I'm on Overload

I'll say it right off the bat. I could use a hug. Not a virtual one, but a real live one. The past two weeks have been one adrenaline rush after another, positively and negatively. I've been riding an escalator up and down since Sunday, and there are more rides in sight.

Down: Last week--fridge died
Up: This past Monday morning-- got new fridge
Down: Monday night --my husband fainted and knocked 2 teeth loose when his face hit the floor. Had emergency orthodontic repair the same night.
Up: our blood pressure after it happened
Down: Tuesday- dentist appt for x-rays.
Up: He said teeth should be fine, but it takes time to tell if nerve lives or dies.
Wednesday--exhaustion for both of us, and arguing about whether he should see specialists to see if there was an underlying cause for the syncopal episode (fainting)
Down: Thursday--Oldest son came home sick from work
Up: Friday (today) hubby agreed to keep cardiology appointment that *I* made for him
Down: that dr was superconservative and hubby didn't like what he had to say
Up: my oldest son's mood because he gets to move into his first apartment tomorrow
Down: my mood, for maternal reasons related to son's moving out
Up: my mood when our pastor, Arie, called to see how we're doing. I don't think pastors realize how much it means to get a caring call even when you're not in the hospital.
Down: Paul's immune system. He can't figure out why this cold is lingering and why it's not responding very fast to antibiotics.
Up: my daughter's mood when she got to sub four times this week in the kindergarten class she loves.
She takes the Praxis tomorrow, so she's nervous.

Add to this mix the effort I am trying to lose weight, make a scrapbook for my mom's birthday this coming Sunday, dust and vacuum to reduce allergens bothering my husband...

But hey, the Ravens are going to the playoffs so that's a big "up". If they lose, it will be a big "downer." It's not a fun house here when our team loses.


I haven't cried yet. I used to cry very easily, but the older I've gotten, the more scabby my heart has gotten. Or am I maturing in my ability to control my tears? Is it grace that I haven't cried, that I am strong for those who need me for soft foods and doctor appointments, shared excitement over getting hired two days after graduation, helping with a "moving experience," literally, and someone to drill him on Latin verbs and sign his permission slips.

I feel like there's going to be a crash soon and all this bottled up tension will pour, pour, pour out of me.

I would appreciate your prayers, and really wish I could get a hug.

Sick Mail

This little card came in the mail, addressed to our oldest son (who, until the youngest came along, was the most accident-prone kid on the planet). It's hard to tell what the message is here:

"We Want You Back"?
" Thanks for Funding our Trauma Center with Your Blood, Dad's Sweat, and Mom's Tears"?

At any rate, I thought it was kooky, weird, and kind of sick to get this announcement/invitation? in the mail.

As for our RSVP: No, thanks. One pulmonary contusion was enough to make me appreciate this place, thank you very much.

Spoons & Lupus Awareness

How many "spoons" do you have a day? When was the last time you were aware of just how difficult it is for a chronically sick person to get through the day? Maybe you can relate because you are chronically sick, but you don't know quite how to explain your limitations and "what it feels like" to be you.


I read this today and it opened my eyes. An object lesson I can understand, a little.

Missing the Celebration of the Resurrection

This is the first Easter in a very long time that I have not spent rejoicing with gobs of saints to celebrate the Risen Lamb, Jesus Christ, in church.

I am sick today. Coughing, sneezing, aching. But wanting to be in the company of my church family very much. I debated going, armed with Kleenexes and cough drops, but that would not be very loving of me. Who wants to sit close to a cougher? Joel keeps saying, as I grab a tissue, "Look out! She's gonna blow!" My boy's sense of humor is such good medicine.
He, too, is sick today, though on the mend. Paul thought it would be best for him to stay home and rest with me.

My loving husband got up and made a breakfast sausage casserole. I love that stuff--hearty and satisfying. It also tastes extra good while I'm looking at the white roses my daughter and little son bought for me yesterday. How thoughtful they were to cheer me up that way!

Though I couldn't be with the saints in body today, I was there in spirit. I am praising Jesus for redeeming my life from the pit. For forgiving all my transgressions. For loving me the way I am but not willing to let me stay that way. For giving me his Holy Spirit to teach me the mysteries that would otherwise be hidden from my understanding. For convicting me of sin when I commit it. For blessing me with more blessings than I could ever count. For preparing an eternal Home for me. For giving me hope, and a future. For healing me in body, mind, and soul. For His Presence always and forever.

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

I only wish I could glory in my Redeemer in the sanctuary I love so much.

Truthful? Yes. Accurate? Not Quite.

You just have to laugh sometimes when kids screw up your exact words. A dose of humble pie
made me feel almost as good as the DayQuil had. Here's what happened yesterday.

Sickness and the Afterlife

I have gradually been catching the upper respiratory bug that made Joel miss three days of school. I am coughing, sneezing, fighting the drippy faucets of my eyes, wishing I could scratch my throat, and wondering if people can hear me because I can't hear myself.

But I have managed a modicum of tidying up around the place. nothing strenuous to cause a coughing jag, but enough to show that, perhaps, I don't just take up space around here.

To rest productively, I've been reading a book that a few people recommended from high on their lists: Same Kind of Different as Me. I may write a review in the future. It's the best thing I've read in its genre for a long time.

But after finishing one of the last chapters, with Joel snuggling beside me, I asked him," Where do you think I would want to be buried when I die?"
He hugged me tightly around the neck and said, "I don't want you to die!"
I assured him I was not planning to anytime soon, but I would; it's a fact of life. "So what place do you think I would want to be buried?"

He said, "Somewhere with lots of flowers. You loooooove flowers! But I don't think there's an afterlife."

Shocked, I corrected him. "Sure there is! It's called heaven--or hell, depending--"

"Oh, yeah! " he said with that "I remember now!" tone.

----
Reminded me that I need to be thinking out loud more about heaven with the little guy. It's been a few months since our last discussion of "the afterlife" (which is a term I am not sure he's heard us say unless he remembers my talking about it when I was studying ancient Egypt with my class). I just thought it was funny he's call it "the afterlife" instead of heaven.

Unwell

Crab cakes, buttered egg noodles, peas, and artichokes tasted great going down last night.

Unfortunately, they did not have the same appeal coming back up. At "three a.m. in the morning," (as the overkillers around here say), I thought food poisoning demons had
attacked me. Thought it'd all be over and done with in one swell foop, but they came again at 3:30. They laid a warm heat over my head, too, and a chill pack on my legs.

So I think I have a stomach bug.

Thanks to my co-worker, Cheryl, who subbed for me, I have enjoyed blankie time on this 70 degree day.

Sick Hypocrite

It was kind of funny in a humbling sort of way. Last week I told my students they'd have to give an oral presentation for geography on Wednesday the 12th, followed by a test on Tuesday of next week. (I don't teach on Thursdays, and we have two early dismissals back to back, Friday and Monday, so Tuesday would be my next in-class day.)

The topic for the o.p. would be the New England state they've been researching. It's cool because I have six students and there are just that many NE states. The presentation had to be 5-7 minutes total, include at least one visual aid, and a learning game for the class. Naturally half the class wanted to know, "What if we're sick?"

Well, let me tell you, I have little patience for sickness as a teacher because it slows everything down. Throw in an early dismissal here and there, some vacation time, a field trip or two, and I feel like we might get not get west of the mighty Mississip by May. I know I'm a nerd, but my mind says, "So much to learn, so little time to teach." And I myself am hardly ever sick. Excluding pregnancy nausea, I've thrown up maybe once a year in my adult life, even less as a kid, and had a cough just every other year. I am thankful I don't get sick often; you'd think gratitude would lead to compassion.

Instead I said, " Don't be sick. I mean, try really hard not to be. If you're sick, you'll have to research the other five states and do a written report."

'Nuff said.

So Wednesday morning--Oral Presentation Day-- I woke up, put my feet on the floor, and ...felt pregnant. It was all I could do to stuff a lunch into Joel's backpack and send him out the door with Dad. (Thank God for a husband willing and able to flex his work schedule to take his son to school sometimes.) Then I ran to the bathroom and--how shall I put this?--made an "oral presentation" of my own. (Need a visual aid to enhance my words?)

Then I went to bed. Woke up for a half hour to email my lesson plans to the sub, and slept the rest of the day, feverish, achey, "out of it." I had the sub go ahead and let the students do their presentations as a practice run, but all I could think about was my warning to them,"Don't be sick."

Lesson learned? Never order a bowl of chicken soup with a slice of humble pie. It will leave a bad taste in your mouth.

More sickness humor

Maybe having a head full of mucus makes Joel funnier. I don't know, but he's been cracking me up all week, not even trying.

Last night he was cranky and disrespectful. He got a couple spanking for his remarks, but they kept coming. Crying would make his nose run, so he'd blow it, go back to his drawing and complaining, and get another spanking. I was in control, rational, all that good stuff, just not accepting a five-year-old telling me what to do. He didn't like the way I was redecorating the family room (he doesn't like change at all). After a couple warnings, I finally said, "Joel, if you say one more negative thing to me, I'm gonna have to spank you again. Five hard swats, not three. Now stop."

Well, he criticized again anyway. I got the wooden spoon again, and as he approached my knee, he whined, "Are you gonna spank the snot out of me?"

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(For the record, I don't think I've ever actually said, "I'm gonna spank the snot out of you.")