When a young school age child wakes up his mom at six in the morning saying, “I think I’m sick”, two thoughts rip through her head: “Dear God, please don’t let it be anything serious” and “Shit, there goes my day.”
Yesterday it was my youngest. We had already missed Monday (out of town in NYC for a special family celebration), so I was really counting on Tuesday to play catch up. I had homework and housework, and, damn, a hair appointment! But, I mustered up all of my June Cleaver, got out the thermometer, and started making a fuss. I wanted him to have fond memories of being sick as a child. How does one become hell-bent on being the perfect mother?
I had a “working mom” so when we were sick, she left us with my father, who had more flexibility in his schedule. All a kid with a tummy ache wants is their mommy bringing them 7-Up, but instead I had my ex-Marine father who always acted like we were faking it. I think he liked when we had to stay home, though. By noon, he had me making tuna salad sandwiches and getting up to change the channel for him. Once he even tried to get me to ride my bike to the corner market for cigarettes!
I decided to split the difference with my little guy. I read books, played Lego, and built a race track for his remote control car, but then when 1:00pm rolled around, I dressed him, packed up his portable DVD player and dragged him to the hair salon. The ladies there were sweet and I don’t think he’ll need therapy. At least I didn’t have him fetching chardonnay for me!
so a day after reading this post, LL came down with some vague flu-like symptoms. only because you reminded me of the delight of being "fussed over" while sick, I spent an hour i didn't have in my workday fetching and delivering chicken soup, gatorade and OJ. thanks for the reminder of what's really important. at the end of the day, the work still got done, and the hubby felt cared for.
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