Timeline with expected outcome:
06:15 Wake up from a sound night's sleep
06:16 Instantly approach Mom and tell her I feel like throwing up..
06:17 Receive pity.
Remainder of day stay home, watch TV, play Xbox, chill.
Timeline with actual outcome:
06:15 Woke up to alarm from a sound night's sleep and immediately remember that I have Spanish today
06:16 Told Mom I felt like I was going to throw up at which time I received consolation from Mom and snuggled for 20 minutes.
06:40 (Approximately) Mom told me to shower and dress for school.
06:41 Began hissy fit that lasted approximately 2 minutes concluding at 6:43am.
07:00 Showered, ate breakfast, brushed teeth, tried to reason with Mom to no avail while trying desperately to keep up the Sara Bernhardt act.
07:35 Annoyed, I departed for school.
As I explained to him, I wasn't trying to punish him for not feeling well. I was, in fact, trying to save him from a day of total boredom. It wasn't going to be a day of Xbox'ing and snacking because "I'm starting to feel a lot better". It would be a day of laying in bed, quietly amusing himself with Legos or reading, and maybe some limited TV. Strangely enough, he didn't respond that that was okay with him, as I expected, but with nothing (indicating a thought process of "hmmmm....maybe this wouldn't work out to my benefit")
Now let me stop here and explain the root of it all. In his defense, he got sick last night having just left his football banquet where he ate pizza, meatballs, salad, chocolate cake "so chocolaty I could barely eat it" washed down with not one, but TWO glasses of lemonade. My theory is when the stomach acids began the arduous task of trying to break all of this "food" down, they threw their hands up in dismay anticipating failure and promptly sent it back from where it came; back to the outside world. Afterward, left with a slight case of heartburn, he fell asleep and slept all night waking as cool as a cucumber and with a rather healthy appetite.
As an aside to all the mothers reading this, especially to those with children in his class, I promise you I would not have sent him if I even slightly suspected any type of virus.
So back to our morning. When I advised him to seek out the nurse if his nausea continued, he lamented, "But if I tell her I got sick last night YOU will get in trouble 'cause I'm not supposed to go to school if I throw up!" So clearly, his staying home was for MY protection. Ahhh. He said this, too, with a straight face even with his sister and me rolling our eyes and glancing sideways at each other. I told him I'd take my chances at which time his shoulders drooped and he stomped off defeated and deflated. Trying to find a silver lining for the poor thing, I reminded him that the house painters were coming and if anything would make him want to throw up it would be the paint fumes that, within hours, will be pungent. Didn't work. Just glared at me.
My expectation of their to-school conversation was one of Cat trying to talk to him and he snapping back a one-word response; at least until he knew I could no longer see him from the window where I stand watching them until they disappear from view. Once that happened, I'm thinking at least a bit of the veil lifted only to be completely removed once he sees his 'brahs' waiting for him at the school's entrance. Why do I expect this outcome? Because it happens pretty much every two weeks or so now that he's almost a 'tween' and the conclusion is always the same. When he gets home from school and I inevitably ask "How was your day" the response is always "Good!"
Yes, yes, it's the centuries-old whine of mothers worldwide. I get that. But still, give your old mother a break (and a little credit). I love you, I love to spend time with you (usually), I get that it's Monday morning and cold outside, but please, for both our benefits, get up, get ready, and get out!!
~Eileen Cassidy Bishop
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