Life gets fuzzy around the edges when you're sick. It's easy to let everything get on top of you, the smallest problem seems insurmountable.
I'd like to say that I don't let it get to me, but I'm not that mother. Every little niggling argument drills right into my head, the noise is unbearable, and I explode.
They don't see the soft focus of the days, they just see that I didn't bake the slice after dinner so they don't have a treat for their lunch boxes. They see the mountains of washing, because the washing machine is broken, but they don't say "let us help sort it", instead they throw themselves on the floor at the hardship of having to sort the clothes for everyone.
They know it's raining when they walk out of their classroom, but don't stop to put their raincoats on, then wonder why mum is cranky when they get home because they're wet. They don't see the slowness of the days, dinner being late most days because mum is exhausted, they just whine because they're hungry, forgetting that everyone is hungry.
They do see the weekend coming. And the fresh slice in their lunch boxes this morning. Maybe one day they'll look back and realise that it was ok, even with the fuzzy edges, because the days didn't lose focus.