The Last Blog Post

2014 is done.

And so is this here blog.

I have been writing here (sporadically) for the last 7.5 years.  That's a long go.  I've enjoyed my time here, but it's time to say goodbye.

Blogging is no longer what it was when I first started.  We used to comment on each other's blogs, make friends, encourage one another, and so on.  It's not like that any more.

I blame Facebook.

Do people even read blogs anymore?  I know I don't.  And I don't think people read here anymore, either.

Again, I blame Facebook.

While I won't be writing here any longer, I'm leaving my blog up until I get it printed, they make books for bloggers!  I have a lot of words written that I think one day my girls may want to read.  (or maybe they won't.)  I'm hoping by summer to have all 7.5 years bound.  I'm looking forward to reading past words and hearts.

I'm so thankful for the friends I've made through this part of the internet.  Some of the friends I've met through blogging I am now friends with on Facebook, through email, or through text.  A handful I've met in person.  You all have been so good to me.  Thank you.

I do have a favorite thing from these 7.5 years.

And that's our friendship with Jim and Emily.  Emily's blog was one of the first I read.  (Jeana's and Liz's too)  I'd say it was about a year after reading Emily's blog that I started commenting on it, then shortly after we decided our families needed to meet.  Nearly six years later and we are family.  My husband has a best friend in Jim, and I have one in Emily.

I'm getting a little (okay, a lot) choked up just thinking about them, their family, their friendship.  They mean the world to us and I'm forever thankful to the internet that we've met them.

To those of you that have been here from the beginning, middle, and end.  Thank you.  Thank you for reading this girl's heart.  There have been so many ups and downs and all arounds.  Thank you for letting me share.

If  you'd like to keep in touch, feel free to email me: truckfamily@gmail.com.

Love,
Sarah

A little Pinterest project

Hi. I'm Sarah. I blog here. Just not very often, apparently.  Oops.

I've got post upon post in draft, but nothing that says very nice words, because I haven't felt like a very nice person lately. Ew.  This weekend was a really good one, though, and I'm feeling more myself than I have in weeks. Months, maybe.

Anywho.

Instead of continuing to ramble, here are some pictures of a little project Josh and I completed.

I pinned this awhile ago and finally decided I needed my house to look like this:

And so we set out to work on making our entryway look similar. Here are some 'before' shots.

Oh, and we also decided to texture and paint the kitchen as well...

During:

It took me awhile to decide on a paint color, but after I realized I had enough orange leftover from our bathroom remodel, I went with that.

Two coats of paint:

It was now time for the hooks. Originally I thought I'd wait for Josh to come home because the hooks required the drill and a tape measure and precision. But I wanted the job down now and remembered that I know how to use those things as well as he does, so why wait?

I sent Josh this picture:

And then I sent him this picture:

I'm kind of in love. I've yet to paint the door, but it shall be mustard soon.

Thank you, Pinterest, for your constant source of renovation inspiration.

i let my kids run away from home

Brutal.

Parenting is brutal.  Parenting is living with your heart on the outside of your body.

Today Sugar (age 9) tells me she wants to run away from home.  "Not forever, Mom. I like it here, but I just wanna know what it's like to walk to Grandma and Grandpa's. By ourselves."

Grandma and Grandpa's is nearly three miles away.

I kinda blew it off.  But she kept bugging me.  I called Josh to get his thoughts. He thought they'd be capable.

I asked Sugar what she'd do if someone decided to pull up next to them and grab them. "I have my knife. And a belt, I could whip 'em. Plus, I have my bible."

Well then.  

I decided I would follow them in the car. With my hazard lights on.

Friends, this was by far more difficult than giving birth to them without drugs.  No joke.

I drove quite a ways behind them so they could feel they were on their own. Every time they came to an intersection I thought I was going to vomit.  A half mile from our house is a busy highway.  

They would have to cross it.

I drove across the highway and pulled over.  Flipping out.  Wondering how they would get across.  Would they know to push the button? Would they watch for cars taking right turns?

Ugh.  

They got across beautifully.  Holding hands. Smiling big.

They walked another quarter mile til they had to cross another busy street.  The looked right, but not left. Thankfully no cars were coming.  I drove up next tothem, told them they were doing great, but that they would need to look both directions from now on.

More crossing of streets. Up hills, around curves.  So gut wrenching for the mama.

How in the world do parents let their kids get a driver's license? Or leave home for college?  I don't think I'm going to survive those days.

They got to their grandparent's house. Grandparents who ended up not being home.

When we pulled in the driveway they had their backpacks open, water and snacks out, accomplished smiles on their faces.

"One man asked us if we wanted a ride, one lady asked if we were okay, and one lady was barbecuing and it smelled so good."

They made it. I made it.

But I hope they never wanna run away again.

Giving up that little bit of control was awful.

That time I ran a Marathon

I just reread my post from October 8th.  Man that was a sad Sarah writing those words, wasn't it?

I took another week off after that run.  I did two runs in one day, short runs. Totaling five miles, and it was good.  I waited another couple of days and went out for a 6-miler. No pain. 

I had a surge of hope.

On the 19th I decided to take the plunge and sign up for the marathon.  The marathon that was seven days away. Then I went and ran four miles without my knee hurting.

I did a couple more 6-milers last week and I felt so strong, but then it was time to rest up for Sunday.

From the Notes on my phone:

I ran 26.2 miles.

It doesn't seem like something I could ever forget, but in case I do, I want to write every memory I have of those 26 miles while they're fresh.

In the days leading up to the race I found myself alternately giddy and bursting into tears.  Thankfully, Jessica talked me off my ledge and sent me a link about Taper Psychosis. I had that going on something fierce.

The morning of the race I was not nervous about how many miles I was going to run - 26 is a lot, but I'd run 17 and, well, nine more just didn't seem like a big deal. No, I was nervous about whether my body would hold up.  With so many knee aches and pangs over the previous few weeks, I was concerned I'd get half way through my race and I'd feel that snap again.  The wind blowing like crazy was another factor. It was so cold and so in your face. 

We show up at the hotel, the race's start line, and of course Amber shows up too. At 7 am with a baby and it's cold, but of course she is there, because Amber is always there for me.  Always. 

I wore my running skirt with my running tights over it because it was so cold.  The plan was to meet Josh at mile four to take them off.

I knew I needed to start slow, and I felt like I had, but my first mile was a 9:28 (fast for me).  I was shooting for a minute over that.  I slowed down a bit, I was feeling so good. About mile three I met up with a man in yellow whose goal time mirrored mine and I decided I'd run with him as long as possible. He was on his 30th marathon so I figured he could probably set an even pace and talk me through.  I figured correctly.

Mile 4 is where I first saw my sweet family. I sat down, took off my tights, retied a shoe and went back out. I took a bite of my PowerBar, grabbed a water at the aid station and worked at catching the man in yellow.

The miles just seemed to tick by so quickly. 5. 6. 7. And I just had an idiot smile on my face. My knees were aching, but not the intense pain that they had given me the three weeks before. I was so happy to be running! 

I crossed the Blue Bridge. 9. 

I saw Josh and the girls and I felt like I was skipping along. I was so happy. Marathon day. I cannot believe I'm here.

I caught up to the man in yellow at about mile 10. He tells me I've picked a terrible day for a first marathon.  The wind, it's bad.

11. 12. 

Halfway point and I see Josh again. I'm still smiling.  I feel great.  My pace is about 10:11. I'm happy with this.  I'm happy with life.  I am running.

14. 15.

Over the Cable Bridge. 16.

I'm tiring, and I'm out of food.

Aid station. Water. Gravel. Railroad tracks.

And then it hits me head on.

Wind.  

From mile 16 on there would be a 30-40 mph headwind.

After mile 17 I would be in unknown territory. I had never run beyond that amount of miles during my training due to my knee injury.

The wind was really getting to me and at mile 18 I found myself getting mad. My mind was so happy to be running, but my body was turning against me.  My lower back started to hurt terribly, almost felt like it was tightening up and I was so very uncomfortable.  

The man in yellow had surged ahead of me a bit, but I caught back up to him at 18. Told him that this was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. 

"Yes," he says, "but you're doing an amazing job."  Bless the man in yellow's heart.

At the aid station between miles 20 and 21 I grabbed a water and a stale candy bar. And then I told God I really needed to see my family.  Like right now.  And there they were and I was on the verge of tears and I know Josh knew this because he said, "you are doing it. You are doing it, and we'll see you at the finish line."

The finish line.

Just five miles.  I have finished 21, what's five more?

22. 23. 

Aid station. I downed two waters this time and stretched my back.  I leaned forward, then back.  I felt a little better.

24. Up over the bridge, the bridge that seemed to never end.

It was mile 24 when I realized, "I'm going to finish this.  I'm going to be able to say I have run a marathon."

At mile 25 I see a sign with my name on it, "Go Sarah! Run like a mother!" And I'm thinking, "my name is Sarah, but that's not Josh, Josh is at the finish line."

It's Asher. With his mama just next to him, taking my picture and smiling at me. I smile back, but I start to cry and then she grabs me and hugs me, tells me I'm looking strong and to go!

And my heart. It nearly burst. She drove a lot of miles to be there. To be there for me.  And as I write this there are tears, because some people know just how to love you.

Mile 26. Just .2 to go.  There are three kids sitting in the dirt on the side of the road, smiling.  "You're almost there," they say, "just a little ways to go!"  

Their mama needs a hug for raising such sweet kiddos.

That .2 felt like it would never end.

I'm about to round the corner, I see orange cones, I'm so close.

Then I see Denise.  And the tears, they start again.  These people.  I don't deserve them to love me like this.

I hear my name announced. I cross the finish line. I get a medal and a water bottle.

And there's my Josh. And my sweet girls who have only ever been encouraging of me to run and train.

Josh hugs me so tight and tells me I did it. 

I really did.  I ran 26.2 miles.

I hug the people who have come to see me finish and it's just this weird feeling. 

To be done.  

So many hours training.  So many miles run.  So many doubts.  Some injury.

And after 4 hours, 34 minutes, and 30 seconds, my first marathon was complete.

 

I didn't fail after all.

and done

Since July I have run 190 miles in preparation for the October 26th marathon.  I have spent 30+ hours out on the road.  I have lost 12 lbs.  I have gained a lot of muscle.  Both physically and emotionally.

But last night I realized this marathon journey has come to an end.

I'm not giving up on the goal of running a marathon, but I'm giving up on the one that is 2.5 weeks away.

I have missed a lot of runs due to this knee injury.  I've taken meds, I've iced it, I've rested.  I've been feeling pretty good.  I decided last night it was time to get back out on the road.

It wasn't.

I parked my car, did some stretching, set my GPS, and I started off pretty slowly.  My legs felt heavy, it was still hot, I didn't really wanna run.  I just knew I needed to.  I have a marathon to run soon.  At mile two I decided I was going to quit.  I wish I had.  Instead I kept going.  Your body really doesn't get into a groove until about the fourth mile, and I know this, and I wanted to feel that groove, so I kept on.  I had counted on the water fountains on the pathway to be working.  They weren't.  Bah!  I was so thirsty.  Thankfully at mile five, my turn around, my best guy friend showed up with an ice cold bottle of water.  Bless his heart.  I downed half the bottle, he poured the rest over my head, and I headed back to town.  He yelled after me to let him know if I needed a ride home.  It was getting dark, and he knew my knee was starting to bother me.

At mile six it happened.  The crazy pain in my knee.  This time there was no putting pressure on it.  I just stood there with all my weight on one leg.  No tears this time.  Makes me realize that last time the crying I did was not out of pain but out of frustration.  No tears this time because I knew.  I know.  It's just done.  This training is done.

I called Josh and he came to get me.  Ice pack in tow.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur.  I sat on the couch with my ice pack, some chocolate, a beer, some cheese and crackers.

Salve.

I'm disappointed.  I'm discouraged.  I cried myself to sleep.

This feels like just one more area where I'm a failure.  And I'm really tired of being a failure.

A bathroom update.

In February I demolished our bathroom while Josh was outside working on his Suburban.

(that'll teach him.)



Over the next couple of weeks he would help with demolition, I would pee outside, and we would not have a tub or shower.



Then there was a toilet and a tub but no shower.



There's been no shower for nearly EIGHT MONTHS.  But you guys, we are getting closer.  I'm thinking by the end of the week.  We've also had a double vanity in there but neither sink was working.  We now have one sink working and no longer have to brush our teeth in the kitchen the way we've been doing since February.

A couple of months back I showed you this picture.  I had ordered this mirror months and months ago and we just never got around to putting it up.  While Josh went and climbed Mt. Rainier, I went to the glass company in town and asked if they'd put it up for me.  They came right over.  Then I went on to explain what I wanted it to look like when it was done.  I pulled up Pinterest and showed him.  He put this mirror up and then....



And then he did this!



The guy from the glass company did an amazing job.  It's my favorite part of the bathroom.

For a long time our floor looked like this:



And now it looks like this:



Very inexpensive, very durable, super easy installation, and it looks nice.

Here's the start of the tiling job:



And the (mostly finished product):



Also, the shower curtain I was in love with, yeah, I totally splurged and spent the $85.  She's so crazy worth every single penny.



I really got lucky with my paint colors.  I had seen this curtain online then went to the paint store, picked a couple of colors that I hoped would be close, and oh my goodness, they match perfectly.

As you can see we still need to trim out the door and the floor.  I'm also going to be ordering a new window for the bathroom, it will also need trim.  But, for the most part, this room is nearly done.  We're always pretty terrible when it comes to finishing the odds and ends.  So I'm sure it'll still be awhile.  I don't care, though.  I get to shower in here soon.  And I have a big, beautiful mirror.  Two sinks.  TWO!

It's been a pain in the rear.  It really has been.  And I've whined to many of you.  (sorry!) But I'm still glad we decided to redo this room.  It's my favorite remodel we've done.

And we've done many.

what about me?

This post has been in draft for a couple of weeks because there's a glimpse of my ugly in it.  But that's what we do here.  We do the ugly.  I might get some backlash, and that's okay, it's deserved.

The last couple of weeks have been filled with me doing quite a lot of work around my house.  And not just the domestic stuff I'm supposed to do.  Like dishes and laundry.  But the guy(ish) stuff.

Like tiling my bathroom shower.

And other stuff.

It's been nice to do things that make me feel productive.  Capable.  All that jazz.

I like to work.  I like to start a project and see the fruits of my labor.  I like to be good at stuff.  I've learned over the last few years that I'm good at renovating a house.  I know how to work with drywall, mud, tape, texture, paint, trim, tile, grout, flooring, etc. (i'm aware there's a lot more to renovating a house than just these few things.)

So I thought about buying a little fixer upper in town and that would be my job.

I talked to Josh about it and he thought it was a good idea.  He said he knew I'd be good at it.

Then it came time to plan out our school year/day.

I wrote out our schedule and our day ends about 3:00.  Then it's time to clean up the house, get dinner made, Josh comes home, we eat said dinner, spend time together as a family, clean the kitchen, ready the girls for bed and before you know it, it's 8 or 9 pm.

This doesn't really leave any time for me to have a job renovating a house.

I started feeling a little bitter.  Honestly, I'm still feeling a little bitter.  I know.  These girls are mine to raise and school and this house is mine to maintain, and these should be my dreams.  And they are.  They are.  But it's hard when you have other dreams too.  Dreams I don't get to pursue at this time.  I hate writing this.  Yet here it is.  Ugh.

I'm not good at this mama thing.  Or this teacher thing.  Really, I'm not.  But man I'm really good with a hammer.  When you do something, like mothering, on an hourly basis, and this thing is hourly as I am here all.the.time, and you see fighting, bickering sisters, or a lazy bones nine year old, you see how poorly you are doing at this thing.

But then you're given a hammer and you're good with that hammer and it's like, "wow!  this is what i wanna do ALL THE TIME!"

bah.

Here I am.  Writing all the words.  The too many words.  Always with too many words, Sarah.  And always the wrong ones.

It's just hard, friends.  It's hard to do the same thing day in and day out and feel so bad at it all the time.

Nailed It. - The Boudoir Edition

Have you seen those posts on Pinterest where they show a picture of a really cool cake, and then someone tries to replicate it, fails miserably, then posts that picture with a Nailed It caption?

Just sec...let me see if I can go find one real quick..  Okay, here:

click here to see more funny pics.

That gives you an idea now of what I'm talking about.  You have this awesome idea in your head of what it's supposed to look like, and then bam!  

Fail.

Well.

Once upon a time (last Friday) my husband had his 37th birthday.  I had a couple of different ideas of what to get him.  I considered an Etch-a-Sketch (dude can't draw stick people to save his life, but rocks an Etch-a-Sketch) and I also considered The Millenium Falcon Lego set.

I realize these are both toys, but that kind of gives you an idea of the kind of man my husband is.

(I'm laughing really hard right now, but seriously.  He'll forever be 12.)

While those were really great ideas and are now Christmas gift contenders, I came up with something I thought would be even better.

I thought it might be fun to try a boudoir photo shoot.

I really should quit thinking.

I decide to text Denise (my SIL) about the idea and she offers to do the photos for me.  This is great news because Denise is an incredible photographer and probably the only person I'd trust to see me in um, this delicate situation.  

I create a private board on Pinterest for my boudoir ideas, which, have you ever created one of those and then wondered if it was actually private?  As I'm pinning these half naked women posed in these ridiculously seductive ways, I'm thinking, "Dear Lord, please don't let Debby S. be able to see these."

Denise asks if I have some ideas in mind and I explain that I have a private board on Pinterest with some ideas and that I invited her to the board.

She says she didn't get the invitation.

THAT'S BECAUSE I INVITED THE WRONG DENISE.  

Welcome to my world, friends.  Welcome to my world.

I got that mess figured out and now we had to figure out how to get my husband out of the house yet leave his Suburban because it would be used as a prop.  Seriously, our jacked up '85 Suburban.  Oh my word.  Okay, anyway..

One of the photo ideas needed a cowboy hat.  I don't have one of those but I knew someone who would.  So I text Chelsea, who of course is game for loaning me her hat.  Then she says, "want my chaps too?"

Oh, Lord.

Are you kinda getting the idea here?  I'm getting all embarrassed and sweaty just thinking about this.

Denise shows up, my husband leaves, and I realize I am much too sober.  

Here's a tip, if you're ever going to do one of these boudoir shoots - take shots.  Lots of the shots.

Shots of tequila.

I was sober for my experience and it was brutal.

Denise would probably say the same thing.

We spent the next couple of hours laughing, trying to make me look skinny, and apologizing to my neighbors for indecent exposure.  Denise goes home and a few hours later sends me an email filled with my pictures.  Immediately I'm thinking I could create my own Nailed It post.

I'll spare you the pictures.  You are welcome.

(p.s. husband liked his gift and says he think i could have a career.  bless his heart.)

the time where i convince myself this is just a minor setback

During the 12th mile of my half marathon (13.1 miles) a couple of weekends ago I felt a sharp pain in my right knee.  For most of the race my left knee had ached, but this was now in my right knee and the sharpness just didn't feel very good.  For the next week it was obnoxious during my runs.  On the 21st I ran 17 miles.  The last couple were pretty intense because of this knee issue.  But nothing unbearable.

Until the next Wednesday.

I was out for my scheduled five mile run but at mile three I felt a little sharper pain in that right knee than what I thought should be run on.  So I stopped and walked to my car.  I sent a message to my coach friend and he suggested taking the rest of the week off and then going out for 14 instead of my scheduled 18 on Sunday.

Sunday morning rolls around and I roll out of bed.  Not running for most of the week had messed up my head and I really wasn't feeling like going for a run.  Also, even though Mark told me to just run 14, my calendar (that he put together for me) said 18.  So I was determined to follow that.

I'm always amazed how quickly my poor attitude changes when my feet hit the pavement.

I parked my car at Safeway, started my GPS, and it was go time.

On Pinterest a couple of months back I saw a quote that said,

"Never judge a run based off the first mile."

So much truth in those words.  And as I was feeling absolutely awesome during that first mile, I had to remind myself of them because I still had 17 miles to go, and most likely they wouldn't all feel this good or fast.

Two miles later I learned that was true.

At almost the exact moment my GPS told me I hit three miles I felt a snap in my knee.  Immediate, excruciating pain.  A kind of pain where you just know, "something's not right here."  Instantly I started to cry.  At first from pain, which is a big deal because I don't normally cry from physical pain, but mostly I cried because I am four weeks out from my marathon.  I am 13 weeks IN to my training. 13 weeks! I have literally worked my ass off (I'm down 12 lbs), I have spent hours upon hours on the road, I have beaten my body down and I have built it back up, to have it come to this?  To this snap?

Man, I was pissed.  I'm still pissed.

I had to stop running.  I called Josh to come get me.  He didn't answer.  As I'm walking my knee does not hurt so I decided I'd try to run.  Uh, no.  I call Josh again and I'm in tears and the man, he does not answer and I am thinking, "what the heck?  It is Sunday morning, he should be up making breakfast and getting the girls ready for church.  Why is he not answering?"  I call three more times over the next ten minutes (I also try running again) both to no avail.

15 minutes after I had first called him he calls me back.

"Where have you been?"  I practically scream at him.

"Um, I went to the grocery store to get the food for your run and left my phone at home."  You see, we had talked about Josh stashing some food and drink along my route so I would not have to carry it with me.  The poor man was doing this kind thing for me and I bite his head off.

(why does he stay married to me?)

He asks if I'm okay.  And he asks in such a nice way that I lose it.  I bawl.  I tell him I'm done.  My knee is done.

"I'm on my way."

I walk until he picks me up and when I get in the Suburban there aren't words because what do we say?  My training has been equally hard on him and to think we've wasted it?  

ugh.

We get home and it's time to get ready.  We have to get to church, so I only had a few minutes to sit and rest and ice.  I sat through church but I didn't hear a word.  I didn't hear The Word.  I may as well have stayed at home.

So it's day three and I've been icing when I can.  I'm a mama and a teacher and really there's not much sitting when you do those things.  I will try this evening to run.  My goal is three miles.  Heck, A mile.  Just gonna see what this knee will do.

Things looked pretty grim on Sunday, but I'm not going to say just yet that this marathon thing is out.  I've worked too hard to give up this easily, however, I have to face the reality that the possibility is there.

But it's too much to think about.  It's just too much.  So.  Instead.  I will focus on icing today when possible and lacing up my running shoes tonight.

A child says it best.

When I taught the hot air balloon class a couple of weeks ago I did a little experiment with a toaster and a plastic sack to show that hot air rises.

(thank You, Jesus, that the experiment worked.)

After the experiment I told the kiddos that air and God have a similarity. You cannot see either one, however, you can see evidence that they are real.  We cannot see air, but we can feel it on our skin when the wind blows, we can see the clouds move, etc.  We cannot see God physically, but we can see evidence that He is real.  In His creation.  Waters, mountains, each other, and so on.

At the end of the lesson I asked if there were any questions (scariest part of the lesson) and of course my kid has to raise her hand.

So I point to my nine year and she asks, "How do we touch God?"

(uhhh...)

A little girl, about four or five, and new to our co-op group, raises her sweet little hand as high as she can while keeping her bottom on her seat.

I point to her, "I know.  I know how we can touch God."

I smile and encourage her to continue.

"By choosing Him.  By loving Him.  That's how you touch God."

And I was off the hook.

Who needs an adult to answer a question?  Children always have the best answer.

The First Day of School

This post could have alternately been titled, "Why do I do this to myself?  Do I really hate me that much?"

Apparently.

So today is the first day of school.  The first day of school with no new books because, hello, books are expensive.  The total for the books I need is $678.36.  I know, you can school for free, but not when you're me.

Anyway.

First day of school.

I took a picture of Sugar at one point, very early on, and she was like, "noooo, do NOT post that."  So, no posting to my blog, but if we're friends on Instagram, well, then you got to see how excited she is to be a third/fourthish grader this year.

Instead of posting her crabby pants picture, I thought it would be funny to post her class picture instead.  Always Student of the Month, this one.


 We'll see how the rest of the week plays out.  Using old books is not nearly as fun as using new books.  It's just a whole lot cheaper.

I'm looking forward to trying some new things.  Like teaching us how to play that piano in the background!

Oh.  Also.  I survived co-op last week.  Obvs.  I suppose I could write a post about that one of these days.

Just not this day.  This day I'm done with.

that one time where i admitted to being a nervous wreck about teaching a 30 minute class.

Our homeschool co-op starts in a few days.

I haven't always been the biggest fan of co-op.  It's been my own deal.  The moms are great, the kids are as well.  I've just had a really crappy attitude about it.

Wanna hear my reasons?  They're so petty.  In no particular order:  I'm not the pretty mom.  I'm not the dresses cool mom.  I'm so not put together.  And neither are my kids.  We're a big mess 90% of the time.  Looking pretty ragamuffin.  Also, my kids aren't the smarty pants kids answering questions.  They aren't smarty pants because their mom is a terrible teacher.  Unless we're talking about teaching them to be crabby and impatient and lazy, then I'm totally teaching them those things.  Another thing, I'm always so ill-prepared for co-op.  I forget to have the girls pull a Show and Tell item.  I forget to bring their color crayons and scissors.

And then there's the whole, Sarah you have to teach a class to be part of the group.

Shoot me now.

I offered to do the childcare for the entire co-op year if I could just please, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top did not have to teach.

Apparently the other moms do not like sugar or cherries.

When it came time to decide whether or not we'd be part of this year's group, I decided that yes, yes we would join and this year I would have a happier attitude about it.  And, dare I say, I actually got excited.

Um.  Til the night before the meeting.

Then my entire life went to hell in just one evening.  I was pretty sure that I'd be moving out, giving up on life as wife, mom, teacher, all of it.  There was no way I could do these things.  So I sat in my (ever in remodel phase) bathroom and I cried the ugly cry.  You know, the one with the snot and tears and broken blood vessels under your eyes?  That cry.  And I emailed Chelsea and I told her it just wasn't possible for me, co-op was my limit.  Beyond my limit.

The next day I get a text.  A long text.  A "you are enough" text.  And I decided that if I was enough for co-op, could I maybe be enough to be wife and mom and teacher, too?  So I stayed in this house another day.  And I went to the co-op planning meeting that night.

I left slightly overwhelmed (these women are all so smart and I am just, well I'm just not) but I also left excited.  I would be the first one to teach, I could get it over with, and wa-la.  The rest of the co-op year could go on.

And now that first class is four days away and I think I'm developing an ulcer.

I'm hopeful that on Thursday at 9:30 instead of teaching a class on hot air balloons I'll instead be in surgery or something.  Something that would be serious enough that I could get out of teaching this class.

You see, teachers have this sweet voice when they talk to kids.  Well, really it's usually mothers in general.  They speak kindly and gently and kids are enamored.

Then there's me.  I talk to my kids like I talk to Josh.  My normal boring voice.  I've never been a baby talker, or an ooey gooey talker.  It kinda grosses me out.  However, that's what kiddos like and need and it's not me.  I'm going to get up in front of these kids and their really smart moms and I'm going to not even know what to say or how to start.

I'm starting to cry.

Yuck.

So I'm scared.  Scared out of my freaking mind.  It's the hardest thing for me.  This being in front of people.  The kids.  And their moms.  And the talking.  And pretending to know what I'm talking about.  It's kinda brutal.

(turning into ugly cry.)

I just want this week over with.

Most families started back to school within the last couple of weeks.  I knew I couldn't start us.  I knew that this first co-op day would consume my thoughts and guts and there would be no concentrating on anything else.  I'm already such a crabby mama to begin with, I didn't think my kids needed to be taught the last couple of weeks by a crabby, stressed out mama.

We will start school next Tuesday.

That is, if I survive this Thursday.

if only i received a medal and beer garden at the end of my housewife day

oh blog.

one day you won't be put on the back burner to life.

and one day i won't just write about running.  but since that seems to be all i do anymore, here is yet another post about running.

Marathon training is going great.  It truly is.  I'm just gonna say it, I think my body is a rock star.  I never would have thought it capable of such hard work, but it is.

I am.

On Sunday I woke up at 5 a.m. after just over three hours of sleep. *yawn* I dressed, I stretched, and I took off running by 5:45.  The schedule said 16 miles.

I ran through town while it was still dark.  I watched the sun come up.  From one town to the next I ran.  And I ran rather quickly (for me) for the first 11 miles.  At mile 14 I was passing Chelsea's house and thinking that I should just stop there.  I was so tired.  I'm not sure how, but I made it the next two miles.

Sixteen.  I ran 16 miles.

I could have pushed myself for another one or two miles, but not another 10.  A marathon is 26.2 miles.  At this point I think I have about 18 in me.  That's eight short.  I know I still have six weeks of training, and that so much of this is mental so I need to quit telling myself 26.2 isn't possible, but crap.  As proud as I am for the accomplishments I've made so far, I'm pretty freaking scared that it will be for naught.  That come Oct. 26 I won't be able to pull off 26.2 miles.

The way my schedule works is that I do three short(ish) runs during the week, with a long run on Sundays. Per this week's schedule I have a "step back" week and am supposed to run only 12 miles for my long run on Sunday. I am running a half marathon with my friend Jessica (the girl who started this whole fiasco for me) on Saturday and will take Sunday off.

Last Friday I went in to see Doc.  I have some hip and ankle issues I've been dealing with.  He asked me, "why'd you decide to run a marathon?"

Blank stare.

I don't know.

At the beginning of the year when I was setting goals a full marathon was not on my radar.  I just didn't think I'd want to.  I had zero desire.  I knew it took a whole lot of commitment.  Time, energy, money, muscle aches, crabby pants, and a whole lot of, "i can do this even though i think i can't."  I usually have so little of that last one.

And I told Doc that.

"I'm a quitter.  I quit everything I start.  Sometimes even before I start."

But this.  This I'm not quitting.

This I'm going to see through to the finish line.  Even if I'm crawling over it.

Running and church and beer

Have I mentioned that I gave up (for the most part) beer and wine and too much food?

I have. 

Not because I have lost that lovin' feelin' for the adult beverages and the yumminess of food, because I haven't,  but because I have signed up for another half marathon and...

My first full marathon.

I started week four of my training today. Alarm went off shortly after five. Today was only three miles.

Anyway, I gave up the other stuff because I feel much healthier just drinking water these days.  I'm not a water drinker.  Never have been.  Why drink something with no flavor? I've always found it pointless.  But I'm drinking at least 72 oz. lately and I'm noticing a significant difference in how I feel and look (less bloaty).

The running three times a week, the water, and the cut back on booze has helped me to lose eight pounds in the last two weeks.  I feel so much better.

I went all FB official with my decision to run the marathon.  I had to.  I knew if I didn't tell anyone that I'd give up on it.  You can't give up on something when you have people asking all the time how training is going.

I'm going to run 26 miles.

Twenty six miles.

Seems absurd since Sunday's run was seven and I was tired.

Speaking of Sunday's run.  I woke up late and was trying to decide if I should skip my run or skip church.  If I went to church it would be too hot to run afterward.  If I went on my run I wouldn't have enough time to get cleaned up and make it to church on time.

Like the good little Christian girl that I am, I chose to run.  I got done and I had time to get to church.  Just not time to get cleaned up.  So, in all my sweaty, running clothes, no make up, ponytail from yesterday glory - I went to church.

Come as you are, right?

Can I just say how much I love my church?  Not the building (though it's cozy) but the people of the church.  I love that I can show up there with my nose ring, tattoos, nasty smelling, sweaty running clothes and it's good.  They're happy I'm there.

So, yeah.  Running and church.  My favorite things these days.

But I sure miss beer.

Summer Swimming

It's been pretty, stinkin' hot where we live (southeastern WA) for over a week. Like 106 hot.

A few days ago I took the girls to the pool a few towns over. It set me back $12 to get in. (Translated to 2.5 Starbucks drinks) I was a little surprised at how much it cost.  We were there about 90 minutes and then we were all just kinda over the water and the sun and the ridiculous amounts of other bodies surrounding us. A couple of days go by, it's still hot but not as hot. About 95. The girls ask if we can go swimming again.

I agreed, but said we'd go a bit earlier in the day so we could hit Free Swim.  Friends, I was not going to pay another $12. And boy am I glad I didn't. Those little stinkers of mine swam for 20 minutes then said the water was too cold and they'd like to go home. 20 minute drive, 20 minute swim, 20 minute drive home. 

Let us back up. The evening before the 20 minute swim day had been a brutal one at our house. I had about a good (read: terrible) couple of hours filled with self doubt, anxiety, hysteria, crying, and yelling. I found myself locked in the bathroom. It was some of my worst moments in the history of moments. 

So Thursday morning I woke up and I felt like my brain was not so foggy. I went for a six mile run, then when the girls woke up asking about swimming, I agreed, but wanted to talk to them first. I explained how sorry I was for the night before and days before of the yelling, short tempered, crabby me that they'd been dealing with. I cried. Spice cried. Sugar knelt in front of me and held and patted my hands.

"We forgive you, Mama." They said.

And my tears fell some more.

So after the beautiful moments of forgiveness and the 20 minute swim, we had coffee. 

Betty invited us to swim with her yesterday.  It was a fantastic couple of hours visiting with her whilst getting a tan. The only thing that could have made it better was alcoholic beverages. (Betty, next time, we'll replace kids with adult beverages.) The girls played hard and within ten minutes of leaving Betty's I find this:

What you can't see is the drool on Sugar's shoulder. It was really attractive. Spice walked into the house, crashed on the couch at 4:45 and didn't wake til 6:30. 

This morning.

Almost 14 hours that child slept.

Angels sang.

I danced.

Swimming is a good time. We enjoy it. The girls are getting more and more comfortable and I find myself breathing a little easier this year letting them in the water.

I said a little. 

I'm still a worry wart.

Of course.

Hoping to get out on the river some night this week after Josh is off work.  Boat time is so relaxing.

When I'm not worrying...

jim and emily

we spent our weekend with jim and emily.  it's one of our absolute favorite things to do, be with them.  oh my goodness the laughter between the four of us.  and  i love watching josh and jim.  they crack me up.  their bff'ness makes my heart happy.  my husband had been a lot of years without a best friend.

jim makes up for all those years josh didn't have someone to hang out with.

emily used to blog too.  i read her blog for a few months before ever commenting but knew by what she wrote that our families could definitely be friends.  it was fun to find out they only lived a few hours from us.  one day i commented on a post of hers and through doing that she started to read my blog too.  it wasn't long before we decided to meet up and it wasn't long after meeting that we made plans for a camping trip.  a camping trip where i laughed too loud and talked too much and was pretty sure that was the end of our friendship.  apparently not.  there's a bond between our families that i will forever be thankful to God for.  there's a closeness, an understanding, a love, an appreciation - i'm getting emotional just thinking about them and us and the last five and a half years of friendship.  it's just good.  it's really really good.

these are friends that we are doing life with.  we get together just to get together.  and then we get together when it's time to roll up our sleeves and do dirty work.  many projects in my house is evidence of this.  jim has been by josh's side through so many of the projects in our house.  many that couldn't have been done without him.  and emily has kept me sane through said projects.  she has made me laugh when i wanted to just burn this place to the ground. she has given up hours of time with her husband so he could be with mine.

there are friends you hang out with just to have fun.  and there are friends you hang out with where you make whatever you are doing together fun.

we know the little quirks about each other and we don't love each other in spite of them, we love each other for them.  we can be our raw, ugly, messy selves and it is okay.  it is good.  there's a safety net in our friendship.

they are the people that no matter the day or time we know we could call if we needed them and they would be there to help us because they have been there to help us.

i know friendship like this is rare.  so i will hold them close and be forever thankful.

and we're at 15 years gone

It's been 15 years today since receiving the call my dad drowned.

Many years I'm a big mess.  Others I'm fine til the end of the day.  And then the summer I was with Natalie and Cori for the weekend, was probably the best.  The healthiest of the anniversaries.

Today, so far, I feel good.  It's nice to not be a blubbery mess.  I always feel so dumb when I get like that.

15 seems like so many years.

Since I was only 19 when my dad died, it won't be long til he'll have been gone from my life longer than he was in it.  That part is hard.  It's all hard.

I'd love to have just one day.  Just one day to sit with him and hear his laugh.  To have a beer together.

Well, crap.  Writing this out and thinking about it is making me a little weepy.  I'm going to stop before I really get started.

Thank you, my friends, for letting me share when my dad is on my heart.  The days are fewer than they used to be, and that feels so much healthier, but when he is, it's best when I can put those feelings down.

The animals are good for my heart.

I have 21 animals.

Twenty.

One.

Animals.

Fish. Guinea pigs. Chickens. Ducks. Dogs. Cats. Kittens.

I have 21 animals and all I can think about is getting more animals.

21 animals and apparently zero marbles.

I get panicky and claustrophobic about the weirdest things, but these animals calm me. I know that sounds strange since some days it seems hectic around here, but really, this place just makes me happy.

This morning I went outside to let the fowl out and I watched as they ran all over the place, the kittens hiding in weeds, ready but too scared to pounce. My yard and my heart are happier with all of these animals.

I really shoulda had more kids.

The only downfall of all the animals at this point is that we are gone quite often.  Seems the weekend shows up and we are outta here.  We don't have the place set up to care for itself and that makes leaving difficult.

I'm sure we'll get it figured out at some point.

Yesterday a couple of chickens decided to come inside.  Josh mighta freaked out a bit when I told him.  He's not as pro-house chicken as I am I guess.

So if you're feeling some anxiety, I recommend a chicken. Those things do your heart some good.

And maybe a duck.  

Or two.

That time my kids went camping.

It is 6:42 AM and upstairs, asleep, are my beautiful children.

I am a content mama right now.

For four mornings I woke up in this house alone. For four nights there were no giggly, squirmy, try-to-get-out-of-bedtime girls. It was a quiet, lonely household.

So lonely I nearly allowed a chicken to come inside for company.

The girls went camping with their grandparents near Mt. Rainier.  This was the longest I've been apart from them and I'm pretty sure we'll never do that again. 

At least not til next month.

I did a lot of laundry while they were gone. I did a lot of sitting and moping. I did some dreaming. Josh was also gone for 2.5 of those four days, so I called the glass company and asked if they'd come install our bathroom mirror for me while he was gone. Bless their hearts, they came right over. (i love small towns)

But while they were gone I did not eat much. I ate at Betty's Friday night, but that was my first meal since Tuesday night. Then I didn't eat again until Saturday night. I lost four lbs. in the four days they were away, and while I missed those girls terribly, maybe they could just leave for another six days so I can reach goal weight?

Thanks so much.

While the peacefulness of my home was nice, the quiet was almost too much sometimes. I'd find myself a little panicky. I was doing laundry, almost every article in the house was washed, dried, and folded (and setting nicely on my dining table, thankyouverymuch).

All of a sudden I had the most ridiculous thought enter my mind.  I cannot believe I'm about to share where my brain goes. But, whatever. I'm folding one of Spice's 4T shirts, nevermind that she is 6, and I think, "what if something awful were to happen to my family, and I have just washed all of their clothes, and I don't have any way to smell their happy dirty smells?"

Before Josh left on Thursday night I had him take off the shirt he'd worn to work that day and give it to me. I slept with that fabulously man-smelly shirt all three nights.

There's just something about your people's smell.

I'm thinking perhaps I should delete the last few paragraphs.  I swear I'm not going to eat my family.  I know I've been hungry the last few days, but trust me, they are safe from my consumption.

Moving on...

Sunday morning I woke for church and was so excited to check in the little people to their Sunday School classes. Then, since I had not yet heard from Josh, I decided to go to second service. I sat through service, so happy to be at church, and knowing my people would be home soon. It was just so good.

I get home and do the dishes that have been sitting since Monday, but have not been added to since Tuesday, and then I hear our diesel Suburban coming down the road and up my driveway and I go running.

And those naughty girls who know better than to unbuckle before the rig is off, they had the door open before it was even stopped, and they threw themselves at me.

"Ooooh, Mommyyyyy!"

And I thought I would come undone.

My arms and heart were full.  Overflowing.

I look up from the hugs and kisses of my girls and I see my man, my man who has just attempted to climb Mt. Rainier. And he gives me that I'm-so-tired-and-happy grin. He had just spent his days with his (second) favorite person on that mountain, and while I worried, I loved that he was with Jim, doing something they enjoy.

So we shared the smile and the look of knowing how good it was that he was home and they were home, with the non-stop chatter, and an occasional just because I missed you hug.

Sugar and Spice make sure all 21 animals are accounted for, loving on all of them before taking off in separate directions. I hear Sugar laughing, Lola barking and I go outside to see this:

She dug a hole, filled it with water, and plopped herself in.  I love that she loves mud. 

Spice shows me this handy tool that she got. It's a whistle, but oh so much more.

She shows me that it has a thermometer, a compass, and a mirror. Then I say, "oh, and it even has a magnifying glass!"

And Spice, she says, "no, Mama, that's what kills bugs."

What was I thinking?  My bad.  Not a magnifying glass.  

A bug killer.

That Spice, she's too much sometimes.

I am so glad they are home.

It's good to be loved

I have this friend.

Her name is Betty.

And I have yet to figure out why, but she likes me.

I have had the hardest time the last several months with accepting her love, friendship, and generosity.

Her and her husband have been so generous to me.  So much love and kindness that I've often felt my heart is about to burst.

I was with my mom yesterday and she asked what my plans for the evening were.  I explained that Betty had invited me over, that her three grown children were all coming home, but that she had invited me to be a part of that.  I told her how that just seemed like a lot to me, your whole family to be together, and then to invite me.

And my mom says, "you do know Sarah, that you are fun to be around."

When you've had someone rip apart all the pieces of who you are, it is difficult to be yourself after that, and believe that it's okay. That there are people who truly like you.  I know, it was only one person. But that one letter was strong and is always in the back of my mind.

All day yesterday I knew that I was invited to go over to their house. I kept fighting with myself about how there's so much to be done around here, and that Betty should just enjoy her family without me being part of that.  But I went.  I even took my toiletries because Betty said I could shower!

(yes, I'm still without one of those at my house.)

She fed me dinner, offered her shower, gave me coffee and cake. Her kids showed up, and they are my friends, too. There were hugs and smiles, lots of laughter, and can I tell you - my heart was so full.

I left their home all filled up.

As I'm driving away I think about how good it is to be loved by them. How good it is to spend time with people who love me for me, the good parts of me, but the damaged parts, too.

I started to question it, then stopped myself.  I just needed to let myself be loved and be thankful.

16 years blessed by him

I started this blog post, got about four paragraphs in, then deleted it.

You see, today is our 16th wedding anniversary and I started to write about "wedded bliss" and how I think that term is a load of shit. (excuse the language, but seriously.)  I started to write the real stuff of marriage of 16 years and I'll say this real quick and then move on.

The real stuff of marriage is hard, friends.  Marriage is hard.  It's the hardest thing I do on a daily basis.

And not because of Josh, but because of me.

Moving on.

Josh and I are here, this sixteenth anniversary, 16 years married because of him.

Because he is faithful.

Because he is kind.

Because he thinks of me before himself.

Because he puts the toilet seat and lid down.

Because he has a heart 10x bigger than the normal person.

Because he gives.

And gives some more.

Because he is patient.

Because he is slow to anger.

Because he has really nice biceps and back muscles.

The list could go on and on.  It really could.  And if you know him, you're nodding your head.  He's all sorts of amazing, and for some reason he stays married to me.

I have given him reason upon reason to send me packing (and there was that time I did) but he chooses to love me.  He chooses to stay.

I have a lot of favorite things about Josh, but I'll share what I feel is my very favorite.  And it makes me laugh to say it's my favorite because it used to be the thing that drove me the most crazy.

The part about Josh being a giver.

You see, Josh rarely takes time for himself.  He's almost always doing something for someone else.  Whether it's for me, the girls, his parents, or...complete strangers.

There was a time when Josh was still driving long haul and a guy was hitchhiking.  This man was running away from his life as a husband and father.  Josh picked him up, kept him with him for a few days, talked with him, brought him to our home, gave him work, and then drove him back to Seattle to reunite him with his family.

Another time we were on our way to some friends, about 45 minutes east of us, to help them move.  On our way we saw a girl in an older Volkswagen Beetle stranded on the side of the road.  Her car was done.  By the looks of her, she was, too.  Josh offered her a ride, explained we had some friends to help, but she was welcome to come along and on our way home we'd pick up her car (we had our flatbed with us) and take her home.  To Seattle.  She took us up on our offer, helped our friends with us, then we loaded up her Beetle, took her to our house and the next day we drove her and her car the three hours home.

A couple months back I was on my bike when I saw a guy stuck and needing to be towed.  I stopped my bike, asked if he needed a tow, and while reluctant to accept my offer of sending my husband, he took me up on it.  I called Josh, explained the situation, he dropped what he was doing to hook up to the flat bed and drive to the town next over to load the guy's truck up and take him home.

There are so many more stories about him doing random acts of kindness.  I'm sure there are so many I don't even know about.

He never gives it a second thought.

Because it's always his first thought.

"How can I help?"

And then he's there and then he does.

Always the giver.

I watch him and I am in awe.  It makes me love him even more when I see him taking care of others and their needs.

So this marriage thing.  This thing we've done for 16 years has been made possible because of Josh.

I hear it at least once a month from one person or another, and I'll tell you here, I am very lucky to be married to him.

Don't think a day goes by that I don't know it.

remembering to write the day to day

Every once in a while I panic.

Who are we kidding?  I panic all the time.

The one that is currently plaguing me is how little I journal just our day to day lives.  My memory is absolutely terrible (unless you wanna know Trevor's license plate from the Ford Explorer or Matt's phone number back in high school, those are things I can remember).

This blog of mine is nearing it's eighth year.  Eighth!  How in the world?  When it was just Sugar running around the house I wrote more about our day to day.  Life was a little less stressful in those days and I found it easier to sit down and write.  Now, there's a Spice.  And there's our homeschool adventure.  And just added stresses.  Some I'm sure I bring upon myself.

Many I bring upon myself.

I use Facebook for updating short blips of our day, and I try to only post things that I think are funny so as to make people laugh.  I really should just take those status updates and write full posts on them because often I could.

I could fill this blog up every single day with the antics of my children or the thoughts of my heart, but I find myself holding back so often on my stuff, and I am just lazy about writing out our day to day.  But I'm starting to worry that the girls will wonder what we did with our days, and if I don't write them out, how will I remember?  Their new thing is to ask me to tell stories of when they were babies.

Sweet stories of Sugar.  And Spice we just tell her, "you cried a lot.  heck, you still cry a lot."  We have stories.  Lots of stories.  I just need to begin again in getting them written.  I need to set aside the time.

So one day they can print out the blog, take it to their therapist, and say, "see.  this is why we're here."

Homeschool Planning

Even though I feel like summer just started, I've started thinking ahead for our school year.  This is kind of a big deal because normally I do my planning for school about three days before we start.

Yay for getting better at this!

We had to test Sugar a few weeks ago per WA State homeschool laws.  I thought we may die. Sugar and testing do not go well together. We made it through, though, and the results were fine.  They helped me to see that our focus on reading and writing is paying off, our math time needs much improvement, and that even if you don't teach science or history for an entire year, your kid is smarter than you thought, and can still whiz right through. 

As each year has passed, we've slowly gotten better with consistency. I get better about taking the school day more seriously.

(As a stay-at-home-mom it is easy for others (and myself!) to think that I can drop what I'm doing at any given moment to run an errand or go hang out, or whatever. This winds up messing with our school day, and we either cut the day short or don't do school at all.)

This year I am committing to trying even harder to complete our entire school day before agreeing to meet a friend for lunch or run an errand for someone.  

I've also decided to stop comparing the level my children are at with that of their cousins, our friends, or those I read about on blogs or Facebook.  As long as there is progress, I will be happy.  The comparing of children is exhausting and kills happiness in all of us.

I'm really looking forward to this school year.  I'm not sure I've been able to say that in previous years.  I think as these few years have gone on, I'm a tiny bit more comfortable in my own skin.  I'm learning more and more what works for our family and the girls as individuals.  

There are certain areas I have been too strict, others where I have been too lax.  I'll be working on (and blogging about) these things and hope to see improvements in all of us.

Now.  I am off to order some new school books (eeee!!!) and get my year off to a strong start!

Once Upon a Birthday

I turned 34 yesterday.

(happy birthday, Sarah!)

(oooohhh, thank you!)

There's just so much about the birthday.  To understand the amazingness of yesterday, we have to start with last Thursday.

Thursday I went with Amber to the hospital for the induction of her baby boy.  The next 27 hours were the most amazing hours I've experienced.  To be with Amber during her labor and delivery was the honor of a lifetime.  You think you love someone, but I don't think you realize how much, until you watch them labor in love for the birth of their baby. I wanted so much to take the pain away and make it my own, even if just for a few minutes for her to have pain-free rest.

Her delivery story is beautiful.

Amber is beautiful.

I'm forever grateful to her and Chris for allowing me to be there.

Immediately following the birth of my new little boyfriend, Josh and I headed out of town to meet Jim and Emily and their family at my friends Jim and Betty's townhouse a few hours from here.  Before leaving Josh had rigged up a way to feed and water our chickens while we were away.  He was worried they would peck each other to death while we were gone so he left the coop open.

Our weekend with Jim and Emily was incredible (and will have its own post tomorrow or so) but coming home was painful.  We found that out of seven chickens and two ducks, we only had two chickens remaining.

My heart broke.

There's no evidence of what went on while we were away, but even after a couple of days home, no bird has returned.  I haven't written much about my love for these birds, but let me just say, it's a little ridiculous.  I sit out in the dirt and just watch them.  I talk to them.  I hold them.  I'm pretty smitten.  So to come home and find nearly all of them missing.  It was almost too much.  It was miserable and my heart, I just couldn't deal.

I go from sad to angry and then back to sad.  Oh my poor (not so) little ducks.  And my chickens.  Ugh!

On Monday we found out that we have the privilege to have Josh's best friend, Jim (of Jim and Emily) staying with us for the next couple of months.  He's working near us and after much threatening of his life, he agreed to stay here.  :) He said he'd stay with us, but he'd have to have a shower (you know, that thing I don't have in my house?) and he immediately went into the bathroom to survey what needed to be done. That evening the poor guy had to listen to me whine about my birds.

And now we are to yesterday.  My birthday!

My mom brought me coffee and then took my girls for the day.  This has been somewhat of a tradition the last couple of years, and I'm so thankful for her.  My friend PW took me to lunch (mmm...burgers and beer) and when I got home Josh had bought me flowers and more coffee.  I took myself to Tri-Cities in running shoes and skirt and ran along the Columbia River.  I ran four miles in 85 degrees and that was quite enough.

After a few errands I went home.  I came home to find that Josh and Jim were working on my bathroom.  Such a beautiful sight!  Those boys.  They had worked so hard all day, had not eaten dinner, and were STILL working at 10 pm on a dumb bathroom!  (they ended up working til nearly 11)  When I walked in Josh told me that Jim had something to show me.  I gave Jim a look.

What did he do?

He smirked that smirk he has and if you know him, you know the one, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Your chickens came home."  he says.

Huh?

The three of us go outside to the barn, to the coop, where just my two remaining chickens are and I find (I'm starting to cry right now) chickens!  Six new chickens!  And ducks! Two little ducks.  Jim and Emily bought me new birds!  My goodness, I can't even begin to describe my joy.  They are so beautiful.  And noisy. The boys also did a ton of work to secure the coop, nothing can get in or out.  I was out of bed at 5:30 this morning to go talk to them and hold them and feed them.

I just don't deserve a day like yesterday.  I really don't.  But my word am I thankful for the love of friends.  My heart is overflowing.

Absolutely overflowing.

Chickens!  And ducks!  I'm just so happy.  So very happy.

I'm pretty sure I planted a bunch of The Pot

Let me tell you a story.

About three-ish weeks ago my friend PW sent a text saying he might stop by.  Yay!  Company!

But I was having a pretty bad day and about 30 minutes after he sent his text saying he might stop by, I decided I should at least warn him what he was in for and so I sent a warning text along the lines of, "I'm wearing my crabbiest of pants today."

Dude's a sucker for punishment because he still showed up.  So he sat on the couch playing with his phone and I was doing dishes and tending to children and then all of a sudden I decided to tell him about my bad day.

You see, I had decided it was time to build a garden.  It was April after all.  It was time.  So I went outside with my hoe and my (very little) determination and I starting hoeing.  I got like three rows hoed when I realized there was absolutely no way me and my OCDness were going to be able to continue.  I wanted to light that dirt on fire so bad because I was so mad at it.  And setting things on fire is how I make sure no one knows I even tried a project if it winds up a failure. (And they all wind up to be failures) See?

Instead of trying to light my dirt on fire I threw the hoe as far as I could (because I'm super mature like that) and then I cried.  Woe is me.

So I'm lamenting to PW about how I can do nothing right.  I'm terrible at everything.  I can't even make rows of dirt look good.  May as well go eat worms.  And bless his heart, he went out to that dirt spot, picked up the hoe, and he built me a garden.

My day was instantly all better and instead of crying over my stupid dirt, I wanted to cry because I was so happy and thankful for this friend who understands when I am crabby.

A few days later the girls and I are at the library for school and Thomas the Librarian (who really doubles as my therapist) and I are talking gardens and I show him a picture of my pretty dirt and he asks what I'm going to plant.

Right.

I'm supposed to plant something in that pretty dirt.

And he can tell that I haven't the slightest clue how to plant or what to plant and he says he has a bunch of starts that he will give me when I come back to the library the next day.

True to his word, Thomas the Librarian/Therapist had a bunch of plants for me.  He tells me what they are, what to do with them, what not to do with them, and sends me on my way.

Um.  Fast forward three weeks and my pretty dirt is a little less pretty and a lot weedy and the plants Thomas has given me are amazingly still alive but I forget what they are.

Tonight Josh took our girls to the drag races because that is what dads and daughters like to do, don't you know?  Little girls like loud, fast cars and getting dirty.  

So while they were gone I very nearly sent a text to my friend Betty inviting myself to be her fourth child for the night, but she had already spent three hours with me today and I decided that was probably enough for her for one day.  

I was sitting outside, enjoying a book, and my pretty yard and the brilliant silence when I looked over and saw the box full of plants that needed planting.

Heck. Why. Not.

I grabbed that box full of unidentified plants and I shoveled away some dirt and put in some plants and seeds and watered and weeded and then I called it a day.

Since most of those plants aren't labeled and I'm completely unaware as to what they are, it's very likely Thomas the Librarian gave me a bunch of the mari-ji-wana.  

Which I will in turn sell to pay my library fines.