She's "That" Friend...

You know the friend, the one you have to warn your other friends about before they meet her. The friend your husband is convinced will get you arrested, even though you only went out for coffee with her. The friend that became your friend when you realized she disliked someone you disliked. We all have "that" friend.

Whoops! Classic Chantel, accidentally went
in the men's restroom!

I caught her making faces
when we were supposed to be
taking an adorable picture!

Chantel is my "that" friend. I have a best friend. I have friends I've known longer than Chantel. But I have no friend like her. If I were Catholic, Chantel would be my priest. She knows more about me than anyone. She probably knows too much. What's keeping her from sharing the juicy details? I know plenty about her too. It's not a black mail kind of friendship, no no. It's a "I trust you completely" friendship and please don't judge me friendship. Sure, I'm sure she's judged me. I know I've judged her. We're both human. The moment I did judge, I was quickly reminded I wasn't perfect and there is no room for judgement in our friendship. Besides, we are usually having too much fun together to judge one another. Well, when we were together. Unfortunately we live in separate states now. It's probably a good thing, for the most part. The rest of the time it's not good because Chantel has always helped me maintain a certain amount of sanity.

I met Chantel when I moved to Texas in 2005. We both worked for Liberty Mutual. When I first got to the office I was going to work in, I was miserable. It was a boring job, no social interaction when you are stuck filing all day. The people were nice but seemed really uptight. I mean reaaaaalllly uptight. Everyone seemed to go to the same church, so they all hung out outside of work too. I was an outsider. I wanted to scream and cuss sometimes just to wake everyone up. It was so quiet all the time! One day a co-worker was fairly rude to me. I was almost on the verge of tears and kind of let it slip that I thought she was being mean. Chantel shocked me when she said what I really wanted to say. That was it, we were friends.

I finally got my girls all together.

Our friendship seemed to get stronger by the day. We sort of turned into the class clowns of the office. When we were giggling together or full on laugh snorting, we got looks from co-workers. The look that says, "What are you two up to now?" I even got to know her family. Her mom cooked for me and always lent me her ear when I was visiting. (Her mom made my bridal shower cake and other awesome homemade gifts!)

Work trip by plane turned into a road trip.

About a year after I joined that office, Chantel went on to another department. Eventually I followed her there. She put in a good word for me and I came to the best group of people I have ever worked with. EVER.

We worked hard but we laughed so much, there were days I couldn't tell you what I did that day in regards to actual work. I know work was done, because our office was the best in the country. It just was. There was a chemistry I can't explain. We all just had a great time coming to work. Chantel was the chaos in the middle of it frequently. If there was a story to tell from a happy hour or over the weekend, chances are, Chantel was a main character. I don't mean to paint that as a bad thing, it wasn't. You could just count on her to be in the headlines.

Thelma and Louise, the bags that is.

Eventually it had to change. Of course it couldn't last forever. Even though Chantel and I had to be split up (work restructure, not because we got out of control) and work in separate offices, we didn't stop having our torrid office romance. Romance being secret runs to Starbucks or Pei Wei lunches.

The bull did something we were not expecting.

Shortly after the work environment shifted, my life did too. My husband got a job that would take us to his home state, Minnesota. It was a good move for us but hard for me to say good-bye to the first place that felt like home since leaving California when I was fifteen. John moved to Minnesota with Rylee and I stayed behind to pack and keep working. It's what we needed to do financially.

We cheered our hearts out when the Rangers made it to the World Series.

The thing about Chantel isn't just that you can count on her for a priceless happy hour memory. The thing about Chantel is, you can count on her. Chantel helped me get through being apart from my husband and daughter for eight months. She let me borrow her car when mine broke down. She drove me to my house when she needed her car but I still needed to get home. She spent the night just to hang out and I spent the night at her place, just so I didn't have to be alone. On those nights, it felt like we were getting away with something. It was like having slumber party on a school night. Chantel listened and hugged me when I was missing my family. She was the first person I would call when I had something fun to do. (We got to go the Cowboys home opener for free!) We went to baseball games together. We went to the lake with friends. We went shopping. We ate, we drank, and we laughed. Oh did we laugh.

Cowboys home opener!

When it came time for me to actually leave, Chantel, with the help of several other wonderful girlfriends, through me a surprise going away party. Besides being the most surprised I had ever been in my life, I had one of the best nights of my life. The love I felt that night still makes me choke up when I think about it. Really.

Chantel paid for my Texas tattoo that we designed together.

Now we've come to a big moment in Chantel's life. Chantel asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Her wedding plans have changed and the date was moved up and it will be a smaller affair with just family. In no way am I hurt by this. I know this is how it has to be. I'd love to be there for her big day but I know it's just how life goes. I want to be there for her like she's been there for me. She has spoiled me on my birthdays, she was there when I wanted to celebrate living in one place for more than two years, she has loved on my babies, she cried with me when my brother passed away. I may not be able to physically be there to see her walk down the aisle but it's okay.

Last time in the office together. LMP fo' life!

Chantel is a friend you can call "that" friend and she understands what it means. She wears the title like a badge of honor. She's "that" friend I can count on to love me no matter what. I love her so much because she is "that" friend.

RIP Angel

About a year ago, on our way home from a friend's house, Rylee asked me a pretty intense question. She asked, "If God is everywhere, and Grandma Jean and Uncle Caleb are with God, then does that mean Grandma Jean and Uncle Caleb are everywhere?"

I'll admit I was stumped on how to answer, so I said, "Let's call Grandpa, he's better at explaining something like that than I am." We called my dad and he was blown away by Rylee's question. He couldn't believe it came from a seven year old. He said, "Let me get back to you on that because I want to give you the best answer and I don't know how to make it so you can understand." So we moved on with life. Months went by and every once in a while my dad would let me know he was working on an answer for Rylee. He said he posed the question to several people and they were all very impressed by Rylee asking such a deep question at her age. I told my dad not to worry about it and that Rylee probably forgot all about the question. Well that wasn't going to happen. Of course my dad was going to get her an answer, whether she liked it or not. So about a year later my dad had an answer, he explained about God's ability to be omnipresent. As humans, we don't have that ability. He explained it succinctly and successfully. (She did need to be reminded of the question, c'mon, it was a year later.)

This is Angel when we first got her/him. Rylee named her/him Angel because she said, "She looks like an Angel."

So here we are, Tuesday night, I've preheated the oven for dinner, cleaned up the kitchen, and I decided to clean the fish bowl. Rylee got her fish as a surprise the first day of kindergarten.

Rylee's fish, Angel, has been around for over two years. (Technically this is Angel number two. Angel number one was set next to an incandescent light, unbeknownst to John and I, the first night she was with us. I never told Rylee that she basically cooked that poor fish.) 

This is Angel in November of 2014, she/he changed color. Apparently Beta fish do that. I know, I Googled it.

So Angel number two has resided under an LED light these past two years and has done just fine, until tonight. (And another technicality I must mention for posterity, Angel was a dude. Rylee didn't care that we actually bought a male Beta. She wanted her fish to be a girl, so a girl she was, minus the awkward discussion with his Beta parents and large therapy bill.) I cleaned the bowl and Angel didn't handle it too well. John and I noticed she hadn't been looking that great this past week but it's not like we could do anything for her. I guess she got traumatized by the transfer process tonight. It was just her time I suppose. Rylee was there. She cried and said her goodbyes. We waited to have the standard fish funeral until John got home from work. We all marched into the bathroom, hummed Taps, pretended to do a twenty one gun salute, and keep it light. Rylee laughed at John and I being silly. She flushed Angel as I quoted Finding Nemo, "All drains lead to the ocean kid." 

February 2012

We filed out of the bathroom and sat down to eat. Rylee said, "I'll bet when animals die, they get to be God's pet." John and I agreed. 

Then she said, "But I'm not going to ask Grandpa about it, it would take way too long for an answer."

Yes, John and I laughed pretty hard at that comment.

Later John pointed out how tasteless it was to serve fish sticks for dinner.

Everytime a Bell Rings

Last year, about six months after my brother died, my dad found out he had prostate cancer.  A little while after that my parents found out the person that owned the town home they have been living in, for the past fourteen years, passed away and they would be needing to move.  The family was going to sell the property.  A short time after that news, my parents' washing machine overflowed and flooded the bottom floor of the town home.  Because it was their washing machine that caused the problem, they had to take care of the clean up.  I was pretty worried about my mom's sanity at that point.  There were, of course, car problems along the way to be the cherry on top of their crappy ice cream sundae of a year. 

I didn't mention any of this on Facebook and only talked about it with a few friends.  First, Facebook, for me at least, is just a way to share fun.  I prefer not to be too serious, political, or bring anyone down while I'm on Facebook.  I'm not saying everyone should be like me.  It's just how I use Facebook.  Facebook has been a wonderful tool for staying in touch and re-connecting with friends and family!  I love that!  Second, it proved to be a useful tool when it was necessary to let friends know about my brother's death.  Everything about that chaos happened very quickly and I just couldn't call everyone that knew him or my family.

When it comes to the last year for my parents, well, I didn't feel it was my place to say anything about their struggles unless they asked me to.  My mom is on Facebook but rarely posts anything.  I also didn't say anything because I did not want the attention to ever be about me.  I wanted to say, "Hey everyone, please pray for my dad, that he would kick this cancer's butt," and "Pray for my mom, I think she's gonna lose it," but it just seemed like Facebook wasn't the right place to do that since I don't really want to post something so serious if it's not going to be taken seriously.  And by that I mean, followed up on, not just post that info and then people say I'm praying but never ask how life is going later.  I have cried about my brother to friends here and there.  And I've expressed that besides the loss of my brother, the hardest part has been the lack of acknowledgement about his death from people who knew him his whole life.  I know death isn't a fun subject and some have a harder time dealing with it than others.  It has just hurt to not hear from people that I thought I would have, more than I realized it would hurt.

I didn't want to say anything about my dad having cancer because I didn't want to cheapen how serious it was and how hard it was to know he got this news.  I had the "why God" moment but moved on from that quickly.  I know God knows what He's doing.  Even with death and cancer.  I was frustrated for sure.  Oh nice one God, he loses his son and now he has cancer.  Kick him while he's down why don't you?!  And while You're at it, why don't you pour lemon juice on his paper-cut with that whole 'you have to move' thing.  Geez God, take it easy!  I know You won't give my dad anything he can't handle but chill out!  We get it, my dad's a bad a$$!  (And then there's my mom's Ginger Rogers to my dad's Fred Astaire, she can do anything he can do, but backwards and in high heels.  My mom is a rock star.  My dad would agree.)

So here we are, Monday morning, my mom calls me a little after eight in the morning, which is not unusual.  She tells me today is my dad's last day of treatment.  Finally, after eight weeks, five days a week, he's at his last appointment.  She asks me to call my sister and then call the lady who works at the front desk so we can be put on speaker phone and cheer on my dad as he exits his last treatment.  I call Jocelyn, we call the office, she puts us on speaker phone and we hear my dad come out of treatment and ring the bell.  It's his graduation day!  That's what the staff calls it.  Oh that sweet ring!  Hallelujah indeed!  We are rejoicing.  I can barely get the woo hoos and yays out before I start crying.  Ding ding ding!  What a wonderful sound that bell made!  Thank you to Claire, the nice lady at the desk who made my dad's visits so effortless.  And thank you for putting my sister and I on speaker phone!  My dad doesn't hand out praise and compliments easily, at least not to people outside our family, but he could not say enough about Claire and his doctors and the rest of the staff.

Here I am sharing all this and I just said it wasn't my place to do so.  Well, I am justifying all this sharing because it's good news.  My dad will have to go back in thirty days to find out how his body is doing.  I'm not worried.  I really haven't been worried since he told me he had cancer.  My sadness and worry have solely been about the fact that I couldn't be by his side to give him a hug when he needed it or to make dinner for my parents when they were exhausted.  I have told my parents that I have never felt so helpless in my entire life.  I know my plate is pretty full with a seven year old and an almost nine month old.  It doesn't lessen my desire to be there for my family when they need me. 

Now my parents are about to be homeowners for the first time in their lives!  I will admit I wanted them to move to Minnesota so they could enjoy their grand-kids more but there was just no way for that to happen.  So instead I am taking delight in the joy they are finding in being homeowners.  (They have been raking leaves like crazy!)

Maybe I should have shared my dad's diagnosis when it first came to light.  Maybe he would have gotten more of the support he needed.  I can't start regretting that decision now.  I'm sharing now in the hope that prayers are offered up for my dad to be cancer free and for my parents' move to be smooth.  I know there will be other struggles for my parents, for my sister, friends, and me.  I also have faith God will get us through those rough spots.  Knowing God doesn't mean you don't have bad things happen to you.  Bad things will always happen but having faith means knowing that God will be with you through those things and you will come out on the other side.  If He brings you to it, He will bring you through it.  Cliche, I know, but it's true.  My family is living proof of it.

I Mustache You to Look

My friend, Kendra, tagged me in a Facebook post the other day.  I was supposed to take a picture of myself with no makeup on and post it in the name of finding a cure for cancer.  I have no problem taking a picture of myself without makeup, but I just forgot to do it.  Today, as I was getting dressed to run an errand, I remembered the no makeup picture and thought, "I will gladly not put makeup on even though I am leaving the house to be seen in public.  It's exhausting getting prettied some days.  But I don't like to just snap a picture without thinking about it.  I'm a photographer after all.  So I went about my business and waited for inspiration.  I went to Target.  I got coffee.  I pulled out my adorable crocheted koozie I bought on Etsy and wrapped it around my coffee.  It works so much better than the cardboard ones!  I'm saving the planet and supporting a small business by spending money on Etsy!  Yay me!  I get my groceries and keep walking through Target, who knows what deal I might find, it's called boosting the economy.  Duh.

I get to the baby section.  It's like the coffee felt this was its opportunity to be free, it leaped from my hand and plummeted to the floor.  I reacted and jumped back so it wouldn't splash all over me.  Rats, barely had a gulp and it was gone.  Spilled on my koozie, my new handmade koozie.  And I happen to be in the only place that's carpeted in Target.  It's bad.  It's really bad.  It looks like something died on the carpet.  I pick up my cup and find a trash can.  There happens to be paper towels by the can for spills.  But this is carpet I've spilled on, I'm not doing much good.  I think two women saw me spill.  I can't just bolt out of Target.  I make sure those women see me trying to clean up.  At least they won't judge me too harshly.  Now what.  Do I call someone over?  Do I find an employee and blame someone else.  Why do I feel like a criminal?  I've never spilled anything in a store in my life.  I'm really embarrassed.  I'm bummed about my coffee and my koozie. 

I make my way to the checkout lane.  I tell the lady who's ringing my stuff up that I spilled in the back of the store.  She lets another employee know who is able to go inspect the damage. 
She asks, "Is it bad?"
I timidly reply, "Yea, it's on the carpet.  I tried to soak up what I could with paper towels.  I'm so sorry, I've never spilled anything in a store." 
The employee is so nice, she says, "It's okay.  Actually, thank you for telling us, no one ever does that."
I am surprised by this and reply, "Well, you've got me on camera, so it's not like I could deny it!"
We all laugh.  I am still embarrassed but I feel that I am maintaining my dignity by fessing up.

I pay for my items and head back to get another coffee, my money is ready.  The barista sees me coming and looks puzzled.  I tell him I spilled my coffee.  He makes me another one and doesn't charge me!  I am so grateful.  He tells me it's no big deal, it was an accident.  He explains how some customers come in during the morning and come back at the end of the day trying to get a free refill by saying they spilled their coffee.  What?!  Why?!  Who would do that?!  I show him my sad coffee stained koozie.  We chat for a moment about our love of Etsy, I thank him, I'm on my way.

I put Jack in the car, load up my groceries, I'm ready to go.  Oh wait, here's my chance for a no makeup selfie!  This week has been hard ( I won't go into that part), I spilled coffee, embarrassed myself, my new koozie is stained, and it's starting to snow.  Why would I take a picture right now?

I'll tell you why.  Because I have a working car that got me to the store.  I have just enough money to cover a frivolous frou frou coffee and my groceries.  I can clean the koozie and it will still work even if it's stained.  And I do not look hideous without makeup.  Some days it's harder than others to find joy, but you still have to look.

Permission to Fail

12/6/2013 around 9am

Today I'm giving myself permission to fail.  I fail all the time but I feel the guilt that goes along with it.  Today I'm going to ignore the guilt.  Jack will not care that I didn't decorate the house for Christmas.  Rylee will be happy when the tree is finally put up.  I'm not going to make excuses as to why I didn't accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish.  I'm going to make sure my family is fed and that will have to be it for the day.  I'm sick of feeling like a failure because I'm not exercising, cleaning, crafting masterpieces, socializing, running a charity, or running a marathon.  I don't sleep normal hours, I haven't for over a year.  

I'll have to finish this thought later, Jack is crying and needs to be changed and fed.

 

(Never got back to finishing that thought.  Fail.)

12/10/2013 between 6pm and 7pm

Need to clean the kitchen so I have counter space to prepare dinner.  Jack won't settle down, cleaning is on hold.  Twenty minutes later Jack finally goes down.  Quick clean!  Done, for the most part, still can't see the dining room table.  Oh well, quick, make the dinner!  Get the bath ready for the kids.  Tub needs a quick scrub.  Rylee undresses Jack, he screams the whole time.  I pick him up, he's fine.  Bath time, at least until the timer goes off.  Start washing Jack, John is calling.  Got the last copy of Despicable Me 2 with Minion toys in the south metro area, great job honey.  Back to the bath.  Timer is about to go off.  Get Jack out of bath, turn on shower to rinse all his hair.  Shower head twists, floor is wet, my right side is soaking, Jack is screaming now and squirming.  Now my front is soaked from holding him while trying to grab my towel because I forgot his.  Instruct Rylee to wash and condition her hair.  She can handle it, she's done it before.  Trying to dry off Jack while he reaches another octave.  Harley the cat is meowing and pacing in Jack's room.  His crying is freaking her out.  My ears are about to bleed.  Timer is probably going off, I can't actually hear it over Jack.  Set him in his crib.  Get Harley out of Jack's room, shut the door.  

Yup timer is beeping.  Jack is screaming.  Rylee is calling for me.  She can't open the shampoo.  She already used conditioner.  There's a pile up of it and she needs help rinsing.  Apparently I needed to instruct her again, she can't handle it.  Hold on Rylee, just get under the water.  Pull dinner out of the oven.  Make a bottle for Jack.  Harley is reaching under Jack's door meowing and thinking she can help him.  Get Jack out of crib.  Prop Jack up in the chair with bottle.  Rinse Rylee's hair out.  Put bottle back in Jack's mouth.  Get Rylee's plate ready.  Crap, I didn't make a vegetable.  I suck as a mother.  Put the bottle back in Jack's mouth.  Phone is buzzing with multiple texts.  Get my food, cut up my chicken for easy and fast consumption while holding the unappeasable Jack.  Eat while plate is balancing on lap.  Chicken is gone in 72 seconds.  Home Alone is on, fine, dinner and a movie for Rylee it is.  Burp Jack.  John is home.  I haven't showered. Type this whole thing on my iPod with one hand while holding Jack as he falls asleep.  Hand over to John to read so he doesn't think I'm just cranky.  I can't form words with my mouth at this point.  

Thoughts about other things I've failed at start rushing in.  I haven't made a Christmas card.  I really wanted to do that this year and time is flying by.  New Year card perhaps?  The basement is a mess.  I wanted to make Christmas presents with Rylee.  Can't keep up.  My bedroom closet is a mess.  I can organize so well.  Why can't I maintain it?!  Tree still isn't decorated.  What about Christmas cookies?  Rylee is really looking forward to making Christmas cookies.  I really need to clean the kitchen table.  Rylee hasn't done her reading homework for the night.  I guess we'll worry about that in the morning.  Why am I writing when I have so much to do?  I have no energy.  Is is still okay to sleep when Jack is sleeping during the day?  I do have to get up in the middle of the night and really early in the morning, I need sleep right?  I don't get to go out with friends for cocktails and a movie.  I guess I'll eat what I want because that makes me happy.  I am gaining weight, I guess I can't eat what I want.  I need to exercise.  When?  Don't make excuses.  Something always gets in the way.  Now it's sub-zero temps outside, walking is just not going to happen.  Go to a mall and walk.  Then you have pack everything for Jack.  Lift the stroller into the car.  Get the stroller out of the car.  Your back will go out again.  But if you exercise it will help your back.  Oh my God, I think I'll just go lay down now.  Oh how soon we forget about giving ourselves permission to fail.  Or was that permission only for one day?

Oh super, the Victoria's Secret fashion show is on tonight.  I don't want to fall into complete and utter despair, so I won't be watching that.

Honing My Craft

My back has been seriously messed up for over a week.  I can't rest like I need to because I have a baby to take care of.  I have to pick him up to feed him and change his diaper.  Darn kid won't take care of himself.  He's almost four months old, shouldn't he be able to handle life by now?  On top of the bad back, I got sick.  My throat is sore.  The next phase always consists of my voice getting dark and seedy.  If I could sing, I'd give Janis Joplin a run for her money.  My mom was checking up on me today.

The text message went like this...

Mom:  How r u doing today?

Me:  Let's just say I sound like an ex Vaudeville dancer who fell on hard times after and injury and was reduced to performing in a smokey gin joint until she was forced into a retirement community in Boca Raton where she regales her neighbors with stories of the good old days when Morty said she was gonna be a star.

She then proceeded to ask if I had considered being a stand up comedian when the kids are older and fairly self-sufficient.  Flattered, I responded the obvious fact that she and my dad, and possibly my Aunt Rita, are the only ones I can make laugh on a consistent basis.

I also reminded her of my life scarring incident in junior high where I was to perform a scene from the Crucible with three classmates in front of the entire school.  I was to embody Danforth and recite complex line after complex line.  Needless to say, the scene did not end with a triumphant applause while my fellow players and I took a bow.  No, I got a few lines in, scanned the dark auditorium with my eyes, and froze.  My mind was erased like and Etch-a-Sketch.  I exited stage right with most haste, proceeded to plow through the backstage like Jared Allen headed for a quarterback, and lock myself in the bathroom.  It was as bad as you might be imagining.  My mom took off work that day to see me perform.  She came backstage and coaxed me out of the locked bathroom to calm me down.  She had to go back to work, and I had to face my befuddled classmates.  My teacher, Mrs. Crabtree, hugged me and assured me it happens to all great actors, but the important thing was to play on!  I never attempted acting again.  I figured I was best suited for a behind the scenes supporting role.  I learned lighting in high school, helped with a few productions, and left it at that.  I let my friends entertain the audience and reap all the glory.  

I'm a parent now.  I've watched Rylee freeze in front of an audience during a preschool performance.  She was a pumpkin, she was amazing during rehearsals (as the teacher told us) but all those eyes proved to be overwhelming and she ran to my arms crying.  After two more holiday performances she got over her stage fright.  She's a ham now and doesn't seem to mind the attention.  I knew she'd get past the scariness of being in front of people, but it would take practice.  She also started this process a lot earlier than I did.

I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't run off the stage?

Cool thing about parents, the good ones, they can always see you doing so much more in life than you can see yourself doing.  They want you to find a passion and follow it.  They don't want you to just get by, they want you to take over the world.  They never think it's too late to pursue a dream.  They want you to be responsible of course, but they've got your back.  You want your kids to be more than you were.  I want Rylee to be the best at what ever she chooses to do with her life.  If all that she ends up doing is working at a fast food place, then I hope she's happy, and gets employee of the month every month.  Would I prefer she do more?  Of course!  I want her to change lives, make the world a better place, be the best person she can be.  But a person working at a fast food place is just as capable of making the world a better place as a person on the Fortune 500 list. 

Here's an example:  His Mama Raised Him Right

My mom knows I'm capable of a whole lot.  I know I am too.  Right now I'm perfecting the art of being a mom.  I'm honing those skills that enable me to love, encourage, discipline, be patient, and have fun when I'm exhausted.  I learned how to be a mom from the best.  My mom doesn't always see how much she's capable of, but she taught me how to see that in other people, just like she sees that in me.  Rylee will do the same thing, or at least that's what I can hope for.

After my mom reads this, she'll probably tell me I should write a book.

Life is Full of Awesome

My emotions may be getting the better of me as I am nearing the end of my pregnancy.  I am torn between trying to savor the feelings of being pregnant for the last time and wishing it was over with already.  I am content with having two kids.  I am not okay with being pregnant any longer.  It takes a toll on my body that I just never fathomed.  That's not to say it's like that for everyone, so please don't let my pity party prevent you from getting knocked up if that is what you desire.

One week to go and Jack will be here!

I have been without decent sleep for months.  I am so blessed to not have to go sit in a cubicle all day in the midst of this gestational torture.  I asked God over and over again to bless me with another baby, so I try really hard not to complain about my lack of energy and constant aches.  I will admit, I have on occasion called and whined to my mom.  If I couldn't do that, I wouldn't have made it this far.  She's my mom, she's sympathizes when I need it, that's part of her job.  I've cried to my husband too of course.  He's been, as cliche as it sounds, my rock.  He's done so much around the house and not forgotten to tell me how it will all be okay.

In the midst of the most emotional year of my life, I have been blessed so many times, I've lost count.  Between friends coming to visit Minnesota for no other reason than to be with me after my brother passed away and receiving countless gifts for a baby who hasn't been born yet, I have been overwhelmed by it all.  The way friends have expressed how happy they are for my family has had the greatest impact on me by far.  The gifts are wonderful, but the support is what has sent me into tears over and over again.  Yes, I've got the hormones running a marathon through my veins, but these tears have come from a thankful heart.

The latest package received in the mail wasn't for Jack, it was for me.  It was a mesh-mash of stuff that had my name written all over it.  Though the presents were fun, the note that accompanied it did me in.  Sometimes it's hard to wrap your brain around how you so effortlessly became friends with someone in the first place, but you are so thankful you did.

My friend JoAnna, or as I like to call her, JoAwesome, is someone I met through my previous job in insurance.  We met in Boston during the most boring training ever.  When we started to chat I knew instantly she was the kind of woman I could rely on if my bra strap broke in public.  I told her this right away.  If it happened, I don't know how we would fix it, but she would be the one to turn to.  I think her wheezing laugh is what cemented my love for her.  She thought I was funny and I thought the same of her.  The emails exchanged during training had me biting my tongue on more than one occasion so as not to burst into hysterical laughter.  I know I had to excuse myself to the restroom at least once so I would have an accident.  Good times, good times.

We asked for a "Boston" drink, the bartender gave us "The Green Monster."

And as if I didn't already adore her, she took her awesomeness to another level when we had a free night to roam the streets of Boston.  We ate delicious food, had some drinks, and took pictures.  These pictures were not just any pictures though, she took my kind of pictures.  Taking pictures of funny things is at the top of our tourist list.

This is why we are friends.

The day before my 30th birthday we had a meeting so I got to see JoAwesome for an hour or so. 
Just enough to keep me going until the next time.

When the trip had to end, we took a cab ride to the airport.  We crammed in the backseat with more people than I think was actually allowed and proceeded to pray the whole way through our nervous laughter.  See, we got the cab driver that you thought only existed in movies.  The man was dodging and weaving but never seemed to break.  I think we needed to get to the airport in a hurry, but not as much of a hurry as he seemed to think we needed.  It may be my imagination, but I could have sworn people were jumping out of the way on a sidewalk and pigeons parted like the Red Sea as he blared his horn in hopes for a big tip.  I think the tears flowing during our laughter were welling up from regret that we had not called our loved ones before getting in his cab.  We made it through our harrowing experience with nothing but emotional scars.

After a fun trip like that, work was never the same.  We were on a "new friendship" high.  We were a long distance support system via email.  We relived our time in Boston through funny pictures and retelling exaggerated highlights.

Another meeting.  Tiny sombreros were optional, but not for us. 
When you see a tiny sombrero, you wear a tiny sombrero.

We got to see each other for a few moments during meetings, but it was not enough time to make memories like those we achieved in Boston.  Never the less, our friendship has grown.  Life has brought us each some sadness but also immeasurable blessings.

Louis is just one of those kids you fall in love with instantly.

I was so proud of JoAwesome when she quit smoking and reached her year anniversary of doing so.  I wrote her a ridiculous poem and had another friend show up at her office and read it to her.  I squealed and cried as I scrolled through a power point presentation she made to announce she was pregnant.  (I forgot to mention her amazing talent for power point slide shows.  They were, by far, the highlight of my work day when I had the privilege to receive them.)  I was so excited to finally meet JoAwesome's ADORABLE son, Louis, when she came to the KC Zoo while I was in town for my high school reunion.

This kid was born awesome.

Rylee managed to con JoAwesome into buying her a penguin.

The moment I felt friendship in a way I had never experienced was at my brother's memorial service.  JoAwesome had never met my brother, but she came to the service for me.  It was a moment I realized I didn't have to have the right words to say.  Saying thank you was all that I knew how to do.  Sometimes you just have to accept someone loving you even if you have nothing in return.
 

We are so hot.  No really, it was really hot that day.

And that's where I've been these last months with all the packages I've received.  I am overwhelmed by the excitement people are feeling for me, for my family.  I can and will send thank you notes, but they just don't do justice conveying what I feel.