april 9Yesterday I mentioned that I was sick. I had hoped to be feeling better today so that I could go up into Houston for a two day conference on autism. I even had a friend offer to let me spend the night so I didn’t have to deal with the traffic two days in a row. But when I woke up this morning, I felt like I had a hangover on a boat – the room was moving around me, and I wanted to throw up all over the place. I decided that driving up into Houston was probably a bad idea as I had no urge to puke in my car as I’m a total sympathetic vomiter, and I was afraid that once I started, I’d never stop. (That’s your daily gross-out. You’re welcome.)

I stayed home, and I slept until almost noon, got up and ate a bowl of cereal, and then ran a few errands with a friend just to get out and move around. Wednesday had been spent in bed, with a few hours on the couch before going back to bed, so I figured that a nice slow start was a good idea. And it was. I am definitely feeling better than yesterday, and I am planning on heading up to Houston tomorrow morning to catch day two of the conference.

But.

When Patrick put Simon on the bus this morning for school, he didn’t know how sick I felt, so he told Simon that I’d be gone for a conference. Simon is, luckily, used to this. He knows that Mom and Dad sometimes go away for work, and as long as one of us is there, he’s normally okay with it, although there are still the occasional melt-downs when he decides that he *needs* one of us, usually the one who’s gone.

So when Simon’s bus showed up this afternoon and both Patrick and I were there to greet it, Simon was confused. He told me repeatedly that I should be at a conference. I explained – with words and sign language (because sometimes sign language helps to get him to pay attention) – that Mom was sick, and so she would be going to her conference tomorrow instead.

Nope.

Not acceptable.

Mom had been going to a conference, and go to a conference she must. He made it clear by telling me over and over again that I was supposed to be at a conference. He would let it drop for a minute to ask for a snack or to ask for juice or to pet the dog or a cat, but then it came back up. “Mom goes to a conference. Mom goes to a conference. Mom goes to a conference.”

Okay. I know when I’m not welcome.

I still had my bag packed up with my computer and some writing notes for the conference because I had gone to bed hoping that I’d be up for it today. I picked it up, told him I’d go to the conference, and headed to the library for the afternoon. It’s nice and quiet, I get to find some good books to read, and I can get some writing done without cats sitting on the keyboard.

I really hope that I feel good tomorrow because I’m not sure I want to spend two afternoons at the library, though…

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