Sick Day

I knew today would need to change at 11:40 last night when Micah was up to use the bathroom.  He wouldn't be in shape to go to school today.

It's something I'm pretty strict about, this missing school thing.  Strict as in, if it's more than a head cold, you're staying home.  I think it's left over from when I taught school and parents would send children to school with all sorts of viruses.  Seriously, if it's more than a cold and the child isn't on an antibiotic, then the child needs to be at home until it's out of his/her system.  Otherwise the entire class gets it.  And takes it home to their families.

So Micah, who caught the GI bug on Friday, isn't quite ready yet.  He needs at least today to drink a lot of water and let his body rest.  He's already a bit antsy about tomorrow, hoping he doesn't miss the Valentine's Day party.

It's very convenient that I do not teach on Mondays or Fridays.  I call them my "days off", but you teacher moms know that they are not truly "off".  It's not like I pack up and spend the day at the art museum, which I would dearly love to do.  But these days are a happy mish-mash of planning lessons and grading papers, mixed with washing sheets and catching up on housework from the weekend.  I really enjoy the cozy feeling of a certain amount of work to be done and a set amount of time in which to complete it.

That changes a little bit when someone needs to stay home with you.

Today we go to plan B.  Which doesn't look all that different from plan A.  Just two people instead of one, and perhaps a little more background noise as he watches Veggie Tales or Superfriends.  We'll have time to sit on the couch together under the weight of one of Nanny's afghans, and he'll get the rest he needs.  We'll watch the birds and squirrels battle it out at the feeder and enjoy the in-between-ness of a February day bright with snowshine.

Saturday at Home

We have a Saturday at home.

As I explained to the kiddos, when you are a kid and have a Saturday at home, it's blissful and filled with television and books, games and pretend.  As an adult, a Saturday at home often includes thinking about all the things you want to do that didn't get done during the week.  Not always as much fun, but pretty rewarding.

I cleaned the bathrooms this morning for three hours.

(I know, it doesn't seem like it should take that long.)

I use Flylady's method of cleaning the sink and toilet each morning.

The shower gets cleaned on the weekend.

So it's functionally clean.

But it's not deep-down, take-everything-out-of-the-medicine-cabinet, wipe-down-all-the-shelves clean.

That was today.

And it took forever.

But as soon as I hang the shower curtain back up, I am done.

: )

The bathrooms really, really needed to be cleaned and disinfected after the amount of sickness that passed through these halls since last Saturday.  Kids' rooms are getting tackled after lunch, much to their dismay.

Today's lunch was a reward.  It was supposed to be dinner for date night last night, but my stomach still wasn't 100%.  I went to bed around 6:00 and skipped dinner.

So today for lunch, we had this:

It's hard to tell, but that's actually a spinach-cheese pizza in our bake oven!

Here's a better picture.  I popped it under the broiler in the oven to brown the cheese.  

(In my opinion, cheese is always better when it's browned.)

Only we cheated.

Because we don't truly know how to use the bake oven.

So this was a frozen Amy's pizza that we just took out of the box and put in my Pampered Chef deep-dish baker.

There are all sorts of things I have to learn about using the bake oven, such as, how long you have to wait after building a fire before baking in your oven.

I used my last Christmas gift card on Barnes and Noble's website and ordered The Art of Wood-Fired Cooking, by Andrea Mugnaini and John Thess.  While I was there, I also found The Wood-Fired Oven Cookbook:  70 recipes for incredible stone-baked pizzas and breads, roasts, cakes and desserts, all specially devised for the outdoor oven and illustrated in over 400 photographs. It seemed like a steal at just under $10.

I also ordered an Indigo Girls cd that was on sale for $4.99, but don't tell Todd.  He thinks I picked something really awful.  There are all sorts of wonderfully terrible titles on the $4.99 sale.

Here's hoping that you're enjoying a peaceful Saturday.  

A Boring Sunday

The tire tracks in the middle of my herb lawn are the only physical reminders of a very crazy night.

What's that?  You don't see any herbs?
Oh, that's right.
The chickens ate all the little green shoots down to the soil.

Last night Micah had a very bad reaction to the fish we had for dinner---even though he only chewed one piece and promptly spit it out.

Thanks to Facebook, I was able to go back in my timeline from three weeks ago and see that he was having the same reaction that he had the very first time he tried fish.  What I had assumed was a random stomach virus on January 16th occurred again last night, but with more strength.  In addition to his stomach being sick, it triggered an asthma attack.  The nurse from Children's Hospital was concerned about an anaphylactic reaction, so she had us call an ambulance.

From there everything happened very quickly.  I'm so very grateful for Debbie, the nurse who stayed on the phone and talked me through until the paramedics arrived.  For the young men who came as quickly as they could and got us to the hospital in the blink of an eye.  For the fact that we live ten minutes from a major hospital.  For all of you who saw the message on Facebook and started praying for my boy.

I'm so thankful that the reaction wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I am amazed by the biologic principles that were created inside each human---the ability for a person to innately know by sight, smell, and taste that something should not be consumed.
And I remain in awe of the sixth sense parents feel when they know something terrible is happening to their child.

Today is marked by quiet.
Listening to Narnia on cd.
Building with Legos.
Being "bored"---(that's from Micah...)

I don't know about you, but I'll take a boring Sunday afternoon anytime.

* * * * * * *


#31...for Debbie, Patrick, and Dustin...and for all the other volunteers who make it their business to bring peace in the midst of pain


#32...for Carl Reisig, who was a friend to so many, and who knew it was time to go home


#33...for community, and the support it gives in the middle of the crazy

Ready to Ask

The other day my friend Courtney wrote about the moment when we decide to ask God for help.  When we remember again (for what, the 500th time?) that He is standing by, ready at a moment's notice to help us through the details.  Her words ring with truth.

The asking?
Well, it can be just plain uncomfortable, admitting that you aren't able to do something on your own.

That moment when you have to swallow your pride and put yourself out there.
Asking for employment.
Facing a cancer diagnosis, placing your life in the hands of your surgeon.
Dealing with the pain of infertility.
Making the call to family members to ask to borrow emergency money.

The precise moment when the control leaves your hands and lands in someone else's lap.
Asking makes us feel vulnerable.
It also makes us real.

So---the asking.  That's our first (and most important) step---remembering to continually invite the One who created us to join us on our journey.  And if we go a step further, I think the next step is to put ourselves out there to our friends and families.

See, God created us to need community.
To need families, and to be real and authentic in our everyday selves.

To share the promotions and the layoffs.
The dinners that are happily consumed, and the broccoli that makes your child gag.
The happy family reunions and the moment that your husband leaves on a tour of duty.
The days of sunshine---and the moments we're snowed under.

It's so much easier to share the good stuff, isn't it?  In our Facebook/Twittery/bloggy world, there's that temptation to only publish the positive.  And in doing so, we cheat our friends and family out of truly knowing who---and whose---we are.  When we fail to make ourselves real to others, we deny them the opportunity of allowing God to work through them.

Last week was tough around here.  One of those scary financial crises that comes from someone telling you that the engine will need to be replaced in your Honda.  Where your waking thought becomes, "How on earth are we going to find $2000?"

There was part of me that just wanted to work those details on my own, frantically charting out options.  The what-ifs crept inside at the very thought of asking for prayers on Facebook.
What about my friends who don't have prayer as part of their life.  What will they think?
What about the people who know I only teach part time?  Will they judge?
What if---heaven forbid---someone misconstrues asking for prayer as asking for a handout?
What if, what if, what if...

But life isn't about what ifs.
It's not about shoulds.
It's about being real and present in every moment---with the One who sustains us, and with the ones he sent us to live among.

He's in the details---in all the ways we never imagine.
In a coworker offering the use of her van, in case the car dies and we need a quick option.
In a cousin's empathy and kind words.
In the courage to ask for---and receive---an increase in salary.
In the offer of an extra hour of work a week, just when we need it.

And in a second opinion---and a slightly lower quote---from a mechanic who is willing to think outside the box.

* * * * * * *

#28...for friends who have walked this road and modeled the way for us


#29...for employment


#30...for options

Lump of Clay

She has been wanting a pottery wheel for the past few Christmases.

And it seemed like this might be just the perfect year for a pottery wheel.  

Juli turned nine in December.  

Nine is special.  

The last remnants of little girl are wearing away.  Last bits of toddler chubbiness melt away and reform as the strong appendages of a determined girl.

I like this girl stage.  It's a time I remember very clearly from my own childhood, the time when I can most clearly remember being happy as a child.  

I relish the way she hovers between love of home and independence.  

And it is a joy to watch her grow and learn more about who she was created to be.

For now she's nine, but she's getting ready to make her mark on the world.