"Hey Mama. I really like the red panda at the zoo"
"I don't want to eat my celery. Is that okay?"
"Bode num. Tade totum. Isn't that crazy?"
Her secrets are fantastic glimpses into how a 3 year old mind works. Sort of like thinking in hashtags, it seems. Or a combination of psych diagnosis. Flight of thought, word gathering, expressive aphasia. Sometimes it is just a random thought, sometimes a complaint about Knox's actions and like yesterday- a spontaneous love letter.
"Mama. Guess what? I love you more then all those other people."
I don't know who all the other people are, we were the only two humans in the room, but the sentiment was beautiful. And after the last three days, I needed to hear it.
Monday morning I woke up with the immediate knowledge that I was sick. My belly was rolling, every muscle in my body ached, I couldn't open my eyes and I was freezing. Only a few seconds after that terrible realization, the impetus for my waking up arrived at the side of my bed and whispered "Hey Mama, I have to poop. Will you help me go poop?" It was all I could do to reach over and hit Grant on the back. He needed to take over until I assessed my situation.
Today is Thursday, I think. This week was supposed to be awesome. We had an epic date night planned for Monday night, with concert tickets and a babysitter until midnight. Tuesday I was going to see one of the foremost leaders in archeological anthropology give a lecture at University of Pittsburgh. Wednesday was a work day (yay!). Thursday was a free evening and Friday we had another date night. The GI black plague is no respecter of parents who managed to score two babysitters in one week.
Monday was the worst, with no one getting dressed or leaving the house. I think the babes ate gingerbread and apples for dinner. This was particularly painful as I watched the tickets to Built to Spill grow dusty and blow away. Tuesday was mildly better, including a gross estimation of my recovery and bundling myself (and Grant, who graciously accepted my offer) to campus to hear the anthro lecture. I should have listened to my body because halfway through the evening, I knew whatever was working its way out of my body was not finished yet. Wednesday was back to the couch, calling out of work and dramatically proclaiming that no one understands the plight of a Mother with the stomach flu.
Fortunately or unfortunately, the babes did not get sick. I say unfortunately because if they had gotten sick, I would not have had two very active little humans crawling all over my feeble body begging to go outside and play in the first snowfall of the year. (really?? that special event had to happen this week??) But then, I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be cleaning up after three people instead of just myself, who can at least aim towards the toilet while vomiting.
Then came today. Today with its glorious sunshine, beautiful early rising children and kind handsome husband. Today with it's deep breath and strong legs and invisible stomach. Amazing that we can't feel organs until they are sick. Today my stomach was back to it's original business- just hanging out, waiting for something to do.
I learned a few things this week. The first is that I have the most talented husband on the planet. He always says he could never do my job, but he is just being polite.
Bread making is a dream distraction. Three hours of physical activity, science project, creative process, educational learning, and delicious eating with minimal effort on the part of sick Mama. Made me feel like a little less of a deadbeat.
Not being sick is the bee's knees.
|I told the babes to find things to put their hair back with.|
|Knox punching down the dough. Literally.|
|We made bread!|
|Is there anything sexier then a pile of clean dishes that your husband stayed up washing while you were sleeping?? Maybe if he were lying naked next to the dish soap...|