Ukraine Adoption

Down and Out

Little Tara Vika rarely gets sick, so when I saw her crumpled up on the floor in the hallway outside my bedroom door early this morning, I knew she was not over the virus that struck her late Saturday night.

Poor little thing, her cheeks were flush and damp from tears, her hair tangled and in her face. She was angry at me, as children blame their parents when the world isn't quite right.

Her forehead was hot. "I need medicine and you were taking too long!" she screamed at me. I scooped her (ahh, this must be why my back started hurting yesterday). We headed downstairs where I set her up on the couch with a blanket. I gave her some medicine. You will start to feel better in just a little while, I told her and kissed her head. It's nice that John works from home; I don't have to scramble to try to figure out my work situation.

Seeing her on the couch with a blanket, it reminded me of the days when I got to stay home sick. There's something so comforting about skipping school and lying on the couch all day. I should have bought some ginger ale, that's what my mom always gave us. But Tara likes to have popsicles when she is sick or injured.

When I was ready to leave, Tara seemed to be feeling better. She sat up a little straighter and managed a weak smile. Then asked: "How many popsicles can I have today?"