The past few nights, I’ve dreaded going to sleep because my body is fighting off a head cold. It’s deep in my throat and I know that when I lie down, the cold will settle and pulse to make my head throb. Several hundred tissues later, I feel like a zombie, my head swimming.
A. and C. have luckily been spared it. So Friday was my first official sick day as a stay-at-home mom, and A. whisked C. away to the museum’s children hour to learn about desert critters while I tried to sleep (orders from my concerned husband).
I’ve been downing hot tea rich with honey to sooth my sore throat and reading Charles Baxter and ordering yarn to crochet another blanket.
A. asked me last Thursday, before I felt really bad, “What can I make you? I need a project.” We decided on a small lamp for our guest room to sit on the nightstand he made. We spent two hours looking online at rare wood so he could experiment and make something spectacular.
Then, Friday, I said, my nose red and chapped and my hair scraggly, “How about a tea-bag holder? It would be so nice to be able to grab a tea without digging into the cupboard and through those bulky boxes.”
So, A. designed one out of scraps of oak he had lying around, and he carefully put on ebony feet. He finished it, stain and all, in two days.
It’s Sunday morning, the boys ran off to the park, and I’m drinking rooibos chai tea from my favorite homemade mug, reading the Sunday Times and noticing only slight pain when I swallow. And I can’t help but sit and marvel at just how talented A. is. I think he should take this show on the road.