A Toddler's Tea Time

“A little more, please.” My mom flipped the yellow lid, squeezed the Teddy bear, and drizzled more honey onto the teaspoon. 

She then methodically stirred the honey into the steaming hot water. Carefully tearing the paper wrapper that housed the Lipton tea bag, she extracted it and started bouncing it up and down in the tea cup. 

I coughed and blew my nose with the Kleenex my mom had put by the couch. In the background, the familiar sounds of Tom chasing Jerry filled the room.

“Ok, sweetie, it's gotta cool for a couple minutes,” as her hand gently glided across my forehead. My mom’s hand was so soft thanks to her daily ritual of applying Pond’s Butter Hand Cream. 

 “Take a sip and see if it’s ready or still too hot.”

I held the teacup up to my lips huffing and puffing as if blowing out birthday candles, sending violent ripples on the tea’s surface. I slurped the tea with as much grace as any three-year-old would. “Ouch!” My eyes watered and I started to cry. Clearly not the outcome my mom was hoping for, she leaned over and wiped the tears away. “Let’s give it more time and this time don’t inhale the tea, sip it.” I understood. 

So, after a few minutes passed, I took a sip and the relief was instant as the warm honey coated my sandpaper throat. The floral and caramelized aroma opened up my clogged nasal passages and I felt my respiratory system rebound. I wrapped my arms around my mom’s neck and gave her a peck on the cheek. 

I rubbed my belly and she picked up on the “subtle” clue.

I heard her in the kitchen pulling out the skillet, untwisting the Wonder Bread, opening the fridge to extract four slices of Kraft American cheese and a couple slices of thin Oscar Mayer ham. She lit the gas burner to make the grilled ham and cheese. Next, it was the electric can opener, puncturing and spinning the can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup. I continued to sip my tea with great anticipation of what was to come. 

Soon my mom emerged with a crispy sandwich with gooey cheese spilling over the sides of the crust and a piping hot bowl of tomato soup. The tea, sandwich and soup warmed my belly like toasted marshmallows on an open fire and relaxed my mind.

My mom scooted me over on the couch so she could lie down next to me. We spent the afternoon watching cartoons and consuming these homemade treats. I don’t know which was making me feel better–what I was consuming or the gentle strokes of my mom brushing my hair with her long fingers. Soon I was fast asleep.

I woke up when I felt her scoop her hands under my legs and back, carrying me to my bed upstairs. She gently laid me down, kissed my forehead and turned out the lights. I didn’t cough once all night.