Keeping It Real

I am sitting at my Internet-access site, aka McDonald’s, right now, just having polished off a Rolo McFlurry. Hey, you gotta buy something if you’re gonna sit in the restaurant, right? This particular joint is currently undergoing a major renovation, yet remaining open throughout. [Steve Martin voice:] Thank you! Staying open has its inconveniences; today was the men’s room being closed. Actually, the bathroom being worked on was the ladies’ room, which apparently will be the men’s room when the redo is finished. Males needing it have a port a pot outside, while females get to use the old men’s room. Those last lines were a bit confusing- still with me? I had to go, so I got to check out the facilities I normally never see. There were two stalls with toilets and doors, and the two urinals sat on the main wall, in full view. When I went to wash my hands, I noticed the tile in front of me- red, my favorite color- and I noticed that I noticed quite a lot of tiles. There was no mirror over the sink! Maybe it was removed already during the work on the building, or maybe there never was one? My imagination ran with the possible reasons there wouldn’t be a mirror in the men’s room. Perhaps to provide more privacy to the urinals directly across from it, possibly because studies have found men don’t use mirrors… Hmmm. Well, I have learned a lot from just being here at McD’s tonight!
Surrounded by this restaurant’s skeleton inspires me almost as much as some blog posts I have been reading lately. In them mothers just like me bare their souls, ugly and beautiful thoughts alike. As they share, I am so encouraged to find that I am not alone in my postpartum breakableness. That it is normal to be the way I am, the way I have been nine times now, each time getting a little worse. In the above picture are some beautiful creatures surrounded by the messy reality that is our day. Pictures don’t lie; at least mine don’t. But another reality is that I do not have to go through the messiness on my own; I have a wonderful Savior who is with me in the midst of each difficulty. To ignore this truth is like not having a mirror over the sink. Lots of pretty tile, but you miss the truth of where you are- in a really stinky place.
He’s there, too. He’s there, too.

Memoirs- July

The year of my birth happened to coincide with the 200th anniversary of our country’s birth. Towns both big and small, from sea to shining sea, were especially alive in celebration during this particular July 4th. Naturally, then, I experienced my first parade at a ripe young age of two weeks. Mom took me out in a stroller to watch the festivities on Salem Street in downtown Rutland. The drums and bugles got to be too loud for me, though. An old teacher of my mom’s, Mrs. Chapman, invited us into her house away from the noise.
There are lots of things I love about this story. To have one of my first experiences out and about be a small, hometown parade-possibly the high school marching band putting their all into some patriotic tunes, perhaps the town fire engine polished to a shine, maybe the mayor sitting in the passenger seat. I can just see my mom taking it all in on a familiar street, running into people she knew and introducing them to her newborn daughter. This is a unique snapshot of a time in my mom’s life. She was about my age.

Ugly Eggs to Beautiful Boy

I took this in iPhoto from bed, since I’m not up and around yet. The best you’ll get ’til Luke returns.
Yesterday morning at this time, we were enjoying a late breakfast after sleeping off the fireworks fun of the night before. I’ve been really badly frying my eggs, and yesterday’s were no exception. I had the thought- I wonder if I will be able to talk about ugly eggs and Adon in the same post (ie. he comes today)? The whole day passed without much hint of it, but I finally did have some interesting patterns of contractions that evening. They continued all night, never getting regular or consistent, but enough to make me think we should head for the hospital. This morning, I held a nine pound boy in my hands instead of a plate of overdone eggs. I’ll take the boy any day.