When I woke up last Tuesday with a fever I thought I was in some serious trouble. On any other given day it wouldn’t have been a problem. M would have dressed the girls and taken them to daycare leaving me alone at home to nurse my cold. I would have probably slept all day, waking just about when they walked back in the door at the end of the day.
But no. Not last Tuesday. See, last week our daycare was closed. They close all of two weeks a year. One in the summer and one in the winter. And just my luck, I chose to get sick the week the girls had nowhere to go.
I waved M off to work and dragged myself out of bed, blearily looking at the clock to see how soon I could put them down for a nap. Unfortunately 4 and 2 year-olds don’t nap at 9:30am. I had a ways to go. My head was pounding. I was shaking from the chills. My nose was stuffed up and running at the same time. And I had absolutely nothing planned to entertain my hopeful children. I wanted to go back to bed. They wanted to play. With me.
We got through the morning unscathed. Not that I remember what we did, but I also can’t remember much fighting or crying so it must have gone well. I’m even pretty sure that I didn’t pass out on the couch. But it’s not impossible that lunch was served on the very early side and that nap time also came early that day.
As soon as their light was shut off and their door was closed I gratefully slid back into my own bed, closing my eyes long before my head hit the pillow. I figured that with any luck I’d maybe two hours to sleep before I had to get back up and play more games. Imagine my surprise when I heard the door to the girls’ room squeak open barely 45 minutes after I closed my eyes.
I squinted at the sheepish little figure standing in the doorway and made a hasty calculation. If I let her lie in bed with me maybe I’d get another 10/15 minutes of sleep. Three minutes of massive wiggling and giggling later and I made another calculation. At the ripe old age of 4 C was more than able to entertain herself quietly while mommy napped a bit. She hastily agreed and hopped out of bed.
She didn’t make a sound from the other room and I gratefully slid back into sleep.
I was woken up a while later by an odd and somewhat startling crinkling sound coming from the side of my bed. I lifted my head and looked around wildly. C stared at me, frozen in place, horrified that she had woken me up.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Nothing. Just bringing you this.” She whispered back, pointing to something on my nightstand.
I mumbled a thank you and sent her back to the other room. Little L still wasn’t stirring and I was desperate for a few more minutes of sleep. She tiptoed back out and I put my head back down.
When Little L finally woke up a bit later I dragged myself back out of bed, but before I went to get her out of her crib I took a look at what C had left for me.
It was a picture. Or rather a note. Her very first written sentence.
Don’t see the note? Look closer:
She even wrote “mom” with a birdie in the middle. Best medicine I got all day. It gave me the strength to play with them until their daddy came home from work and I was able to head back to bed.
Happy Love Thursday everyone. May all your love notes have birdies and toothy grins in them.