How very Marianne Dashwood of me

Last week, Eric was out of town on business for part of the week. Then on Saturday he had an all-day scout training. Yesterday he had meetings early in the morning, meetings after church, and tithing settlement until 8 PM.

All the kids were sick.

I stayed home from church yesterday with the kids so my second son could sneeze and snot on me and not in Primary. My little girl had the croup, so I was a breathing treatment diva. I've gotten really good at holding her on my lap on the rocking chair in her room while giving her a breathing treatment while we watch ourselves in her long full-length mirror that's on the other side of the room. I sing "Little Peter Rabbit" in different voices with big actions with one hand to keep her entertained while I hold the Nebulizer in the other hand. I'm actually pretty good at fish voice, which is the most requested version.

So while the kids were supposed to be having rest-time, I ran out the front door to take the garbage out. And I tripped. And sprained my ankle. Pretty badly. So I dusted myself off and sat in my overstuffed red chair in the front room with my ankle in the air. I thought, "I have just sprained my ankle. How very Marianne Dashwood of me."

And then I started to think about the fact that Marianne Dashwood had someone come to her rescue. Ah, Mr. Willoughby. He was there to pick her up. Take her home. Bring her flowers and poetry. Say witty things. Give her an excuse to make her hair all curly. And I thought that it would be nice to have someone come and rescue me and try to tame the children who were THUMP! CRASH! BANGING! around upstairs during quiet time.

But I did not marry Mr. Willoughby, and it's a good thing because Mr. Willoughby was lacking in fortitude. Mr. Willoughby couldn't take it. Mr. Willoughby didn't stick around. Mr. Willoughby was a jerk. I am glad I did not marry Mr. Willoughby.

And sitting there, on my red chair, with my ankle puffing, I realized no one was going to come rescue me. I got up. Hobbled around. And then Eric came home at 8 PM and took care of the kids for an hour before they went to bed. And then he changed his plans for this week so he could be around to help me in my inability to walk. I love that man.

I called my sister after I'd sprained my ankle and told her about my Marianne Dashwood insights. And she said profound words. She said, "And what do with learn from Sense and Sensibility anyway? We learn that the right man will eventually come along. But in the meantime, your sisters will get you through." Liz and I talked about how we'd love to live on the same block for moments like the one I was having. I could call Liz and say, "I sprained my ankle. Up all night with a croupy child. Eric won't be home until later," and she'd say, "I'm going to the front door. Send the kids over and I'll be standing right here watching them come down the street."

My right man did eventually come around. But it's tricky---I married the right man and now work/church/his job/the world realizes what a good thing I have and they need a part of him too. So he goes. Because he is a good man.

So I call in the troops of women in my life---my mother who is here with my kids today, entertaining them and being her usual fairy godmother grandma self. I will call my sisters who live too far away and they will laugh with me or let me cry. Tomorrow when the kids are over their colds, I'll call on my sisters at church and they help.

And Eric will go and do what needs to be done and help everyone, including me.

And I will be here.

And my sisters will get me through.