(This is an homage to one of my favorites books, Alexander’s
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,
but I’ve tricked it out...mom-style.)
When I woke up this morning I realized that I forgot to take
out my contacts last night. I tried to peel them off my eyeballs but they clung
to them like second skin. I finally just gave up and left them in with the
understanding that I would spend the day blinking and peering through a fog.
After more investigating in the bathroom mirror, I found a
long blond hair sprouting out the middle of my forehead. It wasn’t there
yesterday. How could it grow so quickly? Did I accidentally replace my regular
moisturizer with Miracle-Gro?
I got the kids out the door for school. When I returned home
I emptied the dishwasher. After all the plates and flatware and drinking
glasses were neatly put away, I realized the dishwasher detergent was
still in the dispenser, a chalky, soapy chunk. The hot water is what really
sanitizes the dishes anyway, right?
Starting my period really caught me off-guard. I was totally
unprepared with supplies. (I’ve only been doing this nearly every month since I
was twelve.) The only feminine hygiene products in the house were those giant
pillow pads they pass out in the hospital after you give birth. I decided they
would be better than nothing.
I make a grocery list and head out to Kroger. I get all the
way in the store before realizing that I left my reusable bags in the car. I
turn around to go back and fetch them but the automatic doors will have none of
that. You know how some doors that say “ENTER” are fairly loose in their
interpretation of the term? “Enter…Exit…I don’t give a care.” Well, these doors
were really sticking to their guns. I stepped forward, anticipating them to
spread apart and ran into them instead.
While perusing the produce section my list got sprayed by
the automatic vegetable mister. Then I hit my head on one of those
thoughtlessly placed hanging scales. They obviously don’t want me too near the
vegetables.
I spent most of the day running errands. When my list seems
too long for the allotted time, I give myself pep talks. “Okay, you can do
this! Just go to three more places and it’s back home!” At a recent soccer
game, I got a mosquito bite down the front of my shirt. I was doing an indecent
amount of scratching as I drove around town. This fact, plus the talking to
myself, plus the stress twitch I had developed in my right eye, all added up to
me looking like a crazy person who should not be allowed among regular people.
When it was time to pick the kids up from school, I noticed
how hot the afternoon had become. I went to change into shorts and then I
paused. I hadn’t shaved anything above my knees all through the winter,
jeans-wearing months. Now I had a nice set of bangs to set off my Bermudas.
That’s why God made capris. (One could use the same logic that God also made
bikinis, but we know Him to be a loving
God. I’m pretty sure Adam made the first bikini for Eve. It was part of her
punishment for eating the fruit—bikinis and painful, messy childbirth.)
After
homework was finished, supper was eaten, baths were taken, and children were in
bed, it was time to breathe (and get my eye to stop twitching). I don’t know
how full-time working moms do it! How do they get it all done when they’re away
from home eight hours everyday? I’m in awe of them! There are days when I feel
rushed and pulled and rung out, and I know that working moms have those days
much more often. They are my heroes!
When Spring Break rolled around last week, we were faced
with five whole weekdays with no work or school but also no plans. Though we
knew it was coming, we had treated the week with hesitancy. When the optimistic
part of your brain is in a constant state of hope for travel news about the
final stages of an adoption making plans that include family vacations—events
that require both time-off and money—are tricky.
A few days before the week began, I called up our dear
friends who live in Memphis to make sure they’d be in town: We were westward bound! We booked a Quality Suites in a nicer part of town with an indoor pool
and Continental breakfast. We could’ve just stopped there. If push came to shove, our kids would be
cool with a deepish puddle and a waffle maker. That was
about all the hotel had to recommend itself but that was okay. We were actually
going for three main reasons: 1) To see old friends, 2) To show the kids where
we used to live, grocery shop, worship, etc., and 3) To get out of town.
We arrived on Monday afternoon. Our first stop was the house
we moved to after we’d been married a couple of years. (Fun fact: It dead-ends
into Rosser Road.) It looked basically the same: It had the
same brownish gray wood siding and the grass still won’t grow under the large
oak trees in the front. The new owners had upgraded the mailbox from the one we
had. Ours came with the house. It was topped off with a metal silhouette of a
couple on a bicycle. Considering that it’s now a very basic, very plain,
standard-issue black metal mailbox, I don’t know if that really qualifies as an
upgrade. The “bicycle-built-for-two” mailbox was probably a collector’s item.
After our car ride down memory lane, we went to our friends’
house. Russ and Amy moved to a different house in town just before we left
Memphis but for a big chunk of our time there they had lived across the street
from us. In other words, the couple on the two-seater Schwinn on our mailbox
could’ve pedaled to their house in about thirty seconds. We hadn’t seen each
other in nearly six years, but we picked back up with a comfort and familiarity
you only experience with old friends that have been your rescue. That may sound a bit
over-reaching but it’s true. I have friends from high school that I can go for
years without seeing and then—click—we’re
back to our same roles, our same conversation shorthand. That’s because we were
each other’s rescue from the teen years. It’s the same with Russ and Amy. We
were young adults together, navigating responsibilities like church work and
trash day. We were newlyweds together, discussing what was normal to fight
about and cheap to serve for supper. We were new parents together…no
explanation necessary. We’re still trying to figure out what we’re supposed to
be doing. We spent Monday night laughing and reminiscing and watching our kids
blend seamlessly like they’d never been apart.
On Tuesday, we went to Graceland. If you’ve never been to
Elvis’ home I highly recommend it. Our kids have now been to the Trifecta of
American Homes: The White House? Check. The Biltmore? Check. Graceland? Check!
Afterwards we went to lunch at our favorite hamburger joint, Huey’s. Then we
took a tour of the children’s hospital where Brent used to work. Guess which
part was the kids’ least favorite? Luckily, it was Resident Appreciation Week
and they were serving frozen yogurt in the conference room. Phew! Barely missed
a huge Whine-a-Palooza! (If your kids don't whine at some point, it's not a real family vacation.)
We took the kids back to the hotel to squeeze in a little
swim time before returning to our friends’ house for supper. The kids needed
to splash and yell a bit after Graceland lines and hospital tours. While they were
swimming, they took turns baptizing each other. After Ella took Knox’s
confession and gave him a good dunk, he looked at me and asked, “Does that
count?”
“Does what count?” I asked.
“Ella just baptized me. Does it count?”
Hmmm. “No, honey. Daddy wasn’t watching. When you do it for
real I’ll make sure he’s not on his cell.”
It’s
been almost nine years since we left Memphis but we still carry it around with
us. No, I’m not suggesting that Brent wears a white, bedazzled jumpsuit under
his clothes every day. I’m also not saying that we are renovating our house
into the shape of the Pyramid. What I mean to say is that during the years
(eight for Brent and about 6 1/2 for me) we lived in Memphis we became
“BrentandAbby,” an entity, a team, a force to be reckoned with. We did the
“leave and cleave” God was so jazzed about in Genesis. After five years of
married bliss, we brought home 10 pounds of beautiful baby girl. (That’s 10 lbs
divided by two, for any of you mathematicians out there. Our twin daughters
weighed about 5 lbs each.) If our marriage were a book, Memphis would be a really pivotal chapter most likely titled "Campbell Soup and Grilled Cheese again?" or maybe "Making Our Dreams Come True (Or Other Phrases from the Lavergne & Shirley Theme Song)." Either way, it would be an amazing chapter!
