Henry's been sick all week with either the flu or a severe cold, and as a consequence normal life ground to a halt: no school, no speech, no daycare. I did manage to have a bit of a break on Tuesday, when Jon stayed home from work to care for Henry while I went shopping and to a movie with a friend. Sweet freedom!
Otherwise it's been a wee version of "The Magic Mountain" around here (the Thomas Mann novel, not the Disney ride). When Jon closed the back door as he left for work each morning, the "real world" retreated and our world settled around us. Time seemed to thicken and slow. Kleenex drifted in snowy banks. We sensed the bitter cold beyond the walls and windows and sunk deeper into the blankets. Elmo sang about the potty over and over again, the cheerful melody a counterpoint to Henry's discomfort: struggling to breathe, to sleep, to eat.
As the week wore on my hands became raw from washing, the laundry piled in the basement, and Henry began to make a recovery even as I became more exhausted. Now it's Friday, the week drawing to a close. Jon will be home tonight, and I'll get some much needed respite. Where did the week go? That strange contradiction of time: the hours pass slowly, the week in an instant.
Recent Comments