A different routine for our teamwork emerges when Ron is traveling. While he was trying to find a place to eat late yesterday evening, I was driving kids to various scheduled events. While he decided they must be in the hood where folks are not what they are born, I was driving through McDonald's in utter desperation to feed my children. While he finally dined, I was accelerating through the evening routine.

As I collapsed into bed, I realized that my throat hurt...really, really hurt. Kiahra brought me the medicine cabinet, and I fell into a fitful sleep. When the alarm rang at 5 AM this morning, I wanted to die. Feverish. Aching. Instead I got up.

I remember as a child being sick allowed me the comfort of lounging around. It wasn't until I reached college that I realized there is nothing like a mother to nurture you when sick. It was the first time I was left to fend for myself when I was sick. I didn't like it, but I got used to it. Then I became a mother, and suddenly fending for myself while sick seemed luxurious. I remember when we lived in Minneapolis I got sick. Pneumonia to be exact. I was really, really sick. I had three little kids under the age of 5. For the first time, I simply could not take care of my kids while I was sick. Ron came home. I have never been that sick again...gratefully. However, it was the one time when I cried because I had no one to help me. Homesick and sick.

I am definitely sick today. The fever is surging through me now, but I will go back to bed for a couple hours to try to help my body heal. I know I have no one to help me. I know I must let the laundry and dishes and chores go. I must attempt to take care of myself so I can find enough strength to take care of my family and get through the day.

This morning Kade was helping me. My compassionate little man could hear the roughness in my voice and probably see my flushed face, so he automatically just did more. He helped his little sister. He brought out the bikes. He rode slowly to make sure I was keeping up. We arrived at school, and as we pulled into the bike rack, I noticed he did not have his backpack. My heart sank. As I uttered the words, a look of horror crossed his face then tears ran down his cheeks as he hastily wiped them away. The panic of not having his work surged through him. We were fifteen minutes early, but I had to wait with Chayse until the kindergarten door opened. Kade opted to ride home the 1.4 miles unlock the door and grab his backpack and ride back 1.4 miles. I worried. I hoped he was remembering to ride carefully. I had assured him his safety was more important than his backpack. I had told him I would talk to his teacher, and he didn't need to worry instead he could just focus completing his errand.

Guilt surged through me as I stood and waited with Chayse, and as I waited for him after Chayse was safely inside her classroom. Finally, I saw him. His face was red. He waited at the light. I waited on the other side. Together we walked to his classroom. He was worried. I stepped inside his classroom, and his teacher assured me it was fine. She would just mark him tardy...it happens. I hope he heard her gentle understanding.

As I walked back to my bike, I hoped he would relax and test well. He has two tests today...and tests give him anxiety already. But I realized that I am so proud of him already today. He didn't stand by and pout or blame. He simply rode home and got his backpack. His initiative is impressive. I wanted to tell his teacher what an amazing kid he had been this morning. I wanted to tell her he took the initiative to lend a helping hand throughout the morning, and though he forgot his backpack, he simply did what it took to get it. I wanted to say it wasn't really his fault. I know that, but somehow it lessens what he did. Sometimes it is doing what is right and no one noticing...except me.

So I cannot sit here and feel sorry for myself any longer because today my son showed me how much he loves me. Ironic that in these humble moments of lifes' trials that I find I am proudest of my children.