A parent doesn’t get sick days
I’m on my third pot of soup.
This dry, raw throat craves salty chicken broth, and my pre-teen hasn’t yet mastered the soup cooking skill. So, I’m up, stirring soup.
I’m tempted to tuck myself back into bed and forget my responsibilities. I’m tempted to cozy up to Netflix and waste the day, popping pain pills. But, instead, I stir soup.
And the kids crawl out of bed and open their school books (we still homeschool when Mom’s sick). And my husband presses a kiss on my forehead and asks if I need anything else before he leaves. I need so much, but it has nothing to do with the pain in my throat.
I need to press pause. My little ones have become big kids. They no longer fit on my lap or tug at my skirt. They’ve grown into thoughtful children who work hard, play quietly, and try their very best to behave when their mamma is ill. I have husband who loves the Lord, who works hard to provide for his family, who spends his entire day off running the house so I can rest and still asks what more he can do to ease my load. I need to press pause and be thankful.
So, instead of feeling overwhelmed at the laundry, the dishes, the long grocery list, I’ll thank God for the gift wrapped in a raw throat. Because one day, I’ll wish for just one more day. One day, I’ll want to turn back the clock, I’ll wish I had taken a day to be fully present.
So today, I’ll cozy up to my pre-teen with a cup of hot soup and we’ll work the math together. I’ll whisper-read with Irish twins and cherish the slower paced day spent in our jammies. Maybe we’ll get that Netflix movie, but it won’t be me alone in the room. It’ll be us, piled high on the bed, cozy together.
I won’t wish away the gift that is today. The gift that slowed down a busy household to embrace the joy of just being together.