Dear friends,
I arrived home Saturday evening from my road trip to find a very sick child in my home.
At 6’6″, my 16-year-old with size-14 feet hardly looks a child. But I’m one of those mothers who never managed to graduate with my I’ve-got-this-illness-covered diploma. Whenever my children are ailing, I tend to feel like a young mom dealing with her first fever. I panic a little, I worry endlessly, I Google every single symptom, I peek in their rooms every 10 minutes.
Parker got hit with a stomach flu so violent that he burst blood vessels in his eyes. He spent 36 hours prone with a bucket beside his bed. I arrived home after the retching stopped, but 12 hours before I saw his thumbs up via Twitter:
thePnezzy
Spent all day doing one of my favorite things ever — not dying.
Fortunately by this morning, he was sitting up in bed declaring he was starving. Mr. Mom and I were about to start a pot of Superbowl chili (for Frito Chili Pies, yum!), so I grabbed a can of chicken soup, made a grilled cheese, and became the hero mother with an off-the-shelf meal delivered to his bed.
Photo by Instagram, Hefe filter
He even said thank you AND I really appreciate it.
And that’s all a mother needs to sustain her for a million years.
With gratitude {for quick recoveries and husbands who empty the puke bucket},
Joan, who is pretty sure when children finally stop vomiting wherever they happen to be and can hit a toilet or a bucket that a bell rings and, somewhere, an angel gets his wings
Debt of Gratitude 