Plodding Along at Lightning Speed

Just like an unexpected thunderstorm, you never know when some nasty virus is going to strike. But BLAM! This one got me good, and I actually have to lie down. Everyone knows that moms aren’t supposed to get sick, so I’m facing the displeasure of my whole household.

I’m flat on my stomach with my head hanging over the side of the bed, but that doesn’t slow the flow of traffic through the bedroom. I feel like I’m in a special-effects movie scene, where the central character barely moves in suspended animation while everything around her spins at 78rpm. In the movie, this suspension of time allows the character to make lightning-quick decisions of remarkable intelligence and thereby save the world. In my life, this just means someone will probably run into something and start screaming in pain before I can lift my head to say, “Don‘t run around. Somebody’s going to get hurt…”

“What about my back-to-school-night, Mom? Don’t you care?” “Mom, it’s the art committee lady, can you talk?” “Who’s going to make the lunches?” “What’s the password for the computer, Mom?” “Cereal for breakfast? I can’t eat that.” “Honey, have you seen my watch? My glasses? My mobile phone?” “What if it’s pouring down rain? Who’s going to pick me up from school?” “What’s for dinner tonight?” Usually, I can answer all these questions at once, but I just pull the pillow over my head.

Something stirs me from my coma-like state, though; Claire is poking me in the small of the back with every other stroke of the bow across the violin. I didn’t know she had one; I didn’t know she played. Daddy gave it to her, today of all days. “That’s nice, sweetie, do you think you could practice downstairs?” “Can’t I just have some peace and quiet around here?” she retorts. If only. I lie there wondering which might be worse: my stomach ache, or what I’ll find in the kitchen when I get up.

Somehow the world keeps revolving. I drag myself downstairs (the kitchen is definitely the worst of it) and into the minivan. Time does weird things when you’re sick. The twenty minutes I wait in the car line to pick up Claire after school seem like forever, but while I’m sitting there I marvel at how she could grow up so quickly. Wasn’t she just a baby? Wasn’t I? It starts raining. I think I’ll go back to bed…