Listening from the other room

Then came New Year’s Eve. I watched church online while my family was there in person, but by the end of the service my fever had spiked again and I could barely stay awake. Afterwards I knew there was fun and laughter happening without me at a party we’d been invited to, but that night I was too sick to care. I’ve joked that it can't be a new year-I never actually celebrated its arrival. And if you know me, you know how serious that is. I don’t miss fun unless I’m truly down for the count-so everyone else knew it too.

The girls worked a lot over break, so time together was already limited. Last night everyone played Catan while I sat nearby on the couch. My brain simply wasn’t capable of decisions involving strategy, trades, or thinking more than one move ahead. I was there, but not really there.

In the middle of the night when I couldn’t fall back asleep, the numbness started to lift—and with it came a heaviness. Maybe that’s a sign I’m finally getting better? Feeling enough to feel sad again.

Why write about missing out? Because as a mom, I know I’m not alone. We put so much into making Christmas meaningful, memorable, special. We want to soak in every moment while we still can-while kids are home, schedules overlap, and traditions still matter this much. I never liked the line of the song It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas where it talks about parents looking forward to school starting again. No way. My favorite thing ever is hanging out with my family. Plus, when they go back to school, so do I!

I’ve watched more Christmas movies than I care to admit these past few days, but one hit me unexpectedly hard: Oh. What. Fun. It’s about a mom who gets forgotten. And let me just say, whoever wrote that had to have been a mom, because it was uncomfortably accurate in so many ways. I may be coughing loudly enough that no one could forget I’m here right now, but if you’re a mom reading this, watch it and tell me it didn’t hit close to home.

Claire would say some of my dreams this week have been “fever dreams,” and I won’t argue. A week of fevers will do that. They’re actually what pushed me to sit down and start writing this in the middle of the night. What’s strange is how repetitive they’ve been. The same five elements, over and over, rearranging themselves like a deck of cards each time I fall asleep. Nothing exciting. Nothing worth explaining. Just… dull.

Which honestly feels unfair. If I’m going to be sick, can’t my dreams at least take me somewhere warm? Somewhere with sand and sunshine and a body that doesn’t ache incredibly? I’d happily put that on repeat.

As rough as the end of this break has been, I’m deeply thankful that it was only these last few days. The rest of it was absolutely fabulous. I am also thankful my girls aren’t traveling far for college. Knowing they’re close makes the missed moments sting a little less and the future feel a little steadier. We should have one more Christmas break together like this, hopefully more, but life has a way of reminding us that nothing is guaranteed. Maybe that’s why these moments matter so much.

Because sometimes presence isn’t about participating–it’s simply about being in the room where the memories are being made, while trying not to share my germs. And maybe this blog post is the most I’ve managed to accomplish all week–and at this point, I’m thankful to have finished one thing.

Stay healthy and Happy New Year!