“How awesome that we made it through the winter without anybody getting really sick.”
(I should interject here that The Bread Guy did get sick two or three times, but I don’t really count him because he is prone to sickness anyway and often doesn’t make the best eating choices which doesn’t really help him in the wellness department.)
And then, on Monday … half-way through dinner … Bang! It hit ME. Some sort of stomach/intenstinal/I-promise-that’s-all-the-detail-I’ll-give-you virus. And the fun times continued all through the night and all the next day.
Fortunately for all of us, I don’t get sick very often. Even back when we ate most everything pre-packaged, I rarely got sick. And growing up, I was one of those dorky kids who hated to miss school and fortunately rarely did because I was hardly ever sick. I’m pretty sure I inherited it. Thanks, Dad.
Unfortunately, my awesomely-planned-out, seemingly stellar, highly-anticipated St. Patrick’s Day feast (complete with Chocolate Guinness Cake!) turned into this…
… for the two little fellas because that was all I could muster the willpower to make for them. The Bread Guy made a ham sub with potato chips and probably no fruit or veggie; I have no idea what The Man ate because I was
curled up in the fetal position in bed by that time.
Would have been a Domino’s night at your house, eh? That’s just not how
we I roll.
And even the next day, I was still only at 95%, so I opted out of the planned menu item and threw some salted chicken in the oven … diced some potatoes, tossed them with red palm oil and salt, threw them in the oven with the chicken … watched Big Britches impress me with his tricks on his scooter …
… steamed some broccoli … pulled the already chopped pineapple out of the fridge and voilá! Dinner. That everyone ate.
Disclaimer: Please do not attempt to throw food in your oven at home. No food was actually thrown during the making of this dinner.
I got to chillax, hang with my favorite littlest fella (who actually salted the chicken) and no one cared that dinner was boring.
Oh … we also caught this cool little rainbow in the sky while we were eating …
No sooner did I snap the pic that the sun set just a bit more and it disappeared. It was amazing. And he was so excited. And it was a lovely moment that we shared … just the two of us. Sniff. Sniff. See now I got myself all verklempt.
As I was sitting there, trudging my way through that
gigantic mountain fairly normal-sized portion of food on my plate, I realized that this little tussle with the virus had given me an opportunity that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. To spend time with my Big Britches, who, when I let my mind wander to the memories of our years together, I miss a lot terribly while he’s at school all day.
These are the moments that sometimes we moms forget to stop and enjoy. I know deep in my soul that time is ticking and with each week that flies by, we are one step closer to the day that they will no longer be little and so full of joy and so excited by the tricks on their scooter. And that those moments pass and the growing up happens so slowly that we don’t even realize it despite the fact that we know it.
The reality is that no matter if they ever eat vegetables for dinner after they leave this house or if they eat Domino’s every week for a year, in the end, it’s the scooter moments that ultimately matter most.
Sometimes it takes a pain in the stomach to help you to remember to appreciate them.
Aren’t you glad I jinxed myself? Seriously … what do you think about after you’ve been sick? And when’s the last time that you enjoyed a scooter moment?