Why, coworkers wonder, was there a 6-year-old boy curled under my desk Monday morning?

Because, I'm easily duped and, apparently, because I'm a sucker for hearts and kisses.

Sammy woke up Monday morning holding his stomach and complaining that his chest was about to explode. (Sure it sounds dramatic on paper. But to anyone who knows Sammy, it's a pretty typical description.)

"Sammy, are you sick or are you just tired?" I asked, panic rising in my throat. Sammy could not be sick, not this morning. My husband was working out of town, and I had to go in the office after a long Thanksgiving weekend.

Quickly, I considered my options: I could send Sammy to school anyway, hoping it was just a turkey hangover. But I'd sent him to school "anyway" once before and he ended up puking in class. Besides, my own parents had twice sent me to school "anyway" and I puked both times on my elementary school bus. I still remember the kids clamoring over the backs of their seats shouting, "Gross! It stinks!" as they put as much distance between me and then as the bus would allow. Could I take yet another dose of motherly guilt?

I could leave him home, I thought for about one second. I'd only be gone an hour, and surely Sammy could stay out of trouble that long, right? But during Thanksgiving break, we'd watched all three "Home Alone" movies and Sammy seemed just a little too interested in setting traps for random bad guys.

I opted for the only real choice I had: Bringing a sick Sammy to the office.

I grabbed a pillow and a blanket and herded him to the car.

"You're really sick, Sammy, right?" I tried one last time. "You're not teasing or anything, are you?"

"No. I really am sick, Mom. I am," he said, tucking his chin and closing his eyes. He "coughed" twice into his little fist.

At work, Sammy curled under my desk and even laid his head on the pillow - for about five minutes.

Then he wanted a snack. Maybe a drink. He had to go to the bathroom, twice.

"Sammy. If you're sick, you need to lay down. Otherwise, I'm taking you to school," I said, trying to finish work as Sammy tried to tape my shoes together.

"I am sick," Sammy said. Cough. Cough.

"But I'll probably be better this afternoon."

Ha! I knew it!

"Mom. Why aren't you on TV?" Sammy asked from under my desk.

"I guess I'm not pretty enough," I answered, trying to finish so I could drive him back to school. Sick my foot.

"Well, Mom. You can be ugly or pretty on TV."

"Uh, that's the wrong answer. You're supposed to say, 'No. You're pretty enough, Mom," I said. Back to school, definitely.

"No. Mom, listen. Just like the guy on TV who was always talking about John McCain. He didn't look very good, but I still liked his reports. You should be on TV so I could be so proud of you. I'd be the proudest of you in the whole United States," he said, hugging my legs.

Then, he passed up a note he had drawn as I worked. A heart with the words, "I love you Mom" written inside.

He stood up then to give me a hug and a kiss.

"Ah! Thank you Sammy," I said. "You're so sweet when you're sick."

And he was sick. He had to be. How could I have doubted such a thoughtful boy?

I drove him home, then. You know, because he didn't feel good.

But as we got out of the car Sammy asked: "Is it the a.m. or p.m. yet? Remember, I'm going to feel better this afternoon."

Reach features editor Kristy Gray at (307) 266-0586 or kristy.gray@trib.com