I have a confession to make. I ate an entire pie.

OK, no I didn’t, but if the opportunity came up, I might. The truth is, I welcome a rainy day during summer time. I know, it’s not the best of confessions. Depending on the people you surround yourself with, those can be pretty strong words. I’m looking at you runners, campers, fisherman, and hunters. My self-control isn’t the best in the west, so it gives me a chance to catch up on housework, bills, and other forms of adulting. I definitely enjoy being outdoors, but once in a while when the dishes are starting to pile up, I could use a good day to catch up on indoor life.

I do not like being sick though. That’s not the kind of indoor break I enjoy, not even a little bit. Yesterday morning, I was laughing, making crafts at church, making plans for the next day, and ignoring my sore throat. By the evening, I looked like the Walking Dead. I called my honey on his way home from work and asked him to pick me up some bread … and Nyquil.

This morning was rough. I stared at my chores willing them to do themselves, which never happens. I thought at nighttime everything comes to life and cleans up after me? I watched too much Cinderella as a child. Lies. The chores just laugh at me, while my temperature is too high to care about my schedule or plans for the day. Fevers don’t care. Now watch, this is the one day Michael Phelps shows up at my son’s swim lessons or David Beckham makes an appearance at my daughter’s soccer practice. My plans join in the laughter as nothing gets accomplished.

I can’t complain. My fantastic in-laws took my kids for the day so I can recuperate with less distraction. I applaud them and need to remember to do this for others. I’d like to think if my kids stayed home, that it would be fine. They are older and fully understand my steely peer of, “You guys know I’m sick and whatever you ask me will be taken into consideration — for about 3 seconds before I send you to your rooms.”

My daughter cried before she left, because she wanted to spend the day with me. I’m like, no you don’t. Trust me. There will be no bonding over my dull headache and achy limbs. I accidentally hit my shoulder on our kitchen island (I’m very short) and thought someone shot me. Mama needs to rest.

Usually when I dole out my children, it’s because I’m doing something out and about. Being at home with no kids is rare. It feels like ordering a cheese pizza. It’s probably not so bad, but it never happens, so I’m not really sure what I think about it. All I know, is the chores will have to wait. Sleep is the most obvious thing to do. Sweet sleep. Fevers make me hot and uncomfortable, so trust me when I say I’m super mad that I’m not tired. Maybe I will crack an egg on the back of my neck and see if it cooks. Maybe I’ll sing 99 bottles of Dasani on the wall. An old favorite.

I won’t finish crocheting my newborn niece her blanket, because I don’t want to get my germies all over it. My out-of-town friends leave tomorrow, but instead of spending more time with them, it’s just going to be a quick hug goodbye. I’m only thinking of them; there is nothing fun about traveling with a fever or kids with a fever. I can barely travel from the living room to my bedroom without dramatically crying out “why oh why.”

In case you’re wondering, I ended up watching a PG-13 sappy romance movie that I’m still thinking about to this day. He never stopped loving her and she waited for him! Oh the lovesick agony! I need a nap.

Here’s the thing: When you’re sick, it’s no fun. Try not to feel too guilty if you have kids and they’re driving you a little bananas. Mommy is allowed to feel feeble and powerless once in a while. If it’s a nice day, let them play outside longer than usual. Stretch out their bath time. Don’t feel defeated because they’re on the Kindle or watching TV more than usual for a day or two. Make it up to them once you feel better. Find a close friend or family member that you trust, suck up your pride, and ask for help. Ask someone to pick you up ginger ale or popsicles. Order take out.

By all means, take care of yourself! And remember, unless you’re Cinderella, the chores can wait.

Kasi McClure enjoys being a wife and mother of two in Kenai. She can be reached at columnkasi@gmail.com.