Day ... Day? What day is it?

Since the craziness of the past weekend, accompanied with the adventures of basement flooding, I've not had much time to breath let alone sleep. I'm exhausted. Trying to be a good father. A good husband. A good provider. It fels as if I'm falling short. Abigail is doing ok. She's still swelled and her face is peeling. The potpourri of medicines she is on seem to make her restless and her eyes look tired (for as much as I can see her eyes). The basement is sill bare, all of our stuff still cluttering up our spaces, and paperwork after paperwork have been filed -- lots of waiting, in a holding pattern. This weekend (Saturday and Sunday)

I head for Kansas City with dad for the opening season of K.C. Chiefs football — they play the Bengals (so I'm torn as to who I want to see win). My gut tells me that it will not be close game (and the Bengals will win fairly easily). I hope to come home and find things better — I hope. I think we'll still be circling and waiting and listening because God knows that He's got something up his sleeve that He must want our attention for, but for now I'll just keep trying. Trying to get work done, trying to help Abigail feel OK, help Sonya not feel overwhelmed, help Elliott feel important. I'll try.