Pop-Tarts
January 29, 2025 — 8:23 pm
Dear Reese,
You might be surprised to learn that coughing directly in my mouth yesterday did, in fact, give me a fever and a cough of my own. We were destined to open and close January under the weather. Spring will be better, I hope. Our immune systems will grow steely. Eventually.
I stubbornly don’t take my temperature this morning, determined to get us into our routine after two days with you home. My penance is to suffer through a day of foggy brain and chills in my coworking space. A perfect day to lead an executive town hall for the company, but I think I did okay. I also still ran the lunch club D&D I have going with a few coworkers. Few things can keep me from D&D.
Tonight, the thermometer reads 101.5 degrees. I will survive. During your bath, I lean over the tub and soak my arms in the hot water to soothe my chills. You smile at me, confused, but happy to play in the water with me.
There is no standing in the bath tonight, but your teacher tells me you tried to stand at daycare. Sadly, you picked a very flimsy arch to grab onto and fell backward. I can tell we are going to get used to bumps in the head over the next few months.
I call MorMor when we get home, still a sick little girl myself at heart who wants to whine to her mama. I keep her on speaker phone with us for forty minutes to distract myself while you reach for every Kleenex box and stray cord you can find.
Am I a good mom for giving us Pop-Tarts and leftover orange slices for dinner? Cappi suggested Pop-Tarts last week and I buy a box of unfrosted strawberry ones. I toast them and butter them like we did when I was a kid. Then, I teach you how to eat one:
Break it in half
Measure each side to see which is bigger and which is smaller
Eat the smaller half first
I remember MorMor asking me why I did it that way once and I remember lying. I said I was saving the biggest for last, reaching for the explanation I thought people wanted to hear. But really I thought that the smallest deserved to go first. Five years old and rooting for the underdog.
The Pop-Tart is a hit. I think, this time, at least 30% of the quarter piece I gave you ended up in your stomach. The orange slices sit whole and neglected.
Love,
Mama