The One That's Hard to Write...

You know...I'm willing to write about the good stuff - the good days - the good moments - even the not so good ones that have a funny twist or end up with a lesson learned and everything tied up in a pretty little bow. I always fail at writing about the real nitty gritty stuff...In past, when I've had blogs, they've lasted only as long as the good stuff has. They've lasted until David got laid off, or until my Grandma died, or until I didn't know how I was going to make it through...they never lasted any longer. I'm determined that this one is going to be different.

This weekend, has been by far the most harrowing weekend of my life. I've experienced fear and shock like I never have before. The image of seeing your good, sweet, honest, hard-working loved one hobble down a hallway, in an orange jumpsuit, being treated like a criminal - not knowing when you'll see them again, not having any answers for them - and just hoping that they makes it through this trial - is one that haunts you. It steals your breath away. Freezes your heart. Makes your hopes and dreams seem ridiculous - when all you want is to know that someone is going to be okay.

God worked some miracles. He once again surrounded me with support and reminded me of why my God Father is called God Father - because he truly is a gift from God. When I looked into my Dad's face Thursday night, separated by a plexiglass wall, our hands on the window to find some sort of comfort - even though he had fear in his eyes, and a feebleness that was so visual it shook me to the core - he told me - God has a plan, Britt. He's never failed me. He never will. Help me trust in Him, one more time.

To make an endless story short - God did work a miracle. Not that Dad got out - for his innocence was known before this was even started - but that he got out Friday instead of having to stay the weekend, he was protected, and he is home with us now.

I don't have all the answers. I could ask why - again - and again - and again - and again - but until He fails me - I don't have to know why. I can rest in the comfort that He has a plan.

I don't have any pretty little bows. I don't have any wit or humor to add to this. I have a hope and a belief that He will work all things out according to His will - and for today - I'm standing on that.

Purple Cow - Mooooooo

Lemme tell you friends, there's nothing like getting dressed in the morning with your son's leapfrog animal match game saying, "purple cow mooooooo" - especially when he's practicing his DJing skills and mixing it up to say, "pur - pur - purple - pur pur purple cow - moooooo mooooo". That in itself is it's own little nugget of joy. But, my friends, nothing tops looking at yourself in the mirror, purple maternity shirt stretched to the max over your maternity jeans stretched to the max - with the words purple cow mooooooo - lifting your spirits.

I changed my clothes.

3 times.

Thanks, Bug.

Remember the chili!

Interesting is not an adequate enough word for my weekend. At all. I'll start with Friday.

Friday morning, around 2AM I woke up with really bad back pain. I didn't think anything about it...until I realized that it wasn't persistent, just a sharp, twisting, burning, agonizing pain that came every few minutes. Wait a minute...excruciating pain?? Every few minutes?? Agonizing?? Oh, no! Oh God, no!!! CONTRACTIONS?? But in my back?? I waddled my way into the living room to get a handle on this whole situation. No way was I going to wake up my dear sweet husband for nothing...nope nope nope. I got my handy dandy iphone...and I timed those suckers. Every 12 minutes...OWWWWWWWWWWWW! As soon as it was a reasonable hour I called my doctor. She diagnosed me as having Braxton Hicks contractions - the only twist - they were in my back. If they increased or moved to the front - it's baby time! Friday was a long, horribly painful day. I'm still having the contractions, but they're not quite as strong...

So, Friday, in the midst of this, I get an email about 2 eight month old puppies who were looking for a home. Spayed, neutered, house trained, chip implanted in case they're ever lost, well loved dogs who needed a good home. I instantly called Dad. He was game. In the midst of my contractions, I worked out a plan to get the dogs. I knew that it wasn't great timing...but I also knew that this was an awesome deal. I had to take advantage of it. I told David that if we got the dogs and it totally worked for us - then we got a free blessing! If we got them and it didn't work out...we were just out a road trip to Livingston. Did I mention I was having excruciating contractions every 12 minutes during this time?? I was. I still worked out a plan to get my baby son a "goggie". I rocked.

Friday afternoon, I finally reached my humble abode. All I wanted to do was straighten the kitchen while David started dinner, fold the basket of clothes I had, give Bug a bath - and CHILL. David would NOT shut up about me getting off of my feet. Would. Not. Shut. The. Heck. Up. Finally, albeit it was said at the top of my lungs, I got it through his head that there were things I HAD TO DO in order to relax. Then I turn to start the dishes to tidy up - and there's freakin water in the sink! Standing sink water gives me the heebie jeebies...especially when preggo...so I said...very politely, I'm sure, David pull the drain in the sink so I can start these stupid dishes! He goes over...fiddles...and says..."the drain is already pulled...I think our sink is stopped up." For some reason...this unnerved me. I did not have time for my sink to be stopped up! I did not have time to deal with landlords, and plumbers, and waiting the weekend to get it fixed nor did I have the money to eat out until it was (remember...I can't cook in a dirty kitchen.) "Well how does this happen, Dave?" And then, he did it. He laughed. LAUGHED. and says, "well...I might've put some chili down it...ha ha ha ha" hardy freakin har har. Needless to say, I was not amused. I went into a blind rage then...I'm honestly not sure of everything that I said (read yelled) - but let's just say it escalated. After Drano failed to fix the problem, my husband attacked the pipes. Turns out a big blob of grease will, indeed, stop up your kitchen sink.

Point: The sink was fixed. 35 minutes later the kitchen was clean and supper in the oven. Nothing was lost but my temper and a little bit of time. Why did I react that way?

Now, this brings us to Saturday. Saturday morning Dad and I head to Livingston to pick up the dogs and leave David to get Hadley's room in order (the contractions and labor and deliver bit really got me motivated) and mom to watch Bug (and make my house sparkle...thanks mom!). We go to just about the nicest person I've ever met's house, load up the dogs, and head home. Except on the ride home...Dad discusses how they're really not what he expected...yada yada yada (and they weren't) and if I wanted them for Brax, we should just keep them together. So. Now, I don't have 1 dog, I have 2...larger than I expected dogs. We get home, introduce them to Bug, unload all of there stuff...and wait. They do nothing. They sleep. A lot. They flinch when Brax tries to talk to them. They dont' know their names. You take em out, they want in. You keep em in, they want out. Let's all say it together. UH. OH. Saturday night, they barked. At everything. Loudly. They woke my son up (not good) - they woke David up at 5 - really not good. They peed and pooped where the pleased, despite being taken out. I'm already not liking these dogs...but my husband insisted I give them a chance. In fact, while he, Bug, and Dad were out eating, it'd give me a chance to bond with the dogs.

This is the way we bonded. They barked and woke me up from my nap. No one was there. I took them out, stayed out in the cold weather for 15 minutes. We came back in. They both peed and pooped on my floor (that my mom had previously made sparkle.) While I'm hobbling around - remember the contractions? - cleaning up dog poop - THEY CHEW ON MY COUCH. That was it. I'm finished. Done. Out. Stick a fork in me...DONE. I called David - told him that I wasn't cut out to parent a 2 year old, manage a house, work, grow a baby, and handle 2 mindless mean spirited pooping dogs. That they had to go back. There was a slight argument there...I may or may not have overreacted (again). And some how, lets just say David ended up being hung up on...

I sat and I fumed. And I thought. And then I prayed. And you know what I realized...I made a mistake. A bad decision. A wrong call. A big fat (peeing and pooping and chewing) mistake. Just like he had the day before. Why was I the one always overreacting? Why did I allow myself to make mistakes...but not anyone else? Why weren't other people (i.e. my husband...) entitled to mistakes as well? I called him back. And I told him that I made a mistake...and that I was sorry...but I couldn't handle the dogs. I wasn't angry. I wasn't vindictive. I wasn't irrational. I was honest. I explained that I knew he liked the dogs...but...that I just couldn't handle it. And - the thought that I could...was a mistake. Do you know what my precious, gracious, gentle, kind-hearted husband said back to me? "It's okay babe. We all make mistakes...remember the chili??" :)

Thank you, God, for my husband that loves and accepts me...temper, entitlement, and mistakes - all of it. And God, also, thanks for making it to where, when we make a mistake, once we're honest about it, You give us the chance to fix it. Help me to give everyone that chance. And God - one more thing - THANKS FOR MAKING SOMEONE ELSE WANT THOSE POOPING, PEEING, CHEWING DOGS. LESSON LEARNED! Amen...