I was 8 months pregnant with #1 and I was in the bed.
Sleeping.
Hubby's parents called me and woke me up (I was PISSED!).
They wanted to know if Hubby was okay.
Why wouldn't he be okay? (Said in as snappy of a voice as I could when talking to the mother of my soon-to-be-born baby's daddy who had yet to propose and was acting a bit indecisive.)
He was just at work, wasn't he?
Seriously, what time is it (9 am? Somebody's a sleepy head)?
Hubby was at work.
At his official-we're-so-proud-of-you government job.
In Washington D.C.
I turned on the television.
I started to panic (and wonder why I made him move across the country to this cursed, evil, ugly place just weeks earlier).
My whole family worked in the vicinity of the D.C. area attack.
My mom worked at the Pentagon.
She should have been there that day.
She was supposed to be there that day.
But, as a blessing, she wasn't.
I spent all day trying to call Hubby and Papa (my dad) on their cell phones, but I couldn't get them.
All the lines were down.
For hours.
For hours I sat on my cheap sofa in my ghetto apartment and I cried.
And, I prayed.
And, I made promises I sometimes forget to keep.
Promises that I try to remember when we can't buy the car that we want, the shoes that I love, or the gaming system the dudes are begging for.
After more hours than I can recall, Hubby walked through the door of our shabby home and I leaped (okay, I was 8 month pregnant and quickly approaching the 200lb mark so I guess "leaped" is an exaggeration; I hurry up walked) into his arms.
He'd had to walk outta the city. He looked disheveled, and dirty, and tired, and scared(?); but who cares, he was home, and I was happy that #1 wasn't going to be telling that sad story for the rest of his life.
I'm thankful for the blessings that my family has received, not just on this day 8 years ago, but on every day.
I'm thankful that less than two months later #1 ripped (literally, ripped, I'll have to tell you about it sometime) his way into our lives.
And, he was shortly followed by #2 and #3.
I'm thankful that Hubby got over his "indecisive" patch and made an honest woman outta me (what does that even mean?).
We marked our 6th wedding anniversary this spring. Six years of wedded
I'm even thankful that in a few short hours I'm going to be lurching down the hallway with a 50 pound preschooler feet dragging behind me, on his way to his first day of pre-K.
Even though this is his second year in preschool (see? that was him on his first day last year) he is, um, reluctant to attend so I fully anticipate that his first day of his second year will play out similarly to many childrens' first day of their first year.
Or, it'll be worse.
Last year he ran.
Not to me.
Past me; straight out to the parking lot.
I had to stiff arm tackle him on the front lawn to stop him from running into the street.
I'd hate to have to do that again.
That would suck.
I'll just focus on how this is a blessing. A blessing, blessing, blessing, BLESSING!
Hopefully my positive vibes will quell his nerves (doubt it, the kid was hopped up like Danny Bonaduce last night) to prevent me from having to open hand slap him out of it in front of his classmates (and their judging-like-you've-never-open-hand-slapped-a-kid-before mothers) and his teachers.
I'm trying to be good this year.
Wish us luck.
