Sick Day

I miss sick days when I was still living at home. The walls of my bedroom glowed buttercup in the bright winter light outside my windows. I would squint, bleary, and roll over into my down comforter and flannel sheets. Sick days weren’t exactly fun, but they were better than being at school. It’s like the ultimate only child fantasy: I had my mom all to myself.

My mom, Kathleen, is the 3rd child in a family of 5 kids. I’ve never heard her reminisce about one on one sick days with her mom. My grandmother was a busy woman with a farm to run, 5 kids to take care of, and very little money. She’s wonderful but didn’t have the time to lavish on each of her children that I’m sure she would have liked to.

Lucky me, the only child. Wrapped in my great-grandmother’s afghan, I would stumble downstairs to the couch. My mom would serve me steaming mugs of black tea and bowls of homemade apple raisin oatmeal with a side of cold medicine and a thermometer. To this day, I find it hard to to be alone when I am sick and really love to have someone fuss over me.

Today though, I am staring out my north facing window onto a gray drizzly day, trees bare of leaves and starkly black against the sky. The TV is keeping me company, “What Not to Wear” running while I check my work email.

As soon as I got home, I made these. For lunch, I’ll be having leftover Gramma Soup from this weekend. This is the proper prescription, a la Mom, for a cold. That, and a good book. If you’re in the market for one, I picked up Molly Wizenburg’s new book “A Homemade Life”. If you are not familiar with Molly’s blog Orangette, you’ve been living under a rock. Go visit. You won’t be sorry.

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