When I was a kid I didn’t mind sick days much. My mom would take care of me in a way that only a mom can. I can still feel the cool of her hand as she would lay it across my forehead feeling for my temperature. If I was too warm I got to eat popsicles and curl up on the couch underneath a cozy blanket.
In my teen years I would watch “You’ve Got Mail.” For some reason, that movie was my favorite one to watch when home sick. I would slurp chicken soup while watching Tom Hanks try to win Meg Ryan’s heart through their 1998 AOL relationship. (And he brought her daisies when she was sick. Swoon! “Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower?”)
Now I’m a mom. I’m in charge of sick days. We had a sick weekend a while back and I was the only one feeling well enough to take care. I was the one laying my cool hands on foreheads. Handing out Tylenol and popsicles left and right, I administered love and medicine.
Instead of curling up on the couch I tucked my husband into bed and sat up with sick children throughout the night waiting for fevers to subside.
Instead of my favorite romantic comedy I watched far too much Curious George and Boz the Bear.
I’m a mom. Mom’s don’t get sick days. Yet, I think I might cherish this time more. Child 2 never slows down long enough for even a hug most days, but I got to cuddle him lots when he was sick. Child 1 doesn’t nap any more but did when he was sick. For one blessed hour I had complete quiet as both kids and husband napped.
Furthermore, did you know Chick-fil-A has good chicken soup?