I groaned at the thought of being sick again with the onset of an achy throat. It was pretty obvious what would come next: the stuffy nose, headache, tight sinuses, NyQuil before bed, and then the dreaded cough that lasted weeks.
In the past year, I could count several colds, sicknesses, and upper-respiratory viruses that clung onto me like wet blankets, keeping me shivery and uncomfortable. I had been to multiple doctors over and over to find relief from sinusitis, tonsillitis, bronchitis, etc.
At dinnertime, my 4-year-old remembered I had mentioned not feeling well and prayed . . . “Dear Lohd, thank you for this beautiful day. Help us have good night and help Mama’s shroat to feel better. Amen.”
I smiled and told her that was thoughtful before we scooped forks into our spaghetti.
When our children are thoughtful, they mirror our actions. They are putting into action what they have seen on display, year after year. Our gentle instructions are never wasted. Our harsh replies are quickly forgiven.
The giving hands, kissing lips, and tone of voice have surrounded their every move. It is not lost on me that a kind word from them means I haven’t totally, royally, screwed up. It means I haven’t given up.
An idea to start a hot bath beckons me before I am even done with dinner, so I slip into the bathroom. I squat on the cold tub bottom, my hands in the water as I run it hotter and hotter. My oldest approached me and with raised eyebrows asked if she could make me tea. I said yes, thank you, over the sound of the running water, and she scampered away.
My 3-year-old mosied in after a little while and repeated that sister was making me tea and that I had to be careful, “cuz it hot!” She showed me where she thought I could safely set it—right here or right here, on the bathroom counter or toilet lid next to the book I planned to read while in the bath. I relished the fact that she was involving herself in this errand too. She craved to be included in big sister’s mission to make mama tea.
My husband was around somewhere, so I knew my big girl would have help making the hot tea. I waited, feeling cozier already with the smell of shea butter and almond oil scented Epsom salt mixing with the water.
When my daughter was six months old, she couldn’t take out the trash. When she was one year old, she couldn’t load the dishwasher. When she was two, she could barely dress herself.
All those years, I had been teaching her the most basic tasks: How to form sentences, how to wipe front to back, how to ride a bike, how to look an adult in the eye to say thank you. Had she been paying attention? Was I the teacher, and she the student, and today an unwritten exam of all that curriculum we had been studying for years?
In a few minutes, she walked in carefully, holding a mug with two hands, a tea bag hanging off the side. She stumbled and spilled a little on my pile of clothes, then looked up at me, embarrassed, but still stepping forward carefully. She set the mug down on the bathroom floor, and the spoon clinked against the side.
“There you go, Mama!” Her eyes met mine again and she said, “I spilled a little, but that’s okay. I will get you new clothes.” She picked up my small mound of dirty clothes and walked to the bedroom to set them in the laundry bin. After that, she brought me a set of clean clothes—a sexy, impractical pink and black bra, panties, a simple striped shirt from my closet, and one fuzzy sock.
Not quite a complete outfit, but it made me laugh that she was thoughtful again and again, trying her best to meet my needs. She set the clothes outside the door so they wouldn’t get wet on the bathroom floor.
Soon after, my husband scooped her and her little sister up to take them to the YMCA for a little while. My girls weren’t the only thoughtful souls in the house.
I soaked. The quiet house was gentle therapy on my aching body. I drank my tea, thankful for my thoughtful family. It was blended perfectly with milk and sugar. The ginger spice was a little strong, but everything else was perfect. It was gone before long and I relaxed against the back of the tub.
She passed the test. A mama in need, a daughter to the rescue. I think she has been paying attention. What a reward to our labor when our children rise up to meet our needs for a change, instead of the other way around. And what a rich blessing to watch.
by Tynea Lewis 
by Kelsey Scism 
by Mikala Albertson 
