Coming back

It's been a strange few weeks. John's mom had a heart attack, and subsequently quintuple bipass surgery. John flew up to Oregon to be with her for almost two weeks, while Will and I both had the stomach flu back at home. I had a real taste of what it would be like to be a single parent. I was feeling so sorry for myself, alone on Christmas and New Year's, taking care of my sick baby while I was sick myself. My real low point was hugging the toilet, miserable from head to toe, particularly in the middle, while my son stood outside the bathroom door screaming at the top of his lungs. No fun. Then John came home and we all got a bad cold. Will fell and pierced his bottom lip with his tooth, nearly all the way through. None of us were feeling good.

But we all miraculously got through it, and last week, the sun came out. I spent all these lovely afternoons with Will at the park in 70 degree weather, under the sun, playing with sticks and leaves and pinecones and swings and slides and sand, and I started to feel better physically and emotionally. John's mom made it through the ups and downs of surgery and recovery, and now is doing much better, off all the machines heart beating by itself. Her first words after surgery were, "What happened to me?"

I have been reading novels, just soaking them up. This week I read Atonement, by Ian McEwan, which was well written and sad and made me want to see the movie, and I read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safron Foer, which I absolutely LOVED. This book made me laugh and cry--wonderful, wonderful stuff. It's good to be reading again.

Isn't it strange how, when you suddenly start to feel better, only then do you understand how bad you were really feeling before?