Sick Day (A Belated Mother’s Day)

He sits parked in his “rock rock chair” as the morning sunlight fades to noon and it begins to rain, again, for the 5th day in a row.

We haven’t left the house in 3 days, he and I.

I feel a bit stir crazy and a bit at peace all at once.

It’s nice to occasionally forgo the trouble of getting dressed.

I walk barefooted into the kitchen collecting granola crumbs as I go. Living with a toddler makes crumbs become a part of daily life.

I methodically count the cups of water as I pour them into the pot. Even though we are doing a CSA, we still have a bag of Bear Creek soup left that I am so thankful for. Though a more seasoned cook would not count the cups, my specialty of non-cooking allows me to find comfort in exact measurements and package directions.

As I count, measure and pour I think back to my own childhood. Days of fevers and coughs, breathing treatments and inhalers. I spent may days spewed out on the blue microfiber couch eating chicken noodle soup, watching tv, and soaking in the scent of White Shoulders perfume from my mom.

I don’t have to do this with him too often. Days of nothing and sick and chicken noodle soup. But today, a 101.5 degree fever keeps us home and leaves school and to do lists waiting.

I’m not sure I’m very good at it. My mom always knew how to comfort me and just the right remedies. Sick care is not my specialty.

I spent childhood in and out of hospitals, frequently missing school, always having an inhaler on hand and years of nightly breathing treatments. Severe asthma and allergies makes frequent sickness a part of life. As miserable as it was for me, I can’t fathom the toll it must have taken on my mother.

I am so thankful that, for the most part, our little guy is healthy. There are not many days spent on the couch with soup here.

I think about how thankful and in awe I am of my mom, who spent many hours cuddling a sick child, wringing wet wash cloths and spooning medicine in between caring for two more little ones and working night shifts at the hospital.

The soup finally takes boil on the stove and I survey the pile of dirty coffee cups decorating my counter top and laundry piled in the basket on top of the washer. Didn’t I just do dishes and laundry yesterday? I am so often bored by the monotony of my job description.

“Here you go, sweet boy,” I say as I place a bowl of soup on the coffee table for him. We are breaking the rules and eating in the living room to a background of Peter Rabbit.

“Mmm, soup!” He says as he stirs in his ice, his favorite method of quick cooling.

I cuddle up next to him and take a sip myself.

And then it came full circle, the cliche you always hear about, how you will never know your mother’s love for you until you have a child of your own.

For such a long time I’ve felt like this was just my journey, me finding my footing on the path of motherhood while my son teaches me what he needs. It’s taken me a long time to fall comfortably into this role, even though I know I’ve done the best I could since the beginning.

I know, intrinsically, that it is my mother who taught me everything I know about being a mother. How to care and love and comfort and sacrifice.

I watch my son spoon his soup slowly.

“Mommy, why do you always look at me and smile?”

I continued my gaze, unaware that I was softly smiling. “I just love you very much.”

And I’m so thankful for the person that gave me that gift.


Happy Belated Mother’s Day to the amazing woman I’m lucky enough to call my Mom.


My Mom, Noah and I at the White House for a Friday Night Mother's Day dinner

My Mom, Noah and I at the White House for a Friday Night Mother’s Day dinner


My son and I at the Botanical Gardens on Mother's Day

My son and I at the Botanical Gardens on Mother’s Day


My very favorite Mother's Day Gift: a card written by my 3 year old

My very favorite Mother’s Day Gift: a card written by my 3 year old




Tick Tock

It’s late. I can feel the clock judging me with its tick tock, tick tock.

There’s too much on my mind to give in to the taunting rhythm.

I’m listening to an opera right now, trying to soak it all in, because I’ll be performing it in just a few weeks. Yes, I’m going to be in an opera with a professional opera company. Just in the chorus, but I am excited and nervous all at the same time. This will be my very first opera and very first professional performance. I am honored and scared and haven’t even told that many people yet, because, well, I guess I just can’t believe it myself yet.

Tick tock.

I’m making flyers for Parent Council at my son’s school. This has turned out to be a much bigger job than I imagined, and though I don’t want to be the annoying PTA mom, I think I am. But in a nice way. I’m planning a fundraiser night at one of those places where you drink wine and paint. I’ve always wanted to try it. I’ve also booked a local children’s musician for a family fun night at the end of March, but planning a family fun night is starting to feel a lot like planning a wedding, which is a lot of fun at the beginning but then you really just start to look forward to it being over and going on the honeymoon.

Tick tock.

I hear my son upstairs. He is still not sleeping through the night. I am leaving my husband to deal with this late cry and nearing the end of my patience because we’ve tried all of the tricks and tips and we still have a 3 and a half year old that doesn’t sleep.

I am trying to write. Posts here, posts other places. I need ideas and time, both of which seem to be coming slowly or not at all.

Tick tock.

I have a list of blogging to dos. The most important one is to read blogs, but lately I’m having trouble finding time to read or write. I mostly just make it through the long to do lists of days which include mundane things like taxes, the post office and an oil change and lovely things like making magnet alphabet soup with my son.

Tick tock. My cat is meowing at me, even she is ready to curl up and surrender to sleep.

And I am too, if only my thoughts will stop chaotically dancing.

Tick tock, tick tock. Tick tock.