The Smell of Lysol

Smells trigger memories for me. Each winter I pull out the little space heater that my mom gave me for Christmas when I was 15 (Best Gift Ever for a cold-natured soul like myself living in New England). The first time I turn it on each winter, I smell ballet. I promise, I do. (What does that smell like? I can't describe it. Wanna smell my space heater?) I can remember coming home on icy Friday afternoons to quickly get ready for my weekly ballet class. I'd turn on that heater and huddle beside it as I put on my tights and leotard, and then stuff my toe shoes, skirt, and hair clips into my bag. Even now, fifteen years later, the ritual is the same: Turn on heater, remember ballet class. It's that simple.

There are other examples, of course, not all quite so pleasant. Lysol is one of those. I cannot smell Lysol without thinking: sickness. Perhaps that is because my mother used to spray Lysol on everything, even my hands (!), when there was illness floating around. There's illness floating around our house now, and I have become my mother, spraying Lysol on everything. Multiple times.

Noah woke up with a fever yesterday morning. I thought it was just going to be a fever until around 3:30pm when he began having diarrhea. It continued all through the night last night and all day today. I have become so weary of that Lysol smell that I opened up all our windows in hopes of getting some fresh air.

Some observations while caring for a sick boy:

Sickness makes me SO much more thankful for when things are just Normal. I take for granted that the food we eat will stay put and nourish us. I take for granted that Noah is generally a happy boy. I take for granted being able to go grocery shopping with him, and yes, I even take for granted his astronomically high energy levels. Two days of sickness remind you to be thankful for Normal.

I have been reevaluating my reactions to things. I must tend to overreact when Noah spills something or makes a mess because he assumes I will be angry with him no matter the reason for the mess. Yesterday afternoon I heard Noah scurrying around in the bathroom, and I went to the door and asked what was going on in there. He burst into tears from behind the door and admitted to having had an accident in there. He was convinced I would be angry, and was trying fervently to clean the mess up by himself. I wanted to cry. Not over the mess, but that he must just live in fear of disappointing me. I opened the bathroom door, despite his begging me not to, and hugged him tight. I told him I wasn't angry and that these things happen sometimes when we're sick. Poor guy. I began trying to shower him with love and affection after that. You need that when you're sick.

God is able to supply me with the grace I need to get through this. Not just the extra energy and patience, or strength to get through the day after a sleepless night, but for the confidence that God is in control. I have a fear of illness. Given the choice, I would run the other direction if someone is sick. Not the best choice ever, but especially not when it's your own little child. But God is giving me love for Noah, which casts out the fear of sickness. Every moment is a battle, and God is helping me moment by moment. Praise the Lord!

We're praying that our house clears out that Lysol smell very soon, and that Josh and I will be spared this "bug." Maybe I should go spray our hands...