Nothing so far today is going as planned, and yet I’m exactly where I need to be.
My 24-year-old daughter is sick; she suspects food poisoning–but it just as likely could be the flu.
I have the Presidents Day holiday off, thankfully, and was easing into the morning when I heard a gentle knock on my bedroom door. (It’s a new chapter in the life of “Bree’s Company.” I’m in the midst of getting my entire kitchen and bathroom floors redone after a dishwasher leak turned into black mold and rotted subfloors. I’m currently staying with Gabriella, Jeshua and his younger brother. “Marcy and the MIllennials,” we could also call it.)
I’m working towards leasing out my entire house soon; hopefully within a few months. Bree has gone back to school. She’s taking Chemistry and Biology plus working as a nursing assistant caring for dementia patients–with the goal of starting nursing school in the fall. So the plan is that I rent a room from them, greatly reduce expenses–and help them out. We also all agreed that we’ll be completely honest all around if the arrangement doesn’t work.
Which is why I was here this morning when that gentle knock came around 9:30 a.m. Gabriella opened the door, and I could see instantly that she wasn’t well; pale and weak-looking. Her glazed eyes and pained expression spoke volumes: “I’m sick, Mom. I think I got food poisoning.”
A few days ago, I caught the nasty cold that everyone seems to have or has just gotten over. So, I’m somewhat of a wreck–but no matter. I’m able to be here–tending to her, bringing her liquids and Alka Seltzer, and checking in on her as she sleeps soundly.
(Mama’s here, Monkey–and there’s no where in the world she’d rather be.)