Simple Gifts

Sunday morning. Music, NY Times, good coffee.

My camera, the garden the rain.

But mostly this. I'm just so grateful for this.

a new day

At 2:30 a.m., he wakes, vomits again, cries, then wants to discuss heaven. What is it? Does everyone go? Does everyone believe in it? Also, why do they advertise Taco Time with a cactus and not a taco?
Life's big questions. I'm glad to talk about it, but have no answers that satisfy him.

When I woke yesterday morning, it was too early, my eyes too red and dry from no sleep. I was pacing in my worry cage. Joe-Henry moaned in bed, begging me to help him feel better, to make it stop. He complained of hurting in his shoulder, his neck, his heart. He was unable to keep anything down. He ran a fever, his face so hot to the touch, his cheeks so flushed and pink they reminded me of two hot coals. I give him tylenol, telling him it would make him feel better soon. (But not soon enough for me.)

Then yesterday at 4:00, the miracle happened. He had kept down the jello, the soda crackers, the gatorade. He had slept through the afternoon. He woke, hair damp, cheeks a more beautiful pale pink, his eyes glittering with mischief. "Mom. Better get the basket! Nah.... I'm just kiddin'"

I left the room laughing. His voice, his strong voice, clear and sparkling. The tears came quickly, but didn't last. They were indulgent, the tears of a tired, grateful parent. Done with the vigil, on to the next task.

I am guilty of over-worrying. With his syndrome, I always worry that it's a blood-borne infection, and not just some random, horrible childhood virus. I spend at least twenty four hours, sitting on my worry, waiting it out, tricking myself so that I won't call the doctor again. Read another story, attempt another sip, administer the tylenol. Worry, distract. I pray my clumsy prayers, not even sure what I believe, but remembering the peace it gave me as a child. It doesn't give me peace, but it feels good to admit my failure, my utter helplessness.

This morning, after a good night's sleep, we are both new. Pancakes, juice, water. I can see all of it in his tummy, his body so skinny from the last few days that I can make out this bite of pancake, that bite of veggie sausage. One more day home from school, but there are plans to get dressed, to go to the post office to mail Grandma's mother's day present, to stop at the Walgreens and get him the rocket launcher that he gave to the boy next door for his birthday. It was the promise of this last thing that helped him turn the corner, I admit. I told him when he was at his worst, that we would get him one when he got better. And since it worked, I will fulfill my part of the bargain. I don't bribe that often, especially with "stuff", but I was ready to make any deal to get him to the other side.

Gratitude for the new day, for the annoyances, the dishes to be done, the laundry to be sorted, washed folded. The healthy boy on the couch watching tv.

counting my blessings, part II

As I was laying upstairs on the couch, nursing my ailing sinuses, I thought of a few more things I am truly grateful for.

My friend Dayna, who sent chocolate covered almond toffee. That's not the only reason I'm thankful for her though - she's the kind of pal who encourages you to shine at your brightest just by being her wonderful self. She's smart and thoughtful and beautiful, and I'm so lucky to know her.

My brother Jim and his girlfriend Judy. They've been so wonderful to us as we've made the adjustment of our move. Babysitting, wonderful visits and help with big stuff around our house. They even built our shed, with the help of Jim's friend Ray, and most especially Judy's brother Barry and his wife Kathy. They did a great job, too. It stood firm in a major windstorm last night. The fence made it too! They've been shoring us up and helping us to stand, too. Moving is a huge adjustment, and if we hadn't had them on this end, we might have fallen apart. Thank you so much.

My sister Jan and her family and my brother Dale: My big sister and other big brother. I am so grateful to have family that I love to be around. I know it's not always the case in families. I'm really lucky. We genuinely like each other. We don't always agree, but we get along. I'm grateful to my parents for raising us that way.

My husband Charley. He's committed to us - to his little family. He works hard at something he likes but doesn't love to put food on our table. He's determined and interested in the world and he's a great listener. He knows me so well, and is the best partner I could ask for in this life. He takes good care of himself, riding his bike to work, losing weight, and being himself. I am grateful to have such a loving husband who still makes me laugh and takes my breath away when he walks into a room.

My son, who is almost always happy. I am grateful for his health, for his beautiful, creative, bright mind, and for the way he helps me see the world in a new way. For the sound of his voice, for his amazing musical gifts, for his stubbornness, for his sense of humor and for his loving, forgiving nature. I am not always the mother I want to be. I get frustrated and angry, I get impatient and can be too much of a perfectionist. He can be a pill, pushing my buttons until I want to run screaming, if not to a life without children, at least to a Starbucks, where I can nurse a decaf soy latte and listen to my iPod. But we get back in the ring everyday. And when we're not duking it out, we're in each other's corner, coaxing, encouraging, offering up love and kisses. I am so incredibly lucky to be his mom.

There's so much more to be thankful for, but I"ll just mention this last thing. I'm grateful that my son is in school for two more hours, so that I can take a nap.