-old bully at school.)

“You just don’t even understand!” I told Eliot.  And then I sat down with you people to blog it out.   The parent who works full-time cannot fully appreciate the  preciousness of the few preschool hours — even if they have been taking care of their child all weekend while you’ve been holed up in the bedroom coughing.  No revelation there.  I will cut the man some slack.  Besides I have a Nyquil hangover and I can’t muster any more rightgeous indignation.  And I’ve got to convince Asa he doesn’t have a stomachache.