sitcom mom

Any call before 7 a.m. is bad news.

My phone rang at 6:55, and it was Oliver's daycare. It seems the plague that is ravaging the greater mid-Michigan area hit heavy there, and they are closing for the day.

Great. Thanks, germs.

As I hung up the phone, my oldest, Sam, said to me in a horse whisper, "My throat hurts really bad."

Double great.

My backup babysitter is sick, too, and I would hate to spread these germs in her home anyway.

I texted my husband and said that I feel like I'm in a sitcom about a working mom. The TV guide description might read:

"Uh-Oh! Everyone gets sick, and Lisa has to figure out how to juggle sick kids and work! Wackiness ensues..."

When I was younger, when Sam was a little thing, I would feel guilty for any time I took off for child emergencies. I think as a journalist, I know that no matter what, a paper must be produced, and that paper better have at least one photo on the front page. (I once suggested we leave a blank box and have readers draw what they think the front page art should look like. It didn't happen.) Now though, I know I have back up, and I feel that no matter what, one day (or two) spent taking care of my kids will not make or break the newspaper. Someone will make sure it happens.

I am still rushing to work though, planning the day and finding ways to help. My husband is taking the morning off so I can do that. That control is hard to give up, and to be honest the guilt is still there, I just deal with it and plan what I can.

Which means grocery shopping, which must happen for the good of my empty kitchen, will be done on the fly, today. Sometime. Between doctor visits and photo assignments and video editing.

And it will include ingredients for chicken noodle soup.