"I couldn't reach the bucket, 'cause I left it on my bed," Jack warbles, sobs. And then the realization hits: There's puke in the bedroom. The laundry basket caught half, then the leggos and carpet.
Now that I'm an official cleaner upper of both diarrhea in a bed and vomit down my shirt in a public place, you would think Jack's statement would not take us off guard. Indeed. Even so, Craig, bless his heart, managed to procure an new pair of running shoes for me while I hid in the car. The small things, right?
"Jesus," Jane prays, "thank-you for all of us. And help us to be the meek more often."
The meek. Indeed, may it be so.
822. How Lulie and I sit in the sun on the old navy lawn chair and crunch graham crackers for 20 minutes before we realize our behinds are all wet.
823. How I try to tell Craig, I do poo he does puke, but we both help each other anyway.
824. That my parents brave the sick ward to join us for dinner.
825. That Rosie's up and coughing instead of listless.
826. Jane's appeal, "Momma, I have something I really want you to do, but you don't have to. I would just really appreciate it," when she wants me to get her baby bear out of the car.
827. A couple of extra hours with Craig this morning and how he piles the dining table with neat stacks of coupons clipped from the Sunday ads.
828. How Jack sacks out on the bathroom floor in case he gets sick again tonight.
829. A clean tidy laundry station.
830. Mason jars of laundry soap.
831. Children that cuddle like chickies under my wings.
832. That we're the ones to care for these children.
833. How Craig leads without micro-managing.
834. Learning to follow.