Love From Maria

Last Thursday morning didn't start all that different than most. My alarm woke me up deliberately before the boys, so that I could start my hair and make up before the chaos. I curled my hair while checking my calendar, mentally prepping for the day of meetings ahead of me. As I finished my makeup I heard the fellas rousing, the typical sounds of a four and five year old dressing themselves while simultaneously wrestling with eachother. I made my way to their room to remind them to hustle - feeding everyone breakfast and packing lunches before the walk to school is a small victory that we claim most mornings - most mornings. That's when I saw it, the red rash spreading across my youngest fella's body. The rash that changes plans, keeps you home from work, away from school, cuddled up, and constantly comforting. Parents - you know the scene. Your little human is not well and sleep seems like a thing of the past. There's a fever, or a nasty cough, rash, insert other ailm

Welp, I'm sick. Chills, fever, burning cheeks, nausea - no joke I am lying in bed as I type this. But if you read my posts, and know me, you know that when I feel compelled to write something, I do. It's like an itch, but a good one, that I just can't ignore. So here goes. I've been home with sick fellas since Thursday. First Porter, then Stetson, with hand, foot, and mouth. Let's start with the shame and guilt there - despite it being a very common illness in young children. I feel like a bad parent and a bad housekeeper. We are essentially on quarantine - and I don't blame anyone - it's not a fun one to get. So there's that. Then there's me. The idealist, the pleaser, the everything to everyone. At home. Away from work for two full days, and counting. Rescheduling and missing meetings. Trying my best to answer emails and still produce. I'd be lying if I said I haven't been planning in my head, repeating over and over my to-do list. Rec