In Over My Head

Mark keeps pointing out how much more chaotic it is to have three rather than just two. And I haven't necessarily agreed with his observation, thinking that perhaps he only thinks like this because he's been home with us for nearly three weeks, getting to observe what actually happens. However, this week did challenge me in a few ways.

We have become majorly accident prone. It started last week when Judah and Ezra pulled a cart over (with Haddie in it) at Bed, Bath and Beyond. While I frantically tried calming my screaming daughter, Judah kept asking if he could hold her (I think he felt bad for her), while Ezra cried loudly- AS IF HE WAS HURT! There was one couple nearby who didn't see the accident, but was privy to the aftermath, and I'm pretty sure I know EXACTLY what they were thinking. So, we cut the trip short and headed home.

I wish I could say the black eye that Haddie got was the end of the accidents. It wasn't! We went to our regular haunt, Costco, one afternoon last week. Given that it was lunchtime, and Daddy was with us, we decided to eat there, after completing our shopping. I bought three dogs and a slice. I went to the soda fountain to get the drinks, came back, dropped those off, picked up the dogs to put on their toppings, grabbed napkins, headed back, etc. etc. I was back-and-forth four or five times. Only on what I THOUGHT was my last trip back, I looked at my frazzled hubby, who was transferring the kids from the benches to the ground. From her perch in the shopping cart next to the table, Haddie had kicked over one of the sodas, which spilled on everything, the food, the table, Judah, the floor. It was disgusting. We salvaged the wet-ish food, though I wasn't going to touch the Diet Pepsi-laced pizza. Costco was kind enough to replace our slice. However, our table and four spots were rendered useless the rest of the time we were there- and if you've ever been to Concord Costco, you know how busy it gets and how desperate people get for tables. Plus, in the middle of the mayhem (with Ezra refusing to eat his hot dog in the bun, and Judah falsely maintaining that the raspberry iced tea was his and NOT Ezra's or Haddie's, and Haddie throwing herself backwards in the cart because she was angry that I wasn't letting her out), a sweet old man walked up to us (of all of the people he could've chosen) and started talking our ears off about the Cold War and the origin of the hot dog. We were loud enough that we couldn't really hear everything he was saying. But I thought it was better not to continually interrupt him with, "pardon?" So we just nodded and muttered a few things while trying to wrangle the kids.

Thankfully, we ended that trip shortly after the man left, to the almost-certain corporate mental applause of our fellow diners. Happily tucked away from the viewing public, Judah and Ezra played outside with the toy tools. Somehow, they had gotten one of the drills stuck fairly high in the apricot tree. Of course, the best way to get it out would be to launch an oversized river rock at it. At least, that was the logic of my eldest son. I heard his shrill screams, dropped Haddie and ran to the door where he met me, too agitated for coherence. I hugged him and searched for a wound. That's when I noticed the wet divet in his tennis shoe. I pulled it off his foot, dread in my heart. I peeled the wet, bloody sock back and saw the mangled toe. His big toe was swollen and bleeding, the nail seeming to be pretty moveable. He bravely iced it as I called Kaiser, wondering if it was wise to take him in, given the visible bite marks on his body, courtesy of his younger brother. But I figured that a doctor would be able to discern the tiny teeth marks and give due credit without reserve. We set up an appointment at urgent care for a few hours from that point- which I should never have made the call in front of Judah, because for the next three hours, he kept melodramatically whining, "I need to go to the doctor." Instead, we went to doctor Barbie, where a few snacks and wound-cleaning convinced me that he was fine enough to avoid the doctor. The limp seemed to disappear the more engrossed he got in toys. So I thought he could brave it.

While his toe continued to heal, we readied ourselves for our first camping trip as a family of five. I think we felt a little sad that we had to miss our annual Labor Day trip to Union Valley and were trying to get in a little consolation trip before the official end of camping season. Mark researched campgrounds that were still open and we headed up to a place called Pipi Valley. When we reached our destination after a delightedly uneventful trip, I noticed there was a sign that said "Silver Lake 26 miles". Mark has often commented how someday we'll go up to Silver Lake as a family, as he has fond memories of the place from his childhood. So I asked him why we weren't going there. It was another 2,000 feet in elevation, so he wasn't sure if we'd be warm enough. Hey, we had our 1972 tent trailer and lots of warm clothes to boot-- why not brave it? I offered up the suggestion. Mark agreed and we turned that rig around and headed further up the mountains.

When we got there, Mark left us to go register with the campground host and I got out bikes for the kids. I watched as they got on their bikes and made adroit efforts to ride up the little hill. Only I noticed that Ezra stalled out a little bit at the corner and I ran over, envisioning an accident. I yelled out, "Ezra, careful!" Only he didn't heed my warning and went tumbling down the hill with the bike on top of him. Oh the tears! I wasn't overly concerned because he seems to be able to squeeze out tears like a seasoned daytime drama actor. But, I comforted him, while Haddie crawled around in the dirt.

Mark made it back and we decided to take a walk to the lake before dinner. It was beautiful. I was so glad we went up there and I was silently praising God for the wonder of His creation. Oh, if only I could hang onto those moments of praise- even in the next few hours...

I fed the kids dinner, read them a story and put them to bed. As we were tucking Judah in, he said, "I'm sick." Almost immediately, he threw up on the blankets. I cleaned up as much as I could and laid him down. He didn't have a fever, so we sat by the campfire listening to the banter of the kids in the trailer- all three were cracking each other up, and it was hard not to laugh at their cackling. But the laughter soon subsided and Judah started throwing up again- an activity he kept up through the night. We decided to go to bed early because of Judah, and I fell asleep within moments, only to be awakened 24 minutes later by Judah throwing up again. Then at about ten, Mark said that he was sick and raced out of the trailer, where sounds of his loud vomiting sliced through the night silence. He was yelling something undecipherable but I couldn't concentrate because Judah was throwing up AGAIN. By this time, I had to toss aside two blankets, but was thankful that I had brought up a LOT of warm gear. We slept very little as Mark was up and down, doing his worst. At 1 AM Ezra joined the vomit party and I had to toss aside his clothes and blankets for new ones. I am not kidding when I note that less than forty five minutes apart there was someone throwing up (or worse) ALL NIGHT LONG. Haddie ended the night with her own vomiting session at 7 AM. With a pile of filthy blankets and smelly raiments, not to mention the stench of the trailer, Mark and I decided to pack up camp. I wanted to hurry as I started to feel ill, and if the night had been any indication, it was smart to be done fast. Only we could not move very fast, with the lethargy we were feeling followed by the continued, though slowed, intermittent vomiting sessions by one child or another.

We finally left camp at about 10, much to Judah's disappointment. I explained that we were sick, so we had to leave. He said, "I'm feeling better." And then he threw up...oh boy! It was that nuts. The kids threw up three times on the way back...it was the LONGEST drive ever! We didn't go home because there were men working on our house and power was out, so we drove to Grandma and Grandpa's house, as they were away. It was a surprisingly restful time, where we caught up on sleep and TV-watching.

Back at our home the following day, Judah vomited one last time and I THINK we are in the clear. It has been a whirlwind few weeks, full of adventures and accidents. Mark noted that he has a day off for Vet's Day in November and thought that maybe we could try camping again- shudder, oh heart of mine!

As there is only one interpretation to everything written in the Bible, yet many applications, so it seems with the experiences of life. The events are clear, but the applications of events are different at different seasons of life! I think that in everything, our hearts can learn SOMETHING...so, what did I learn in all of this mayhem? Not to sweat the small stuff. I prayed before all of this, that the Lord would prepare my heart for blood. Weird prayer, I know. But I am a wussy baby when it comes to viewing blood and I've often thought that if my kids have serious accidents, I might just be fainted alongside of them. WANTING to buck up, I asked that God might help me to put me aside in such events, because they're inevitable. Boy, did he give that to me in spades. It was so hard to look at Haddie's eye and Judah's toe. But I DID! Yay for small victories! Mainly, though, I am continually learning just to depend on God for strength in EVERYTHING. He keeps showing me that what I think is just TOO much and going to push me over the edge, if I rely on Him, He'll get me through...

Okay, that's it. Yes, after that much writing, I'm done! Here's to the next several days, weeks, months, years!!!