I was sick yesterday (sore throat, extreme tiredness), so I turned around on the way to work, came home, took some NyQuil and slept. And slept. And slept. I believe I was awake for a total of four hours. As she was getting ready to do Daddy Books, Rachel came up to me and said, unbidden, "I hope you feel better tomorrow, Mommy!" and kissed me on the cheek.
Well, what could I say?
So, today I woke up still feeling tired but went to work anyway. Meeting after meeting after meeting and I still didn't get everything done that I wanted to get done. Plus now my throat is worse and I'm starting to cough, which means I have to take sugary cought medicine tonight -- ugh. I had some cake at Shabbat services tonight and immediately regretted it -- it tasted fabulous but the sugar feels as if it's clogging up my pores.
Tonight's Shabbat service was special because they gave a special blessing to everyone with a July birthday, which means Rachel got to go to the front of the synagogue (services were held outside on the Plaza; folks are encouraged to bring a blanket and picnic dinner), and the rabbi blessed her and everyone else while they stood under a prayer shawl. Afterwards she got a special treat (one Hershey's kiss) and ate it while I told Drew I would dash to NW 21st Avenue -- Restaurant Row -- to grab something to eat. "Are you going away, Mommy?" Rachel asked with concern. "No, honey," I answered. "I'm just going to get some dinner."
"I'll share my dinner with you," she offered. "Here's some chicken," and she handed me a tiny piece of baked chicken. I was supremely touched. No need to worry about what this child would do in wartime -- she'd make sure Mommy got food, too.
I found a Mexican restaurant that did takeout, so I dashed back in plenty of time to eat and watch Rachel dig into some cake that they served at the oneg Shabbat afterward. Drew had thoughtfully cut a piece for me, too. Then Drew took Rachel to climb a nearby tree while I chatted with a member of our Chavurah, and we all got home around 9 or so. As she was getting ready for bed, Rachel walked over to me and said, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Mommy," then trotted off to bed.
(I noticed a card on the kitchen counter from Chaim Wilhelm. Who's that? I asked Drew. It turns out he knocked on the door while Drew was working and introduced himself. He is the son of the Hasidic rabbi who visited us in the hospital when Rachel was born. He and his wife are thinking about moving to Oregon and brought over a loaf of home-baked challah).
When Drew finished putting her to sleep he mentioned that he told Rachel a "bicycle story" about a kid who had bicycled around the world and ended up in Africa.
"That's where Auntie Rachel lives!" Rachel said immediately.
Then she asked him to tell her a car story, and he told her about the trip he took back from Columbia, and how he stayed with Uncle Jack, and drove through Minnesota.
"That's where the kids and Molly live!" Rachel said.
Last night Drew mentioned Boston and Rachel said, "That's where Mr. and Mrs. Mallard live!" (from "Make Way For Ducklings").
Drew is very impressed with Rachel's ability to memorize and make connections. So am I!
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