My earliest memory of missing out on "holiday" fun was when I was really, really young. We were visiting family up north for Christmas, and it had SNOW! In my mind, the snow piles were like eight feet high! I had a cold and couldn't go out. I remember looking out the door at a girl who was able to play, wishing I could be out there with her. (When I was there, I did get to use a hot water bottle--that part was pretty neat.)
The next memory and actually saddest one was when I was eight. We, in our children's group, were going to sing for a nursing home. Especially as a young child, I LOVED to sing, and I LOVED to sing Christmas songs, and I was excited to go somewhere to help others feel better. The morning of the anticipated day, I woke up with chicken pox. I remember sobbing because I wasn't allowed to go and could not understand how the presence of some little rash could drastically change my plans. (duh). I was so disappointed.
Since then, I've had the occasional cold, but I was always able to participate in holiday cheer.
This weekend, Merritt and I have been busy with the stomach flu. Missed a couple of parties. No fun.
Hhhmmm, at least I'm not at the party getting sick from some germ floating around there. Grateful to avoid those germs. Grateful for the miracle of Tylenol and the healing properties it has for aches and chills. Grateful for vomit buckets. Grateful for those bottles of Gatorade I forgot we had in the pantry. Grateful my other two guys are avoiding this latest bout of yuck. Grateful for parents who will never think I am too old to call and ask to help me "think 'cause it hurts too much to do it by myself." They even called back several times to check on us.
Merritt said a word that sounded like "keys" today when he was pointing to them. Progress even when ill.
