Sometimes it's Mom in the doghouse

Wednesday morning, Ben woke up with a stomach ache.  A three-alarm, is-he-crying? stomach ache.

Ben has a tendency to be a little dramatic.  *ahem* I took a deep breath and spoke with him about what it was at school that was up that he didn't want to be there for. 

As he told me about the book he was supposed to be reading/have read, I patted myself on the back for being intuitive enough to know my kid.

I reassured him, dusted him off...then I sent him off to school.

I had to do some things for my volunteer gig at the school before I went in to work.  I had just finished, was just heading out of the office, running a little late...and as I reach for the handle on the door...who opens it but Ben.

I think we know where this is going.

Sighing, I signed him out.  I was irritated, because now I was going to have to figure out, do I stay or do I go--(surely he could stay home alone, with check-ins by his Dad to keep him company)?  Why couldn't he have said something before I got up at 5 am to get ready for work (it's better if I invade the shower before Mr W wakes up at 6 and before I rouse the troops)??  I was looking forward to going to work, because last week was so slow that they were sending us home, and that kind of slow makes me edgy and fearful that something is up with our jobs--even if I know better, that it's a seasonal lull.

We got home soon, but not soon enough that Ben was spared a little ranting from me.  Not my worst moment, to be sure, but not my best one, either.

Imagine my chagrin when we got into the house, to hear Ben say, "I'm sorry," (oy, was my rant that bad?); hear all his belongings hit the floor...I turn around just in time to see him RUN down the hall to the bathroom.

My bad.

I thought about the situation.  I am the part-timer.  I have always, always, put the children first.  Sick?  I  stay home.  Something special goes on at school?  I rearrange if needed, but I'm there 98% of the time.  They need me to bake cupcakes?  Call me Betty Crocker.

Why is it, I thought to myself, that when they were 3, and not going in meant no pay that day (no benefits) I didn't have such a problem with it, but now that I am working more, and have sick/vacation/etc time, I am bitching about it?

Tsk, tsk, Anna. 

Besides, I can't predict when he'll (they'll) be sick now that he's 11 (14, 9, 5) anymore than I could when he was 2.  It's totally not his fault. 

I was on the phone before he was out of the bathroom.  Sorry.  Not coming in today.

I stayed with him on Thursday, too.  Although Mr W has plenty of time to spare, come on.  When you're sick, you want your Mommy.

I am happy to report, he got her. 

And I even apologized as I tucked him into my bed and gave him the remote.