Why did I have to say I was taking a BREAK?

Yes, you guessed it - my "break" was anything but a break. It was more like a nightmare. On the other hand, though, "break" might describe it a little too well. Read on for details ...

Cousin Camp went alright, even though we were rained out for 2-1/2 days (it lasted 4 days total). We changed plans and ended up having fun anyway.

But then came the weekend after Cousin Camp when I stayed at my parents' house with my two kids -- without my husband. (He had to come back home to preach for Sunday services.) My kids missed Daddy something awful! Added to that, my son started into a fever on Saturday night. He and I were up until 2:00 in the morning trying to get him some relief.

On Sunday afternoon, I had just laid my daughter down to change her diaper when something came crashing down from the top bunk of the guest room bed. It glanced off me and my daughter and hit hard on the floor. It was my son - complete with the side rail that, by all accounts, shouldn't have come off.

It took a half hour to calm everyone down, and my son favored his right hand the rest of the day. I was a little worried about that, so when he woke up the next morning still favoring it, I took him to the emergency room. After two hours and four x-rays, they determined that his wrist was fractured (a buckle fracture). They splinted it and sent us back to church camp with instructions to have it casted when we returned home ... So now you know why I said "break" describes this little nightmare of mine.

But wait ... It doesn't stop there. Let's back up a few hours to Sunday night. My mother dropped us off at church camp that night. My husband missed us so badly he left our house right after the Sunday evening service and projected he'd be at camp by 2:30 in the morning. That meant I was putting the kids to bed by myself. That's not usually a problem, but for some reason, camp brings out the worst in my kids.

I started trying to get them to sleep at 9:00. My son was tired enough he would have gone right to sleep, but not my daughter. She didn't crash until 11:30. And "crash" just about describes what the process sounded like, too. I pitied those poor older people in the room beneath us -- and all the people within earshot of us on the second floor (which I later discovered was pretty much half the dormitory). I have no idea what got into her, but any mother can well imagine that I was on the verge of tears myself before it was all over.

But wait - it doesn't end there. Remember I said my son was running a fever on Sunday? It didn't go away. He was burning up for three days. He was complaining of excrutiating jaw pain. And he had what appeared to be intestinal flu (he still has it, so we're going to the doctor as soon as we can get in).

Needless to say, I didn't get into many of the camp services. There are three services a day. We were there four whole days. I got into 2-1/2 services. Not exactly what I'd call a break, but what can you do when sickness strikes?

Added to all of this, my mother went in for a Transesophageal Echocardiogram and cardioversion on Tuesday. They were hoping to confirm the extent of her mitral valve leakage and correct her atrial fibrillation (which is causing congestive heart failure). We had mixed news. The good news is that her valve is not nearly as bad as many previous tests had indicated, and it won't have to be replaced. The bad news is that the cardioversion didn't work. But there are still options, and I'm grateful I was able to be there with my mother that day.

So you see that this week and a half went nothing like I had planned. Most of the time, I felt like I'd lose my mind if one more thing happened.

But you know what? I made it. I'm home, and it feels so good. Even if we do have to take my son to have his arm casted, his teeth checked, and his diarrhea diagnosed (to three different doctors) in the next few days.