This post shall be blessedly devoid of accompanying photographs.
Or should it be "The Christmas that Mother was sick?' Because the above title sounds like I was a Christmas Mother. Not just a Mother who was sick. After all, I'm a mother all year round, have been for the last twenty-three-ish (or is it 24? She was born in 1988--you do the math, I can't even remember how old I am most of the time.) years after all.
So anyways, Christmas night we were watching a movie based on one of Jeanette Oke's books where the mother dies of scarlet fever. Uplifting? Well, I'm sure there was a somewhat happy ending but Father and I became weary and we went off to bed before we watched the whole thing.
And then at two o'clock (a.m.) I awoke with that feeling of horror and dread that proceeds (or is it precedes?) the throwing up process. I was able to go off to sleep for a bit but soon woke up thinking I was on fire or being roasted by the cat at my feet who usually can't even keep them warm and then I went into the bathroom and divested myself of the apple I had eaten for supper. Nothing like throwing up and getting apple peel in your teeth.
Then I got really cold and went back to bed and then I got really hot after a bit and the whole process repeated itself (sans apple peel, thankfully if you can be thankful for anything.)
And then the kids came over and there was much merriment and laughter from the kitchen while I lay in bed and was miserable and covered my nose from the unearthly horrible smell of cooking.
You'll be glad to know that I came into the living room and sat in my red chair far from the maddening crowd* and breathed to myself and watched them open their gifts. I sat weakly there with one hand propping my head up to keep it from rolling onto the floor and thought of the movie from the night before and was thankful that even if I was sick it was not from Scarlet Fever and I probably would be able to participate in the next Christmas. I'm positive I looked ethereal and wan, yet strong and brave as I sat alone far from the breathing space of anyone else.
And then I wondered if anyone was keeping a diary and was writing about how sad it was that Mother was ill this Christmas. And how much they missed my cheery face at the breakfast table. And how sad it was I wasn't playing cards with them. Or if they wrote how poor Father had to do all the dishes all day and keep the kitchen cleaned up and the Christmas trash hauled out.
And at that part, I was still sad I was sick, but was glad I didn't have to clean the kitchen at least.
*Fun Fact that has nothing to do with Mother being ill--I always thought that Far From the Maddening Crowd was the title of the book by Thomas Hardy. I actually shelved the book for many years, still seeing the title as Far From the Maddening Crowd. I was sure it was a book about a person wanting to be alone although I have read one Thomas Hardy book and died of boredom throughout it (I didn't read it all) and so I wasn't even going to read the book flap to enlighten myself and then one day I realized it said Far from the MADDING Crowd. And I just read about the book on Wikipedia and realized it was probably as deadly boring as I thought it would be--It's about Sheep Bloat and such. And that Madding and Maddening mean about the same thing--frenzied. So even if I misspelled it, I was correct in the meaning. And there is a character named Bathsheba Everdene and I wonder if Suzanne Collins took this name for The Hunger Games Katniss from this book. And I'm glad she didn't use Bathsheba for a character.
I'm excited for The Hunger Games movie coming out soon--how about you?
So--Should I or should I not throw my toothbrush away?
Many stories herein are subject to the faulty, and sometimes creative, memory of the blog owner and should not be taken as factual, although the names and events are real! Kind of.