Hey, remember last week when Alex had a stomach virus? Remember that?

WELL GUESS WHAT?

This morning he woke up around 1:30. With ANOTHER stomach virus!

WE’RE THE LUCKIEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!

Oh, bless his sweet little heart.

And this particular virus has thrown down the gauntlet in terms of the I WILL WEAR YOU OUT WITH THE VOMIT factor. It hit every 10-15 minutes the first hour…then every 30 minutes for the next three hours. At one point Alex looked up at me and said, “Mama, can you please make me feel better?” and I almost went into a full Aurora Greenway right there in the half bath.

But then I remembered that there was no nurses’ station on which I could bang my fists. And no nurses to hear me screaming. So the impulse passed.

However, I’m happy to report that A. is on the upswing, and even though we haven’t had much sleep, it’s nice to see him looking a little less peaked. I, however, look like I’ve been run through a spin cycle, so I’m about to take a nap before Mama and Martha get here (thank you, Lord, for a husband who works from home).

And in case you’re wondering: I have warned the grandmothers that our child has been stricken by the plague, but they are completely undeterred by any talk of a virus. So they will be here around lunchtime and conquering Steinmarts Memorial Day Sale shortly thereafter.

And not to worry: when we get to Steinmarts, I will shadow them and take copious notes. Especially when Martha finds something she likes but they don’t have her size and she asks the manager to call every single store in the entire Southeastern region to see if they have the periwinkle Harve Benard short jacket (with the three-quarter-length sleeve and jeweled buttons that aren’t round but they’re not square, either; they’re sort of a rounded square, a rounded square, and they just sort of floop over on the sides, you know how they sort of floop) in a size 2 petite.

I think I’m starting to understand why the Lord gave me those two hours of quiet yesterday afternoon – obviously He knew that today would hold much vomiting and shopping and flooping. But very little sleeping.

A shower and a power nap are calling my name.

It only takes about four seconds here in my little corner of the blawgosphere for people to realize that I am not a terribly serious person. I’m probably more introverted than people might expect, but for the most part I’m a glass-half-full girl. I’m happy. And apart from a three-year period in my early 20’s when I seemed to think that, as a graduate student, I was supposed to be cynical and jaded and brooding, I’ve been a happy person all my life. I think it’s just how I’m wired.

But for the last month or so, I’ve struggled a little bit with feeling, well, CRAZED. It has nothing to do with circumstances – other than the fact that I’ve been running through my circumstances at way too fast a pace (not literally running. oh heavens no. that would require far too much effort). And as a result, I’ve been more impatient than usual with D. and Alex, more resentful of impositions on my time, more frustrated by my ever-growing to-do list.

Basically, I’ve been living outside of my happy little comfort zone.

And as a brief aside, I would just like to say that it’s called “comfort zone” for a reason. Because it is, as it turns out, oh-so-comfortable. Not to mention cozy.

So because of the sheer volume of stuff going on, I’ve felt unsettled. Pulled in sixty different directions. Frazzled. Convinced that I will never, for the rest of my life, enjoy the luxury of just being quiet ever again.

Also, I’m incredibly rational when I’m stressed out. As I’m sure you can tell.

Earlier today D. and Alex left the house to run some errands and grab some lunch. Normally I try to be productive when I have time by myself; I’ll write a blog post or two, mop a floor in a high-Alex-traffic area, return phone calls – stuff that’s not so easy to do with a preschooler around.

But today? I turned off every single electronic device that could ring or ding at me. I sat down on a couch in our living room. And I stayed there for two hours.

I didn’t read. I didn’t watch TV. I didn’t check email.

I didn’t blog. I didn’t talk. I didn’t clean.

I just sat. And thought. And prayed.

And sat. And thought. And prayed.

While I looked out my windows.

It was divine.

So I’m curious: do you have a place where you can “retreat” in your house? Do you have a place where you can recharge your emotional and spiritual batteries? Where you can get away from it all, even if it’s just for a few minutes?

Honestly, I didn’t realize that a prolonged period of quiet could do a girl such a world of good.

But you can rest assured that it’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.

I recently read in a highly-esteemed political publication People magazine that Lindsay Lohan is about to turn 21.

For some reason it made me think about what I’d say to my 21 year-old self if I could in fact turn back the hands of time, which of course I cannot, primarily because math gives me a headache, and I hear there are some formulas and stuff involved in time travel. And perhaps even algebra.

Anyway, here is the profound wisdom I have for, well, the former me:

“Stirrup pants? Really?”

I feel these two questions could change my 21 year-old self’s life. All for the better, mind you.

Which makes me wonder: what would you tell the 21 year-old version of you?

And if you’re just now 21, let me say this: I am so happy for you and all your adorable 21-ishness, but as someone completely (and happily) mired in her 30’s, I may need a little mercy in terms of hearing about your youthful vigor and youthful skin and all-around youthful youthiness.

Because I am tired and, might I add, increasingly wrinkled. And reading about how cute and energetic you are might make me sad. Not to mention a light shade of green.

However, I am genuinely tickled to death that you’re not having to try to ROCK SOME STIRRUP PANTS in order to make a trendy fashion statement. You should be grateful for the rest of your days that you have been spared such an indignity.

Have a lovely Monday, everyone.