I'm Sure This Will Be Funny Someday

I had to take a conference call this morning. I really had to take this call. So, I set Sarah up in the living room with crayons, books and my purse. Since she's not feeling well and her energy level is so low, I really thought that I could pull the meeting off.

I closed the door to my office and left her playing at her table. A few minutes into the meeting, there's a soft tapping at my door. Oh, oh. I know this is only going to lead to loud requests for me to come out. How can I distract her without opening the door? I scan the office and find some postcards. I slip them under the door. Giggles. Then, more tapping. I'm trying to concentrate on the conversation on the phone, taking notes (I'm getting details about the design requirements for my new project) and looking for something else to slip under the door. Desperately, I start shoving everything within reach under the office door - paper clips, my watch, labels, CDs, quarters, envelopes, pens. It seems to be working, but only if I keep pushing things under the door. Then, the giggling stops, and I hear it - retching.

Oh, my god. What do I do? The meeting is winding down, but it's not over yet. The next few minutes are filled with a blur of technical details, frantic note taking and Sarah banging loudly on the door. Finally, I emerge to find Sarah standing on the pile of junk I shoved under the door right next to a neat mound of vomit. In that instant, I cursed all feminists who made it possible for me to have a profession, drafted my resignation letter and wondered how I'd ever get the rancid smell out of the carpet.

Soon after this, we had to go outside for some fresh air where I captured the face of the stomach flu: