Chalk and Cheese Chronicles

A Dazed Mind and Happy Feet

We're at Saravana Bhavan, nourishing a friendship back to health over a dinner of dosas and steamy cups of Indian chai. But our words fall flat, unable to remain aloft. To our left, the kitchen sizzles with the sounds of frying; to our right, a flat screen television blasts a Bollywood beat and above us, the piped in sounds of traditional Indian music together compete quite effectively, drowning out our conversation. We give up, our voices strained.

My friend suggests we do something relaxing and borrows my phone. She calls ahead. They are open late, she is sure. "Ok, ok, " I hear her say, "we'll be there at 10."

"What time do they close?" I ask. "Eleven p.m., " she says. "Let's give it a try," I reply.

We jump in the car and drive, passing by older style motels with neon signs. This is the seedier stretch of El Camino in Palo Alto. Then we see it - we think. There are two signs for very different businesses, but with similar names. It's confusing. Shadows move from behind the curtains - it's that one. We are not alone at this late hour. We duck into the non-descript, darkened building, chased by the night air.

Three people greet us. "We were at the apartment, " they say, "but we came back."

Sorry, says my friend, but I'm cringing of embarrassment. I'm not keen on being the last ones in. We're inconveniencing them. What time did they really close?

The dimly lit room seems enormous, with spaces for 15 people. We lie down on side by side oversized loungers. I feel nervous. Nobody talks. (Clothes are on, only my head band was removed.)

Slosh, slosh.

Water, hotter than I'm used to arrives in a plastic tub. I slip my feet into it, trying to relax but my mind is at odds with my feet. My mind says relax, stay. My feet say run away quickly. Too hot!

I bristle but my germ free feet stay put.

Can I be sick today?

Cheese Boy has the sniffles.

"Maybe I'll keep you home tomorrow, if your cold worsens, " I tell him as I tuck him in at bedtime. Don't want to pass germs on to the entire preschool.

His sleepy eyes twinkle with hope, "Really?"

Then he drifts off to sleep, dreaming of a nose full of snot.

In the morning, I find crumpled pieces of used tissue stuffed into the space between Cheese Boy's mattress and his bed frame. "Rough night, " I surmise.  But Cheese Boy's nose is only a little bit leaky.

"Do I have to go to preschool?" he asks me.

"Let's see how it goes, " I say. "But it does not mean you get to do anything fun. It means that you'll have to stay home. Perhaps even in your bed."

We do our usual morning scramble of begging and pleading with my boys to brush teeth, put on shoes and leave that toy at home! Finally, we're in the car, on our way to preschool on the tardy side of course.

Once out of the car, my boys race each other to their classroom. They're happy, mingling with their friends and checking out the morning's projects.

"OK, Mom, let's go, " Cheese Boy announces, pulling my hand.

"So you're not feeling well. Really?" I ask.

Cheese Boy forces out a cough.

"Alright, you can stay home with me. Let's tell your teacher."

We inform his teacher, bid a temporary adieu to our Chalk Boy brother and saunter out the door. And I do mean saunter. Sick people do not saunter.

Once out in the fresh air, Cheese Boy looks up at me with a big, satisfied grin. It's the grin that says, "We really pulled one over on everyone, didn't we?"

He skips off toward the gate, filled with glee. He is not so sick that he can't go to school, but I feel like following his lead. "Let's go out for breakfast!" I'm about to say. As twins, my boys so rarely get alone time with either parent, so I relish the days when I get to be 1:1 with one of them, even if that child is under the weather.

As we get to the parking lot, we run into a girl from his class and her mother who are just arriving at school. They look surprised to see us leaving. "He's, um, sick, " I explain, my fingers signaling quotation marks. "Sick."

"Oh, come on Cheese Boy, come with us, let's go to school, " they say, cheerfully.

"OK, " he replies and turns back around, following them to class.

"We're back, " I explain to the teacher and to his brother.

Cheese Boy scoots off in search of his friends.

I head home, missing my little "sick" boy. He'd have made terrific company at breakfast. I drive home, replace Cheese Boy's box of tissue with a fresh one and plunge into a morning of housework.

Maybe Cheese Boy will be sick again tomorrow.

Original Chalk and Cheese Chronicles blog post.