It’s interesting how we remember general conferences by where we were during each one.

Eighteen months ago I spent the first session of conference (4 to 6 a.m. Sunday morning Australia time) trying to keep my mind off my progressing labor. (Only twelve hours later I held my newborn boy!) I recall Sister Beck’s talk to the mothers with fondness because I was a new mother first the first time that weekend.

Then a year ago I spent the week after conference (since it was delayed a day) listening to all the talks on my computer as I went about my week. I remember listening to Elder Uchtdorf’s and Elder Eyring’s talks over and over again.

Six months ago I went to my parent’s house on Sunday and we had a birthday cake for Paul’s first birthday. I remember Paul’s delight every time the choir started to sing.

This time the whole family zoned out on the couch in cold-induced delirium as the prophet and apostles spoke. I unfortunately don’t recall many of the messages, except it seemed everyone was talking about temples.

Yes, we were all sick. Again. Will the winter cold season never end?

Which is worse:

• holding my feverish and miserable son while also feeling feverish and miserable
• letting my energy-filled son hit me on my head with his toys all day long because I’m feverish and miserable and I don’t have the energy (or a voice) to say “please don’t” over and over again

Ever since I woke up this morning, the phrase “Sorry, Closed” has been going through my head. Why today? Because today was the day my husband (who has also been sick) got up before dawn and flew to Manhattan for the next four days. (He did offer to stay home, bless his heart.)

My mind has been telling my body all day to just put up a big sign: “Sorry, I’m Closed Today.” Hence, the toys hitting me on the head. All. Day. Long. (Apparently, the last 48 hours of almost-constant sleep helped Paul to get better. I’m glad. I really am.)

But we all know, moms never close, do we?

Off to put the laundry away. Maybe.