Sick day

I woke up yesterday with a cough, a fever, the inability to breathe through my nose, and an overall feeling of meh.

After I called in to work to explain that I didn't want to do my Typhoid Mary impersonation, I hung up and did what any other 37-year-old, red-blooded, sniffly American would do.

I called my mom.

At the end of the day, we all need someone to make a fuss over us when we're sick. And when I call them, I'm completely honest: I just called to whine about being sick and get a little attention.

And I immediately feel better. Dad puts on his concerned voice and asks what I'm taking for it. Then he puts Mom on and she really pours on the pity. It feels so good when you feel that bad.

Midway through the morning, Dad called from the pharmacy to ask what kind of medicine I needed. He told me he'd send it over with mom later on.

In the meantime, I sat on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness (daytime TV is only good for white noise while you nap) with my furry heating pad.

That's Daisy, on my lap, under the electric blanket. Smart cat.

A couple of hours pass, and then I see Mom tromping up the sidewalk in the snow with grocery bags. She brought me tea, tissues, orange juice, a trashy magazine, and something that almost made it worth being sick:

Valentine cupcakes!

She. Is. The. Best.