Speechless and Speechless

This past Thursday marked the day that my oldest son turned into a 6-yo.  It also marked the 5th day of a nasty bug that had wormed its way into my body with no signs of leaving.

Let me start by saying that I rarely get sick.  The occasional sniffle - sure, but nothing that warrants a trip to the doctor, so this caught me off guard. 

When I woke up Thursday morning, I had a headache, a runny nose, an achy body, a fever, a very hoarse voice and a very, very excited birthday boy.  I lied there in the bed, willing myself to get up.  I heard my eldest child run into the room exclaiming, "I went to bed a 5-yo and I woke up a 6-yo!"  I gingerly got up and hugged my first born child and smothered him carefully with birthday kisses.  The hubs had already gone to bring a birthday breakfast home, so I went to nurse the baby and we talked about the exciting day ahead while we waited for breakfast to return.

Breakfast arrived and we sang "Happy Birthday" to the birthday boy as he blew out candles on his honey bun.  I shook my head to the honey bun and instead sipped down honey tea to try to relieve my sore, froggy throat. 

The hubs left for work and our day began.  Do you know how hard it is to get 4 little boys ready to leave the house when you cannot talk above them and you feel like death?  Let's just say I had to be extra creative in the process and I may have left the house wearing the equivalent of pajamas. 

I got the 2 oldest off to school and hurried to the grocery store with the 2 youngest to pick up supplies for a family birthday cook out.  Despite my whispered suggestions to my 6-yo that morning about how fun ordering a birthday pizza would be, he held steadfast in his cookout birthday wish.  I could not deny the birthday wish, no matter my state.  I dropped the groceries off at the house, nursed the baby again and headed to my parents.

When I arrived, my mom took one look at me and told me to go to the doctor.  "Not yet," I whispered.  "Parent reader first."  Oh yeah, due to a very high volunteer rate of this particular class, this was the ONE day of the year that I was assigned to be parent reader at the 6-yo's school.  How cool, I had thought upon snagging this date, to have his birthday!  I gulped down another big cup of honey tea, kissed the little kids bye and ran as fast as my boot would let me out the door.  I sniffled and snuffled along to school, armed with sports napkins and Krispy Kremes for a birthday snack.  I signed in and found my new 6-yo in the lunch room. 

I sat with him as he ate his lunch, nodding to his questions, trying not to talk to save my voice for reading.  He proudly walked with me down to his classroom, holding my hand and leading the way.  When we arrived, there was a special stool all set up.  I climbed aboard and croaked out my 2 stories.  By the time I left, my voice had completely vanished.

I ran back to my parents', drank more tea, nursed the baby, picked up the 4-yo from preschool, dropped him and 2 little kids off at my house with my mom, went to the doctor's office: diagnosis - ear and sinus infection (SAY WHAT?), picked up the cake, picked up antibiotics, picked up birthday balloons and drove back home.  Bless my mom and dad...they had gotten everything ready for the cookout.  I laid down for about 15 minutes and the birthday boy arrived home for school.  I pulled it together for dinner, cake and presents with all of our family and then collapsed on my bed after it was over, completely and utterly spent.  But, I had made my sweet boy's big day special and it was worth it. 

Yesterday it was Thursday again and another Parent Reader Day at school.  My 6-yo came home, excitedly telling me who the reader was and what she talked about. 

And then, he looked at me and said this: "Mom, it's really weird, we didn't have a parent reader last week.  I don't know why."

I stopped what I was doing and just stared at him, dumbfounded.  "I WAS THE PARENT READER!" I exclaimed, "It was your birthday, remember??"

He thought a minute.  "Oh yeah, I guess I forgot!"  And he skipped off happily to shoot some hoops, leaving me alone in the middle of the kitchen.  I was speechless again, a week later. 

Boy, do us moms put a lot of pressure on ourselves for our kids even when they don't always fully appreciate what we have done.  And despite this fact, we would do it all over again.  I think I'll go call my mom and tell her "thank you" right now.