Remember the commercial jingle: “I don’t wanna grown up I’m a ToysRUs kid. .. ”

I have been reconstructing the lines all morning. Things like, “I don’t wanna be a grown-up, ignorance is bliss” and “It’s yucky being grown-up; I wish I was still six.” Yep. Today I believe that being a grown-up stinks. I think it would be nice to have my biggest problem be whether or not to join “The Club of Awesomeness at second recess or Kenzie’s club for everybody at first recess. ” (actual problem my seven-year old discussed with me yesterday – I told her to join the Club of Awesomeness because the name was better and then to tell Kenzie that “everyone is awesome” – and I sang it like a Lego Emmett. I am so cool.) Instead, I have decisions about heavy things – 77 lb. things.

Yep, I have decisions about a ten-year old who has occasional seizures and I can’t completely trust her communication.

Little had another seizure last night. It seems petty to even write about it since my sister has a dear friend whose one daughter has constant seizures and another daughter has started having them sporadically. In my world, where seizures are not daily occurrences and I don’t have a doctor I trust, I feel the weight of what happened last night and the uncertainty of what to do next. It’s heavy.

What happened? Little had been feeling bad before going to bed so I was half expecting to be up with her at some point. Honey always takes Little to the bathroom and gives her medication before we go to bed and so last night he got her up and left her on the potty to go get a clean pull-up. He barely made it out of the bathroom and heard her fall off the toilet against the wall, and then she threw up. When he got to her she was rigid and unresponsive (typical of the three other seizures she has had). By the time I got downstairs she was “awake” and shivering and very willing to snuggle (the only up-side to a seizure). She didn’t remember anything, of course.

She slept well through the night and later into the day than she normally does. To demonstrate how odd this is I’ll tell you that I always worry she is dead if she sleeps past six. Seriously. I spent my time in the shower thinking through how I would ever make the call and tell my mom Little was gone – silly, I know – and as soon as I got out I asked Honey if he had checked on her. He knows I struggle with this and so, of course, he had been in her room and made sure she was breathing. It sounds so neurotic as I type it. Still, it’s a window for you into the stress of our life. The abnormal is so normal here . . . your kids probably all sleep past six . . .

So, Little seems fine now. She keeps talking about food but her coloring is still weird. I mean, she KEEPS talking about food. Sheesh.

I’m very aware that her other three seizures have been 2-3 years apart and this one is the second in 2014. Little was supposed to have an MRI in January but we found ourselves without a job and so we put it off. I think it’s time to pick that back up but I have dropped the ball on lining up doctors up to this point. I find myself remarkably motivated now.

If you read this, I covet your prayers. My daddy’s prayers seem overwhelming absent in a moment like this and my prayers seem so small compared to his. When I feel this way I have to choose to remember that it wasn’t the man who prayed . . . it was the God He spoke to that moved and worked. That’s the same God I serve. He is able. He holds Little in His righteous right hand. Who better to trust as I make these decisions.

Maybe being a grown-up wouldn’t stink so much if I could remember He wants us to come to Him like a child. “I don’t have to grow up. God wants me as His kid. . .”?