I am not well. I have some kind of face sinus rage thing. It’s also in my knees. I’m going to say it’s a cold, because no-one ever seems to have those anymore – everyone has ‘the flu’ instead. The contrarian in me thinks this is part of the general trend towards catastrophisation which is overtaking mundanity, good sense and any understanding of normally distributed data. The humans seem to spend an inordinate amount of time dreaming up novel versions of, ‘shakes fist at sky’.
So, this afternoon I took to my bed and quickly fell asleep. Soon after, my child quietly stole into the room and carefully tucked teddies all around my prone body. I was aware of her whispering something about making sure I wasn’t lonely, and that Mong Bear in particular would make sure that I didn’t have bad dreams. Mong Bear has a magic ‘dream hand’ that emerges out of her eyes and goes into your head to retrieve badly behaved dreams. It’s magic. Even though magic doesn’t exist it’s just science, Mum.
She also slid a two dollar coin under my pillow, perhaps in case my teeth fell out during my slumber.
It is hard to feel more loved than when you wake up surrounded by your daughter’s favourite teddies, positioned sentinel around your fevered body. She told me tonight, when I thanked her, that she wanted to make sure I felt like I was being looked after.
She also said,
‘There’s nothing wrong with your cooking Mum, except for sometimes you forget things, and sometimes you think the oven is hot when it’s not. And sometimes you cook things that don’t taste very good. And then there was that curry you made that nobody could eat. But otherwise, it’s fine’.