My li’l guy just had his world rocked by Influenza B and croup at the same time. Kid was sick AF. He missed school Monday through Wednesday (on the croup diagnosis) and returned to school Thursday (sorry, other kids and teacher, we had no idea he had flu!), only to get in trouble for throwing food, then have his fever spike later in the day, and then do nothing for three additional days but watch Horrid Henry (apt, yes, he is both called Henry and, at times, quite horrid) and fight us on taking his $180 Tamiflu prescription (story for another day.)
The good news is he is recovering beautifully! The hilarious news is that during that one, feverish Thursday when he braved the academic rigors of kindergarten, he completed this graded assignment:
When I asked why he wrote that when he was supposed to write about the rainbow experiment, he answered, “Because I do. And I was so bored of talking about rainbows.”
I looked at his face, still a bit wan, lips still dry and cracked. I imagined him, hot and sick last week, pencil in clammy hands, hair falling over his glassy eyes. I imagined him tasked with writing that one utterly mind-numbing sentence. And I felt… oddly proud. Proud that he made it through the day, that he reached his limit and recognized it for what it was. Proud that he spoke his weird little truth. Proud that he used proper capitalization. Proud that he’s mine. Our kids, mamas. We can't always protect them. We don't always take care of them as best we can. But, I'll be damned, if as a MOTY, I don't recognized and honor the sentiment of I can't even.