Calling in Sick allowed Others to be Present

Yesterday I crashed.

It had been a big and long weekend what with the festival and the National Shrine for mass on Sunday and by the end of Monday, midway through softball practice after band, my body said or rather screamed, "STOP!" I was sick. My stomach felt as if it were in complete revolution and every bone ached. Praying I wouldn't throw up, I called my husband at work and simultaneously ordered my seven year old to fetch her two sisters from the baseball field to return to the car.

We stopped at a grocery store and I let the two older girls run in for snacks and a few supplies I knew we needed while I moaned in the car hoping to get home. The kids patted my shoulder and asked how I was doing. They kept the radio songs a coming all the drive home making sure I at least felt peppy because of the music.

By the time I reached our front door, my husband was cooking dinner and the two sons I'd left at home had started the laundry. My oldest daughter who had been struggling with the pervasive angst that is being an adolescent, came in and read to me until I fell asleep. My husband got to rock his youngest son and tuck all the littles into bed. My oldest four worked together to fold the clothes.

The touches included making lunches and a table wiped by a solicitous five year old.

This morning, they'd done the dishes and helped get us all out the door, business as usual. Yet it wasn't. The little things added up to my feeling healthy if only because of all the unexpected care.

"You okay Mom?" my two year old punched my thigh as if to will it so. Because I scooped up my youngest to feed him breakfast without answering my daughter's question, she punched me again. Caught in her sincere stare, I murmurred, "Mom's okay." She sighed a relieved smile and went over to grab her baby doll.

I still don't feel it's safe to eat, but it's hard to feel awful when wrapped in such love. Mom's okay.