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The End.

[written before the cold/flu hit... he even pushed enter and moved the mouse around and told me not to touch it. A writer already.]

We'll be just fine

It's our first day of spring, just the two of us. Big kids are back in school and the air smells like life and we have the whole day to play.

We load up the van with stroller and fruit snacks and bottles of water, and before we even cross the bridge, I hear snoring behind me. Of course, he sleeps now, and I think how smart I was to pack Bible and notebook for just in case. I think of a spot in the shade, where the view is green and the city is near, excited for a few minutes of peace and meditation. On the road next to the art gallery, I stop, smile, and turn off ignition.

"Playground?!" he yells still half asleep. The spell is broken.

No amount of coaxing or shushing will close his eyes, so I give in. "Oh yeah, right, yes, playground. Let's go."

I turn the ignition and drive to where the rich people walk and sip coffee on the sidewalk. This'll do just fine, I think. We'll be just fine.

On sick days we hold one another.

On sick days we hold one another. Sticky, chubby fingers find mine as he breathes (not so easily), in... and out... Croup has come to roost in our too-small-for-a-sick-coughing-crying-toddler apartment and I spend most of the day in bed. With him. Watching Barney against my will, but contentedly succumbing my hand and heart to his sad need for comfort.

Is there nothing worse than this, your child in pain? For however long or however it hurts. Any old hurt, really. A missed-out game or a straight-to-bed. A boy who longs for fresh air and playgrounds but remains sequestered under the quilt and sipping water. They trade off hurts all day long and I hurry from one to the next with kisses and band-aids.

So today, in between whimpers, we hold on. I remember that this is where it's at: being there for them when it hurts. This is good and right. Dishes in the sink, work on the table, clothes on the floor... they are nothing compared to this. A mother doing nothing but sitting by her child's side.

I see he's safe and resting and I get up to go. "No, mommy here," he croaks. So I lie down next to him and he smiles, pain-free for the moment. Sticky, chubby fingers back where they belong.

Oh, and also

We need milk.