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.

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.

How to Make Vacuuming Smell Good

1. Spill a bunch of your favorite aromatic spice (curry powder, for instance).
2. Vacuum it up with your bagless vacuum; empty the canister.
3. For weeks afterward, whenever air passes through the filter, it will be scented with above-mentioned aromatic spice. Instant cravings, whenever you vacuum!

Ask me how I know all this ... later, though, I need to go find some curry now.