The last day of November for another year, and my head is a cloudy mess.

Full of jumble and lacking a voice, somehow I made it through the day. I’d like to say I was treated to hot tea and foot rubs all day, but alas, I’m neither rich nor on vacation.

Instead, I made it through a day that wasn’t too bad, with a voice that was somewhat audible, returning to my own little zoo, my menagerie of small animals who eagerly waited to mob me with “mommy mommy mommy”

Tomorrow is Friday, and I thank myself for the foresight of not booking work. I’m not sure why I took it off, but I’m holding onto the thought of a free afternoon like a drowning man to driftwood.

Have I mentioned I hate colds? They instantly take me back to the days where I could stay home on the couch and drink ginger ale and read books.

I remember being 16 with strep throat, watching Beauty and the Beast on repeat because I was so in love with the library.

I could sleep, alone in the quiet, while my brothers were at school and my parents were at work. An oasis of joyful solitude in the middle of a fever.

Now I go to work because I have to, but also because it’s easier when I feel sick to work than to attend to the needs of my much loved youngsters.

They don’t understand that a sick mommy can’t handle squabbles and noise.

So for tomorrow, I know that I’ll do the work I need to do, try not to make others sick, then do quiet paperwork alone with a tea, just my computer and me.

Not exactly a foot rub, but I’ll take what I can get.