Sunday was the coldest yet of this winter. In -1 or -4 Celsius or some such weather, Charlie and Jim rode bikes (brrrrrrrr), Charlie and I walked, Charlie and Jim walked, and Jim and I were thankful yet again that we bought majorly puffy tan LL Bean parkas when we moved to St. Paul back in 1998.
Charlie was still (we think) feeling ill. He was awake (with his ever-patient dad; I've been finishing a paper and couldn't help conking out on the couch) from 1 - 5am, slamming doors hard and crying. We suspected that he was still queasy from the stomach ailment and feeling the after-effects of being in the ER on Thursday and getting a shot and staples on the back of his head (I would certainly be feeling lag if that had happened to me).
We all slept in, Charlie the latest of all (so I not only finished the paper, I sent it off). He enjoyed an unexpected trip to get some groceries and waited smiling in line along with what seemed like half the population of the neighboring town (freezing weather brings out the need to stock up, I suppose). We did some errands and then Charlie (and Jim) took their turns conking out on the couch.
On waking, Charlie was thinking "burrito" and we were hard-pressed to explain how his stomach ailment, Saturday's getting nauseous in the car after eating said food item, and the need to limit burrito-eating to a few times a week, meant that we would not go. He alternately grimness and grins as he listened and sat with his hands on the side of his face. I said I'd make dinner and went to the kitchen and made rice and chopped chicken. Charlie came in and threw my phone in a perfect parabola.
Stomach and adolescent boy mad-at-mom-ness, I would say.
A walk with just Jim was a good idea and Charlie ate a little rice on returning then went upstairs. More slam, slam, slam, tears.
I said to myself, a few days' illness for most people is a two-plus week ordeal for Charlie as he tries to figure out what's going on, tries to endure being sick, tries to get better, tries to deal with all the things he did but didn't mean to because he was sick but now has to face up to. It's enough to make anyone hibernate for a few days.
And indeed, slammed doors and a thrown phone are not good, but, in some ways, a bit of progress in our household.
Feeling quite sympathetic with Charlie, as I had erm...GI distress last week. Nothing serious but the vague-to-pointed discomfort was distracting-to-worse.
And yes, that particular adolescent-boy pulling away from mom stuff....
Posted by: Liz Ditz | 16 January 2012 at 12:19