My sick brood

Ah, my poor young 'uns. They are running high fevers. Poor A, she coughs so much, that it is gagging her to the point that she isn't holding anything down...not fluids, nothing. She's been having to use the nebulizer, too, which is a heart-breaker.

T is just lying down on my bed, "Mommy. Mommy! I don't feeeeeeeeeel good. I wish Daddy was here." Me, too I say and then he nods his head and says, "Me, too."

Fitful nights of sleep for three nights now. I can't "fix" it. I am a "fixer." I always have been. I have been trying to stop being a "fixer" because it is exhausting, but this isn't the kind of "fixing" that I don't want to do anymore.

I like to fix other people's problems. I like to fix other people's pain. I am a rescuer. And I think that rescuers are made not born. A rescuer is made when something very traumatic happens in the rescuer's life. No one saved them, so they spend their life saving other people. No one rescued me; therefore, I rescue. I am trying to rescue myself.

I am sitting here staring at that last sentence: I am trying to rescue myself. Wow.