On Our Way To Crazy

I had been sick all week. It started as allergies, turned in to a cold, then became kind of a stomachache/ coughing fit combo. It was glamorous, let me tell you. By Saturday, I couldn’t be up or moving for long without needing to lie down, and I slept horribly Saturday night. Coughing, nausea, restlessness. I woke up at around 6:00am with a half-baked idea and stumbled down the hall into the bathroom. It was pee-on-a-stick time.

I knew I had a pregnancy test crammed in the closet somewhere, it had been ages since I thought I might need one. I found it, got it open on the third try (I was still more asleep than awake), and followed the instructions. Horizontal line = negative, plus sign=positive.

I was looking at a plus sign.

I rubbed my eyes, turned it upside down (you know, to make sure), read the instructions again. They definitely said what I thought they said, and it turns out plus signs are still plus signs even when they’re upside down.

I got back in bed and woke up Aaron.

Me: I have two things to tell you, and I need you to listen to me.
Aaron: halfway opens his eyes
Me: Number one, I feel terrible and I’m not going to church today, and number two, I just took a pregnancy test and it’s positive.
Aaron: Okay. … wait, what?
Me: It’s okay. I’m sure it’s fake.

Because, obviously it’s fake, right? We’ve been trying for two years. I’ve had meetings with multiple adoption counselors. I’m reading books about adoption ethics. We’ve moved on from this. (This is where I put the first of what I’m sure will be many warnings – anyone who says anything along the lines of this happening because we’d moved on gets bamboo shoots up the fingernails. NOT HELPFUL.)

So I’m sure it’s not real. I’ve been taking some combination of Benadryl and Nyquil and who knows what else for over a week. Clearly those drugs are messing with the results. I decide to sleep for a while and test again later. Aaron goes to church, I meet him for lunch, we go to an open house that is three times what we can afford and is also the most perfect house I have ever seen. We swing by Target. I test again.

Positive.

I start googling things like ‘what causes a false positive pregnancy test?’ and ‘does Nyquil affect pregnancy test results?’ Turns out false positives only happen less than 1% of the time, and it is almost always due to factors that weren’t present in my case. But I still knew it was happening to me.

We decide to err on the side of ‘cautiously optimistic’ and test again on Monday. If we got a third plus sign, I call the doctor.

Test three. Definitely positive. Go to the doctor. Still positive.

We’re having a baby, y’all. What the heck.

Sweet tea. Gilmore Girls reruns. Sparkly pipe cleaners. Angry Birds on Aaron’s phone. Avett Brothers live albums. Boots. Our Nashville people. Messenger bags. Our newly rearranged bedroom. Sisters who mail you slippers. Our neighbor who grows crops in his front yard. The funniest youth group on the planet. Being 30.

Grey nail polish. Stacks of magazines. Mawmaw’s chocolate pie. TOMS. Elton John on vinyl. Playing Scabble online with my dad. Burt’s Bees lip gloss. Memories of Miles. Naps. Purple ink pens. Friday Night Lights. Friends across the street. Twitter. A church where you can ask questions and be unsure and fit in anyway. Rolos.

Harry Potter. Car dancing. Clementines. Adults who love teenagers. Hot pink watches. Gel eyeliner. Work friends. Mexican street tacos. Orange tank tops. Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared. Friends you’ve had for 25 years. Procrastination. Shopping on the phone with my mom.

Family in all its forms. Taking risks. Choosing to take care of yourself. The unknown. Safe places. The best husband I ever had.

1. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AARON!

I am so glad he’s my person. There’s not much I can think of that’s better than getting to live with my best friend, especially when he’s a guy who makes delicious pancakes and has excellent taste in jokes and appreciates the beauty of both Friday Night Lights and The Rachel Zoe Project.

2. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

We don’t do the Halloween dress up thing so much around here. But this year some new friends invited us to a party and we decided to go. I went round and round with ideas, trying to find something funny and timely and not too difficult to assemble. The answer? Antoine Dodson.

3. HAPPY NABLOPOMO!

I’m trying it again, friends. One post every day for the month of November. So, you know, that should pretty much equal the total number of posts I’ve written so far this year. Wish me luck!

You guys. YOU GUYS.

I’ve been thinking for two days about how to start this post. And the only thing I keep thinking is “YOU GUYS”. Because, seriously? You guys? My 30th birthday was one of the greatest days of my life.

First let me give you the highlights of the morning and afternoon: candy for breakfast, birthday cake in staff meeting, delicious avocado BLT and prosecco sangria at lunch with Becka, shoe shopping, magazine reading, mani-pedi. Already a pretty amazing day, right?

The plans for the evening had been a closely guarded secret for the past several weeks. I knew there was a party, and I knew I needed to dress up a bit, but that was it. I didn’t know where it was, or what was happening, or who would be there. Nothing.

So I’m getting dressed, stressing out about what shoes to wear and will I regret the heels and does this dress need a necklace and why am I 30 but I don’t know how to do my hair, when Becka comes over to pick me up. We are heading out the door when she gets a text, stops, and says, “Hey! What’s that big box on the counter?” Clearly whatever we were on our way to do was not ready for us to do it, so she was stalling. We then spent a very fun half hour opening my birthday box from my mom.

(Sidenote: have I ever fully explained the birthday box to y’all? Oh, man. You are so gonna wish my mom was your mom. Every year on my birthday I get a big box wrapped in brown paper. The paper comes off to reveal a big cardboard box covered in magazine clippings… pictures, quotes, drawings, all kinds of things. This year mine had about a thousand “30″s on it, along with pictures of New Kids On the Block. So great. You open the box to find a ton of birthday presents – some big, some small, several funny – all individually wrapped in coordinating wrapping paper. My mom rules at gift giving. Next time I see you I’ll show you my freaking awesome hot pink watch and my budding collection of Penguin Classics.)

So! We finally get in the car and head downtown. We park in a lot near a bunch of buildings I have never been to. I am totally confused. We come around a corner and walk past a random storefront, and I look in the window and see, you know, EVERYONE I KNOW. So fun. We walk in to this amazing building, someone puts a hot pink boa around my neck and a glass of wine in my hand and I start hugging and squealing and laughing and all the things you do when all your favorite people are in one place.

And then. THEN. I walk into the next room, expecting the people in there to be more of my people, and stop dead in my tracks. Because Don and Lori Chaffer are there. WATERDEEP IS AT MY PARTY. I, of course, start crying immediately and further embarrass myself in front of them. They hug me and we talk for a minute and then I think I should just go right ahead and die.

But I don’t, and it’s a good thing. Because after everyone got their food (Baja Burrito!) and sat down, they got on stage. And played an acoustic set. Of all my favorite songs. For me and my friends.

WHAT.

Let me make sure I am setting this scene correctly for you. I am sitting at a table in an amazing old building in downtown Nashville. On that table I have wine and pineapple salsa. I am surrounded my my favorite people in the world. And ten feet in front of me, my favorite band of all time is playing a private show with a set list comprised of only my favorite songs of theirs. Are you with me?

One of the greatest moments of my entire life. Ever. EVER.

(The set list, for those of you who care about this kind of thing, and if you don’t, well, I don’t know if we should be friends anymore: Heart Attack Time Machine, Oh, Close the Door, Good Good End, Both of Us Will Feel the Blast (this is where I started crying, you know, AGAIN), Sweet River Roll, Everybody’s Guilty, Sink or Swim, He Will Come, Everyone’s Beautiful. Oh, and Happy Birthday.)

The rest of the party was pretty freaking great, too. The birthday cake was adorable and delicious and apparently made by “a stout old lady named Joyce who will be making all our cakes from now on”. The music playing overhead was a playlist of songs I love, which I knew in my head but still said “I LOVE THIS SONG” every time a new one started playing. We laughed and danced and talked and ate and it was so so good.

And then there was a photo booth.

My awesome friend Becka put together a collection of props and everyone took pictures with a little polaroid camera and attached them to notes for me. I am working on getting those scanned in, but in the meantime, here are some of my favorites from my digital camera. I think I should carry around a foam handlebar mustache all the time.

It was an incredible, incredible night. Aaron went way above and way beyond anything I could have imagined or deserved. I have pictures to prove it and I still don’t fully believe that it even happened. I married good.

From the very first moment I saw you, that’s when I knew
All the dreams I held in my heart had suddenly come true
Knock me over stone cold sober not a thing I could say or do
‘Cause baby when I’m walking with you now my eyes are so wide
Like you reached right into my head and turned on the light inside
Turning on the light inside my mind

Come on baby it’s all right, Sunday, Monday, day or night
Written blue on white it’s plain to see
Be mine be mine
That rain or shine, night or day, what’s the difference anyway
Baby till your heart belongs to me

If I had some influence with the powers that be
I’d have them fire that arrow at you like they fired it right at me
And maybe when your heart and soul are burning you might see
That every time I’m talking with you it’s always over too soon
That everyday feels so incomplete till you walk into the room
Say the word now, babe, I’ll jump that moon

You can know you’re married to a good guy. You can be thoroughly convinced of his awesomeness on a daily basis. But then you get an email from someone who deals with a lot of people on a very personal level, and you are reminded all over again. Especially when the email reads like this:

“I feel that I should be writing you and Aaron a thank you note. Aaron is indeed a rare man and it is a privilege to work with him. Perhaps for you and me both, life is a little less lonely and a little less crazy because of the partnership.”

Amen, brother.

For a couple of people have never taken Valentine’s Day particularly seriously, we had a whole mess of stuff going on this weekend. I am wiped out.

It all started Friday night with a youth girls’ sleepover at our house. Thirteen girls and two adults crammed into our tiny house, with all the pillows and blankets and games and movies and marshmallows and kool-aid and glitter that come with them. It was out of control.

We played a rousing game of Celebrity (which included references to both the Andrews Sisters and BILL CROSBY, which I took to mean Bill Cosby but actually meant Bing Crosby, apparently my junior high girls were born in in the 1920s) before tackling a Valentine’s cookie making project. I thought it was going to be simple – roll out the dough, cut out the hearts, bake and decorate. No problem. Somehow, instead, we ended up with a mountain of oily batter that would not shape into hearts no matter what we did to it and flour everywhere. EVERYWHERE. It was all over the kitchen, in their hair, on our clothes. Messy messy messy. Fun fun fun.

After not nearly enough hours of sleep, we got them up and headed over to a nearby assisted living center for our monthly service project. The kids sang old hymns and visited with the residents, and were overall just full of awesome. I was really proud of them – for a lot of them it was their first time to do something like that, and making conversation with people in those situations can be pretty nerve-wracking. But they did a great job.

We got home mid-afternoon, just in time to turn around and go to a Valentine’s event our church’s men’s ministry put together. It was exactly what you think it was – dressed up old people, roses, cheesy love songs, linens, tiny desserts. But it was oh so much more. There was a barbershop quartet. There was a picture of our pastor dressed as Elvis. There was contraband wine snuck in from the hotel restaurant. There was an under-the-breath Delilah reference that made me cry from trying not to laugh.

It was… not cool. But we had fun with the other four people there under the age of fifty, and we learned a valuable lesson – sit in the back corner where no one can see you. And bring a flask.

We celebrated the actual day by doing nothing, thank goodness. We had a good morning in youth group, a quick lunch, and then spent the entire rest of the day reading, napping and watching the Olympics. We ate sweet tart hearts and pineapple salsa and it was glorious.

The Ballad of Love and Hate by The Avett Brothers

Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.
My vacations ending. I’m coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great
and I can’t wait to see you again.

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
“No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I’ll see you or I won’t, whatever.”

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
with a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars.
Lazily killing the last of a jar
of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride,
cause he might never see her again.

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o’er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who’s out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung, eyes to the floor.
He says “Love, I’m sorry”, and she says, “What for?
I’m your and that’s it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I’m your’s and that’s it, forever.”

You’re mine and that’s it, forever.

Oh my gosh, you guys. YOU GUYS. For weeks I’ve been planning to tell you a very important story today. I’ve been working out the details, writing funny lines in my head, planning the touchingly sweet conclusion. I was ready.

THEN. I realized I already told you this story. Three years and three hundred sixty four days ago. Why? Why did I do that? Who tells a story on it’s six years and one day anniversary? GAH.

Anyway, today is the ten year anniversary of my first date with Aaron. TEN YEARS. We are so old, y’all.

I had no idea, as a dumb 19-year-old, what I was getting into that night. No idea that I would never hold another hand or kiss another face. No idea that I had jumped onto a road that would leave me out of Texas and into Nashville and a life bigger and fuller than I ever could have imagined.

All I knew was that the cute, funny boy I’d been friends with for ages was holding my hand. And I was happy.

Okay, folks. This blogging every day business is tough. Especially on the day after a holiday when all I did was go to the flea market and put up my Christmas tree. Do you want to hear about the three vintage necklaces I bought today for five dollars? Or about how I found yet another of my favorite ornaments broken when I opened the box this year? Or about how Miles likes to crawl under the tree and take a nap?

These things are not that interesting. Also not interesting – random information from Aaron’s head. But when I started whining about having to blog when my brain has literally nothing to say, this is what he gave me. So I am passing it on to you.

FIFTEEN THINGS AARON WANTS YOU TO KNOW

1. William Henry Harrison passed out hard cider on the campaign trail and then died after his first month in office.

2. Friday Night Lights (book, movie and TV versions) – all excellent.

3. Butterscotch is called that because you scorch butter to make it.

4. If you value your sanity, don’t manage bands.

5. By the time America entered WWII, the American navy was larger than all other navies in the world combined.

6. Bears eat beets.

7. Jack Daniels has seven mistresses but was never married. Allegedly that’s why it’s called Old No. 7.

8. Lou Dobbs is running for president. (Me: “That’s boring.” Aaron: “It’s current events.”)

9. Four Christmases was a funny movie.

10. In the White House, the Lincoln bedroom was never a bedroom during Lincoln’s presidency.

11. Judas Iscariot either a)hung himself, or b)bought a field and then exploded in it. Or, if you are a literalist, both.

12. The single largest jump on any radio chart belongs to Kelly Clarkson. The second? Elvis.

13. Dallas has a skyscraper that looks like a wad of cash. On purpose.

14. Aquafina is the most delicious water.

15. Coming up with fifteen random facts is more difficult than blogging every day for a month. (LIE.)