We had a plan for whenever the house finally sold. The plan was that I would fly up to Washington, look at homes with our Realtor, put in an offer on one, and then come back home and start packing.

Well, a couple of things made that plan impossible.

Firstly, Boyo was going through a mommy phase. He didn’t mind playing with Dad, but any time John tried to do anything beyond that – like make his dinner, or tell him not to do something, or help put him to bed – Boyo would start yelling ‘Mommy’s turn!’ and proceed to have a meltdown until I stepped in and took over. So, there was no way I could leave for a couple of days.

Secondly, our mortgage fell through. While we were upset about that at first, we quickly realized it was a blessing in disguise. The rental market in Washington is so busy, that it’s not unusual for homes to be stuck in escrow for a month or two due to inspections and appraisals and all that fun stuff. There was no way we could afford to live in a hotel for that long. And there was no way our sanity could survive if we were confined for a small space for that long. Though, I suppose it would get the cats to finally accept the Boyo since there would be no escaping him. Plus, renting allowed John to find a job that he was happy at, and then we could move closer to it once the lease on the apartment was up. If we had bought a house, we would need to wait at least two to three years before we could sell to avoid severe taxes.

So the plan changed. Now John would be the one flying up North, and he would be looking at apartments and other rentals while I hung out at home with the Boyo and packed.

We found him a reasonable ticket through Hopper (which is a nifty app that I highly recommend) and on Saturday the third, Boyo and I drove him to the Long Beach Airport and dropped him off.

And then as we pulled away, Boyo started coughing. And the coughing turned to puking. I thought maybe it was just a one off thing, but as the day progressed, it became clear that he was sick. We have a stash of over the counter cold stuff at home for kiddos, plus we still had tons of albulterol from when the Boyo needed regular breathing treatments. We are pros at handling colds and coughs.

However, since his last cold, Boyo had gotten more verbal. He made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with any of the medicines I was trying to give him. It didn’t matter if I gave it to him snuck into his food, or in a spoon, or bribed him with candy. He would spit them out, ignore the food, and refuse the candy.

As a result, it was rough night for the Olsons. Up in Washington John was feeling overwhelmed with trying to find an apartment for us, and he was upset because he wasn’t at home to help out with the Boyo. At home, the Boyo would sleep for a couple of hours and then wake up with a coughing fit, and I was curled up on the floor next to the chair he likes to sleep in.

The next day the Boyo was tachpyneic, so I took him down to urgent care. Boyo spent the entire appointment exploring the exam room and trying to press the buttons on the walls – you know the ones that signal if a nurse needs help or if there’s emergency in the room – so I think they assumed it wasn’t as bad as it was because he had so much energy. They claimed he just had an ear infection and a chest cold and sent us on our way with an antibiotic and a steroid.

The Boyo flat out refused to take that medicine too, and by Sunday night he was even worse. Now I was seeing signs of retractions, and by the time his ABA therapist showed up on Monday morning he had no energy at all. So I bundled him up and took him to his normal doctors office.

Unfortunately his pediatrician wasn’t available, but we were able to get in with someone else. And I thank God every day that that man was there. After listening to Boyo’s medical history and doing a quick exam, he explained that this wasn’t some normal chest cold. Oh, it might have started as a cold, but it had moved into a severe respiratory infection. He explained that even if we could get Boyo to take the medicine the urgent care had prescribed, it wouldn’t have done much good. He gave Boyo two shots – one of antibiotics and one of a different steroid – and explained that if I didn’t see any improvement with a couple of hours, I would need to take Boyo to CHOC.

Cue me having a minor freak out as soon as we left the doctors.

See, we are no strangers to children’s hospitals. Boyo spent the first two months of his life in and out of Millers due to various breathing issues. Heck, the front desk receptionists knew my name because we were there so often to see various specialists or occupational therapists. So my stomach was in knots at the thought of having to go back and I bawled all the way home.

Once there, Boyo promptly passed out on the couch. I tucked him in with Lion (his beloved stuffed toy) and then packed a little overnight bag just in case we did have to go to the hospital. After that was done I made the usual calls to update family and ask for prayers.

Meanwhile, poor John was up in Washington, counting down the hours till he could get home. Since I wasn’t going to pick him up like we had planned, we arranged for his parents to do it and then they would either take him home or to CHOC depending on how Boyo was doing.

Thank God for family.

And thank God for the power of prayers.

Boyo woke up from his nap a little cranky, but after a sandwich and some cuddle time it was clear that he was doing so much better. He was still a little tachypneic, but not nearly as bad as he originally was, and the retractions were gone. Within another hour, he was back to his crazy normal self.

By the time John was home, the couch had been destroyed in the name of making a fort. It was like nothing had happened.

While neither of us accomplished what we planned to do, at least we were back together. And we were sure things would go smoothly from then on out.