I remember babysitting jobs, Saturday after Saturday night, the flicker of the 2 a.m. television against my half-lidded eyes, wondering if these parents of the children who had used me as a trampoline for the last 8 hours were ever coming home? This past week felt like one of those babysitting jobs. I could almost feel the stiffness in my jeans from floor surfing in them all day and cleaning up after children in the early evening and then beaching out on the couch in them until the parents came home. Oh to be in my pyjamas. Until I remembered--oh wait. Why am I not in my pyjamas? This is my home! And no one is coming to claim those children at the end of the night! Because they're mine!

Oh, dear ones. I've been a sad sack since Saturday. I've been teetering on the edge of sickness, while nursing a teething boy with a fever of 102, and wrangling a feverish girl who barfed a serious pile in her bed on Monday evening. I've been back and forth to Children's Hospital (more on this later) while trying to keep this household running and get ready for spring semester and the move and take a few more credits so I can teach a new class next fall and Loverpants has been working double shifts at the hospital, and THIS IS HOW TOM BRADY MUST FEEL! Yeah, to be the very important player. It's true that Mom is not allowed to get sick, but this past week has cracked me open and showed me that I am pretty hollow inside if not for the extra portion of grace I've been given. Oh how provident and merciful God has been to me this week. At one point yesterday, Baby Girl was whiiiiiining downstairs and Little Man was likely shoving some string cheese into his belly button in some forsaken corner of his room and I just stood in the middle of the living room and yelled STOP CRYING PLEASE! I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE! I really couldn't. I just...oosh. I was throat-achy, silly-tired, and not even my usual cocktail of popcorn + mindless internet was making me happy. It's so easy to think of myself as indispensable to this family but then we get a string of days that just make us realize, it's so not about us, it's all about Him, thank you, Lord for caring about each and every strand of my prematurely graying hair.

Lovely from the Week:

- Being sandwiched by Baby Girl and Little Man in my bed every afternoon when we laid down to take "a wittle rest." - Being told, "You're gonna live" after telling Baby Girl I was feeling a little sick.

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