Sick Day Souffle

A second round of bronchial distress forced me to keep Eliot home from preschool yesterday. He stayed with Toby in the morning while I dragged myself to my first ever mammogram. Toby headed back to work after I returned, Eliot and mommy both took too-short naps, and we grumped and dragged through the afternoon. Cough, hack, blow, fuss. We hauled ourselves out into the blustery afternoon to force a few scouring breaths of autumn air through clogged lungs. By dinnertime, I was feeling dizzy and listless, itchy-throated and headachy. As we put on jammies and settled down to read, Eliot looked at me and said, "Let's have a sick day again tomorrow."

My boy got his wish. We stayed home for the second day, and he was ecstatic. No school, no swim lessons, no supermarket, no car seat. He stayed in his underpants, jammie top, and fleece slippers till 3:30 in the afternoon. We piled up blocks, made ferryboats travel around the living room rug, forced Snow White into a string harness to rock climb up a 3-foot dowel balanced in a flowerpot. We read at least 15 books before lunch. We dug through a small mountain of French Toast at 10:00 in the morning. We napped until nearly dinnertime.

Toby walked into the wreckage at 5:30. My big plans for a Canadian split pea soup supper had long since been abandoned. I had barely managed to clean up from lunch, let alone start scrubbing potatoes and mincing garlic for yet another meal. We considered heading over to the dining hall -- always a nice backup -- but really, how awful would it be to spare Eliot's classmates his germs, only to inflict them on our fellow staff members and the kids from a visiting school? We figured we could just heat up something from a can for dinner. Same as we did for lunch.

But Toby had a package under his arm. A belated birthday gift from Aunt Nancy and Uncle John in Dallas. Eliot tore it open, and found one of the greatest sick-day birthday presents a boy and his mom could wish for. Silicone baking cups! A kid-friendly cookbook! A project! "Let's cook dinner," Eliot said. It's on, baby.

We dug out eggs, some frozen chunks of ham I had put in the freezer for just such an occasion, and a little wilted spinach. Eliot was a champ, whisking his eggs and asking, "Are they all mixed up?" He made sure every cup had an fair number of ham bites, and included himself in the rotation. "I am testing them to make sure they are good for cooking."

With a steady hand, he poured the egg mixture into the cups. I was amazed at the care he took to do this job well. With the addition of a few slices of apple and toast, dinner was on the table in twenty minutes. The mini fritattas barely lasted five. Eliot finished all three of the ones he had grabbed and started making covetous glances towards Toby's plate.

Of course, no culinary task with a three-year-old ends smoothly. The mixing bowl and apron reminded him of baking, which made him crave something sweet, and the rest is history. For the allergy-inflicted, even the simple act of baking cookies takes an added degree of artistry. Oat flour, almond butter, coconut oil melted in the microwave, and vegan chocolate chips. No recipe. We've had enough practice by now to be able to whip up something delicious without too much effort, and thank goodness for that. Because, by this point in the evening, I was feeling ready to fall over, and the dishes were piling up, and, needless to say, I was a little sick of the kitchen. But I stuck with it, Eliot mixed and poured some more, and a fabulous bedtime snack greeted us with the beep of the oven timer.

We all may be sick around here, but that hasn't slowed down our appetites. I can guarantee you these cookies won't last the night.