Eli is sitting on the couch, looking so depressed that you'd think his dog just died. Crews are working on our cable, meaning there's no chance of watching the Rangers on TV. We've had some bad luck lately, and apparenly this is the icing on the cake.
But seriously, listen to this. I'm starting to wonder if this house is cursed.
It all started two very long weeks ago when we were feeling victorious. 4 weeks post-partum and we survived the stomach flu, a different stomach bug, my gallbladder attacking me, and surgery that put me in bed for a week. I was recovered from surgery enough to sit up all by myself (I was so pathetic I could barely take being around myself) and the cabin fever induced dilirium lead me to believe a roadtrip would bring an end to our bad luck. We had a great time in Austin, getting most of the cousins together and squeezing in a visit with Eli's grandparents. A couple people made comments on how tired Eli looked. Did they forget how much he had on his plate? (all the while i'm thinking... c'mon Eli, you're not that tired. stop being so dramatic. because i'm really sympathetic). But then, he slept for the next 48 hours. His muscles were so sore that he couldn't button his shirt or hold open his jaw to brush his teeth. After taking him to the doctor for round two of testing, I started to panic when words like lupus, fibromyalgia, and HIV poured out of my doctor's lips. A couple days later Eli turned a corner with the pain, and the blood work showed improvement with his white blood cells. We dodged a bullet. Our doctor who has been practicing over 30 years had never seen anything like it. I'd been praying that God would send something to bring me closer to Eli, and help me be like Christ to him. Mission accomplished. (except for that whole being Christlike thing, in which I was completely lousy)
The next day to celebrate, we took the kids to a fancy haircut place and to get some frozen yogurt. After 1.5 hours (HOURS!!) of cutting bangs, our children looked like they stepped straight out of 1980 with mullets and bowl cuts. I cried, argued with the stylest, (ok, I yelled at her a lot and feel terrible) and she just continued to cut. Did I mention I'm trying to be God-like? Fail again. I prayed and prayed that I could fix the damage and it wouldn't be so noticible for our family portait scheduled for this weekend. (what? I'm not vain. Geez!!) I was so upset that we skipped TCBYs.
Sunday was a new day. A day of rest--the Lord's day. We had so much to be thankful for, and appreciated our good health. I still couldn't look at the kids without cringing, but I had to suck it up and move on. I made a pumpkin cream pie because I've been fasting from sweets for 40 days for life. But then before I got even a bite, the pie mocked me by falling on my freshly mopped kitchen floor. Glass shattered everywhere. There are just...no words.
But alas, the pie pan wasnt the only thing to break. Then next day it was the mop. Then the vent hood. And the toaster. And the printer broke. And the car.
WHAT WAS GOING ON?!? I think I needed a lesson in humility.
Monday brought crisp, sunny weather. Mass was beautiful and we saw our favorite 95 year old priest who bends down to his knees to hug the kids. I had a great meeting to plan our 3rd annual prolife youth conference featuring Dr. Janet Smith. (yay!!!) God was blessing me beyond measure.
Tuesday was equally wonderful. I made it to my Women of Grace group where we discussed meditative and contemplative prayer. I've been so prideful lately and thought I already knew how to pray. I hopped over to St. Joseph downtown for noon mass with Fr. Mario. I felt warm and fuzzy inside. Life was great. FINALLY!
Wednesday was down right cold for a Texan girl. I was trying to make it to 8am mass and frantically searched for sweaters for the kids. I'm pretty sure I was yelling to everyone and everything to hurry up (like, stop acting like you're two!!) and shoved everyone in the car. (because I'm sweet and sensitive like that, and stressing them out is exactly how you get your kids to be holy and quiet for mass). I close their door and hear it lock. My heart skips a beat. Glancing to the front seat I see my purse, phone, and keys. Max is screaming. I bang on the window tell Emily to get out of her carseat and unlock the door. She's stuck and is scared. Stupid 5 point harness! All 3 kids are crying hysterically. I run to my neighbor's to use her phone. No answer. Run across the street. No answer, no answer, no answer. (what are you doing at 8am?? c'mon people!) Finally about 5 houses down, just as I'm about to LOSE MY MIND, the front door opens. Within minutes the fire truck is parked outside my house and firemen are saving my babies. They're telling me that their own lil 4 year old could get out...that I strap mine in too tight. What's wrong with these people?! I thought a seatbelt was supposed to keep a kid in the carseat. Do they even realize that I'm super hormonal and I can't help my kids whose faces are beet red and tear stained and traumatized? I'm about to strangle them. (patience...patience) Max cried so hard that he passed out. Leo is yelling through tears "max is crying, leo is crying, emily is crying, and leo's scared!!" 45 minutes felt like hours, but we were all safe. So many heroes saved the day. My heart was gushing with gratitude. (ok, so my heart was still completely panicking, but *later* it was gushing with gratitude)
So there you have it. It's like a comedy of errors, with a happy ending. All harmless bad luck. Everyone's safe and sound and ready for whatever else God throws at us! (but honestly, I would be just fine with a couple boring days this week too:)