today

Everybody is sick, except me.  Since Greer's birthday everyone has succumbed to a wretched virus, one by one.  I'm the last woman standing, hoping like heck that God's birthday present to me tomorrow will be that I DON'T get sick.  So far, so good.  Just tired, exhausted, bored and slightly grumpy.  The first few days I did ok.  If I can say it humbly, I think I was doing a fairly reasonable impression of Florence Nightingale.  But I didn't realise, all those two days ago, that I actually had it easy.  Kids when they are really sick, like glazed-eye, refusing to eat sick, are actually quite easy to look after. They just lie around watching TV or listening to books or music and they don't do much else.   They also have the lovely effect of drumming up all available maternal affection.  Yes, I loved my kids on Tuesday.  I also loved them on Wednesday, and possibly Thursday too. 

But today?  Today Florence Nightengale was called off to another assignment and her ugly step-sister moved in.  I guess it was to be expected.  She couldn't stick around forever.  Anyway, the baby got the bug and refused to be put down.  And I challenge any saint to stay saintly when you've got a permanent appendage weighing 10kg on your hip.  Moreover, this permanent appendage prefered her carrying person to either be moving, or sitting in front of the television.   Force me to sit infront of the TV, when loud and boring kids shows are on?  I'm in prison!   This 10kg appendage was not interested in sitting in front of the computer, not at all.  Not a blog reader, my one year old. 

Then, just as Florence Nightengale was heading out the door, my poor husband gets sick.   Really sick.  Shame, he missed out on Florence completely.  He was lucky to get a cursory glance from the ugly sep-sister as she walked briskly down the ward.  At one point he was heard asking me, in a feeble voice; "How am I going to be able to get hold of you?" as if I was heading off on a weekend trip, not just deserting him for another room!

But what really sent Florence heading straight for the train station was that the kids started getting better.  Yes, they did.  The little blighters actually got well enough to have opinions, refuse requests, to annoy each other, and to generally to a great job of getting on my nerves.   They could have tried the patience of a saint, if she'd stuck around long enough.   Greer was using all the energy she'd saved up being meek on the couch by having one melt-down after another.  And Isobella made it her day's mission to cough incessantly without covering her mouth, and to leave half-used tissues strewn from here to Antarctica.  Truly. 

How did I survive?  I'll tell you.  I got a call from my Dad to wish me happy birthday for tomorrow.  And that made me smile.  I bought some clothes online with birthday money (thanks :-})  Then I lit a prayer candle, for myself. I put Abigail in the high chair (finally, detached!) and set her up where she could touch the buttons on the dishwasher without even trying.  I then ignored the other two and cooked dinner.  And I cooked it for myself.  Not caring who would eat it or refuse it.  I stood and looked out my favourite window, just above the kitchen bench, and realised it had been a really beautiful day. 

There are many, many things I could wish I had been doing today.  Like being outside, like being alone.  Like being efficient around the house and getting "stuff done".  I could get really imaginative and wish I had been at the library, or in here writing, or in bed reading...  And if I wanted to, I could now transpose all those wishes onto tomorrow, my birthday.  I could fill myself with countless "if only's" and think up the most perfect birthday.  But none of it would be possible.  Tomorrow I get the privilege of being nurse-mother-wife again, hopefully this time more Florence than ugly step-sister.  It will be another ordinary day.

While I was looking around blog-land tonight I found this quote.

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, savour you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it will not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky, and want, more than all the world, your return."  - Mary Jean Irion

It was a nice moment, reading that.  It reminded me of what I always know, but often forget.  It saved me from wasting my thoughts on tomorrow.  It sent me here, writing this post, rather than into the kitchen to do dishes. And writing this post has re-fuelled me and left me peaceful and content.  I'm grateful.