Tuesday, April 30, 2013

The Happy Fun Sick Person

Last week I was hit by a rogue flare and couldn't move from my chair.

I feel obligated to be a happy fun sick person. I don't want my daughter to grow up and have memories of her mother the wilting invalid always complaining and talking about her latest symptom.

Also, as I spend time with more mothers I find that it is not just me with a headache and some of us are stronger than others. (Also some do more for their kids than others).

So when I have days where I am melting into my chair I find ways to be happy and fun for my girls. This chronic illness can't color their childhoods anything but richer because they had my fuller attention.

Today is misty and rainy and that happy fun way is going to include Fairies.

Last week the birdhouse we built a year ago fell off the tree. The glue had worn away. I'm up cycling it into a Fairy house with the baby later today. Or so goes my ambition. I know I'm not leaving the house until the afternoon riding lesson. If I conserve my energy for one big push we can take my tween out to ride her pony and the baby and I will walk around the farm. We can also unload the 30 ft of pine shavings that I'm driving around with. I feel like I'm in the horse mafia. I have enough pine shavings to make a fort!

At the feed store this morning I initially bought three bushels of pine, Ms. Daisy, my retired K-9 police car has an amazing trunk and is filled with a stroller and six bushels of pine shavings with room to spare. If police departments have to sell old cars to raise money, at least they make great family vehicles. Also, all the guys were impressed by the rims. I have no idea why, since they are black and not shiny.

Also, I bought myself a plant. Gardening is a hobby I reserve for myself that everyone appreciates having around them. At some point today, or maybe this evening, I'll pot my plant and watch it bloom, while I smile and encourage and gather strength to be the happy fun Mom who is not going to complain about her symptoms.

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