"Excuse my moaning, I'm just experimenting with my vocal cords."

I was determined to have a productive day. Andrew was home, as it was his day off, and I had just put the babies down for their morning naps. Time to get the weeding done. I headed outside and began plucking the invasive little buggers from the miles of ridiculous landscaping in my yard. I filled several buckets, got very sweaty, and eventually finished voiding the backyard of weeds. Okay, most of the backyard. It was right about then that I forced back a surprise attack of nausea and then went inside to see if Andrew was planning on mowing the grass before the thermometer outside broke the ninety-five degree mark. Andrew was asleep in the recliner. Can't blame the guy - it was his day off. As I sank onto the couch with a bout of weakness, Andrew got up and went to tackle the mowing. That was about the last helpful thing he did that day.

Now let me pause here and state that I am in no way about to bash my husband. This is not a rant - it is a story of enlightenment. In order to convey my point, however, Dear Andrew will have to suffer much humiliation.

As the day progressed, I became more out of sorts; suffering with stomach cramps and body aches. By the time my sister came to pick up her son at 5:30 I was pretty well unable to get off the couch, but I did anyway since Andrew had gone to take a nap half an hour earlier. Yes, shameful, I know. I had thought that I had made it very clear that I might have had the flu, and could very well die an ugly, painful death...but Andrew was still able to sleep like a baby for three hours.

When Andrew emerged from the bedroom at 8:00 that night, I was trying to get Trent's diaper fastened before I passed out, (which I never actually did), while Drew climbed all over me, but I had not the strength to shove him off. Finally, with diapers changed and Drew distracted with a book, I fell back onto the couch exhausted and moaning. I admit that I made a few of those moans a little louder than they needed to be in hopes of attracting some attention and sympathy from the man who is supposed to be my companion in life through thick and thin. I was desperate. He took no notice.

An hour later I had cleaned up spilled Kool-Aid from the kitchen floor, gotten Drew a snack, put him to bed and coerced Cameron and Ethan into showers and then pajamas. I felt like I had been beaten repeatedly with a baseball bat while simultaneously being stabbed in the stomach with a meat fork. So I crashed on the couch again for a little more whimpering, and I threw in a tear or two for good measure. All of it was quite unintentional that time, though. I lay there longing for a drink of water, but was too sick to get up again. I yearned to throw up, but I had no place to do it and certainly couldn't make it to the toilet.

Finally! Finally! Andrew tore his eyes from ESPN and said to me, "You're acting like your on your death bed. Can I get you something?"

Here, believe it or not, is where the enlightenment occured.

He had no idea that I was as ill as I was. He has long accused me of being a drama queen, but it dawned on me at that moment that he does not know what it looks like to be sick! When Andrew gets a cold, he sleeps for three days and wakes up feeling dandy. Andrew rarely gets the flu, but when he does, he sleeps for three days and is fine. Never has he had to suffer through his daily responsibilities while being on the verge of death. He has never had to cook food for someone even though the smell of it makes him gag. Children have never climbed all over him while he lay completely vulnerable on the couch. And not once has he had to wipe up sticky juice from a floor while wondering if anyone will hear should he happen to collapse into the puddle.

Realization that my husband had never been taught how to care for someone who is ill washed away all resentment. How could I expect him to know how I felt if he had no idea what it was like to be sick and not sleeping it off in a quiet room? Now, I have played nurse maid to Andrew many times, but if a person is not instructed in this art, they cannot be expected to obsorb all the required knowledge by receiving good care when they are ailing. Especially if said person is a man. They would be feeling terrible and should concentrate on getting well, not learning the trade by example.

My sweet husband would have been very helpful, had I told him that I was very sick and could not take care of the kids. I could have told him that they needed to be fed and bathed and put to bed, and that I was going to bed then and there. Without a doubt, he would have been fine with that. Stupid as I was, I expected him to know all those things just by listening to my moans and watching me hold on to doorways when I walked. I did not look sick to him, because sick, to him, looks like someone sleeping for hours on end in a dark room in the middle of the day.

Then and there I knew that in order for my sons to stay married to their future wives and not come back home as thirty-year-old men wondering what more they possibly could have done to please their spouses, I must teach them how to take care of the ill. We do spend so much time teaching our children how to tie their shoes, clean a toilet, do their homework, read, be nice to their friends, tidy their rooms and say their prayers; why has it not occured to me to teach mine compassion? Maybe I assumed it was just something a person acquired through experience. But when a person is sick, we, as mothers, quarentine them to prevent spreading the illness. We fuss over them as any loving mother would. We do our duty quietly and without complaint. And therefore, we rob the rest of our family of the opportunity to learn how to nurse someone back to health. (Or maybe it's just me.)

Having experienced my twenty-four hour bug in this way, I have resolved that the next time a member of my family gets sick, one of my healthy children AND MY HUSBAND will be assisting me in making sure that the patient is comfortable, gets the rest that they need, is not bothered by other family members, eats, (if they can), meals that are brought to them, and has everything they might need. Next time I am sick, I will expect the same to be done for me. And I have no doubt that with a little instruction, Andrew will rise to the occasion.