Conversing with the deceased

When we first moved to St. Louis, I neglected to get a new cell phone number.  After several weeks, I had given the number to new friends, church members, utilities, and schools. 

Changing that number would have been a huge pain. 

So, for our six years there (and our one lone year in San Diego before that), I had a Boston area code. 

Which I loved. 

Except when no one would take my calls because they didn't recognize the number.  Or when I got wrong number calls from people on east coast time very early in the morning.  Or when I had the same conversations every week about where the number was from, and why I never changed it.

It drove me batty. 

As you can imagine, I planned to march my phone (and my children's phones) into the AT&T store within days of arriving so as not to make the same mistake twice. 

Which I did. 

Unfortunately, I made the misjudgment of assuming my teen/tween-age children could handle the errand with me. 

Within five minutes, Hannah was moaning and pulling on my arms because she was STARVING.   JUDAS.  STARVING!!!

Chase was single-handedly touching and manipulating every gadget in the store.  He was like a tornado, moving from one to the other, causing carnage in his wake.  It would not surprise me if he is the cause of why every display phone in the store now speaks Spanish and/or Mandarin Chinese. 

McKay just kept rolling his eyes and giving me THE LOOK.  You know it.  The one that says, "Mom, this is ridiculous and I will never forgive you the horror of this injustice."  It's a universal look and recognizable in every country on the planet.

Rather than risking therapy bills in the future, I wisely handed them my debit card and sent them to the burger joint around the corner.   

Once all the phone number changing had taken place, I headed out to find my children.  But before I pulled out of the parking space, I sent a quick text to McKay's new phone number.  Unfortunately, I misdialed and this hilarity with a stranger is what ensued.   

I'm betting that if I were somehow able to converse with this person's poor dead mother, she would commiserate with me on the traumas of shopping with children. 

Rest in peace, lady.   

And tell me heaven consists of solo shopping trips?

Diamond shoe problems and a run-in with the law

So when I last wrote, I left off with a teaser about my arrest in Oklahoma.

Which nearly happened. 

But didn't get blogged about sooner due to my tragic diamond shoe problems.  Brace yourselves.  You see, I have been without home phone or internet for about 10 days. 

I know!  How can one live in such dire circumstances? 

And it's all the more catastrophic because the lines to the house got cut accidentally by the guys digging our pool. 

Oh, the horror it is to be me!  How can anyone possibly be expected to live with such a travesty?  Sure, there are starving children in Africa, but WHAT. ABOUT. ME??

Ahem.

Anyway, we were driving from St. Louis to Texas after tearful farewells and a very stressful move.  

Anxiety and exhaustion hung in the air like a thick fog.   

So when I got off the freeway mistakenly in Big Cabin, Oklahoma and saw the red and blue lights behind me, I felt my stomach lurch.  

And possibly heard my mouth curse. 

Glancing in the mirror, I realized my dissheveled hair and smudged mascara would not go very far in helping me talk my way out of it.  I pulled out my license, registration, and insurance card in preparation of the impending ticket.

When the officer approached my vehicle, I rolled the window down and tried my best to look attractive and law-biding.  

        "Excuse me, ma'am, can you please get out of the vehicle?" 

Uh, sure.  

When a big man holding a gun and a badge asks you to do that, you don't really have a choice in the matter, do you?

I followed the officer back to his patrol car where he instructed me to get in the front seat. 

Yes.  You read that right.

With my heart pounding a mile a minute inside my chest, I did as I was told.  Warily, I glanced ahead at the car containing my children.  I could see my anxiety mirrored on their faces.

The policeman busied himself with calling in my plate number and running a check on my license.  I glanced around, noting shotguns, handcuffs, and all manner of police paraphernalia.     

And then it hit me:  I WAS SITTING IN A FREAKING POLICE CAR. 

I started shaking and had to sit on my hands to contain the fear.  

The big, burly police officer started making chit-chat and I really began to panic.  He asked me all kinds of questions.  Where I lived, where I was going, how long I had been on the road.   

He then proceeded to tell me that I was going the wrong way to Dallas.  He offered up the route that took me through his tiny little town as the best way to get there.   

Not really thinking, I blurted out, "Yeah, but who wants to go through tiny towns with slow speed limits and cops pulling you over every five minutes?" 

Well.  Was THAT the wrong thing to say. 

He closed his eyes and looked like he was counting to ten, trying to maintain his composure.  I think I saw a few veins on his forehead bulge. 

He turned to face me, put his hand on his revolver, and said, "I'm sorry that obeying the law is such an inconvenience for you." 

I mumbled something about it being a joke and turned my head to look out the window.  Wishing fervently for an invisibility cloak.  Or a time machine.  Or a suicide pill. 

What felt like hours later, my friendly neighborhood pig handed me the ticket and I had to keep myself from running like a maniac back to my car. 

What the eff?

Why did a simple traffic stop for speeding necessitate a visit to the front of the patrol car?  What happened to me waiting patiently in my own car to be served with a ticket?   Could I have refused him?  What are my rights in a situation like this?

I'm guessing none.

I'm just thankful that my smart mouth didn't land me into any more trouble.   

I mean, who would nag the pool guy to work faster if my large rear end is rotting in a jail cell in Oklahoma?

Moving Day

I have been loathe to post anything and push the lovely photo of my best girls down the page, especially given the fact that I am missing them something fierce right now.  My heart aches to text all of them and meet for a girl's lunch at the Smokehouse, just one last time.  But that would require shifting of the universe and isn't going to happen today.  Plus, lots of incredibly funny and crazy stuff has happened in a week and a half, and the show must go on. 

I am going to play catch up just a bit and tell you about our move and the drive down to Dallas. 

We have been planning this move for months.  Since about mid-November, we have known when we were leaving.  So, about five days before the actual moving day, it was not necessarily a happy surprise when The Husband came to me sheepishly, proverbial hat in his hand.  He had had a meeting come up, one that was important enough for him to ask me if he could attend it. 

No, I am not a tyrant who requires the man of the family to clear all work meetings with my busy schedule of nap-taking and shopping sprees.

This particular meeting happened to fall on, you know, the EXACT day we were supposed to be packing the truck.  As in, the day that he and I would be physically loading all our belongings into the back of a U-Haul.  And with him potentially in a very important meeting, that would leave me and my scrawny t-rex arms to load our heavy belongings alone.   

Since that wasn't going to happen, I told him, fine, you can go to your precious meeting, but you are hiring me some movers.   

He didn't bat an eye, good man that he is.

It was a win-win for everyone. 

Movers were hired at such a ridiculously cheap rate that we both kicked ourselves for not doing that in the first place. 

What did leave me slightly in the lurch, however, was the picking up of the moving truck and driving it to the ghetto for loading.  I was really, really, really (did I mention really?) nervous to drive the big truck.  (see aforementioned t-rex arms) 

My friend Maren had offered to drive me to pick up the truck, and mentioned earlier in the week that her husband could possibly help with the driving.  We found out the day before what our pick-up time would be, and, unfortunately, her husband was going to be busy with meetings.  Making peace with my new career as a truck driver, I bottled the anxiety up as much as I could.  I watched YouTube videos on how to make wide turns.  I visualized being able to do it, but dreaded the act itself.  

When she came to pick me up the morning of the move, she told me she had a surprise for me. 

The surprise?  Her husband had rescheduled his entire morning to be able to help me. 

I. LOST. IT. 

It was a spontaneous explosion of tears, wracking sobs, relief, and overwhelming love at the kindness they would provide to me.  I have never quite literally BURST into tears like I did then.  It was uncontrollable and a whole lot more than just tearing up out of joy.  It was hysterics. 

I can never tell them just how much that meant. 

So instead of crashing the U-Haul and sweating it out while playing a giant game of Tetris with moving boxes, I watched others drive my truck and sat on the couch with my friend Mindy while men did all the work for me.  It was lovely.   

Who needs feminism, anyway?  I'm all for being a damsel in distress on moving day. 

What was not lovely, however, were the goodbyes.  An uglier scene has never graced the fifth grade hall before.  Crowds of girls gathered around my Hannah and sobbed and sobbed.  I'm sure the teachers were thrilled. 

I held it (mostly) together as we said -- not goodbye -- but see you later -- to our peeps.  Getting in the car and actually driving away was another story.  There were ugly tears. 

And then we drove off to start the rest of our life... 

Stay tuned for tomorrow's edition:  My arrest in Oklahoma. 

Blessed, indeed

Tonight, after an emotional day filled with teary goodbyes, belly-busting laughter, and heartfelt hugs, Chase summed it up so well at family prayer when he said:

"Heavenly Father, thank you for blessing us with such good friends."​

My heart is as full as my limbs are tired.  I ache to the bone, but am more whole than I have ever been.​

When we moved here six years ago, we felt fortunate to already know one family in St. Louis.  Good friends from grad school lived here, and we rekindled that friendship instantly and effortlessly.  ​

It wasn't long before we were embraced by many others.​

I have been surrounded, for my entirety in this city, by the most fabulous group of women.  My adopted sisters.  Ladies who respond happily in the affirmative to my weekly texts begging for lunch out together.  Women whose children love my children like cousins -- better, even.  ​ Women who willingly said yes when I sheepishly asked for a ride to, of all things, a colonoscopy (eek!  THAT is devoted friendship, people).  We have laughed until our bellies hurt, and cried on each other's shoulders.  We have thrown parties together and done carpools.   We have been supportive and supported. We have even gotten our mammograms together!

I can hardly bear to get in the car tomorrow and leave you all behind.  ​

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving me, for letting me complain, for laughing with me.  For knowing that on a really bad day, a diet coke and a bag of cookies can do wonders for my soul.  For thinking up a really great spring break trip, and then making it actually happen.  For letting us put all the ugly guys on your team. 

I thank you for making my children feel as loved by you as they are by me.  ​For letting them into your homes, and into your pantries.  For track coaching sessions and girl time.  For deep conversations and laughter so heavy it ended gloriously in tears.

I love you more than I can ever say.​

You have made me a better friend because I have known you.​  You have made my life rich just by being in it.  I don't know what I will do without you.

So, it's got to be this:  See you tomorrow, girls.

Because we really don't say goodbye around here.​

Eleven

Dear Hannah,​

Exactly 21 days ago, you turned 11.  ​

And exactly 21 days ago, you asked me with pleading eyes if I would please please PLEASE! write a blog post for your birthday.​

I am so sorry it has taken me this long.  I know you understand that our lives are insanely busy and full right now, what with the move happening in seven days, but I cannot let another day pass by without fulfilling your birthday wish.​  One that warmed my heart and made me so glad I have not yet given up on this blog.

It is THAT reason, and that reason alone, that will keep me writing here for a long time.​

Right now, you are standing in the doorway between two worlds.  You are on the cusp of entering that big, vast teenage place, yet still teetering on the little girl side of the fence.  At times, I marvel at your wisdom and maturity.  At other times, I laugh and say a prayer of gratitude for your child-like innocence.

I would love to freeze time, just for a bit, to savor the amazing joy this phase of life brings to me.  I want you to grow and taste all the good that life has to offer, but I also want to keep you all to myself.  I don't want to share you just yet.  

I know the world will eventually draw your eye and lead you to amazing things, but I cherish our time together. ​ 

I love that you still want to sleep with me when Daddy is out of town.  I love that your small hands run through my hair as you absentmindedly tell me about your day.  I love the freckles multiplying on your cheeks as we speak.​  I love your happy banter with the boys, and the bear hugs you give every night before bed.

Hannah, you are truly the most organized and neat person I have ever met.  I love that you set out your clothes and your accessories EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.  I love that you decide on a hairstyle the night before.  Do you know why I love this?  It's not because I seldom have to clean up after you.  Or trip over your shoes, airsoft guns, backpacks, and [INSERT EVERY POSSESSION OF YOUR BROTHERS HERE].    It's because it tells me that you have a plan.  That you are thinking ahead and making the most of your life.  You are taking what choices you have at this point in your life and doing as much as you can with them.

I can see you years from now -- organizing your work space or sprucing up your kids' bedrooms -- and I feel so secure in knowing that you will always be in charge of your own destiny.  ​ You will not live in chaos.

And that gives me immense joy for you because mine is a brain that also requires order and direction.​  You are my people.  I get you.  And I know that you get me, too.

You are now, and always have been, a very social creature.  You have been fortunate enough to have made friends with some of the most amazing girls I have ever known.  I quite honestly don't know how we're going to leave them behind, and I worry for you when the reality of that happens.    This move is going to be a tough one.

But I also know that it will be so good for you.  You will learn to use muscles you didn't know you had.  You will find the courage to not be shy and introduce yourself on the first day of school.  You will learn a new school, a new neighborhood, and find new friends.  You will forever be changed, and always watch out for the new girl, because you will remember exactly what it felt like to be her.  ​

While my heart aches for the lonely feeling inside, I know that the strengths you will gain from that loneliness will serve you for your entire life.​

Hannah, I am so proud to be your mom.  You are an amazing girl.  You are a ball of laughter, creativity, and joy.  You brought so much happiness to our family when you came to us.  We had no idea what was missing.  We had two pretty great little boys and all of a sudden, in a whirlwind of pink ruffles, our lives were turned upside down.  And we've never been the same since. 

You are kind, thoughtful, and generous with your affection.  You love others around you with a fierce loyalty.  You are always happy (except for that teensy bit first thing in the morning some days).  But hey.  I am the same, so I feel you, sister.​

You make our lives richer with your sunshine and joy.  You make being a parent easy and oh, so much fun.​  You are beautiful.  Inside and out.

I love you.​

Love, ​

Mama

A show of solidarity, hair style

Every year, I look forward to May for so many reasons.  May brings such happy milestones with her.  School is almost out, the weather is (usually) nice, and summer is just around the corner.   You can almost taste the crisp, sweet watermelon; feel the cold chlorine pools; and smell the musky bar-b-que smoke.  May is the reward for surviving the Winter cold and the April rains.

It's glorious.​

May also means that it is time for The Mowhawks.  And, yes, a tradition that has lived on for seven years in our family deserves its own capitalization.  (For previous years comparisons, see here, here, here, here, and here.) 

Oh, but this day has brought such bittersweet feelings in my heart this year.  It means that our time in St. Louis is fast approaching its end.  And I'm not at all emotionally prepared to face that reality.

But that is a post for another (sob-filled) day.​

Making this year's Mohawks that much more awesome is the fact that my boys conned two of their friends into getting them, as well.​  If you're going to be brave and crazy, you might as well have some company.

Without further adieu, here is a plethora of photos documenting the fabulous process that is The Mowhawks.​

May the tradition live on, long after we have left this place.​