My youngest is sick and lying on the couch - because that is what you do on sick days. I didn't question him this morning when he told me he wasn't feeling well. I could tell it was the truth. Other days, I might request a list of symptoms and put a palm to his forehead, but not today. Moms know from one quick look about these things. Like when a child is really sick and when he simply needs a sick day.
There is a difference.
We all have "I need a day" days. Sick days when we aren't necessarily bed-ridden and fever laden. Me included. Today though, my baby, who is no longer a baby, is really sick.
On these days, I like to spend time with them, if possible. I've dubbed it empathy illness. Whenever someone in the house is sick, I lie low and keep him or her company, sometimes for just a small part of the day. Even if we don't talk. It's time together, and that is something.
Today, though, I am busy. My tasks more than fill my plate and there isn't anything I can put off until tomorrow. So I sit at the computer and type. He is in the next room watching a movie. Resting. No complaints.
The couch next to him is empty.
I make him lunch and serve it on the tray we use when we are sick. Eating on the couch is reserved for those times when coming to the kitchen table isn't practical - for those times when we are really sick, not just in need of a sick day.
I refill his juice cup. Put ice in to make it nice and cold - so it soothes his sore throat. And I keep working. I am having success and making headway on my tasks. It is looking as though I may get everything done by the end of the day.
And, in a literal flash, the power goes out. Completely. We are without Internet, TV - even a hard line. I can't run the dishwasher or a throw in a load of laundry. My work on the computer isn't lost but is inaccessible without power. I don't even have a printed draft I can sit and review. I'm a little irritated at the interruption.
My son on the couch, for his own part, is concerned, but not with what concerns me. What's happening, he wonders. The lights and TV turned off. It looks dark over at the neighbor's house. Is the power out all over town?
I wander over to where he is sitting in the quiet, with the TV uncustomarily dark and blank. I join him on the empty couch, realizing I may as well enjoy this forced break.
After a time he asks, "How long has it been?"
"About 10 minutes," I answer.
"Seems longer."
The silence hangs heavy for a few moments and then the discussion begins. He wonders aloud if we are too reliant on technology. This, my child who I fear has been plugged in since the day he was born. The guy who carries a device with him as he gets dressed in the morning - is concerned.
He wonders what we would do if the power went out indefinitely. Does our reliance make us vulnerable? How many batteries would it take to power up the TV? Thoughtful thoughts. We talk. And I realize this little break in my day, sitting with my youngest - who happens to be home sick - is exactly what my busy schedule needed. Just what we needed. Together.
Because amidst the noise and chaos and technology that permeates our lives, what we have - when it comes down to it - is each other. And, although we aren't cognizant of this on an every-moment or even everyday basis, it's nice to know my young, plugged-in, social-media-savvy, app-laden son can understand the concept when needed. And it is even nicer that in quiet times he can talk to his mom.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
There is a difference.
We all have "I need a day" days. Sick days when we aren't necessarily bed-ridden and fever laden. Me included. Today though, my baby, who is no longer a baby, is really sick.
On these days, I like to spend time with them, if possible. I've dubbed it empathy illness. Whenever someone in the house is sick, I lie low and keep him or her company, sometimes for just a small part of the day. Even if we don't talk. It's time together, and that is something.
Today, though, I am busy. My tasks more than fill my plate and there isn't anything I can put off until tomorrow. So I sit at the computer and type. He is in the next room watching a movie. Resting. No complaints.
The couch next to him is empty.
I make him lunch and serve it on the tray we use when we are sick. Eating on the couch is reserved for those times when coming to the kitchen table isn't practical - for those times when we are really sick, not just in need of a sick day.
I refill his juice cup. Put ice in to make it nice and cold - so it soothes his sore throat. And I keep working. I am having success and making headway on my tasks. It is looking as though I may get everything done by the end of the day.
And, in a literal flash, the power goes out. Completely. We are without Internet, TV - even a hard line. I can't run the dishwasher or a throw in a load of laundry. My work on the computer isn't lost but is inaccessible without power. I don't even have a printed draft I can sit and review. I'm a little irritated at the interruption.
My son on the couch, for his own part, is concerned, but not with what concerns me. What's happening, he wonders. The lights and TV turned off. It looks dark over at the neighbor's house. Is the power out all over town?
I wander over to where he is sitting in the quiet, with the TV uncustomarily dark and blank. I join him on the empty couch, realizing I may as well enjoy this forced break.
After a time he asks, "How long has it been?"
"About 10 minutes," I answer.
"Seems longer."
The silence hangs heavy for a few moments and then the discussion begins. He wonders aloud if we are too reliant on technology. This, my child who I fear has been plugged in since the day he was born. The guy who carries a device with him as he gets dressed in the morning - is concerned.
He wonders what we would do if the power went out indefinitely. Does our reliance make us vulnerable? How many batteries would it take to power up the TV? Thoughtful thoughts. We talk. And I realize this little break in my day, sitting with my youngest - who happens to be home sick - is exactly what my busy schedule needed. Just what we needed. Together.
Because amidst the noise and chaos and technology that permeates our lives, what we have - when it comes down to it - is each other. And, although we aren't cognizant of this on an every-moment or even everyday basis, it's nice to know my young, plugged-in, social-media-savvy, app-laden son can understand the concept when needed. And it is even nicer that in quiet times he can talk to his mom.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
