Ya gotta have friends

... continued

After visiting mom's grave we got "out of the rain" and spent the evening at the Green Canyon Hot Springs, an ancient (circa 1950’s) indoor swimming pool fed by a natural hot spring.  

Let me take you there: It's cool and drizzly out, and rather perplexing for August.  You step into a doorway and are met with a blast of warm, wet air and the echoed voices of children.  A musty, woody odor hits, smelling like a run through the sprinklers.  A teenager behind the snack counter points down the narrow hallway to his right.  There, a cutout window in the hall opens to a tiny room hung with mesh bags on old wooden hangers.  The woman behind the counter moves and speaks like she works in a subway booth; she takes your money and hands you one of the bags.  You follow the cement corridor around to the ladies (or men’s, for my two male readers) changing room.  The wooden dressing stalls have just a skimpy curtain to change behind.  The wooden stalls are worn from decades of use, and random cement patches make a grey patchwork quilt of the uneven floor.  A dozen layers of peeling paint reveal as many colors as the decades in which they were painted.  You step into the indoor pool area that feels like one of those old Turkish bath houses you see in National Geographic, and lower yourself into water that is a cozy 90 degrees.  An outside pool fed directly by the hot spring is a scorching 110 at least.  Next to it is a freezing cold dipping pool fed by mountain runoff. 

Ultra-modest Ellie would have none of the changing stalls.  She fussed and hid and complained, certain that someone was lurking to sneak a peak at her, and finally found a hiding place to change into her suit.  We eased into the bath like pool spent the afternoon bobbing about and watching the babies play on the long steps.  Heidi’s baby, Lincoln, is just one day younger than Natalie, but far more agile and balanced.  The menfolk headed out to the hot pool and the cold dip. 

I did not. 

Guy did.  He is crazy that way.  It reminds him of his mission in Finland where they sat in a 200 degree sauna (SOW-na, if you care to say it properly.  It is a Finnish word, after all) and then rolled in the snow.  Preferably naked (you heard me). He likes that flesh-searing-heat followed by toe-curling-cold experience.  I have given birth, so I don’t need any more excitement for this lifetime. 

As I hung out with Heidi, the days that have accumulated between us melted away until I forgot that I don’t get to see her whenever I want.  I realized that we were just sitting there in silence, side by side, watching the babies play. 

“Oh, my goodness! Look at me just acting like we get to see each other all the time!” I blurted, “Quick!  Tell me everything!”  She laughed.  

But then I made her tell me everything. 

 It dawned on me how much I have missed, and how much I miss her. They say that the friendships you make are for a season, a reason, or a lifetime.  Heidi is definitely a lifer in my book.  I met her just after the terrible loss of her first baby boy, Andrew, whose little body just couldn't support life.  We have walked together, painted together, cleaned and cried and worked together.  We served in church as the leadership in the young women's organization, and have studied Parenting with Love and Logic together as well.  I was at her second baby's birth, and because our younger kiddos are paired in age, we have booked a lot of hours nursing together.  There is very little that we have not shared.

Now we also share distance.

It is so hard when friends leave us.  I have lost contact with many friends over the years, but there are a precious few that I have held on to.  Even though my friendship with Heidi started with a "reason", it has definitely grown into one that I believe will last beyond this lifetime. 

 I was reading in the New Testament today about Jonathan and David, and the friendship they had that was so close, "the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul" (1 Samuel 18:1).  One of my greatest blessings in this life has been to have such a friend, a few, actually.  I think that God, in his wisdom, gave us friendship, "bosom friends", as my dear friend Jackie says, or, - as Ellen calls them- "soul buddies", because He loves us.  He loves us and He knew this earth-walk would be hard, so He gave us kindred spirits to lighten the journey.  I am so grateful to live in an age where the voice or even the face of a dear friend can cross hundreds of miles, and be right there.

What an amazing time in the history of the world to be alive.

Ethan, hiding behind his mesh bag.

Jonah won't let me wash his hair at home 

and is freaked out by laying down in the bath. 

 Go figure.

Eli and Jonah-boy, all swum out. 

Tessa models the latest in travel wear and wet hair.

Tender Mercies

My new wheels.

 

I can't think about today's news anymore.  I am all cried out at the moment.

 

Here is what I am grateful for right now:

 

A husband who:

- takes Ethan to boxing and Adam on a date to try to help everyone feel normal.  

- holds me when I cry. 

- tries to help me see past all the scary "ifs" to what we have right now that is not broken.

- cuddles me at night, and flirts with me and makes me feel as sexy

 as a beached walrus can possibly feel.

- wants to take care of things so other's won't feel a burden.

 - rubs my sore leg.

- tells me spring flowers will be here next year. 

- takes care of 15-year-old homework procrastination.

- calls me to remind me to take my shot.

- does his job and then comes home and does mine.

- holds it together, even though this has got to be as hard on him as it is on me.

 

A baby who:

-is alive

-has the hiccups right now and makes me smile.

-has made it this far and is perfect.

-God sent, and has protected thus far.

 

 

Children who:

cook me a high protein breakfast, bring me apples, fill my water (again!), clean up my water after Jonah spills it (again!), teach each other to cook french toast, help me get things onto my feet, comfort each other, change poopie diapers, bathe and dress Jonah, feed him, and wipe his tears,

hug me and tell me they love me.

 

Friends who:

call

cook

help

call

hold me while I cry (thank you, Ellen)

swoon over ultrasound images that look like a cross between

 Skeletor and Alien II, and still tell me my baby is pretty

call

post uplifting scriptures and thoughts on Facebook

take my kids to classes

act like there is no inconvenience at all in picking up the pieces of my life

pray.

 

A dad who:

calls every day to check on me, even though I know he is really upset by it all.

emails funny stuff.

tells me every time we talk that he is praying for me.

 

Siblings who:

are fasting and praying

call

write

send flowers

share their stories of faith and hope

 

Other things I am grateful for:

 

Gail's soft blanket... when I hurt in the night and the house is quiet,

 I hug it and remember I am not alone.

 

Homeschool; I feel needed even though I can't do much right now,

 and it gives me a sense of normal.

 

Windows and spring-like breezes.

 

Heating pads and Tylenol.

 

Doctors and nurses and medicines that are saving our lives right now.

 

The scriptures, especially ones I know by heart.

 

Prayer.

 

Answers to prayer.

 

 

 

Today we got a scary blood test back.  I am RH negative, and was sensitised by Jonah's birth so that my body made anti-bodies against his blood type.  At some point in this crisis with the blood clot and blood thinners, my blood mixed with this baby's blood, and antibody levels have begun to rise, indicating that this baby also has a positive blood type that my blood will attack.  The worry here is that this means that somehow our blood has or is currently mixing, leading to the assumption that there is a problem with the attachment of the placenta.  The attack on the baby's red blood cells can be treated by a blood transfusion after, or if very serious, prior to birth.  The scary part is knowing that the blood is mixing and that could mean a far more dangerous placenta problem; placental abruption.  If it is slow detachment, it could clot and stop, and the baby could make it fine to the birth.  The blood thinners could keep it from clotting, and it could continue to separate.  If it does, the baby will have to be delivered right away to save it.  Symptoms are bleeding and contractions, but not all women have them. 

 

Okay, I have to go back up and read my list again now. 

Moving Day

Life can be really tiring.  You have so much to get done, so much required of you, so many noses and bottoms to wipe, food to microwave, laundry baskets to hide when company drops by.  It can be exhausting.

All last week had been like that.

But when Saturday came I was honestly jazzed (now, that's a word you don't get to hear too often, isn't it?  I'm trying to bring it back) to be helping my good friends Dave and Stephanie to move into a new place.  The economy has slapped them around for a bit and so they have spent the past many months in a tiny living space with even tiny-er privacy.  But oh, joy of joys, David was recently given a Fab-O job from the job fairy, and that meant that they could now afford a little somp'n-somp'n we like to call elbow room.  Only they got room for, like, a bazillion elbows in there.  Maybe more.

So, we did what Mormons do best (besides making funeral potatoes and strapping gynormous bows to little babies' heads); we had what I like to call a Mormon Barn Raising.  I had been at a rehearsal in the morning, so I was privileged to pull up late that morning to the new house to see a sight that got me all mushy inside.  Five, maybe six families stood in the driveway waiting as the first truck pulled in to be unloaded.  In no time flat, it was empty and boxes were being unpacked, shelves wiped and couches couched.  Laughter echoed through the emptyish rooms, and men hustled through doorways with pianos and dressers while small children collapsed boxes and played in used tape and bubble wrap.  Teenagers worked with smiles on, not needing to be told what to do.  As if by magic, donuts arrived, a gift from a member of the congregation that lived a few houses away.  Rooms were arranged quickly and sooner than could be imagined, folks were saying goodbye with well wishes, off to tackle their own Saturday tasks, not at all bothered, more so blessed, that their mornings were spent helping someone move.

We stayed into the evening, my family and I.  Ethan worked to help his friend Tyler set up his room, but also stuck with tasks he'd been assigned as well as, or even better, than most grownups.  Adam plugged away at shelving DVDs, and Guy and I exchanged the occasional kiss (or smack on the tush) as we passed in hallways, making full boxes into empty ones.  Working alongside our friends, we made an impressive dent in the unpacking, and were plenty tired, but still cheerful as the sun set on our day.

Somewhere in the middle of that day, Steph thanked me for staying to help.  I just smiled.

"It's what we do, isn't it?" I said.

In my mind I was swept to the many days Steph had been there for me as I unpacked my crowded brain, layed out my fears, and opened the doors to the dark corners of my aching heart.  I remember her looking into my eyes and saying, "We'll get through this" and believing her. 

Its nice to see someone you love reach the end of a long trial.  Its good to hear their excitement and hopes for the future.  It gladdens the heart to celebrate with them, to breathe that last, oh-so-welcomed sigh of relief, and to slump into a chair and smiling, say, "it's all done."

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, if you ask me.

Home Sweet Home!!!