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I'm no Florence Nightingale (I don't even think I know how to spell her name)

So, Greg got his tonsils out on this past Thursday. I took off this whole week from work to be at his beck and call (please, no Pretty Woman references) in case he needs anything. FYI, for those of you who got your tonsils out as children and don't remember the recovery being so bad, recovery for adults is pretty brutal.

Anyway, my mother and I always joke that she is and was a great mother but there were two areas that she didn't always do great with: Homework, and taking care of us when we were sick. We will leave the homework issue to another time and it probably will never be discussed on this blog (no, I didn't suffer, I ended up with a Masters degree and all...), but as far as the not taking care of us well when we were sick, it just wasn't her thing. Sure she gave the sympathetic ear and made the appropriate sounds and got the thermometer and all that stuff, but there wasn't ever the proactive stuff. The chicken soup, the breakfast in bed tray, the feeling that your mother wasn't freaking out if you happened to have a vomiting attack when your father wasn't home. You know, all the normal stuff. I got sick at my aunt's (my mother's sister) house in Israel once and only then did I realize what mothers are supposed to do when you get sick. Oh well. I am really not scarred.

So that brings us to today. I think I have been somewhat proactive in Greg's recovery. I went to Giant and bought him 3 different kinds of ice cream, applesauce, yogurt, jello, power-aide, and cottage cheese. For shabbos I made an edible cholent (yes, for some reason, that is a big feat for me lately- don't ask) and a mushy sweet potatoe suflee. I made him a special mexican bean puree (also, don't ask, it is better than it sounds). I have rarely asked him to "just use his voice" instead of those um interesting gestures he thinks are sign language (I took 4 Sign Language classes in college, trust me, it isn't sign langauge). I come up to our room and ask him how he is and what he needs. Basically, I think I have been pretty good to him.

So should I feel guilty that I didn't take his request tonight at 8:30 to go out and buy him a milk shake at Baskin Robbins? I had just gotten home from tehillim and I really didn't want to go out again. I offered to make him a milkshake, but we don't have a blender. I feel bad, but really, not so bad. Like I said, I am not Florence Nightengale. Heck, I am not even Florence Henderson, or my Aunt Florence Cohen, or Florence the interesting lady who lived in Greg's building in Washington Heights, or Florence, Italy (I digress, but I am king of the Florences!). I am just trying to get by. I do promise that if all goes well, I will get that milkshake from Baskin Robbins tommorow. Now I just want to get some sleep...