Ways of the Gender World

As the morning light of this Veteran's Day skirmed its way into my room, it did not take long to figure out that my vivid dreams, stuffy head, and jackhammer in the brain were all symptoms of the cold my husband apparantly shared with me over the weekend.

Another sign was that I actually thought of Advil before I thought of coffee. Once armed with both, however, I crawled back into bed to close my eyes and wait for the Advil to squelch the pain in my sinuses.

My daughter, being in the Girl Scouts, was participating in the local Veteran's Day parade and had an obligation to meet up with her group early this morning. As I lay in bed cursing the little people of the night who moved into my temples uninvited, I waited to hear the sounds of hurried preparations. Yeah, right. Must still be dreaming. In my fog, I found myself hopeful that my husband or children might actually have the self-discipline and motivation to get themselves ready for the activities of the day.

In the end, not surprisingly, I finally managed to pull myself to an upright position, move all relevent parties through breakfast and the layering of clothes, deliver said daughter to the drop point, grab a special treat of donuts, save a spot along the parade route, and return to retrieve the rest of the family. My husband was present and helpful for my specific requests, but no one seemed to be able to actually take a step unassisted by my direct requests.

While we eventually managed to get all the wagons aimed in the same direction, me holding one temple with counterpressure all the way, I still keep asking the same question. Why is it that when the husband is sick, he can choose to stay in bed, watch football, or moan and pout like a three year old, but when it is the mom whose under the weather, she is allowed only the luxury of one hand with which to nurse herself because the other is still required to hold up the world around her?