I'm sitting in my car, early for a doctor's appointment. I've dug through the glove box and all other compartments in the minivan -- which is inexplicably filthy considering I just crawled on my hands and knees vacuuming it a couple days ago -- for trail mix or any snack. All I can find is treacle toffee, which Silas and I bought at TJ Maxx because Hagrid makes it in Harry Potter, and we wondered what it tasted like. It's pretty good, kind of like toasty dolce de leche. A lunch of champions.
I've been sick for over three weeks and have reached the point of mild despair about most things -- lack of energy, creativity, clear thought, physical activity. It's been like living underwater, trying to make conversations, move quickly, and celebrate a dozen iterations of Halloween (thanks schools, art classes, parades, class parties, trunk of treat) and birthdays.
Most afternoons I text Ben asking him to remind me that this won't last forever. He says it won't. I don't believe him.
When my kids are sick (which also is now -- classic October), I get mad at them. Turns out I hate helplessness in parenting. You're sick AGAIN, your body aches? you can't breathe? you can't fall asleep? your throat hurts from coughing? Well, I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT, SO PLEASE STOP IT!
Soooooo, parenting's also going well.
Sigh.
But what is a good way to parent sickness (immediate images of making soup, sitting on the couch, stroking people's heads -- I know...) because it seems to be a catch 22: mother-compassion makes people feel worse, and crumble under my touch. And mother-tough-love makes people straight up cry and sends sick people to school.
It's possible I sent a sick kid to 5th grade today -- but maybe not. It's hard to tell stuff like this. Especially when, as I've explained, molasses is circulating through my body and brain.
But cheers to November -- it's Friday and surely we're all going to get better. At least I'm going to keep saying that (or make Ben keep saying it).
