On Being Sick: Take Two

Daniel took three kids skiing last week.  Mary wanted to stay home with me even if that meant that I was working, and she had to go to school.  Skiers had excellent time and skied the Sella Ronda twice (an unfinished goal for Daniel from December trip).

Mary wasn't feeling a hundred percent but went to school Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and we hung out in the afternoons and evenings, making simple dinners, looking up red carpet dresses post Oscars, going out for coffee and gelato, chatting and reading poetry homework at the kitchen table, getting ourselves to bed at decent hours.

By Wednesday afternoon Mary's coughing was becoming extreme.  I told her, "I think maybe you should stay home from school tomorrow.  Does anyone at school mention how much you cough?"

Mary said, "Do you think the teacher might think I'm tough because I keep coming to school anyways?  She asked me today if I was okay.  And Vincenza asked me at sewing what was wrong with me."

Tough: a word I have used to tout my mom's ability to run a household, never be sick (until she was beyond sick), get everything done, work through pain and discomfort.

Tough: a word I use to describe people I like a lot at times, e.g. a friend who got my car out of a snow bank while I stood on the side, afeared of doing it myself though twenty years younger.

Tough: the wrong message to send to my children as such an important quality at times.

"Oh, Mary, you do not need to be tough.  You should stay home.  And the Italians don't look at it that way at all.  It doesn't even cross their mind.  They think that you should just stay home if you're sick.  Don't try to be tough here.  If you need to stay home, stay home and rest.  Relax.  Sleep.  Take a bath."

Mary stayed home Thursday and Friday.

She told me, "This has been the best week of my life."