Productivity was my intention for Monday. After a fun filled, sports filled, busy weekend, I had to buckle down Monday and just get stuff done. I headed into the week with some great music and some joyful discipline.
Halfway into my second load of laundry, paying bills and compiling my long list of to-dos, my son texts:
‘Can you come get me, I’m getting a migraine.’
Oh no, I think. He hasn’t had one in nearly two years. He must not have eaten after morning practice! And he is pitching in tonight’s game.
‘Of course.’ I text back. And then I add, to be sure he is truly unwell:
‘You know, you won’t be able to play baseball tonight if you leave school.’
‘I know, I just need to get home.’
I speed home, he gets violently sick, crawls in bed and allows me to sit with him for a few minutes holding a cold compress to his forehead. It feels like forever, but finally, he sleeps. Sigh.
I go back to the pile of laundry, the bill paying and decide my errands will have to wait until who knows when. Boy isn’t well and mama bear needs to stay put.
After a three hour nap, Boy walks into the kitchen smiling and wraps his long arms around me. His tall frame envelopes me. This moment. This moment he hugs me for comfort, I give it right back. I never let go first. Never. I wait until he is ready. It’s always too soon, but today, it is perfect.
“Gosh that was a bad one,” he sighs as he sits at his claimed place at our counter.
“You look good honey, do you feel better?”
“I do, and I’m starving,” he says, smirking since I always tease him about his insatiable appetite.
I cook some pasta, he talks about his morning. He asks me if I’ve ever seen Fight Club. “Um, hello? Do you even know your mama?” I ask. He invites me to watch it with him, in the family room, in the middle of a Monday afternoon. An afternoon I had planned to accomplish so very much.
I hate that he had a migraine, I hate that he was hurting. I hate that it scared me. But I love, love, love these moments of connection with my favorite boy in the world. I am grateful he feels better, can get better and will pitch tomorrow. While I cannot be grateful for his headache, I can find some joy in the moments we spent afterward, together, watching Fight Club on a Monday afternoon.