McKay's ear tubes and echo went so well that we packed up that very night and drove down to Southern Utah for the weekend. I love running the annual half marathon every January and McKay seemed as right as rain so we hit the road.
We made the trip with friends and it was a busy, but fun weekend of doing something--ANYTHING--different. It felt good to get away.
All the stress of the week paid off as I ran and ran and ran my way to my best half marathon time yet--a 1:45! They even had photographers out on the trail this year to capture the journey for me. They obviously used a high speed camera to capture such a crisp image of my wind-like motion :).
The kids had a great time exploring the red rocks with their friends. And Ty celebrated his second of what seemed a never-ending month of "I'm 7 Now!" cake and ice cream events. Whatever. Birthdays are magical--the only day (or month) of the year that's YOURS. I love to do them up right for my boys. And Ty is just about as great as they come. I feel like everyday he's becoming a new person. One I have to chat with and interview and ask hard and bendy questions to make sure I understand where he's coming from. In many ways I feel like I'm meeting him for the first time. And you know what's even better? I like who he is. He makes me proud. He is smart and funny and kind. His heart is solid gold. In fact, we may need to switch faiths in order to join a religion with a paid clergy. He's just that good, through and through.
Then we came home and I waited. I waited for the miracle that was supposed to be tubes. "Oh! Your life will be completely changed," people told me. He'll sleep through the night. He'll eat better. He's react and move and light up to sounds like he's never done before. So I waited. And I watched. And I loved on him. But the only thing that's changed with my dear and darling Mac-aroni is this:
Despite our very best efforts to isolate and protect and provide all the best preventative medications, McKay somehow, somewhere, can't-think-about-where-it-came-from-or-it-will- drive-me-right-to-the-edge has contracted RSV.
He's home. We're watching him. Giving him steam sessions and syringing every drop of mucus we can get close to. And we're waiting. Waiting. Wanting. Wishing. Hoping. Hoping that somehow his just-last-Tuesday dose of Synagis will ease the symptoms and prevent the virus from multiplying as it normally would. We're beyond hoping for words this week. We just want him to breathe. So far, so good.
Tonight it's on with the show at our house. And in our version of normal, we're shrugging our shoulders and counting our blessings. All in all things are good. I have spent today weepy with a sense of gratitude for the gift of perspective Christ continually gives to me. Just when I seem overwhelmed with worry or want for something I cannot control, God consistently steps in, let's me know He is there, and redirects my path to more productive pursuits. I have talents to give. I have love to offer. I have pain to feel. But mostly my life is joy. And I have His tender mercies to see me through it all. No more waiting. No more wishing. Because He will make sure today has everything I need.