Dealing with Illness

When my first baby was born, every little sniffle and heightened temp sent us running to the phone to call the on-call doc. Illness scared us. It meant that something was wrong that needed to be fixed. All of the frightening possibilities grew larger in our minds with each minute it took for a medical professional to get back to us.
When my second baby came, I had begun reading from different resources, and discovering a very different side to illness. Perhaps it was not as bad and scary as we had imagined. Perhaps it was okay to test and strengthen an immune system through germ exposure.
This grew into a sort of arrogance about sickness and wellness. I laughed at people who were concerned about common childhood illnesses, or kept their children away from germy places. I eagerly anticipated sickness, as a way to help boost my children's immune systems. Breastfeeding and a good diet with lots of outdoor play would enable my children to have constitutions of steel!
We were blessed to only deal with two ear infections throughout the years, a few colds and flus that were cared for by love and homemade remedies.
And then, last summer, pertussis paid us a visit. I was not afraid. I knew my stuff about pertussis. I had all the natural health books to assure me that my children would be okay. Doctors had no remedy, other than antibiotics, which really wouldn't do anything for my children but open up the possibility of new illness, so we stayed home. For a month. We walked through that dark valley of fear that our child may not come out okay. Exhaustion is a pretty powerful fear and anxiety producer. We got through, but not unscathed. We now bear the war wounds of a battle still too recent to have been forgotten. Getting through that illness has left us with a confidence now cracked by the memories of raw fear for my child's life. I no longer find humor in my mother-in-law's fear of illness due to her exposure to children who stay long-term at the Children's Hosptial where she works. When you are exposed to the fear, it can become overwhelming.
I'm working on healing from the experience. And know that in time, I will not panic with anxiety every time one of my children present a fever or malaise. I know one of these days I will be able to look back on the experience with gratitude and wisdom gained. But today, only 3 months after that experience, while my child is lying on the sofa lethargic and with fever, I can not will myself to return to that feeling of confidence that fever means her body is working just fine, that it's fighting sickness, that she will come out stronger and better for it. Right now, I can only hold her close and pray. Swallow back the anxiety that is constantly trying to overtake me, and wish for wellness to be restored.

This is my journey, and mine alone.

Some Days it Feels Like Prison

Some days, my husband comes home, plops himself on the couch and says “I’m so glad to be home. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. The land of monotony and death by powerpoint, and I work with a bunch of whiners.” And you say inside your head, “and you came *here* to get away from that?”
Some days mothering *does* feel like prison. Especially on days where the rain is preventing you from getting outside, and the walls are closing in. The two year old is yelling “Mama! Pee-pee!” every 15 minutes and you must run as fast as you can to put her on the potty before there’s a mess to clean up. You’re washing load after load of laundry and start to see the pile of clothes you folded yesterday coming back through the dirty clothes hamper, realizing that your children thought it was too much effort to put their clothes away, or were confused by the utter chaos of their bedroom as to which clothes were actually clean and which were dirty. You go from room to room picking up, putting away as you walk in circles, finding new messes with each round. You just got the kitchen cleaned up from breakfast and the kids are complaining that they’re hungry and could you please make something to eat. You unload the dishwasher thinking to yourself, “didn’t I just do this?” and realize that yes, just two hours ago. You tell your kids to go clean their room and realize the hopelessness of this directive. They will probably put a toy away and then find something more interesting to do, such as look at a book, try on another outfit, roll on the bed. You understand that if anything will get clean, it is ALL UP TO YOU. And you wonder, when do I get to go home, sit on the couch and get away from it all?
Some days it feels like prison. Sometimes it feels like the work you do is on par with hammering out license plates and sewing up duffle bags. You’re breaking up fights, sometimes in the middle of them, and secretly plotting your escape.
And yet, you don’t feel like you can talk to anyone about it. Because you’ve heard so much against what you do, friends, associates, media claiming that parenting, especially stay-at-home parenting, is being shackled to a life of worthlessness and throwing away your potential. And you feel the need to show, persuade, be the role model for motherhood, and all it’s joys. No, it’s not like that at all, you say. It’s beautiful, it’s wonderful, it’s so rewarding! And some days it is. And some days it feels like prison.
There are no promotions, no vacation days, no sick days, no recognition for a job well done. There is no clocking in and clocking out. There is just constant hard work. And while I KNOW that the labor of motherhood is so worth it in the end, this is a lifelong labor, not a short term one, with the results up in the air until the end.
Mothering is a joy. There are so many little things that bring you blessings throughout the day, but the reality is that not every day is a joy. Some days your eyes are clouded with the cons and there seem to be no pros. And some days it feels like prison.

Pain

"And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." - 1Peter 5:10

I haven't been sleeping much lately. My youngest is getting four new teeth. And my other children have all had nasty colds that have been keeping them from sound sleep.
In the night, when things seem to be at their worst, I can sense from my suffering children a sense of questioning; a plea of "why?"; and I don't know how to answer them.
I hold them, and rock them, sing to them, and give them comforting foods and drinks. I put my hands on them and wish that their pain could be taken away, yet I know that a life free from pain would be a life lacking experience.
When we grow, either physically or emotionally, there is pain. An immune system grows by fighting off germs. A mouth matures by pushing through new teeth. Inner-strength comes by struggling through conflict.
But until we see the positive outcome, going through that time of pain and suffering can seem hopeless. My baby doesn't understand that by holding her and walking her through the night, I am doing what I can to help her get through the pain. She just wishes the pain was gone, and doesn't understand why I won't take it away. My coughing child may not understand that my rubbing his chest is helping him cough better, when all he wants is to not cough at all.
I can see these situations in my spiritual life as well. When I am faced with pain and suffering, I often lash out at God, asking, "Why? Why can't you just take it away? Why did you allow this to happen?" Sometimes I don't hear an answer. Sometimes I mistake the fact that He didn't heal me, and didn't take my suffering away, for Him not caring for me. But He does! He is still holding me, comforting me, helping me *through* my suffering so that I can come out on the other side stronger, more mature, more capable. He did not leave me alone to fight my struggles by myself. He is always with me.

Welcoming December

This December we welcomed a grandmother's visit to our humble abode. I think she enjoyed her stay here, but was happy to go back to her quiet, relaxed home!

While visiting, she endevored to inspire the kids to great architectual genius through gingerbread house building. The kids spent much time thinking, designing, deciding which gummy bear should go where, and how many almonds would make a roof too heavy for four gingerbread walls to hold up. But mainly, they tasted their architectual dreams. Probably only half of the building supplies were present at the final stage of inspection.

Here's something new at the house. For over a year now, we've been working on mastering the technique of being able to look at your own nose. And then one day, while looking in the rearview mirror, I see all the way in the back seat these crazy, wandering eyes. How she figured out how to do this, I do not know. But it freaked me out a little bit, I'll admit!

A favorite pastime of my four year old is to go through old dress up clothes consisting of halloween costumes of old, ballet costumes from the early '80s, and anything else we've picked up along the way. She can make up the most elegant, and hilarious outfits. Lately, she has been apprenticing her little sister. I caught the two of them in the loft, twirling like whirling dervishes, while dressed as a buttercup and teddy bear with a hat full of fruit. What would this production be called, I wonder? The Buttercup Prancing Bear? A Beary Fruity Dance? The Meadow?

And now, halfway through the month of December, I'm finally allowing Christmas to creep into our house. A wreath on the door was the only thing I had for the first few weeks after Thanksgiving. Just enough to say, yes, I acknowledge that it is post-Thanksgiving. But not enough to say, Welcome, Christmas! The other day, after heaving the tree into the tree stand, attempting to steady it while the boys screwed the trunk into the base, I stood back and let the kids do all the decorating. I started by trying to string the lights, but ran out of patience. So, I moved over and gave the kids free reign over the placement of lights, garland, and little snowmen, berries and stars. I think it looks absolutely beautiful.

Tonight, as we huddled in the glow of our magnificent tree, we gazed giddily out the windows as tiny snowflakes wafted down from the sky, landing in a daze on the cars, the sidewalk, the roofs. As they lay there, piling up on top of one another, my children decided to go rescue them and grasp as much as they could to form into tiny little baby snowpeople. Isn't this one cute? And, of course, my ice eating children could not resist a little taste of their snowmen. Some to the point of shoving the whole thing into their mouths...

And, I just needed to share my excitement over my lovely Christmas present that my wonderful dh bought for me (unknowingly). It's just what I've always wanted. It is the perfect color, style, and size. What a great husband I have!

For my dearly deployed husband