Blessed

Things haven't been super easy around here lately. It's nothing big and drastic, but life's little (and not ao little) disasters have been weighing me down a bit.

But you know what? I'm pretty blessed. God must have known how much help I would need, because he sent me some pretty amazing friends.

Like a friend who, after learning I was having a really crappy day yesterday, not only sent me text messages of encouragement, but also let herself into my house, ignored the bags of trash sitting on the stairs, (my husband forgot to take the trash out last week, and these were bags of birthday wrappings and bows waiting for dark so they could be stuffed in some unsuspecting neighbor's trash,) and left me a large Diet Coke, a Krispy Kreme donut, and suckers for the kids on my kitchen counter.

Or then there's the friend who lets me go on and on and on about everything that's bugging me, complain about all the crap that I think I'm going through, when she is dealing with literal crap (I'm not kidding, people!) that the sewer people in her town decided to send up through her toilets.

And then there's another friend, who also happens to be my mom, who opened up her cabin, (which I'm convinced is one of the best places on earth) to us and my four untrained monkeys this week so we could have a few days away. Within minutes of arriving, I felt better. Clearer.

So tonight, I'm grateful. And determined that I need to do better at being that kind of friend.

Road trips and Fireworks: A Valentine's Day story

Let's take a stroll down Memory Lane, shall we? 

It's Valentine's Day 1997.  "Foolish Games" by Jewel and "How Do I Live" by Leann Rimes were playing on every radio, Dolly the Sheep had just been cloned, and I was a freshman living on campus at the University of Utah.  Because I was a freshman, and because my parents firmly believed that a college student should not live at home, I was living in the dumpiest of dumpy dorms, in a building so bad that not only have I blocked out its name, but it has long since been both condemned and demolished.

Although our living spaces were small, our communal bathrooms were so nasty that you had to wear flip flops to take a shower or risk a foot disease, and our kitchen was three flights down and constantly smelled like rancid Korean food, we had a lot of fun that year.  There was a group of seven or eight of us that made it through the year together, freshman fifteen, missionaries leaving, the horror that was Biology 101 and all. 

This particular Valentine's Day found me in a foul mood.  I've never loved Valentine's Day, (or as we called it, "Single Awareness Day") but I was unusually grumpy that evening, and decided to do something about it.  I went down to the kitchen, took stock of my friends were also sitting around bemoaning their single-ness and declared, "I'm going on a road trip.  Who's coming?"

I was one of the only one of my friends with a car.  The fact that it had four tires full of air and went above 55 miles an hour on the freeway outweighed the fact that it was a two-toned brown 1983 Ford Escort.  

This is very close to what my infamous car looked like.  You're jealous, admit it.  This car was actually much better than the one that came after it, a baby blue 1985 Ford Tempo, which was aptly nicknamed "The walrus."

And since they were bored, tired of hanging around the dorms all day long, or actually wanted to celebrate Single Awareness Day with me, about five of my friends jumped at the words "road trip." 

It wasn't until we packed six of us into my tiny five seater that we realized we had no idea where we were going.  They asked me, thinking I had some kind of master plan. We debated our options.  North led us to Idaho, and Idaho was boring.  South could lead us to Vegas, but we all had to be in class the next day, so South was out.  West led to lots of Great Salt Lake Desert.  The dorms would be more exciting.  East it was.

Heading East had the extra bonus of getting to another state in a little less more than an hour.  Hitting Evanston, Wyoming had never been so exciting.  And as everyone from Utah knows, there are three options for excitement in Evanston that you can't find in Utah: drive-thru beer, porn, and illegal fireworks.  Since we were mostly good kids, we passed on the porn and the beer and went straight for the illegal fireworks.  We pooled our money and had enough to buy approimately two fireworks, (what did I tell  you about living in the ghetto dorms!) and piled back in the car. 

We arrived back on campus in what felt like the middle of the night.  We debated all the way home about what to actually do with the fireworks.  As soon as I parked the car, the debate was over.  Brandon, our resident pyro, ran up to his dorm room and found some matches, and herded us all out into the middle of the quad.  We shot off our two glorious fireworks, each of them rocketing high enough to be seen everywhere on campus. We couldn't decide if we should be giggling or running before the police caught us.  In the end, we retreated back to the dorms when we heard the sirens to watch a horrible romantic comedy on the tiny nearly-dead tv on the boys' floor, congratulating ourselves on the best Single Awareness Day ever.

Feeling the Love

My friend Serene posted today about gratitude, specifically about people who have done seemingly small things that turned out to be huge, and invited people to link up, sharing their experiences.  I have so many, even in the past few weeks and months.

***
A few months ago, a friend called me out of the blue and asked if I had plans for the weekend.  We rarely have exciting weekend plans, and when I told her so, she said, "Good.  Then we're taking your kids Friday night and Saturday morning so you and your husband can go overnight."

I wasn't sure I had heard her right.  So I asked her, 

"What?"

"I know what it's like to not have family around to do things, and to want to get out.  You guys deserve to have a weekend away before your baby comes."

"Umm..."  I sputtered, "I don't even know what to say."

She laughed.  "Say thank you.  And have fun."

And we did.  While this angel woman came and slept at my house, (including soothing my toddler who woke up at an ungodly hour!) we went overnight to a fancy-schmancy hotel (that was free thanks to some perks from my husband's work,) saw a movie, got massages, and came home relaxed and happy.   Not even my parents have taken all three kids overnight before.  I still shake my head in amazement at her kindness and sheer courage.

***
A few weeks ago, I got pneumonia.  Now that's bad enough, but when you're pregnant, it's extra bad.  So of course, I whined about it on my blog.  A few hours later, I got a comment from a sweet blogger friend that she was bringing me dinner.

And bring me dinner she did.  Homemade chicken noodle soup, and freshly baked, warm bread.  Can I just say that bread was a little piece of heaven?  My husband and I devoured it on the spot before my children even knew it was missing. 

There is something so incredibly nurturing about someone making a meal for you- it's like giving someone a tangilble evidence of their love and concern.  Such a blessing to sit down to a hot meal that I didn't have to prepare.

***
This year, for the first time, I've started teaching students before school at some obscene hour that no one should ever be awake for.  Despite my chronic inablity to be a morning person, everything has worked out well so far.  That is, until two weeks ago when I decided I hadn't had enough excitement and spent the batter part of the night in the hospital with preterm labor.

I had a lesson the next morning, and since I didn't leave for the hospital until 10:30 at night, I sent a text telling the mom I wasn't teaching in the morning and begging to reschedule.  I knew she was an iPhone addict like me, and thought that would be the safest way to get a message to her.

I arrived home at 3:30 that Tuesday morning, and crashed into bed. We all rushed around in a panic the next morning trying to get out the door, and it wasn't until my kids were gone that I thought to check to make sure the mom had gotten my text message. 

She hadn't.

Which means this poor mom had gotten herself and her daughter out of bed and hauled across town at 6:15 am, just to find my house dark and no one answering the door.

I apologized, embarassed.  She brushed it off, laughing, asked me how I was doing, then informed me she was coming to get Max in a few minutes so that I could sleep that morning.

I thought about protesting, but I was too tired and too drugged.

She came and got him, played with him all morning, took him out to lunch, then brought him back to me right before naptime.  Max had so much fun that he ran after her crying when she left.

She had every right to be mad at me.  I would have been pretty irritated to get up that early to arrive at a dark house with no one responding.  Instead, she came and took my toddler all morning so I could crash. 

***
People are amazing.  I have been blessed by so many who have taken the time to love and serve my family.  Just thinking about this has made me resolve to do better to watch out for others. 

Like Serene said, the words "Thank You" seem pretty small and insignificant for things that impacted me so much.  But I can't say enough about how these womens' efforts to reach out and help me, despite the inconvenience, has impacted me. 

An update of sorts

How was the Girls' Weekend, you asked?  Ok, so maybe you didn't ask, but I'll tell you anyway.

We stayed here.  (It was paradise, really!)

This massive Elk was our protector- secretly, I think he was laughing at us. 

We did a lot of this. (and if it looks like we were all lounging around doing nothing, it's because we were!)

And we did some of this, (which is more pictures of us sitting around gabbing like crazy with the important distinction that we got up and changed our location!)

And here we are doing more impersonations, giggling, swapping stories, and entertaining ourselves the way only girls can.  My husband was incredulous when he found out we didn't go anywhere the whole weekend.  "You just talked?"  "Yup."  "You didn't go anywhere?  You didn't play any games?  You just talked for the entire weekend?  How boring!"  Except it wasn't.  And as all girls know, you never run out of things to talk about.

Oh, and we hung out in the hot tub.  And everyone stayed fully clothed the entire time.  Including me.  Especially at 2:30 in the morning.  Uh huh.  Yup.

So now I'm home, missing my girlfriends, and trying to re-set my sleep schedule.  And to convince Tom that overnight trips with the girls should be a monthly requirement or so for sanity purposes.

What else is going on, you ask?  (Just play along and pretend with me, okay?)

Well, I had the two incidences of spotting that I wrote about, then nothing.  I then had some wicked contractions that had me reaching for the stopwatch.  Just as I was about to panic, everything stopped and hasn't started since.  Good thing, because we still have months of cooking this baby before the timer goes off.  At the midwife's appointment today, baby is measuring right on, heartbeat is good, and so we're back to business as usual around here.

Oh, and Max is now refusing the binky with all the disdain his 21-month old self can muster.  His  new security object is now this little blue alien.  Whatever works.

Outta here!

I haven't been away on my own without my kids for almost four years. 

That's changing in t-minus 5 hours and counting.

It's Girls' weekend this weekend! 

A bunch of my birth-y friends, including the midwife and doula who were at Max's birth, plus all the girls I worked with in my former life as a doula are coming.  We're spending the weekend at a cabin in Boulder, UT where we plan to stay up way too late, eat tons of junk food, and do lots and lots of laughing.

And did I mention that I won't have any kids crawling on me, or fighting for attention, or destroying things, or bickering for two whole days?  I may not come back!

It's ok, you can be jealous. 

Girls Night Out

We schedule it at 8:30 on a Friday night, so the hasbands can be home and in charge, and the kiddos can (theoretically) be in bed. We leave the men, the kids, ("Mom, where are you going? Why can't I go with you?") and even the nursing babies.

We bring lots of sugary snacks; doesn't matter if they're store bought as long as there's plenty of chocolate. And homemade apple pie was an unexpected treat. Someone brings a veggie tray, because a few bites of baby carrots and cucumbers cancels out the Keebler cookies and the Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

To the astonishment of our husbands, we don't need an xbox, a wii, or movies to keep us entertained.

We sit and talk and giggle, we commiserate and empathize and laugh.

I learn I'm not the only one annoyed by dirty socks all over the floor. We all learn that we wish we got regular visits from the laundry fairy instead of being the laundry fairy.

We talk about first kisses and worst kisses, about what drew us to our husbands and what annoys us about our husbands.

We sit and swap birth stories. (Which I am convinced is a requirement whenever you have two or more LDS women in a room at the same time...) When I get a text at midnight, just as the girls are asking me about Max's birth, I go home, get him and bring him back because I can't quite face going home yet.

We finally call it a night (a morning?) about 1:30 am as the yawns become more frequent and sleep is threatening to overtake all of us.

I return home feeling like I've just taken a healthy dose of sanity for the soul. I don't feel as invisible- instead, I feel like I've been pumped full of enough energy and friendship to last me another few weeks.

We'll need to do it all again soon.