Broken

What a month it has been.  Hubby has been traveling 25 of the last 31 days.  For the first 15 of those days with him gone, we all got the stomach flu and Little Lady had it for two whole weeks.  Then we all went to Florida for a residency interview with Hubby for 4 days.  Then we came home, emptied the summer clothes from the suitcase, filled it right back up with winter clothes and drove to Chicago for a week, spending  Christmas with my family.  Hubby also had to take his boards while we were there.  He took them on the 26th and 27th, which was rough, to say the least.  We came home from Chicago, unpacked, took the tree down, threw all the dirty clothes from Florida and Chicago in the basement and had a sleep over with the cousins.  And now here we are. (And breathe....)

Hubby took Little Man to the Science Museum to see Tornado Alley in the Omni Theatre, Little Lady is napping, the last load of laundry is in the wash and I finally have time to sit down and write.  Ahhhh.  I've been dreaming of this quiet time.  Just me, the keyboard and a steaming cup of tea.

I feel like there is a logjam in my brain right now.  The thoughts are all piled up and running into one another and I haven't had the time to think, let alone process the ideas and feelings swirling around up there.   So here I sit, wanting desperately to get words on the page, ideas formed, sentences flowing.  But it.just.won't.come.  There is too much. 

Florida.  I'll start there.

Hubby had an interview in Florida the week before Christmas.  We decided it would make a great family trip.  So for Christmas, instead of buying each other a bunch of stuff we don't need cluttering up our already overflowing house, we bought plane tickets.  And spent a night on the beach.  And went out for Sushi.

We saw old friends, met new babies, revisited some favorite places.  It was a wonderfully bittersweet getaway.  So many memories of my Jameson flooded my heart and mind.  He was my Florida baby.  He loved the heat and the beach.  I truly felt his presence while we were there, almost as if he orchestrated the most perfect day possible for us.  He and Jesus make a good team up there, throwing down blessings left and right for us.

It was a magical day.

We brought home a bag full of shells.  Yesterday I finally got around to rinsing them and putting them in a vase.  As I washed each shell under the water, I smiled as I realized all of my favorite shells are the broken ones.

There is beauty in the brokenness.  So much is broken in life and it is so easy to see the imperfections and want to start over.  To have everything shiny and new again.  To not see life through the filters pain brings.  But there is so much beauty there, too.

On days like today, I have to fight to see the beauty in it.  When I remember that two years ago at this very second, I was at my son's funeral luncheon, it is hard to see anything beautiful about this broken life and broken heart.  But there is beauty mixed in, even there.  

I would give almost anything to have my son back.  To have the happily ever after, shiny life.  But I cannot deny that this road has made me more beautiful in my brokenness.  This world has beat against me and washed over me and worn me down.  And I have cracks straight through my heart and they split open so often.  And it hurts so much it brings me to my knees.  And there is where the beauty begins.  Right there on my knees.  Where grace and mercy and love reign.

Ahh, I have so much more to say!  The logjam is no more.  But the girl is awake.  Stay tuned, I'll be back soon.

Sweats and Sweets

The coffeemaker overflowed this morning.  I knew it would because I over-ground the beans.  But I put them in the machine anyway.  A few minutes later, I had a big mess on my hands and now every sip is crunchy.  Mmmm.  

I don’t do well when Hubby is out of town.  He was gone when we all had the stomach flu party and came home just long enough to add to the fun, get his shirts washed and ironed, and then head back out into the great wide world of residency interviews.  It’s been eight days now since we’ve been under the same roof and I’m so glad he gets home tonight.  

Not only because we all miss him like crazy, but also because I kinda fall apart when he’s gone.  It’s true.  I’ve worn sweats around the clock.  I haven’t cooked anything but pancakes and nachos since he left.   And on Saturday we had McDonalds.   One night last week, I even had S’mores for dinner.  Sunday went a little better because I bought bagels and made Christmas cookies.

But tonight, he comes home!  And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to plan some meals and go grocery shopping. 

Squeaky Clean

If Mothering were anything like Boy Scouts, I would have earned a few badges this past week.

Yesterday was the first day in eight days that I was not puked on or pooped on.  We had our annual bout with the stomach flu and I'm *hoping* we are DONE for the winter now.  Lord, just please let us get through December!

As I sanitized the toys last night and washed the floors, I took inventory on what needed to still be cleaned.  And as I looked around, I thought, "There is nothing left that is dirty."  Seriously.  Everything that could go in the washing machine went in this week.  Every rug, towel, blanket, toy...  The rest of the toys took a spin in the dishwasher or were hand-washed with Clorox.  I even cleaned the carpets with the carpet cleaner.  Every.single.surface in my house was scrubbed with antibacterial cleanser, including the couch.  If it couldn't be washed, it was Lysol-ed.   My house is clean.  Squeaky.

In case you think I'm insane with the cleaning, think about this again...EIGHT DAYS of the stomach flu. 

So I was finished cleaning.  It felt really good.  I smiled as I let the dogs back into the house and walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.  I was just about to sit on the couch and relax for a moment when Little Man called out to me that the dog had muddy paws!  No mud outside, so I was thinking he's a crazy kid who just likes mopping -and thank you, Rubbermaid, for making a fun mop! But sure enough, big, dark paw prints all over the floor.  Only it isn't mud, it's blood.  Poor doggy broke a nail up really high and it was gushing quarter-sized drops of blood all over the clean floors, rugs, carpets...  Sigh. 

Little Man gladly grabbed the mop and cleaned the floors while I bandaged the foot.  I have the best kid.  He was crawling around the carpet with a washcloth looking for blood to scrub out.  He is awesome.  And my dog is doing just fine now. 

Today is a good day.  No cleaning to do.  Leftovers for dinner.  And I get to go back to work tonight.  Cabin fever set in a few days ago...  It feels good to know my house is clean and there isn't anything I have to do. 

Well, Ahem...

I suppose, if I really wanted to go crazy, I could fold the laundry...

I was looking at this mountain of laundry while washing yet another load of pukey clothes earlier this week and thinking about the most drool-worthy laundry set up I've ever heard of: a family closet with a washer and dryer in the same room.  And then it dawned on me that since we no longer had any clothes left in our dressers, we kind of had a family closet with the washer and the dryer right in the same room.   And who said nothing good comes from the flu???