Vomit and the 23rd Psalm

In the past 24 hours I've:

• done 16 loads of laundry
• changed 1 bed 6 times
• changed 1 crib 3 times
• helped 2 kids change their clothes 8 times
• won and lost 1000s of dollars while playing Solitaire on my Ipad sitting in Henry's room while he slept between times getting sick
• given 5 baths
• Cloroxed bath toys 3 times
• Lysoled 98 trains, 2 bridges, 1 cave, 1 turn table, 1 pig shed, and one giant Tidmouth Shed
• built a new train track
• made Matzo ball soup
• cried during Stuart Little while cuddling with Henry
• thrown out 1 high chair for being pooped on beyond salvaging
• and slept no more than 3 hours total.

It is not the day I'd planned.  I'd planned on having a Fellowship day with my Bible Study ladies.  We were going to eat bagels and discuss the 23rd Psalm and reflect on the ways God had shown us goodness and mercy, brought us through valleys of death, etc.  Big shock I'd planned on testifying about Gracie.  And certainly she is adorable proof of all of those things.  But shockingly, towards the end of the day, when I was finally getting around to remaking Henry's bed for hopefully the last time, I kept thinking about how today was sort of the perfect day.  (Which is a tad bit ironic since as a kid I always read the 23rd Psalm as "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want" to mean "The Lord is my Shepherd that I don't want...but that's probably best left for some other post).

No.  I've not totally gone off the deep end.  Yes, I didn't notice that my daughter had puked in her crib and all over herself until I went to put her back into her crib for her mid-morning nap because the stench of vomit and fecal matter was so prevalent in the upstairs of my house.  (It now smells like bleach and Lysol.  I'd light a scented candle were I not afraid of my house exploding like some Suburban Meth lab.)  Yes, I tried to convince Henry to puke in a bucket only to be told, "No, Mommy, I just get sick on the bed and then take a bath while you clean it up."  And yes, all of this happened while Sloan is out of town. 

But goodness and mercy are following me, don't you see?  Sloan isn't around to get this junk.  I got to spend a day not worrying about if the kids were eating balanced meals, and instead doled out baggies of Cheerios and Matzo balls like they were candy.  Henry, who only likes to poop in a pull up, was forced to poop on the potty today, thereby earning 2 Thomas tattoos and a Woody Matchbox car.  Also, in the middle of the night, after his third bath, Henry curled up in my arms and asked me to pray for him to feel better and then to sing to him.  I got to watch Henry go from puny in the morning, to literally standing on our family room ottoman hoola hooping with some Mardi Gras beads screaming, "Mommy, wook at me!  I making Gracie laugh!" (Which, in case you didn't know, is the international sign for 'I feel better.')  I got to spend an entire day focused on the here and now.  Not worrying about what errands to run, what thing needed to be put where, but simply on the tasks set before me.  Simply on caring for the two beautiful children given to me.  Sure, the green pastures may have had large and smelly cow patties, but sure enough, today restored my soul. 

All that said, I'm still pretty sore about missing out on the bagels.  Kind of have a hankering for either a toasted Asiago with walnut schmear or perhaps an Everything with plain.  Heck, why not both?  My cup is overflowing...