today

Today, I:

* left dishes in the sink and the bed unmade this morning. Why? Because we signed a contract, selling our house last night... offering us 98% of our asking price. Five showings and fifteen days on the market. No more frantic cleaning. Holla.

* got super excited at the prospect of looking at new houses. TOMORROW. To-freakin'-morrow. Holy fast moving, Batman.

* wished I had a dollar for every time G said, "I stuck." Whether his little foot doesn't quite make it through his pant leg, he is being held, or my personal favorite, he wants to escape his carseat, he yells it, loudly, sounding like, "Ah tuck!" And he says it often. Good thing it's so stinkin' cute.

* got teary every time I thought about the sacrifice of God, the bravery of Jesus, and the heartache of Mary today. It was, by far, the most that a Good Friday has touched me.

* blurted out something to my good friend Elizabeth, that I had planned on telling her in a different way. And no, I'm not pregnant. It's way bigger and better than that. And it deserves its own post. Eventually.

* had to call the Easter Bunny. Twice.

* wondered who I would be calling between now and Christmas when the whining/brother-bugging/fibbing gets out of control. I might need to make up a holiday or two between then. Kidding. Kind of.

* died a little when L got out of bed to tell me that without being prompted, he prayed to God and God is going to help him be nicer from now on. Boyfriend had a rough day, and completely made up for 11 rough hours with one sentence.

* am tired. Overwhelmed. Pensive. Grateful.

Namaste'.

Detours

I don't talk a whole lot about my faith journey. It's big, it's central to my life, and I'm really excited about it. I'm bringing friends to church. I bought a Bible. I will talk about it with people who will listen. But tonight, I had a big moment with it that I want to remember.

You see, I'm really walking this road of faith. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I'm doing it.

Except for when I hit the detours.

And when my kids are sick, those detours are filled with road blocks.

Tonight, L has been coughing. And coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing. Coughing triggers something PTSD-esque in this mama bear. I remember the days, pre-allergy diagnosis, when we rushed L to the ER when he couldn't stop coughing. When he couldn't breathe and therefore, neither could I. Now, when he coughs, and I can't help him, I become weak. I become weak emotionally. Mentally. And spiritually.

After L had been coughing, almost literally nonstop, for several consecutive hours, and his strong little spirit was starting to break, he started to whimper in his sleep. The whimpers turned into tears, and I joined him, feeling my own cheeks become wet.

I fell to my knees and I said, "Why did God make him like this? Why didn't he give him a decent immune system? Why does He think I can handle it? Brian, I can't. Why doesn't He know that?"

Look. I know what you are thinking. My kid doesn't have cancer. He is typically developing. In the grand scheme of things, some might say I'm overreacting.

But I know what it's like to have a weak immune system. To get sick all the damn time. To not be able to breathe, and to not be able to stop coughing for one stinkin' minute. I know how it hurts so badly. And just like a gazillion other things that L has inherited from me, this is just another thing that makes him so much like me. But unlike his love of chattering with strangers or singing show tunes in the car, this thing sucks. Plain and simple.

And as I knelt in front of the couch, my hand on my little boy's face, crying, B reminded me that L will be all right. That he's strong. That he's smart. That he's athletic.

B walked away to get L a drink and I sat down on the couch next to him, taking his little hand in mine. I looked at him, and I promised him that he was going to feel better soon. Between wheezing coughs, he said "okay," and "I know, Mommy."

I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer.

"You say the words, Mommy," he whispered.

I stammered through a prayer, still gripping his hands. With tears falling down his cheeks, he looked in my own tear-filled eyes and listened as I prayed that God would make him better. That we knew it wasn't going to happen right this second, but that He'd heal my L. That in the meantime, He'd come in close. That He'd be here with us as we waited for God to make him better. We thanked God for everything He'd given us and told him we loved Him.

Oh, this road. It's rocky. It's messy. It's full of detours and road blocks and ditches.

But as L perked up a bit, ate a snack and requested to watch Iron Man, I dusted myself off and retied my shoes.

And I started back on the journey.

Namaste.

Are you there, God? It's me, Gina.

If you read my post yesterday, you know I had a terrible morning.

Lo was coughing his head off, and with his history of cough-variant asthma, a cough gets me wiggy. I got out his nebulizer per the advice of the nurse at our pediatrician's office. I set it all up, and then I realized I was missing a part that I needed.

I searched high and low for it. I couldn't find it. I called B at work, who had no idea where it was.

Lo's cough was literally non-stop.

Gray was screaming hysterically.

I was exhausted after being up with the two of them the night before.

I was scared.

I was mad at B for being at work, although it was an irrational anger.

I started to panic.

I literally dropped to my knees on the floor of Lo's room and prayed aloud through my tears. I told God I was giving this to Him and that I needed help.

I'm not an overly religious person. I consider myself spiritual, but I don't attend church. I would like to, when G is a little older. I tell Lo about God, and I pray, however.

Boy, did I pray yesterday morning.

After my prayer, I got up, still sobbing, and walked to the family room. The part that I had been searching for was in plain sight next to the end table. I had been standing there searching for it earlier.

And the most amazing thing happened about a half an hour later. My blogfriend-turned-IRL friend, Elizabeth, sent me a text. She explained that she just wanted me to know that I was on her mind for no other reason than I popped into her head during her prayer time.

Her prayer time was about a half an hour earlier.

Thanks for listening, God.