It was a beautiful sunshiny weekend here in Toronto. Many people were taking advantage of the good weather: the Beaches neighbourhood was packed, people were strolling down Yonge Street and patios were open at pubs. Or so I heard. You see I spent most of the weekend taking care of my son, Declan who was sick. He went to the doctor and it's not strep throat but his throat is sore and he sounds horrible. I too, felt miserable, a change in the barometric pressure always does me in. We lounged on the couch, we read books, we challenged each to the Vancouver Olympic iPhone game and we napped. Oh, how we napped. So here it is Monday and I'm at work and he's at his dad's house, staying home from school sick. His dad went to work but came home after lunch.
Why do I feel so guilty? I should be home with him. Of course I didn't know that he was going to be sick today until I was halfway to work, riding the bus. His dad seems fine to leave him on his own, me not so much. I mean he had to fend for himself. At least he made a healthy lunch choice: chicken noodle soup.
My lunch is over. Back to work. Half my brain is here, the other half is snuggled on the couch with my son.
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