Ill

I'm exhausted.

Three long days of relentless illness -- not mine, but first the baby's, then the big kid's, then my husband's. A stomach virus, a particularly nasty one. Lots of laundry, lots of scrubbing carpets, toilets, furniture. Hours of soothing those I love the most while they suffer and praying I'll stay well enough to care for them. Washing my hands so often and so hard they crack from the abuse.

Add to it all the baby's molars coming in and you have an idea of the lack of sleep I've faced.

And as I sit in the dark silence at nearly midnight trying and failing to unwind, I once again hear from upstairs the baby's insistent cries. Third time tonight.

I want to run.

For a moment, I freeze. I can see myself, keys in hand, running out the door. Down the creaky porch steps into the cool night air. I can breathe there. I can hear the sounds of the car -- my husband's fast one, not my practical one -- the decisive thud of the car door, the sound of the engine starting up as I turn the key, the crunch of gravel under the tires as I make my escape.

Where will I go? The destination doesn't matter. Somewhere with a hot shower to wash away the stink of illness. Really good room service. A comfortable bed. A maid. Somewhere where I will be taken care of, rather than the caretaker.

I'm jarred out of my reverie by the memory of Saint Peter. He ran. After all his big talk, all his promises, he ran from the Cross. And in this moment I want to follow him.

But unlike Peter, I have the rest of the story. And therefore, no excuses.

This nudge from the Holy Spirit is enough. One foot in front of the other, I walk to the kitchen, aware of my mission. I prepare the dose of baby ibuprofen. I pour some milk. I climb the stairs and beg for the grace to embrace my cross (for the third time tonight). And then I do -- all 25 pounds of him.

To my great relief, he takes the medicine willingly and nestles against me in the rocking chair as he drinks his milk. As I rock him back to sleep, I talk to God, asking forgiveness for my selfishness and healing for my family. I beg the Blessed Mother's intercession. And I lift my sweet baby into his crib so we can start the night again.

A-I-R-S.

A-I-R-S: "Earth."

It helps if you know he usually pronounces Earth like "hearse" without an H. He drew Earth (that would be the swirly ball at the top), sounded out how he thought it was spelled, wrote it down and called me to come see. I was very proud.

A boy and his tree ....

My eldest, on moving:

"Mama, when we go to a new house will our tree come with us?"

"No, sweetie, it has to stay with this house. I will miss it, too."

"But can we take it with us? Please? Please, Mama? Can we?"

This was said so wistfully my heart broke a little. And I realized I want to take it with us, too.

For everything else ...

Rib-eye steaks: $12.47. Heirloom tomatoes for a salad with organic feta cheese and shallots: $4.99/lb plus $4.99 for the cheese. Fresh garlic-potato bread: $2.99. Italian red wine: $6.99.



Small hands tearing into dinner with gleeful abandon before we've even sat down to pray: priceless.

My baby is 4.

Four years ago, I was thrown headfirst into the churning sea of motherhood and told I had to learn to swim. Not only my life would depend on it, but his.

There is no better proof of the love and grace of God than that one as unprepared as I could, four years later, call herself the proud parent of this faithful, kind, intelligent, creative and inquisitive little boy:



Happy birthday, sweetheart. As long as I'm living, my BIG BOY you'll be.

Side by Side

Today, I found hidden treasure. My old Photobucket account, which I use sporadically for things like creating avatars and blog headers, contains 111 pictures spread out over six pages. I never look at them. I use the account to host whatever image I need to use at that moment, and then forget about it.

So today, I decided to check out the earliest pictures and see what they were. How could I have forgotten?!

Before I tell you what I found, I first need to give some background. Part of the reason I started this blog was to help me sort my thoughts on homemaking. By the grace of God, and thanks to the advice and insight offered by the wonderful people I've linked to in my Resources and Inspiration list, my house is fairly well-run and looks pretty decent these days. Albeit, my version of "well-run" may look a bit different than some, and there are still a few rooms I keep closed up when company comes over, but they are finally the minority -- most rooms in my house are actually quite lovely. But it wasn't always this way ... much to the consternation of my husband, who in a fit of frustration sometime toward the end of my oldest child's first year, threw everything in my slovenly home office in the trash -- including my laptop computer.

In fairness, the screen was broken and I was not using it. But I had not removed the hard drive yet to put it in a safe place, and that drive contained all of the photographic evidence of Ian's first year. To say I was upset would obviously be an understatement. By the time I realized what had happened, my computer was long gone, and with it, my precious pictures.

So what did I find today in my Photobucket account, but a page-and-a-half worth of baby photos of my oldest son -- all my favorites, no less! I guess I put them there to share on one forum or another back in the dark ages before Flickr and the Blog (is that a great name for a band or what?), and they sat there all this time waiting to be rediscovered! Better yet, my Dad says he has lots of pictures that I've e-mailed to him over the years and is going to burn them onto a CD for me. So I am a happy woman, indeed.

So, what's up with the title of this post? What does "Side by Side" have to do with anything?

Well, this is actually going to be more like "Over and Under," since I can't figure out how to get Blogger to let me put two images side by side. But in each of the next two sets, the top photo is my youngest, and the bottom is my oldest at about the same age. I'm in awe of both the similarities and the differences. God is an incredible artist.




Top photo: My youngest at about a week old (he was six weeks premature).
Bottom photo: My eldest at about a week old (he was full term).




Top photo: Youngest today, at seven months old.
Bottom photo: Eldest in March 2005, at nine months old.

As you can see, the little one overcame his prematurity very well and is now every bit as large and agile than his full-term brother was at the same age or older. God is good, and we are thankful for both of our babies' health and beauty.

Chocolate makes everything better.

Yes, that's a cast on my three year old's arm. He fell down the concrete stairs in front of the neighbor's house. I was spared the horror of watching it happen. I was inside, cleaning the boys' bedrooms while my husband watched them outside ... and then I heard that scream. You know, THE scream that can only mean the next stop is the nearest E.R..

Thank God he was wearing a bike helmet at the time, because he landed on his head. We'll take a broken elbow over a broken skull. We have a follow up appointment June 17 to see whether it's healed ... they don't like to keep casts on little guys longer than three weeks. Which is a good thing, because it's SUMMER! Sandboxes, swimming pools, sprinklers, water fights ... all a bit hard to do with a cast on your arm.

He's been quite a trooper. I think he's braver than I am. And we'll soon have lots and lots of pictures of him in his little blue cast, because his birthday is the 14th, and so is the party! My little guy is turning 4. Amazing.

A visit from the fire department!

No, not for us, thank God ... and everything seemed to be okay at the home they were called to, as well! No one got taken away on a stretcher and nothing was on fire ... but the fire truck and ambulance did come today, with lights, sirens and everything! The kids got a good look ...





The kids proceeded to spend the next three hours playing "fire truck and ambulance" with their bikes and some sticks (for medical gear). Nothing like an emergency to liven up a long, otherwise boring day. I'm just thankful everything turned out okay!

Family life: When it's good ...

... it's really, really good.

They love each other!



What could be better than that?

The Blessed Mother endured many things ....

.... but she never had to balance the needs of two small children.

I just completely lost it on my older son for waking up the baby I spent an hour rocking down. Frankly, we're both lucky my hands are full of fussy infant right now. Please, pray for us both.

For obvious reasons, no picture will be posted.

What my oldest son is wearing as he watches TV in the living room:

Long-sleeved thermal top in urban camo.
Gray briefs.
Mid-calf height rain boots with pictures of salamanders on them.

Who needs pants?

That's the last time I let you watch the Discovery Channel special on acid rain ....

"Mommy, is it going to snow?"

"No, sweetie, it's too warm to snow."

"But the clouds are moving in front of the sun and they will cover it up and then it will be cold and then it will snow."

"Honey, it's already fifty degrees outside. If any water falls from the sky today, it will be in the form of rain."

"Mooooommmmmy! Water doesn't fall from the sky. That's so silly!"

"Oh, yeah? What do you call rain?"

"Poison."

Such a tease ....

... this weather, that is. Spring has visibly sprung. There are buds opening on every tree and the sun is shining brightly.



The rays refracted through the glass doors in the living room are so very warm and inviting.



Unfortunately, the backyard thermometer reads 36 degrees -- and it's in the sun.

Try explaining to a cabin-feverish three-year-old why we can't play outside on his brand new bike (Happy Easter!) when it looks oh-so-lovely through the windows. According to weather.com, it's supposed to get up to 56 degrees today, but not until 6 pm, and really, what use is that?

I figure if it tops 40 degrees, we'll bundle up the baby and head outside, but I don't do 36 unless there's snow to play in.

I can't wait for the REAL arrival of spring!

Where I've been

God used me to make this little guy, born November 4:



He's nearly five months old and I'm just getting back into the swing of things. It was an exhausting pregnancy (with the insane three year old running about) ending in bedrest and an emergency c-section six weeks ahead of schedule. By the grace of God and many, many prayers (especially the Memorare), he was absolutely fine. As you can see from the picture, he's robust (rotund, even!), and happy. Praise God for His generous gifts.

(Check out big brother rocking out on his guitar in the background of the picture if you want to start your day with a smile.)