Caring for Mum
by Daniel O'Boyle

Mum walked downstairs on a frosty morning and kissed me on the head. Dad and sister Suzanne had gone away to Dublin for the weekend because Mum said they needed to bond. So it was just Mum and me for the whole weekend, which I did not mind because Mum and me got on like a house on fire. Mum and Suzanne were always fighting so I think Mum was happy to see the back of her for a few days.
“How are you this morning, Honey?” Mum asked, putting some bread in the toaster.
“I’m fine,” I relied through a mouth full of cereal.
“Good, because I was planning to take you to the cinema today,” said Mum, switching on the ketle.
“Great! Can we see Toy Story 3?” I asked.
“Of course,” replied Mum, picking up my empty cereal bowl.
Later that day, though, Mum came downstairs coughing and sneezing with a face as white as a ghost.
“Mum, are you okay?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
I clicked two Lego pieces together.
“Well, your face is as white as Grandad’s when he was in that box, and you are coughing and sneezing like Grandad did before he ended up in the box.”
Mum coughed again.
“It’s only flu,” she said. “But maybe I should go and lie down.” She frowned. “I don’t think we can go to the cinema today after all.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We can stay here and I can look after you.”
“That would be lovely,” she said.
“So you go to bed,” I told her. I decided to take Mum up some orange juice but when I opened the fridge the carton was empty. ‘Stupid Suzanne!’ I thought. “She has drunk it all! She is like a camel at an oasis!’ I laughed to myself at the image of Suzanne on all fours lapping up orange juice. I decided to make Mum some real orange juice using real oranges instead. I got the machine thing out of the cupboard that I had seen her use to squeeze oranges and took the juice up to Mum. Unfortunately, there were only two oranges so there was no much juice in the glass. But I think she enjoyed it.
Then I had to clear up the mess in the kitchen. I accidentally knocked over the milk while I was doing it but Oscar, the cat, cleared up that. Then the phone rang and I ran to answer it. Mum owns a mobile hairdessing business and it was one of her clients.
“Is Caroline Quirke there?” asked a woman. “I need her to come to my house this afternoon and do my hair.”
“I’m sorry, but she is sick in bed,” I said politely.
“And I have a dinner party tonight,” said the woman. “So I need my hair done. She can’t be that sick, surely?
This made me really angry.
“My mother is coughing and sneezing and could well be suffering from the black death!” I shouted. “So unless you want snot and phlegm in your hair, you had better hang up and find another hairdresser.”
I tried to make Mum dinner but that eended with Mum having to put out the small fire on the hob. I tried to make Mum some tea, but that ended in Mum having to save the cat from the scalding water. I even tried making Mum a ‘Get Well Soon’ card but that ended in Mum having to unglue my two hands.
That evening Mum was better and we snuggled up to watch a movie.
“I’m sorry for being such a terrible carer,” I said.
“It’s fine, Honey. What matters is that you tried your best. You may have set fire to the hob, scalded poor old Oscar, glued your hands together and lost me one of my best clients ... but it’s the thought that counts. Okay?”
She gave me a warm smile and held me closer. “I don’t think I could have asked for a better son,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.
“And I don’t think I could as ask for a better Mum,” I said. “But I do think I could have been given a better sister,” I added.
We both laughed.