When I say Otto was sick this week, I mean the poor little guy was for reals sick.  He counted each time he threw up.  I didn’t realize he was keeping track.  There he was, little silver bowl in hand, emptying his stomach contents.  “Nine,” he stated.

Nine times.  It wiped him out.

It wiped me out.

And it took my sheets out too.

But whatever.

London was sick all night.  Otto started in early early morning after I had stolen a few hours of rest.  While cleaning up Otto I heard footsteps racing across the upstairs hallway.  Bergen was joining the sick ranks.  If you’re counting that is three sick kids – living room, upstairs bedroom, downstairs bathroom.

It’s been bad.  Like – you know – actually really bad.  They have felt terrible.  But I’ve been so amazed also.  So seriously amazed — at all the beauty that has happened here too within these walls.

Stuff has shut down.

Community group at our house? Cancelled.

Child care exchange between Jo and I? Cancelled.

Outdoor adventure plans for our week off from school? Cancelled.

Bible Study for the big kids?  Cancelled.

Learning to make pasta together?  Cancelled.

Instead we’ve done some of this:

Books read.  Minecraft played.  Sheets washed.  Floors mopped.  Games of Sorry played.  Uno.  War.  Watching funny videos and lying around in the same room talking about what we’d do if someone handed us $10,000.  Agonizing over the fact that all the rest of the seasons of the Next Food Network Star have to be purchased and aren’t available for “free” on Netflix.

Siblings caring for siblings.  Hands resting on mine with gentle and sincere words saying, “Thanks Mom.  Thanks for cleaning up my vomit this morning.”  Real unprompted thankfulness.  “Mom, I love you.”

There is legitimate tangible beauty amid the barf bowls and the dirty dishes and the Clorox.

The essential oils and the cleaning sprays and the elderberries and the Pepto Bismol and the too many episodes of Odd Squad and the stack of dirty towels and the very gross toilet bowl and the tea tree oil scent hanging heavy in every room.  (Yeah – it’s so bad I’m hitting it from every angle.  Ginger Ale AND grape juice.  Grapefruit seed extract and Pepto.  Whatever it takes.  Whatever it takes, I tell you.)   (In my own personal effort to avoid the plague in my own body, I swallowed a myriad of things I found in our cabinet – elderberries, grapefruit seed extract, fish oil, iron, crickets, oregano, tabasco sauce, I don’t care – give it all to me if it means I can stay on my own two feet and keep all that goes in, in.)  Oh – and the absolutely endless hand washing.  (Also the up close and personal knowledge of what grapes and carrots look like before they’ve been, uh, properly digested.)

It’s a scale wanting to weigh real heavy on the disgusting side.

But it’s lopsided still somehow.

Because of all the real good beauty.

Song lyrics from last weekend’s prayer retreat endlessly playing over in my mind.  With every little retching body under the stroke of my hand, with every heave and every head holding and hair caressing, I was somehow able to sing the lyrics to the song I learned at the beach, ocean waves serenading us.  One of the leaders sharing her musical talent with us through the songs she wrote and taught us.

I asked Piper, “Does the song make it better or worse?  Would you rather Mommy just be silent or sing?” because I know how it feels to be sick and to just need silence and stillness.

“It helps Mommy,” she said between incidents, head resting on the toilet bowl.  “It helps.”

Heather Stemann’s beautiful lyrics have been an anthem in our house during this knock-us-down sickness.

Call on me and I will answer.

Say my name and I will come.

I am close to the broken hearted.

I give strength to the weary one.

You guys – I literally cannot count the number of bowls of throw up I’ve caught and the sheets I’ve washed and the pattern of sickness each kid has fallen victim to over the last forty hours.  It is a train wreck over here.  (Except it isn’t.)  Otto stopped at nine.  I think London was at three.  Bergen beat her record but didn’t reach Otto’s.  Piper is currently competing and about to pass Otto’s number.  Mosely’s sickness took a different form.

But every single time that chorus was somehow on my lips and coming out of my mouth to sing to my children as they waded through the misery.

That wasn’t from me, you guys.  I loathe vomit.  I dread it and avoid it like the plague.  I walk out of rooms when I hear it and I pull the covers over my head to muffle the sound.

Grace.  Grace.  Grace.  God’s very evident grace.

Because that song is true.

Call on me and I will answer.

Say my name and I will come.

I am close to the broken hearted.

I give strength to the weary one.

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