Warning: probably going to be rambly and incoherent. If you want a trip inside my weird head and day today, by all means, continue.
The last couple days have had plenty of challenges and failures. Yesterday, I broke my seven week streak of getting 10k steps per day, which doesn’t matter, unless you’re an obliger and live for perfect, unbroken streaks. I also didn’t blog, which was sad.
Instead, I got suddenly and violently ill.
And then about the time I felt better, everyone else but the baby started up. (She still hasn’t shown any signs of illness. Hoping that holds.)
Andrew was incredibly kind as I was down. He took up all the slack. At one point, I asked him, “Is it okay if I’m a giant wuss for just a little while longer and ask you to give me a back rub?” He responded, “You can be a giant wuss as long as you need to be.” That’s real love, friends.
And then as the bug took him, I was just getting over the fever phase and able to take over the constant round of clean-up early this morning. Good times.
Stomach bugs are the worst.
We’re buried in laundry. (Mostly clean now, but certainly not folded.) The girls wound up supervised only by Miss Frizzle for the entire afternoon while the grownups tried to recover from a really rough night. We’re about to adventurously test pasta with butter in all the kids’ tummies.
But, for all the crazy, there have been a lot of gifts.
The baby didn’t get sick.
We live in the future and have a fridge that dispenses ice chips.
It was a really short bug. It’s over.
They’re all asleep now.
And, hey! I lost five pounds! (Winning!) (Just kidding. Not worth it.)
There’s grace enough, even for stomach bugs.
This post is part of a 31-day series called “Grace in Failure.” Other posts from the series can be found here.