Archives for February 2011

The Picture Says It All…




To say this past week has been filled with bumps and bruises is an understatement.

What was supposed to be a dream week filled with my parents being in town for five nights, granite counter tops being laid in our almost finished kitchen, ending with a fun weekend in Lake Geneva with nine other couples took a dramatically bad turn mid week.

You know that feeling when you know something is going to wrong but you can’t pinpoint what it is? I had that feeling all last weekend. Should have trusted my gut, literally, because a bruising week is what we got.

Wednesday I went to a conference. No problem. And I ate Panera Bread for lunch. And this was the beginning of the end. I woke Glenn up Wednesday night and told him I thought I was sick. We trudged downstairs (his idea so I wouldn’t wake the toddler up barfing) and I laid on the bathroom floor. I “thought” I was okay, so I went back to bed without incident. I wasn’t. An hour later I woke up by throwing up in the most violent spasms I have ever experienced and made it no farther than our upstairs bathroom . Random unnecessary fact in all this was that every time I threw up I peed my pants. I blame having a kid for this one. God LOVE my husband he was a saint. Getting me new clothes, trying to give me water, wetting washcloths, listening to me sob and corralling the toddler away from the bathroom.

If you know me in real life, I am not a puker. Never have been. (Except for that time at freshmen orientation at U-High that changed my high school years forever but that glorious story is for another day.)

Fast forward to Thursday morning at 5am. I have been up most of the night and wondering how I am going to do anything let alone write sub plans, cook for Lake Geneva, or pack. I wake up my parents and tell them we need some help. (In hindsight, thank god they were there or we would have been in REAL trouble). So, I crawl back in to bed alternating between sleeping and sprinting to the toilet and the morning flies by. I talk to Glenn who convinces me to call the doctor. Every SIP of water sent me back to the toilet…time to get the professionals involved. Off to the doctor I go… no need to go in to the gory details about this part. Tests run, samples given and me holding a puke bucket for most of the afternoon.

By Thursday night, it is decided the toddler must head to my in-laws. All I could think about was this was bad, but it would be worse if it was two of us puking and my husband trying to care for both of us. My parents were scheduled to leave and needed to leave. My husband armed with pedialyte, gatorade, rags began his efforts to get fluids in me. My parents left once Brady went to bed.

I woke up Friday feeling like a mack truck hit me. Glenn, the saint that he is, slipped in to single parent duty. Running errands, feeding and dressing Brady and getting him ready for his trip to his grandparents. Brady went to the suburbs to his grandparents and came home with this beauty on Sunday. We aren’t concerned by the way. He is a bruiser and it could have happened anywhere. It just so happened the coffee table got in his way.

Glenn headed off to Lake Geneva with our friends upon my insistence. It is such a fun weekend, from what I remember since this is now the THIRD year I have missed it. So, I wanted him to go. So, I licked my wounds. I mourned the lost weekend, my missing toddler and husband and planted myself on the couch. Normally, the quiet house would be my dream. But this weekend, my nightmare.

I am happy to report that I am somewhat back to normal. I can eat again, drink again and I am starting to feel like myself again. Just in time for softball season.

How was your weekend?

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I Wonder If He Knows…




…that the sound of his deep, wet, bronchial cough causing his eyes to water and nose to run as a result of an awful cold makes me shiver with fear that something worse could ever possibly happen to him

…that his sweet sighs while he drinks his bottle before bed reduces me to tears as I look at how fast these months have gone by

…that the curiosity in each stride as he explores new things make me hopeful for whats to come


…that the simple waves to strangers while running through Target makes me proud of compassion and empathy he is already showing

…that the pointing to what he wants exasperates me yet shows his personality is brightly shining and alive but fierce and strong.

…that when he gets his own shoes and brings them to me a little piece of me dies inside knowing his independence is beaming through.

…that when I walk in the door to a pizza faced toddler in a high chair, I feel good, right and just where I am supposed to be.

…that he is my life, my love and my boy. And I am just happy to be his mama.

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