Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
1 Corinthians 3:17

Monday, March 30, 2015


Do I look a little jaundiced in these photos? Ha Ha Just a little background: Isabelle woke me up in the middle of the night our very first night in DC because she'd thrown up all over the floor in the living room. It was terrible, yes, but it could've been so much worse, so I'll rank this as relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. I figured it was all the excitement of traveling and the hustle and bustle, and her tummy was just upset and hopefully adjusting. She felt much better after a bubble bath the next morning, and we were able to spend all day at the zoo and then some museums. I honestly didn't think much about it after that. Until the next day...

I'd heard that the only place you can take your picture from inside the White House is in the bathroom, which is really beautiful, so...why not? The one of me above is from the Library of Congress, as if I already somehow knew that my moment in the White House would not come to pass. At least not on this trip anyway. As for the photos, I feel the need to defend myself a little: it was freezing rain and sleeting on us all day long, but then when we'd get inside it would be so incredibly hot (though now I'm wondering about that, since my body was out of whack); plus, my scarf looked much cuter draped around my neck rather than simply hanging there, but every time I adjusted it, it literally made me gag (again, hindsight...fab), and, remember, it was soooo hot. I may have contemplated ripping off my t-shirt and just parading around in my tank top. Maybe.

Anyhoo. It was soon to be my turn.

It was either on IG or Facebook that I had captioned one of the pictures with a sincere apology to the poor sweet souls that had to go in to the Capital Building bathroom after me- the first lady, with her walkie talkie pressed tightly against the side of her face, with that harried look of damage control assessment; then moments later, a second one, complete with basically a hazmat suit, pushing through the crowds with the huge yellow trolley with all the brushes, brooms and other heavy-duty cleaning apparatus. I'd tried to get the toilet to flush but to no avail. There was simply too much...puke. It was coming faster than the toilet could handle it. And since I'd been holding everything in with my (rather powerful, I guess) mind-over-matter stance all morning long... well... I did the only thing I could do at this point: hang my head in shame, not look anyone in the eyes and book it outta there as quickly as possible. Ladies, I am deeply sorry. I was sitting on a nearby bench for a few minutes afterward and had to watch all of the women and girls exit the bathroom with horrified looks on their faces, holding their noses and muttering how disgusting it smelled.

Then it happened all over again. But this time I had to go to another bathroom. Because they hadn't gotten the first one under control yet. That's shame, I tell you. Pure, raw shame.

I will spare you the details of what happened as we waited outside for the ride back to the hotel. It may have involved a bush, needing to buy new shoes, and a pink and orange umbrella not used for its intended purpose. Stomach bugs are THE WORST.

The rest of that day, and the next, is basically a blur. I don't recall very much, other than the fact that my poor babies started dropping one by one. Hard and fast and mercilessly. To be sick when you're home is one thing; far away in a hotel room- and vying for the one bathroom- is something entirely different.

So we packed up and left early in the morning, though my sweet family drove me past the White House and even found a parking spot right on the side street so I could hop out and get a closer look. (This was also the morning we were going to spend more time at the monuments.) There I was, bed head and all, not a stitch of make-up on, still yellow- or green maybe- not having eaten for about 36 hours. Not the family memory I was hoping for, but hey, we will never ever forget our first time in DC. We made it home safely and not all that late, considering the many, m-a-n-y pull-overs on the highway from state to state to state.

When we got back, we learned that Jonah's fish, Flame, had died on Thursday. That was hard. Yes, we are those people who cry over pet fish. Ethan suggested that we surprise him one afternoon and go pick out a new one, so we did. He's very colorful and a little bit shy, and still nameless, which is strange for us.

 Oh, I forgot two photos that make me smile...
 Does this look like love to you? Because it looks like love to me.

 This girl, who fights off sleep in the car like it's a mortal enemy, who stays awake for hours and hours just so she won't miss anything... fifteen minutes from home, I turn around and see this. ;)

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