June hasn't been a very good month for my family. We have had, in just three weeks time, two bouts with either a stomach virus, or a stomach virus and food poisoning. Either way, it wasn't pretty.
The first weekend of June it involved myself, my 8 year old, and my 18 month old. I have to say, of the two illnesses this month, the first involved the most prolonged, er, clean up. Much time was spent on the furniture and carpet with our Bissell Little Green carpet cleaner. I still am working on "freshening" the couch cushions. YUCK.
Fast forward three weeks to this past weekend. All is well, except the baby has had some nasty diapers for a few days, and threw up at breakfast mid week last week. We assumed he had choked, and was not really sick. Friday night rolls around, and thankfully my husband is driving home from work. All the kids are in bed. Then......it begins.
My 8 year old son comes out and says, "My stomach hurts." So, I told him to sit on the couch with me until Daddy got home. He felt pretty puny, but he seemed okay. Then, from the bedroom area comes a strange splashing sound. Now, our two cats have a gift for finding the one full glass of water in my room and knocking it over for a drink. We battle this all time time. (I know, bring the glasses out of your room, silly. I am working on it.) So, I tell my son to stay put, and I go back to throttle a cat. I take a peak into the boys' bedroom. Alas, it wasn't the cat.
My 5 year old son is sitting up in his bed, covered in the remains of his dinner. The side of the bed where his brother normally sleeps is covered in his dinner as well. Thankfully, said brother is dry in the living room. So, I calmly lead my weeping son to the bathroom where I run him a bath and convince him he doesn't need to be afraid of the bathtub. I think he was still a bit asleep. Once I had him all settled in the tub, I go to check on my 8 year old, while calling my husband to check on his progress.
My 8 year old has moved into the restroom and has tried, unsuccessfully, to vomit into the toilet. Mostly it all landed on the floor, the tub and himself. I calmly ask him to stay put, and I move the 5 year old out of the tub into dry jammies, and then run a bath for my 8 year old. In the span of 20 minutes I have had two vomiting children and two baths full of water cleaning them. I am beginning to feel nauseous, as would anyone in my position. I start praying that I am not getting sick as well.
Fast forward to about 20 minutes later. We have two clean boys, one having thrown up again into a bowl, the other having thrown up again, this time successfully in the potty. Daddy is close, so I decide that my nauseous tummy can't handle cleaning up all the puke. In our family, my husband is the vomit cleaner. He has a stronger stomach.
Unfortunately, several hours later, I join my sons in the toilet-hugging for a while. I come out into the living room afterwards to where my husband is sleeping with the two sick boys, and ask him if everyone is okay. He says our 9 year old son came out into the living room and threw up a trail to the bathroom. Twice. Sigh.
So, all in all, it was not a fun night. We spent Saturday basically sleeping all day in the living room because we all felt TERRIBLE. My husband was working, so thankfully he did not get whatever we got. Sunday, we did more of the same, just healing and resting.
What have I learned from this? Well, my 9 year old had an interesting comment for me in the first round of our sicknesses at the beginning of the month. Just after the baby had showered me with his breakfast, all of it running down my face, chest, stomach and legs, he said to me "Man, you are one unlucky mommy!"
I just looked at him, face dripping, and said, "No, honey, I am just a mommy. Every one of you, at one time or another, has done this to me." He looked HORRIFIED!! But this is the truth. When you agree to bring a life into this messy world, you agree to take part in messes. Whether it is sick tummies, or fights, or hurt feelings, or broken hearts, we take on life's messes when we take part in each other's lives. It isn't always fun, but it is always worth it.
And that is what it boils down to in parenting. The hurt, the grossness, the mess, it is all worth it. I love these people so much I don't even know where to put it most of the time. And if part of being their mommy means I have to be thrown up on, so be it. This is part of what I signed on for. And, most of all, they are worth it.
End Note: The clever title has to be credited to my musical-loving husband! This one is for all you "Carousel" fans.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Father's Day
I have been motivated to write this after reading my dad's post on Father's Day. Even if you don't know my dad, it is worth a read. His blog is http://www.earnestdcember.blogspot.com/. I am not ashamed to say that I was reduced to tears, hearing my dad talk about his father. You know, I can't think of any man (besides my husband, of course) that I have ever loved as much as my Daddy. And besides my Daddy and my husband, the only other man that really held a huge place in my heart was my Pappaw. His name was Stanley, and the thing I remember most about him is his love for Jesus. Plain and simple, my Pappaw loved his Savior.
I am not naive enough to believe that Pappaw did everything right, or to hold him up to some standard that no human could ever really meet. I know that he was a man, just like any other man. It is interesting to hear the lifetime of memories my dad has about his dad. My memories occur much later in the last few years of Pappaw's life, when I got to spend time with him as an adult. I remember that he wept frequently after my grandmother died, and that he repeatedly said that he wanted to go to heaven to see his two best friends, Jesus and Elizabeth. I remember the look on my husband's face the first time he saw Pappaw whacking away at my back with his huge hands while hugging me!! My husband looked like he was going to dive in and rescue me until I shot him an "I'm okay" look. After a lifetime of these hugs, we all had Pappaw-callouses on our backs!!
Mostly I remember that he was single-mindedly focused on his Savior in the later years. He lived and breathed his faith. He had one foot in heaven, and the other one reluctantly stuck here on earth. My uncle said once that Pappaw was a funeral junkie, and would go to any one's funeral even if he didn't know the person! What I learned later on in my life was that Pappaw was determined to be at church whenever he could because if the word of God was being preached, and hymns were going to be sung, he wanted to be there.
This is amazing to me. I am so busy, raising boys, being a wife, working from home, keeping the house, making the meals, all of the things that are necessary and right for me to do. What I want to have, in the midst of all of that, is a single-minded focus on my Savior. He is worthy of that single-minded devotion to Him. And I know I can have that heart while doing all of the above mentioned good and necessary things. I just have to get my head out of those things, and remember that I am doing them, not just in service to my bucketloads of men, but in service to the one Man who is my all in all. Pappaw's heart was the example for my heart to follow.
You know, one of the best things my Pappaw did was give me my Daddy. Like my Pappaw, I don't have him on a pedestal, he is a man, like any other man. He has made mistakes, as have I and you and everyone. But for my whole life, my Daddy has loved me. Unashamedly, without reserve loved me. I know that in this world today, this is not something to take for granted. I am proud to say that I don't, and I never will.
I am not naive enough to believe that Pappaw did everything right, or to hold him up to some standard that no human could ever really meet. I know that he was a man, just like any other man. It is interesting to hear the lifetime of memories my dad has about his dad. My memories occur much later in the last few years of Pappaw's life, when I got to spend time with him as an adult. I remember that he wept frequently after my grandmother died, and that he repeatedly said that he wanted to go to heaven to see his two best friends, Jesus and Elizabeth. I remember the look on my husband's face the first time he saw Pappaw whacking away at my back with his huge hands while hugging me!! My husband looked like he was going to dive in and rescue me until I shot him an "I'm okay" look. After a lifetime of these hugs, we all had Pappaw-callouses on our backs!!
Mostly I remember that he was single-mindedly focused on his Savior in the later years. He lived and breathed his faith. He had one foot in heaven, and the other one reluctantly stuck here on earth. My uncle said once that Pappaw was a funeral junkie, and would go to any one's funeral even if he didn't know the person! What I learned later on in my life was that Pappaw was determined to be at church whenever he could because if the word of God was being preached, and hymns were going to be sung, he wanted to be there.
This is amazing to me. I am so busy, raising boys, being a wife, working from home, keeping the house, making the meals, all of the things that are necessary and right for me to do. What I want to have, in the midst of all of that, is a single-minded focus on my Savior. He is worthy of that single-minded devotion to Him. And I know I can have that heart while doing all of the above mentioned good and necessary things. I just have to get my head out of those things, and remember that I am doing them, not just in service to my bucketloads of men, but in service to the one Man who is my all in all. Pappaw's heart was the example for my heart to follow.
You know, one of the best things my Pappaw did was give me my Daddy. Like my Pappaw, I don't have him on a pedestal, he is a man, like any other man. He has made mistakes, as have I and you and everyone. But for my whole life, my Daddy has loved me. Unashamedly, without reserve loved me. I know that in this world today, this is not something to take for granted. I am proud to say that I don't, and I never will.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
How full is your bucket?
By the title above, you would think I have something like 13 sons. Well, truth be told, I only have 4. They are ranging from 9 years to 18 months old, and I love it. They are wild, they are crazy, they are loud. They wrestle almost as often as they breathe. They are adventurous, they talk constantly, and they are so cuddly with me and my husband. It is a good life.
I think the term "bucketloads" is interesting. Your bucket can be full to bursting, and still only be half the amount of my bucket. And my bucket might look like a thimble compared to someone else's. What it boils down to, for me, is I am floating alone in a vast bucket of testosterone, the lone estrogen bearer in my family. I live with 5 men, and while it is a blessed life beyond belief, I definitely feel that my testosterone-filled bucket is about the size of Lake Erie.
So, encouraged by two parents of mine who are turning into darn good bloggers, I thought I would find a place to post my own thoughts. My thoughts on mothering, marriage, Christianity, and anything else that fills up my "pretty little head", as my husband would say. All things girly, all things touchy-feely, all the things I can't talk to my men about very easily. I may be the only one who reads this. That would be okay. At least I have a pink place to be a girl. Even if it is only virtual, the most important thing is this: It is PINK. Boys are invited to come by, but if you drip any testosterone on the pink decor, you're out of here!!!
I think the term "bucketloads" is interesting. Your bucket can be full to bursting, and still only be half the amount of my bucket. And my bucket might look like a thimble compared to someone else's. What it boils down to, for me, is I am floating alone in a vast bucket of testosterone, the lone estrogen bearer in my family. I live with 5 men, and while it is a blessed life beyond belief, I definitely feel that my testosterone-filled bucket is about the size of Lake Erie.
So, encouraged by two parents of mine who are turning into darn good bloggers, I thought I would find a place to post my own thoughts. My thoughts on mothering, marriage, Christianity, and anything else that fills up my "pretty little head", as my husband would say. All things girly, all things touchy-feely, all the things I can't talk to my men about very easily. I may be the only one who reads this. That would be okay. At least I have a pink place to be a girl. Even if it is only virtual, the most important thing is this: It is PINK. Boys are invited to come by, but if you drip any testosterone on the pink decor, you're out of here!!!
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