Help...

It's five degrees. My son is sick. My house is basically uninhabitable by humans (though we seem to be managing ok). And I have a shitload of work to do.

To top it off, I've had no sleep - I shared my bed last night with said sick toddler, who flopped like a fish out of water until 4:30 a.m.

As we speak, he is handing me a partially-chewed raisin, which he found on the dust-bunny covered floor, and begging, like a forlorn puppy dog, for more snacks.

I know how today is going to go. He'll ask to construct his jumbo Thomas puzzle, which request I will oblige. But halfway through, he'll pull apart the pieces I have sleepily put together, then dump out his wooden train set. By the time I have that set up, his heart will again be set on Thomas, not the puzzle, but the squadron of various blue trains bearing that creepy happy face that are too big to push on said train track. The puzzle is interesting again. He'll point to the window and ask to see the moon, which is not yet visible. I will wipe his nose. This routine will go on for a good hour or two.

I'll call my next-door-neighbor Sandi, who thankfully will listen to my lament and have a few toddler horror stories of her own. My son will emit screams of displeasure and throw something to get my attention. We'll eat lunch.

He'll nap. I'll search the net, trying to self-diagnose the disease of the week, then when I am finally fully prepared to work, he'll wake. I'll bemoan that I have no time. Sub-zero temperatures persist, so of course we can't go outside. So, the afternoon will go much the same.

But of course, I love all this. It's part of being a parent. And on Wednesdays, at least, we have music class.