She had been complaining about a sore throat for a couple days.
"Can you bring me food on a tray?"
she croaked in her morning, "I'm sick" voice.
"Sure", I said vaguely, hoping she would go back to sleep.
Once my son was off to school, a picnic breakfast in bed on a tray was sounding more do-able.
My largest tray was almost too large to pass up our narrow stairs.
On the walk up, I noted the dog hair nestled in the corners of each step.
But I digress.
I landed on Rebecca's bed like a magic carpet ride, tray laden with milk and honeyed tea, teacups, scrambled eggs with cheese and warmed over cinnamon rolls (served on old glass dessert plates). Also a small blue custard cup of orange slices and a small box of raisins (just because I know she likes raisins).
While we ate and drank, I read "The Jolly Postman", opening and reading every enclosure in the book, instead of skimming like I normally do for bedtime reading.
"This is the best day ever!"
exclaimed my 5 year old invalid.
And she cleaned her plate, eating better than when she is "well".
Just then she spilled her full teacup on the tray.
The party was over.