This day...these days...

As I shut off the cool water in my shower this morning with a frustrated turn of my wrist, I lamented, "will I ever take a shower in privacy again, without several emergency toilet flushes that steal my hot water?" I allowed myself to think back to the days when I could take leisurely showers, every day with all sorts of beautifully scented soaps and gels, a fancy razor and lots and lots of hot water. I could give myself an hour to get ready for the day, a day that started much later than my current normal. As I toweled off and lotioned up in a 30 second frenzy, I almost drooled remembering the way it had felt to wake up in my bed, in my very own apartment, surrounded by comfortable pillows, awakening because light was streaming in the windows...now I watch the sun come up, take a shower every few days and it is quick by necessity, beautiful soaps and fancy razors seem ridiculously frivilous. Then God's graceful voice drifted to my reverie, and I remembered, it wasn't so long ago that I couldn't afford to take a shower at all until late in the evening when Scott was home and could watch the babies, even brushing my teeth was a luxury in the crazy busy reality of two little boys. It struck me so clearly, this is a phase. I am through that phase and into this phase, and soon enough, I will be taking showers that are entirely private and how I will long for the little eyes peeking into my shower, and blue bubblegum toothpaste goo gobs littering the bathroom sink, and tiny, dirty handprints imprinted to my white towels. My heart opened to this day in all its common-ness, its unremarkableness making it vitally important to me. I prayed that God would help me remember this very average day, and be grateful throughout this day for the stage I am in.

In retrospect that prayer may have opened my eyes to God's sense of humor.

I was halfway through drying my hair (this is an important piece of information that should give the visual of my frizzy, untamed helmet of hair) when the door was knocked with the door knocker...no one I know ever uses the door knocker, it is scary loud and makes us all jump. I run to the door, unlock it and open it. Our little dog, Bernadette, bounds in, runs in circles and circles and circles- almost as if she is chasing her tail, my house bursts into chaos as the boys start to chase her too with uproarious laughter. Ohhhh, I think, I don't have time for this, we have to get to speech therapy....I turn back to the door to see a girl in navy blue uniform, I squint to see her name, A. Parell. Hmmm, what does this mean, I look past her to see her white van with "Spokanimal" printed on the side. Ohhh, this is starting to make sense. "Is this your dog, ma'am?" "It is," I replied. "Is your dog licensed, ma'am?" Ummmm, I have no idea, which I am guessing means no. She comes in, she writes me a citation, I pay $45 on the spot to license Bernadette. Unluckily for me, A. Parell had been in the neighborhood picking up a cat that had been run over (don't worry Jenessa, not any we know) when Bernadette rushed up to her and licked her hand (dumb!!). A. Parell then followed Bernadette in the van as Bunsy lead her right to our home. How unfortunate!!! I didn't even know she was loose, it must have happened when I was in the shower....(yes, I will be reflecting on this judgement later)...by the time A. Parell leaves, it is 10:18am, speech therapy is at 10:30, a 15 minute ride by bike. We tear around, of course no one can find their shoes. I cringe at my hair and stuff it in my bike helmet. I pull the bike and trailer out, put the kids in (despite their cries that the seat is wet, "well, today we just have wet bottoms!" I announce) and I take off at 10:24. I know I have to go fast to get there no more than 5 minutes late. I can do this, I tell myself. One block into the ride and I can tell something is not right. My breathing gets labored, I am REALLY starting to sweat, my thighs are on fire. It feels like I am going up a steep, steep hill. I press on. 8 blocks in and I exclaimed, "ehhhhhhhhh", I was beginning to admit I just couldn't do this. I was pedaling as hard as I could and my bike was weaving, again just like I was going up a big, big hill, but I was on a flat surface, absolutely no grade that I could make out. I pulled over. I threw up into a bush, I was pouring sweat and my thighs were in serious pain....then I considered that maybe something was wrong with the bike and not me. I checked, we had two flat tires on the bike trailer. I was literally dragging the boys. I was stuck, we were equidistant from home and speech therapy, by my calculations it was probably 10:30. Okay, I thought, just keep going. The boys are chatterboxes behind me, curious why they saw me throw up in a bush, why do I keep exclaiming "ehhhh" and "arrrrr" am I pretending to be a lion? I get there and nearly fall off my bike, I can't keep it from crashing as I land on my bottom and the bike lands on me, tipping the boys in the trailer to a 45 degree angle. I tried to stand but my legs will not support me. I rip our helmets off our head, lock the bike from the position I fell in and announce, "go, go, go, mama will follow!" They grab each others hands and head inside. It takes me a moment to regroup, but I get up and go in, I get more attention than I'm comfortable with as I walk through the door. Then, I remember my hair and as I awkwardly put a hand to smooth my hair with is 4 inches too high and not calming down, I notice how profusely I am sweating. I sit down in a chair, ask Morgan (our speech therapist) if she would mind taking Benny without Jack and myself today, as clearly I need a minute. She does and Benny cheerfully goes with her, yelling "bye Mom" loudly enough for everyone to turn and steal another look at me...my breathing sounded LOUD to my ears and my heartbeat was so fast I was sure people could hear that too. I put my head back against the chair and shut my eyes. The receptionist came over and poked my arm and said, "are you okay?" I nodded and tears filled my eyes, "my bike, flat tires, tired" I said. She asks if I have a cell phone, I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head back and forth no. She said I could use the phone...I draw a blank...I tried to come up with my mother-in-law's cell phone or Jenessa's home number...Scott's work number? I got close, I got the wrong department at the right hospital and was able to be transferred. Unfortunately, he was en route to Valley hospital, no way to reach him. A voice behind me says, "do you need a ride?" I turn around to see an angel or my new best friend, Maria. She says, I have a van with three car seats and only one child with me, the seats fold down, maybe we can fit your bike in? Ohhh, I nodded and followed her. 20 minutes of refangling her van and haggling with the bike and trailer and finally we had room in the van and the bike and trailer un-hitched (which required looking through the storage room with the receptionist for a screwdriver and pliers, both of which we found). The thee of us sized up the options and figured how to get it all in, as I tip my bike trailer sideways to fit it in the van and disgusting brown liquid rushes out the wheel wells, "ewwwww" we all scream and rush away from the liquid which coats me and my pants. We figure that it is probably rusty water and as if I could be more embarrassed, I am. Somehow we fit the bike and the trailer into her van, and all three kids (in legal car seats even) and both of us. She drives us home and helps me get everything back out of her van. In a moment of possible lunacy, she asks if I would like to have coffee sometime. This makes me laugh and laugh and laugh, it seems proposterous, but why not? I have a new friend and am a new fan of mini-vans.
We rush into the house, the boys get in their seats at the table and announce they're ready for lunch. I open the fridge to find a row of superheroes sitting on the top shelf, arms raised as if in self-defense. That was it, all I could take! I collapsed on the floor, laughing/crying....this day has been anything but unremarkable...and its only 12:30!