I've Reached a New Level

Of patheticness.  Or, as my stronger suspicion tells me, I've been at this level for a while.  Only just now am I realizing it.

Last night as Jesse and I drove home from a long day out in Glendora, Jesse asked if I was feeling ok.  I admitted that I wasn't.  My throat hurt, my head hurt, I had body aches all over.

He put a loving hand on the back of my neck and started massaging it while he said, "I'll make you some tea when we get home."

"That would be really nice," I agreed, "I just need to rest tonight.  Like, really rest.  Don't let me do anything--not even clean the house."

I winced, and Jesse looked at me, concerned.  "Did I hurt you?" He asked, moving his hand from my back.

"No," I groaned, "it's just...the thought of not cleaning the house!"

He laughed so hard that he didn't see the green light for a few seconds.  I was pronounced a lovable dork, and told to go to bed as soon as we got home. 

And now, here I am, sitting at school with ten precious, napping kindergartners on the ground around me, and I'm thinking about the dirty dishes in my sink.