I had made other plans for today.
But you know about plans…
Jeb wakes with wild gestures to his throat, signing that he doesn’t feel well enough for school. My inquiry as to whether we need to take him to the doctor is met with strong head shakes in a definitive ‘no’.
I don’t really think he’s that sick. A little congestion, a little scratchy throat. I could push it and make him go. Maybe some would say that’s what a good mother would do. But I don’t have ‘some’ standing in my kitchen. And I’m not feeling like pushing a tide.
So, I acquiesce. Call the school. Set Jeb up on the couch with a fresh sheet and a magazine. Try to justify this day off from school as a learning opportunity, as he plays the saint-taking-silence and writes notes to me on notebook paper. He’s practicing his spelling and writing skills, right? He’s communicating. He’s telling me his dreams.
“Mom this is the darngris part win I go to sleep I amagin me in a checrs game and win ever I move a checkr stuff comes up in to my nose This is y I think as a sicnst I think I need mor water”
This morning I guess he’s the scientist-saint, slash, medical intuitive, slash, dream interpreter. Some may say he should be at school studying his spelling. But I quell that scrutiny as best I can. Try to silence the judging thoughts.
Taking cues from everything I know and trying to apply it to this curveball in my day, I soften. I do not resist.
I send the necessary emails to the appropriate people, restructuring my schedule as best I can. I choose not to react with stress about this turn of events. I decide I’ll stay calm.
I come to WordPress, ever committed to posting my daily chronicle. Offer you a glimpse into my impromptu morning. Upload pictures of Meher Baba, which somehow always make me feel better. The man was silent for 30 years. Take a look at his face. He knows something.
Man, I hope I’m starting to get it.