Remembering our young children getting ill.

Will a person Rob God?

What rent are we paying to live in God’s world? We act as though we created the world… God marks this misuse of talents...EG White.

Malachi 3: 8…

We have a brown bowl. It has travelled with us in the car and up into the bedrooms of the two up two down cottage. With one hand supporting a small child’s head the other hand can comfortably steady the brown bowl.

There were nights when both my boys had good reason for it. The sheets and pyjamas would be in a pile on the floor carefully holding acidic food contents. I would then get them changed and the bed changed. By then the brown bowl would be full. The process had no order it was chaotic but in the end the brown bowl would be swirled out with sunlight liquid soapy water, wiped dry put next to a bed with a fat soft roll of toilette paper and there would be quiet before it could start again. This time we were all prepared.

I can’t remember Roy getting these early – years childhood bugs brought home by our eldest coming home from school but I do remember chicken pox.

An adult with chickenpox is a painful sight. All three had it. The classic rash, fever, headache, sore throat and it lasted long enough for all of them to spend what seemed ages at home.

I can picture them now all three sitting on the sofa. Our youngest comfortable in his Dad’s lap. I stood in the door way and asked where the car keys were, the food shopping had to be done and I was going out alone. This was a strange occurrence and it was felt by all. They were all sort of bodily well but for the scabs still forming and I knew it was hard for them to stay at home. That was our chickenpox bout.

A more frightening experience was croop. It is quite common in this area as is asthma. It is hard to tell if a young child is starting Asthma and I remember putting my youngest son into a push chair and running the three quarters of a mile to the doctor. Needless to say the Dr. saw a well child. He did however have to be treated for asthma with what we playfully called a puffer. The attacks seemed to slowly be further apart and then stopped as he had swimming lessons and loved this sport.

Remembering these days I can’t help but feel grateful that they can’t come again. Exhausting!

A day of worry is more exhausting than a week of work.

John Lubbock