I Am a Bad Dad

I just went out in the interminable cold of 9 degrees with a wind chill around minus artic, scraped 3 inches of ice off my car (no I'm not kidding -- 3 inches, under 5 of snow, some of which went down my jacket and into my shoes), and drove down roads veteran Ice Road Truckers wouldn't use and nearly ran out of gas to get to a doctor so she could tell me what I and the four others in the house already knew: I got strep.  I will spare you the details of phloem and c#*p in the back of my throat, the headaches, chills, sweats, etc.

I'm on Amoxicillin now. I should be better soon.  Tomorrow is a must-work day that I may miss.  They'll be fine without me; I realize that I'm not as important as I wish I were.

I chalk all this up to my post about enjoying the quiet.  And by the way, though the boys have been trying to be respectful, they just can't stay away all day when their dad is home.  I get that.  But do they have to pull the blankets off me as a game?  Yea, I know.  I deserve it.

One final note: recently, WonderMom got strep.  Yea, I didn't even know.  I couldn't tell, other than her being a bit more tired than usual (which comes with poor sleeping nights).  So here I sit whimpering on the couch about how I feel, and she took care of a family of four and barely missed a beat.  Actually, I'm pretty lucky in that regard, but right now, boy, I could use some health.