The title says it all.

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I am a pig hater. Oh, I like bacon, ham and sausage and all…but, when I’m the sickest I have been in about seven years, and it’s because some pig went and mutated the flu virus, then I have every right to hate pigs.

I have H1N1, also known as swine flu. I did everything right. I got my seasonal flu shot the first week they were available and planned on getting the H1N1 vaccine. I wash my hands A LOT, I wipe off my shopping carts at the entrance to the grocery store, I use hand sanitizer as soon as I leave a place where I have touched anything and I never, ever use a drinking fountain.

I am taking Tamiflu and have been resting and drinking lots of water for the last two days, but I am still fighting a fever, aches and a cough. I have asthma, so that coughing thing scares me quite a bit. I’m pretty concerned about my kids too. My daughter went to bed with a headache (which was one of my early symptoms) and my son is high risk because of his heart. Your prayers are appreciated.

This blog is mostly light-hearted and I would like to keep it that way. I’m taking a break. I am really sick and if I wrote anything it would likely be a whole lot of complaining. Just ask my husband.

Please send good thoughts our way. This virus is so not good for my anxiety issues.

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I do not sleep. Chronic insomnia has plagued me since I was pregnant with my daughter some 11 years ago.

I have tried everything short of an acupuncturist and I even have one of those lined up. St. John’s Wort, Melatonin, anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds have been ingested, relaxation techniques have been used and I have one of the most comfortable beds and pillows I have ever rested upon.

For the most part my problem exists because I worry a lot. Sometimes it’s not even the worrying, but rather the constant chatter in my brain. Keeping my cell phone next to my bed helps a little because I can jot notes into it in the middle of the night (using paper and pencil was pretty tough in the dark), but even that doesn’t keep the stress of everyday life at bay.

This weekend, we took a trip to my in-laws’ house. They live in a small, southern Ohio town in a big, old house with gorgeous woodwork and a great front porch. One of those roomy porches, with a swing and everything. Sigh.

They live across the street from an enormous park where my husband and I walked the dogs and let the kids play until they were so filthy I barely recognized them. We drank some beer, ate homemade food, played cards with the kids and watched football.

At one point on Saturday, my body sunk into their comfortable couch and before I knew it, I woke myself up with my own snoring. Classy, right? Whatever. I don’t even care. My in-laws had 11 kids, so they’ve learned to tune things out. I allowed myself to doze off and on the entire afternoon.

That night, as I was checking e-mail, I fell asleep at the computer desk. I stayed that way, slumped over with my head on my arm, until my husband came to check on me for fear I had died. That’s how much I don’t sleep. My spouse saw me with my eyes closed and thought I had passed away.

And, yesterday after church I told everyone I was going to lie down. I climbed the steps and tucked myself into bed…and I went to sleep. I napped, people! That simply doesn’t happen.

At my in-laws’ there is no agenda, no laundry, no meetings and no work. My kids can play freely without me looking at my watch so we can hurry off to the next thing on our schedule.

I have always said I would dislike living outside the city, because I would be too bored. There just wouldn’t be enough to do.

Apparently I’ve been wrong all this time, because not having enough to do was exactly what I needed.

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My son’s teacher pulled me aside this afternoon and said, “I’d like to tell you a story…in private.”

I’m not going to lie. I have been pulled aside by his teachers before.

There was the time in preschool when he pretended he was at a party and the playground mulch was his confetti. And, who can forget the time he followed the principal around like a mime? Not me.

So, today was nothing new. My son’s teacher sent him down the hall to put some things away, then she turned to me and said, “The other day, I looked down to see your boy’s hand in the front pocket of my pants.”

I put my hand on my forehead and began to shake my head from side to side.

She continued, “I told him that he couldn’t do that and I thought that was the end of it.”

My eyes opened wide in disbelief. “It wasn’t the end of it?”

“No, it wasn’t the end of it, because later that day I reached in my pocket for something and pulled out his dirty tissue.”

And then she started cracking up.

Thank you, God, for making my son use a tissue in the first place and thank you even more for a first grade teacher with a sense of humor.

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