Alphabet Soup

All three of our noses are identical – rubbed pink by Puffs tissues. Not to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure a third of the trash we will put out on the curb tonight for the 7:30 AM pick up will be soiled tissues. For the last few days, our little family of three has nursed each other and various stages of the seasonal cold.

While I wanted to push through and go into work today, I allowed my body to stop me. I sent in my sub plans at 5 AM and sprawled out on our Little Bug’s foam puzzle piece mat to get a few more minutes of sleep. I could feel some missing letters under me, probably the “R”, and drifted off next to dinosaur stuffed animals and other toys whose batteries have thankfully run out.

The house still smelled like the homemade alphabet soup I cooked last night when the three of us got up an hour and a half later. I remembered after running to Giant in the icy rain dripping in leggings, a jacket, and a baby blue baseball cap with a yellow pineapple on it, I found the only brand which sold tiny alphabet pasta.

While the sun dried the sidewalks from yesterday’s storm and the crisp breeze rattled the autumn leaves into our front yard, I sat in the kitchen sharing alphabet soup with my son.

I forgot I could get the common cold like everyone else – that I’m still human – and that I don’t have to be superwoman all the time. The only thing anyone expected me to be today was a mommy feeding her son alphabet soup as we both got healthier together.

 

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