Friday, May 11, 2012
This weeks routine has been greatly disrupted by Master seven being home sick from school.
Almost ALL week.
There have been remarkable changes in my boy since the last time he was sick enough to require antibiotics.
The dispensing of medicines to the children of our house is usually not dissimilar to worming a cat, in that most of the time I pin my children down, squirt the medicine down their throat and clamp their mouth shut with a face washer till the majority of it has been swallowed, and then stand back with the face washer at the ready in case it comes back up.
Not this time however. This time the medicine was taken with little to no fuss, indicating to me that he was either gravely ill and far to lethargic to protest, (but as he was dangling upside down from his bed whilst kicking the wall and singing "I like Pina coladas" at the time) I figured that the most likely scenario was that he was simply a little bit more grown up.
Now, much like many parenting moments, I am not sad to see the back of the medicine refusal phase, much like I was not upset to see the back of the four am feed, the vegetable refusal surviving on a diet of yoghurt and cheese phase or the tantrum phase.... Wait, I'm yet to see the back of the tantrum phase in its entirety, but I'm certain I will be as equally glad filled when it occurs.
I awoke this morning, looking forward to my thirty minutes quiet and coffee before the kids wake, as per usual I was waiting bleary eyed by the kettle, when Out strolls Mr Teen in full School uniform, bag packed, School lunch made.
For the first time ever in the history of all history's.
I resisted the urge to pry open his bag and check what his idea of Lunch was, but I didn't.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm a control freak.
I watched bewildered as he grabbed up his bag and waved goodbye at the door on his way to the bus.
He doesn't usually catch the morning bus. I usually drive him.
I sat down with my coffee and the cat and I thought about Mothers Day this weekend, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit smug at just how great my kids are are, how grown up and responsible the teen had become and I didn't fall down in a pit of despair and dramatically exclaim that Mothers day was canceled, because everybody does everything themselves anyway, nobody needed me anymore, and I was going to end up alone and in a cheap nursing home and no one would ever visit me.
I was glad to find that could get used to this, this was much more rewarding, and far less exhausting.
About eight sips into my coffee I heard the front door open, and in walked The Teen to informed me that he had missed the bus, I would need to drive him, and could we go now.
I got the sick master seven and Ms three up and dressed, and fed. I dispensed medicines, and did the School drop off and called into Coles and later, at home, onto a new cup of slightly warmer ( and possibly less sipped on by the cats in my absence) coffee, I marveled at the quick glimpse I caught this morning of the future, at a time when I did not feel torn in eight different directions, and I was reminded that I will sleep again, I will eat a hot meal that hasn't had tiny peoples booger ridden fingers in it, and I will once again take a toilet and a shower by myself, perhaps enjoy a sleep in on Sundays, when I will enjoy preparing a meal again because I am not so time poor.
Soon I won't even have to dispense medicines at all.
I am looking down the tunnel of the manic years of early parenting and I see the light, the next bits, and the far more patient me.
Hope you have a fantastic Mothers Day.