Last night I was lying in bed feeling exhausted and really grateful. My flu has practically disappeared and even though wonderful friends and neighbors helped tremendously and my parents rendered more service on our behalf than we deserve in a years time in just over the past two days, I was pooped. (I am sure that they are too). Excited to be going off to dream land to dream of flu-less times, I closed my eyes only to find that my brain wouldn’t stop thinking. THAT NEVER HAPPENS TO ME. There have been very few times when I couldn’t fall asleep. I wrote thank you notes in my brain, thought of my upcoming week, thought about gifts of the Spirit, worried about Christmas, wished it were already over, felt guilty for wishing Christmas to be over, toiled over current frustrations, prayed, toiled more, prayed more, felt guilty for my wandering thoughts during my prayers, contemplated my decorating funk that I am currently experiencing, planned out the birth of Jenn Weech’s child (crazy I know, I just love birth and Weech babies), watched a Hulk Hogan Documentary. There’s more to that man than meets the eye. Yes, he’s made some mistakes, but he is very handsome. And that’s what matters when you are watching a Hulk Hogan documentary at midnight. His wife on the other hand…She’s a little loosey goosey if you know what I mean. And his kids…oh the kids. They’re a little screwed up. But Hulk, has really pretty eyes and good intentions. After the Hulk Documentary I turned off the T.V. and stewed and tossed and turned some more. Turned the T.V. back on and finally fell asleep to the sounds of Celtic Women on the PBS fundraiser. It was about 1:30 in the A.M. At approximately 1:35 in the A.M., Lennon woke me to sneak into our bed. And at exactly 1:50 in the A.M. I was awakened by footsteps in my bedroom. Dun dun dun. Are you scared? I was. And my worst fears came true. Crayton tapped me on the shoulder and said “Mommy, I feel sick.” My poor little boy was shivering like crazy, hovering over the toilet looking a little green when he turned to me and apologized. Um…if you want to know if you are a nice enough mom, see if your kids apologize for waking you up in the middle of the night because they are sick. I felt horrible and reassured him that it was for this very purpose I was put on this earth and there was nothing that I would rather be doing. And then he vomited. While I gently told him to lower his head because splatter isn’t fun. And then I dry heaved. Don’t worry, it was discreet. I don’t even think that he noticed. And then the healing began. It is funny that when I am sick, I can’t think of a darn thing to do to heal myself. When my kids are sick, my Doctornal (No that isn’t a word, but it should be. New definition: To behave in a doctorish way. That isn’t a word either. But it should be) instincts kick in to high gear. First we drew a really hot bath. So that he could soak his feet. While his feet were soaking, I knelt down and offered up one of the most fervent prayers that I have yet offered asking that Crayton not experience what I just got done experiencing, among other things. No mom wants that for their child. Then after his feet were good and hot, we did wet socks. I am a firm, very firm, believer in wet socks. I have a testimony of wet socks. Then started the Oscillococcinum. Every fifteen minutes. Then he sipped Sprite, and then he started the Hyland’s #11 and the Hylands #8 every fifteen minutes. Then his tummy felt funny again but he said that he didn’t need to throw up so we got the heating pad out and that helped him slip into a deep slumber on a make shift bed on the bathroom floor. I wasn’t so easily soothed because, not being fully recovered, my body aches and headache had started another attempt to invade my body. I emailed my husband and told him that he should come home now. Right now if possible. Turns out it wasn't possible. He'll still be home on Friday. Finally, I rested at 5:00 a.m. this morning on the hall floor just outside the bathroom. While I was fighting off the invaders, my mind wandered and drifted back to when Crayton was a little boy. Oh, he was so cute. I thought about one of my favorite Crayton moments that happened when he was about five. It made me giggle. And I will write all about it tomorrow. Long story (way too long, in fact if you are still reading this you win a prize. leave a comment and tell me what you want. Hyland's anyone?) short, miracle of miracles Crayton woke up this morning Perfectly FINE. So fine, in fact that he won’t quit talking. I love prayer. And I love homeopathic remedies. I hate the flu. And I hate Elk Season. Amen.
