Last Thursday (taht's a week ago, now, I guess), got off the plane (hmm, I almost wrote "plan" - well, that's right too - we are definitely right off the plan around here) after 10 really wonderful days away with a suddenly sick, sick boy. More of the athsma it turns out, which he has NOT outgrown yet (and speaking of words I might spell all wrong, I'm still never sure I have that ailment right - wayyy too many consonants in a row). Spent all day Friday in the ER, getting the bad drugs (since I seem to be all about being parenthtical today, I will add, parenthetically, that one of the side effects of this particular steroid is actually, in the printed material, called "meanness." Yikes.), then spent the night at home, then Saturday, back to the ER again, this time pleading for an admit to a room with a door and our own TV, which we got. Spent an hour on Saturday night while Eli was watching Sponge Bob (is Sponge Bob on all the time on everyone's TV, or do they have some kind of 24-hour SpongeBoborama Channel at Children's Hospital?) working on a verrrryyy informal sermon (sort of turned into 12 minutes of what's been on my mind lately - although I think it didnt totally suck) got up on Sunday morning, left the hospital and a not-at-all-mean boy crying ("Mommmy, I dont want you to yeave....."), did church, came back, got discharged, went home, made dinner for our regular Sunday night pals (it actually felt GOOD to do a normal thing!) And since then, have been trying to squeeze some work stuff in between inhaler treatments, more doctor visits and reading lots of books on the couch. I have been talking to Jesus a lot about why I am not cut out to be a stay at home mom and also saying thank you for my super flexible, super part time job (well, except for that Sunday morning part, I guess).
But, really, in spite of all the run-on sentences and parentheses, I have been doing pretty well and feeling pretty easy going about the whole thing. Until tonight, when I heard a heart rending story on the radio about kids getting kicked out of foster care at 18 and having to be homeless and decided that we have to start doing foster care right NOW, then heard Cindy Sheehan - still as grieved and furious and right on and ass kicking as ever - then came home and read a story in this month's Sun about a mother who tried her best but still missed stuff and made mistakes and then I finally cried a little.
In the big scheme, everything is fine, but tonight I find I'm tired and homesick for my own mom, who is so good at times like this. I think I'll sleep and see if things look better in the morning, as I suspect they will.
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