Finally, finally, finally. Time for the drum roll. Break out the squawky cheerleader megaphone. I've been holding this in for way too long. Okay, not even holding it in very well, but it's Facebook official and I can at last share the most wonderful news.
There is going to be a baby in the family. A little, itty-bitty bundle of great swaddled joy will be arriving this September into the arms of my sister-in-law and brother.
I'm going to be an aunt.
Ecstatic. Absolutely, wonderfully ecstatic. So much so, I learned to spell that word. Because it's a toughie.
I'm going to be an aunt!
Please pray for momma and baby's health and safety during this time of miracle-working. It takes a lot of work to grow that little life.
lah-lah land...
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It's sort of funny how your mind tries to make sense of things through your dreams. Here are the real life scenarios: my roommate is recently engaged - hooray! - and since she's also our landlord, three of us will need new housing soon; also, I'm on the hunt for a different car before mine goes on the fritz and it has been chaos trying to find the right one - test drives, online car searches that don't seem to end, dealers calling throughout the day, more test drives, and lots and lots of phone calls to Dad and Justin. So, although both things are good, it's been a little stressful.
Here's what my brain did about it a few nights ago. After a failed dream of test driving an inflatable floating boat car (the nose sank and the trunk stuck straight out of the lake), I went to another dealership and found the perfect one. It was a green, wood-planked camper. My roommates ran in and started claiming their beds (or more like couches that turned into beds). There were three, one for each of us. The girls were jumping around like it was Christmas morning and I knew it was meant to be. I had a means of transportation, and we all had a home. We couldn't believe what a match we'd found!
I woke up and laughed my hiney off while replaying the dream to Jen. Interesting, since laughter is a natural stress reliever. Maybe dreams are more powerful than we can quite comprehend. Watch out for my green camper.
pow-chica-pow-pow...
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The past week has been a strange one. Due to the snowstorm, Kelly very, very kindly provided me lodging Monday night. We had one six-hour appointment Tuesday, she only lives a mile from the office, and we were worried the predicted storm would prevent my commute. And, as that appointment came to an end Tuesday afternoon, we quickly realized the weather was much, much worse than the night before. Her husband got stuck in their neighborhood, and then again at the office, so we knew my little car wouldn't make it far. Then she even more kindly put me up for the second night. We pretended we were at the ski lodge as the freezing winds and blowing snow swirled about outside our door. Cold beer and spiked hot chocolate never tasted so good. I was SO grateful for their hospitality. There is no way my car would have made it on the roads that night, and it was a blessing to be warm, safe, and cozy.
Then two days later I was at a ski lodge. The kind with real mountains and more snow. The family headed to Copper for our annual ski trip. We awoke to nine inches of fluffy goodness Saturday morning (it's so FLUFFY!). Best snow, hands down, I've ever skied. It was surreal. Like floating on a cloud. We couldn't see our skis under all the fluff, and the peaceful quiet that surrounded us as more snow fell... unbelievable. I did not want to go back to Kansas. Almost felt like throwing a tantrum, wailing, and begging my parents not to go. It was that beautiful. And I miss my family.
So, I'm back in Kansas City, and what do you know... more snow. And as beautiful as it's all been, being welcomed by snow covered, icy streets this morning about put me over the edge. I'm all about winter and enjoying the snow, enduring the cold, and making the best of it (we live in the Midwest people; the bitter cold happens every year - let's get used to it and quit complaining. Please...) but today was too much. Perhaps it was the absolutely frigid temperatures coupled with my broken car heater and the ridiculously pokey driver I ended up following to work. Maybe it was the fact my vacation ended all too soon. Or maybe it was just the wrong side of the bed for me this morning. Whatever it was - I was a big ol' grump. And now I'm feeling pretty bad about just how grumpy I was.
Seriously, it's just snow. And spring will be here soon.
Well, sort of soon.
Maybe.
One day closer.
Seriously, please.
Please get warmer and melt all this ridiculous snow.
Pretty, pretty please.
And I'll have a better attitude and stop being so grumpy.
Just make the sun shine again.
And now, a very fitting poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Some of you may not be into poems. I'm not always myself. But this one just hit the spot.
The Snow-Storm
Then two days later I was at a ski lodge. The kind with real mountains and more snow. The family headed to Copper for our annual ski trip. We awoke to nine inches of fluffy goodness Saturday morning (it's so FLUFFY!). Best snow, hands down, I've ever skied. It was surreal. Like floating on a cloud. We couldn't see our skis under all the fluff, and the peaceful quiet that surrounded us as more snow fell... unbelievable. I did not want to go back to Kansas. Almost felt like throwing a tantrum, wailing, and begging my parents not to go. It was that beautiful. And I miss my family.
So, I'm back in Kansas City, and what do you know... more snow. And as beautiful as it's all been, being welcomed by snow covered, icy streets this morning about put me over the edge. I'm all about winter and enjoying the snow, enduring the cold, and making the best of it (we live in the Midwest people; the bitter cold happens every year - let's get used to it and quit complaining. Please...) but today was too much. Perhaps it was the absolutely frigid temperatures coupled with my broken car heater and the ridiculously pokey driver I ended up following to work. Maybe it was the fact my vacation ended all too soon. Or maybe it was just the wrong side of the bed for me this morning. Whatever it was - I was a big ol' grump. And now I'm feeling pretty bad about just how grumpy I was.
Seriously, it's just snow. And spring will be here soon.
Well, sort of soon.
Maybe.
One day closer.
Seriously, please.
Please get warmer and melt all this ridiculous snow.
Pretty, pretty please.
And I'll have a better attitude and stop being so grumpy.
Just make the sun shine again.
And now, a very fitting poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Some of you may not be into poems. I'm not always myself. But this one just hit the spot.
The Snow-Storm
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The steed and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The steed and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structure, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structure, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
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