I'm not very good at this. At this sitting around, waiting to get better. This past week I've been nursing my poor aching back, and learning some pretty big lessons along the way.
When Mama can't get up to do anything, a lot of things change around a household. I was lucky enough to have Gabriel home with me the entire week - an unheard-of week off in the middle of the summer. Without him, I would've had to call in the troops - the grandmas, the aunts, the cousins and friends. They would've been knocking down my door - but I'm not that kind of girl. I'm not good at asking for help, and I think I would've graciously accepted the help for a day - maybe two, and then spent the rest of the week hobbling around here like I could do it all, inevitably putting the healing back all that much further.
So I was lucky, to have Gabe here to take charge of the house and the children and the cooking and the laundry and the yardwork and the groceries and all the things that make us go 'round and 'round and 'round.
I'm not so sure he felt as lucky to be at my beck and call.
I spent the first few days in a coma, so I think it was nice....it felt nice, to me. I was sleeping. But by the third day I was up and hobbling and anxious to get back at things and (ahem) possibly slightly grumpy. I started pointed out things... little things that my sweeping eyes were seeing - like roaring red flares of "that's not how I do it!!" - and it was killing me inside. I tried so hard to bite my tongue because really, REALLY - it doesn't matter how he folds the towels or if the hallway hasn't been swept and there's grass in the kitchen or if he mowed the lawn first and weed wacked after. That's my own weird shit - my MEGA weird shit and I have to let go.Yeah, I know - the towel thing especially. But there is a certain way to do it to make them look especially nice and fluffy.
But no, I let it out. And the poor guy, who had been running around with a SUPER DAD cape on, making great dinners, playing with the kids, doing laundry and cleaning up shit and HAVING FUN THE WHOLE TIME.......Well. He gave me that look he saves especially for those times when I'm making an ass of myself, turned around and kept on being awesome.
I felt like an idiot.
I mumbled some "I'm sorry's" and loudly stated more than enough times for the rest of the day that these pill were "making me wacky....haha..."
By Day Four I had repented, and I was forgiven. I even brushed my hair and put on my sexiest pair of pyjamas. I was really, really sorry.
So now, here we are at Day Six or Seven, I don't even know anymore. But what I DO know is that I am up and healing and happy for all kinds of reasons. Happy that I listened to my husband and my mother and didn't do anything at all for almost an entire week. Because of those two smarty-pants, I'm up and walking and not right back where I started.
I'm happy that my kids had an awesome week with their Dad and even though they had dirty faces all day long and I'm pretty certain that tonight was the first time they had their hair washed all week, they are fed and tanned and glad they've got that guy for their Dad.
I'm happy that I've had the time to sit and lay and breathe and contemplate what I'm going to do as soon as I can stand up and do it. It's going to get real crazy up in here. With the knitting. And the sewing. Watch out. Dangerous.
I'm happy that I had the absolute honour of witnessing the beautiful unity of my family, the wordless way they all helped each other and helped their Mum too. I'm so proud that my family can do it all without me. Who was I kidding? Of course they can. They just need to learn how to fold a towel.
