The Easter Crawl

Part I
Jumpin' Jehosephat, man. THIS LENT.

[Insert string of bug-eye emojis].

[Also prefacing this with the fact that my Lent has been total cake compared to many of my friends. Something big and beautiful must be on the horizon, because peeps getting flattened, yo. Pray for them with me!].

It's been a wild ride the past few weeks, and I feel like I'm crawling toward Easter and the promise of some Resurrection joy with all the strength I can muster. Some of the high(low?)lights:

1. For about 48 horrific hours last week we thought we would have to say goodbye to our Samson pup. Despite the "he's just a dog" reality talk with which I've tried to brace myself, it was absolutely terrible. He has pretty bad arthritis already in his hips/hind legs, and at some point (probably running across the yard to bark at a passerby) he injured himself so badly he couldn't put any weight on his back legs. This does not bode well for a 150 lb. giant who we simply cannot pick up, even as a team. Thankfully it was a Sunday so Peter was home, and we sat with him in the backyard in shifts, bringing him water and food. Peter just may have spiked his water dish with Lourdes water too in faith and desperation. Eventually we were able to help him hobble a few feet so we could get him inside for the night, but after that he was done. He hadn't been to the bathroom in hours, so Peter ran out for puppy pads to place under him, but faithful obedient Samson held it with all his might, even though we tried to tell him it was okay and he wouldn't be in trouble.

I kept checking on him and prayed my heart out for hours that night since I couldn't sleep (I was also having one of my flareups which was not helpful). When Peter got up in the morning, Old Man Samson had somehow moved from one room to another and we felt a surge of hope. We got him to the vet--it took five of us to lift him on and off a stretcher (that didn't lower!) and he got x-rays which didn't reveal much...save some possible tearing of his doggie "ACL" which may or may not have been the cause of his issues. We had the gut-wrenching

talk with the vet about having to euthanize in the next few days if he didn't heal quickly or fully enough to walk or get out and do his business. It was so awful, especially since he is still completely healthy otherwise; old, yes, but surprisingly healthy.

Pampering and keeping vigil with our pup.

We left the vet armed with some painkillers but not much else; after all the poking and prodding, he was back to not being able to stand. It was a long few days trying not to ugly cry...at home, at the vet, trying to explain a probable goodbye to the kids as they loved on him and prayed rosaries and lit candles for him. We repeated the Lourdes water "treatment" too, even as we prepared for the worst. And miracle of miracles, the next morning, our pup was up and standing again, walking slowly, and able to go outside on his own. He has quickly improved from there and--incredibly--is basically back to his old self.

We're better prepared for the inevitable now; we know another such incident could do Samson in, so we're trying to make sure he remembers he's not a puppy anymore. But aside from sleeping a little more and getting his daily geriatric doggie anti-inflammatory and glucosamine, he is still fit as a fiddle. We got some non-slip socks that help him on our wood floors, Peter built a ramp over the deck steps to the yard, and for now we're just gratefully cherishing the wonderful time we still have with our fluffy old man.

2. At the same time time this was happening, the poor boys spiked fevers and were souped up on fever reducer as we ran around trying to help our Samsonator.

3. Oh and also at the same time, there was lots of restructuring and uncertainty at Peter's work. The stress was pretty much through the roof for awhile. 

Oh the relief when that whole week was over. 

4. For those not yet weary of my health saga updates: I'm excitedly counting down the days until my next procedure in the long line of endometriosis treatment attempts [endoscopy/colonoscopy. My NaPro also gave me some low-dose naltrexone to try after the procedure]. So much lost sleep and so many reactions and flare-ups in the past month I've lost count. I'm looking more like skin and bones and feeling like a zombie/hormonal ball of yuck. Every day is an unpredictable...adventure. Yeah, let's say adventure. That's such a pleasant-sounding word. But I finally kicked my progesterone treatment to the curb because it wasn't doing squat except making me even more exhausted, and I feel slightly less brain-fogged and like there's maybe even a slight improvement in my good days overall. At any rate, I'm somewhat naively praying the upcoming scope reveals something [but not necessarily anything--please God, nothing scary, and something that is easily treatable and will go away stat]. I'm hesitant to get my hopes up too high after years of being burned, but I also know that hope keeps me going right now so I have to hang my hat on something. So hope for the last week of April it is. 

5. But wait, there's more. This Lent has been chock full of a slew of other happenings I won't really go into--the kind that all sound annoying but manageable on their own (like appliances breaking in triplicate), but when combined with all of the above basically amounted to a bunch of "sobbb make it stoppppp" moments on the hour. At least I had lots to offer for all of my loved ones!

Part II
LIFE IS STILL GOOD

But now for the good, because there are always little moments of consolation to be had in the trenches, and so many beautiful moments as we emerge from some tough patch or another:

1. My Lenten social media fast has been both eye-opening and enriching. Someday I'll have the time and energy to articulate it better, but in the mean time, this Digital Detox piece I wrote for the Blessed is She blog contains much of what I learned about myself in terms of social media, and ways I found to help curb compulsive digital use in order to use my devices to add more value to my life versus taking away. In short, though my time away hasn't been a magical panacea for all of my dowfalls, it's helped me create better habits and be more intentionally present to the people who matter most. I have confidence that I'll be able to return to social media with more self-discipline, more purposeful usage, and healthier interaction when the time comes.

2. I'm stoked about my book list so far this year. Books, as always, are my favorite consolation. It's been a good mix of new titles and oldies but goodies. My latest reviews are here. I've gotten through a bunch more since then which I'm also psyched to share soon...you know, in the next month or three.

3. Random delights: 

• The new double exposure feature on one of my favorite editing apps is pretty cool (maybe slightly creepy too). I'm having fun playing with it: 

Peach buds and sunsets

More spring buds and cocktails

Pano mountain views and sunset clouds in pink. 

• These cookies from my local grocery store are my new jam. They're also mucho dinero. But when almost all food is your enemy, any baked goods that you can eat, and that taste decent, and that almost resemble a girl scout cookie are truly a glorious gold mine. These cookies--free of all major allergens--are still a staple in my cabinet, too. 

• Speaking of groceries and stores, I am a new woman since my regular store began online ordering and pickup (even same day - ready four hours after you order it!). You're literally not supposed to get out of your car for liability reasons, so you just sit and relax while they open your trunk and load your groceries. The woman who runs it (we're now on a first name basis) also told me the first time that they're actually not allowed to take tips, and that she would see me next week. I didn't even have a kid in the car to make me look less lazy! Thus any and all guilt I was harboring vanished. So essentially I've become a regular never-enter-the-store-unless-I'm-forced-to shopper. It's a beautiful thing.

4. Building the village. The soul work continues through the ups and downs. Some of the best graces from my social media fast were my renewed effort to better foster in-person relationships instead of defaulting to connecting over a screen. I'm especially thankful lately for the moms/Blessed is She women's group I lead, as well as a couples small group--the men and women each meet once a month, and I've gotten to know some really incredible women. I'm so grateful for online connections, but nothing can replace the in-person village that we all need, and it's been largely missing in my married life up to now. Some of it has come about by chance, but I'm also learning how important it is to put in the hard (and sometimes way out of my comfort zone) work. Namely, taking advantage of events and opportunities that are all around me to find/create the community I long for, instead of making excuses or expecting it to just land in my lap. The effort is absolutely worth it--I'm being fed in such awesome ways by this building up of my local community and support network and I'm really looking forward to seeing where it's headed.

Weekly(ish) tea date with my lovely friend
and soon-to-be-almost neighbor!

5. This quote from Aristotle has been in my brain this week ever since my Spiritual Director mentioned it:

"Virtue is the mean between two extremes." Or, "virtue is a mean between two vices, one of excess and one of deficiency."

Technically it's a much deeper and more extensive philosophy called the Golden Mean, but the above sums up the concept perfectly. I'm sure all the truth bombs and light bulb moments that are already hitting me will result in plenty of future blog post fodder.

---

Alright, I think that's enough peaks and valleys for now, yes? I hope your Lent was (is) manageable and growth-inducing in some form or another, and that Easter meets you with joy and beauty anew!

A Hjelmstad-Griswold Christmas {Aka The Grand Tree Misadventure, In Pictures}

As you've probably seen, our tree took on a personality all its own this year. Here's the story.

We decided that we'd take advantage of Colorado's Regional Christmas Tree Program, which helps the Forest Service manage certain areas of the forest while you get to cut down a tree in their designated areas for - get this - a whopping $10. Win-win. 

Or so we thought.

We drove up after Thanksgiving on Black Friday, since that was the only time we had between work and alll the many weekend commitments packed into our calendar before Christmas. We stopped by the ranger station, got our map of designated areas, and picked a spot near Lake Dillon to go hunt for the perfect Christmas Tree. It went something like this:[Cue The Griswolds Finding their Christmas Tree].

Except it was a little warmer, the scenery was 100% better, and instead of someone's toes freezing a kid decided he needed to poop in the middle of the forest.

Also, instead of forgetting the saw, we forgot the tape measure. 

Small details. 

The sun indeed shone down on the Perfect Tree when Peter found it, just like it did for Father Griswold, and since we forgot the tape measure, we thought we could judge its relatively small size in relation to the other trees around it. 

For reference:  

Tall

Taller...

"Small."

The cool part: we counted the rings and found that
our tree was the same age as Peter and me.

Tiny, right? [Wrong].
It was at this point that we remembered that we had to carry it. Allllll the way back to the car.

The kids had fun playing while we attempted to drag the tree to the road.
(Which happened between our five attempts to help the one child who needed to
answer the call of nature).

Our backs [were just beginning to] hurt - but our eyes were happy. So happy. 

Most frequently-asked questions: 

1. How did you get it home? 

2. How did you manage to put it up?

3. How in the world did you get it decorated?

Well, this is how we got it home - cargo bungees, sore backs, careful driving, and lots of looks. 

Now, remember the little part about the measuring tape? Well, when we got home and measured it, our "little" looking tree cleared the ceiling by about 2 inches (which is 18' at its highest point and about 16' at the furthest point we could push the tree back to with its ginormous circumference). Two inches, people. I'd like to go on the record as saying that I tried to convince Peter to cut at least six inches off the bottom when we got home. [Tried and failed. Lessons learned]. I'd also like to go on the record to say that we've successfully put up 13-15' trees the past two years. But they were a different kind, bought locally - which were a few hundred dollars more expensive, but also a few hundred pounds lighter.

Which brings us to the "how the heck did we set it up" question. Let's just say if we had anyone around to document us trying to set it up, we would've put them to work instead of documenting it. It took three tries to get the brute standing upright, and we almost quit after the second try, in which the base that I was trying to hold in place with all my might pushed me straight into the wall and dented our air return vent. We took a break, texted a few people [who weren't home] to see if they could help, and then we decided to try one more time. Just one. And voila! A true Christmas miracle.

Later, when we had enough energy and perspective to laugh, we thought it was funny that our backs were so "sore" simply carrying it to the car--if only we'd known what was to come.

We did it!

...but for real. Insanity.

As for how we got it decorated....

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C
(Attempting to put the angel up for the 50th time with only two inches of clearance).

After it fell about 49 times, I had this great jerry-rigging idea - that didn't work.

Finally, during one of our jerry-rigging attempts,
the angel fell into an upright-ish sort of spot on a top branch. So there she stayed.

And it was magical.

We had a few more fun Griswold moments, like finding pinecones in the wash and a bit of
tree branch dangling from the car window a few days later.

But overall, it was magical.
Especially getting to share it with my family over Christmas.
(We also got to share a stomach bug, which was less magical,
but that's another story for another day. Or not).

Exhibit D: How to dwarf the present pile.

In the end, the adventure was worth the ten bucks I think.

Our good Ole Goliath made it till Christmas before it started dying, so sadly I think it will have to come down before the Epiphany. (If you're local and you want to help, you're more than welcome to come on over and join the felling party...ha...ha...) But it had a good run, and I think we learned our lesson for next year:

Never forget the tape measure.

[Or the saw].

Cheers!

Mother Nature is a Cruel Mistress

The first week of June a little storm blew in, as happens in these parts on June afternoons.

I rounded up the kids from outside and told them to throw their toys in the garage, anticipating that they'd be out playing again in a few. After all, one of Denver's mottos is "if you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes."

Peter arrived home unexpectedly early, just as the first big fat raindrops started splatting on the ground, so he parked in the driveway and helped me grab the trashcans that were out for trash day so they wouldn't wash away. Then we ducked inside amidst peals of thunder to get a little work done in the basement office. As nature would have it, though, we weren't about to get any work done. It started with a few little clinks, and I saw some bits of hail landing in the basement window well--nothing new, since we usually get one or two good ringers each summer. But soon the clinks became big, loud, heavy clunks. We ultimately joined the kids at the window to watch the full beat down, which looked like this:

It lasted for a good 30-40 minutes, and we cringed as the gumball-sized hail pummeled Peter's car. I'll admit that I was just as distraught thinking about the little baby peachlings that I've invested so much care and concern in this year, despite the fact that we've done nothing to actually make the tree bear fruit besides turn on the sprinkler system and pay the water bill. It looks like we'll still get a few peaches, but the majority were damaged or pelted to the ground where they met their sorry end.

Poor little peachlings.

When all was said and done and the storm had passed, it looked like a day of reckoning outside. Our deck cover for our patio set was shredded along with our window screens, and the trees and plants were trashed.

Later, we discovered strike marks from the hail all over our exterior paint, and inside we also had a nice corner of drywall which now looks like this from floor to ceiling:

It was damp to the touch, with the water damage clearly having warped and discolored the floor, too. So we decided to put in an insurance claim and were shocked that they came back with over $20k in house damage needing to be repaired, some of which we didn't even realize was there. Come to find out, our old neighborhood barely three miles away was at the epicenter of this storm and sustained even worse damage -- one friend told me they had over $38k in damage, and every single house for miles was affected.

Homes in our old neighborhood - some were totally defaced, like these with completely decimated shutters.

Basically, our little town is going to be on big construction site for the summer. Hopefully we saw the worst of the summer storms, or if there's another it will hit before the renovations start! Here are the repairs we'll be spending our summer orchestrating:

• complete roof replacement
• new paint for the exterior of the house
• power washing/re-staining the entire fence due to surface damage
• same for the deck
• a new main floor picture window due to damage to the outer seal (which would turn into another drywall/leak problem as pictured above if not fixed)
• opening up the living room wall, checking/treating for mold, replacing drywall, and re-painting the room - which in our open-concept home will be half of the entire first floor
• repairing a small portion of hardwood floor from the same water damage, and because it's impossible to match hardwood stain, all of the adjacent wood flooring needs to be refinished and re-stained. Well, that "adjacent flooring" flows without a single break throughout our entire first floor, so moving literally all of the first floor in order to refinish it is going to get really interesting... 
• Oh, right and Peter's car with all its hail dents and need for a new windshield is its own claim.

Checking out the roof.

While it sounds nice in some ways to be getting all these fixes out of one lousy storm, it's accompanied by a nice deductible and, I'm sure, will end up being a source of frustration since we didn't exactly plan to set aside our whole summer (and potentially fall) for a bunch of renovations. So we're buckling in for the ride.

- - -

Another sad fallout of this storm was its affect on our next-door "neighbors," a red-tailed hawk family who had been nesting in our friends' big grand cottonwood tree next door for some months. Our neighbor said it looked like the bottom of the nest might have been compromised after the hail, and a few days later we also saw some tiny birds continually diving at the hawks in the air and near their nest in the tree (presumably because they felt threatened by the hawks).

Little birds chasing the poor, majestic hawks.

Our neighbors found the nest on the ground the next day, with two little injured fledglings that couldn't fly yet on the ground. They were able to get wildlife rescue on the scene pretty quickly, who took the injured fledglings to hopefully recover since they wouldn't have made it on their own.

It's destroyed my mama heart to see the hawks circling and screeching in the following days, looking for their lost babies. It's been a real tragedy of sorts in the neighborhood -- especially for our next door neighbors who shared their territory so closely with the hawk family, and our neighbor across the street who has recently become a pretty serious birdwatcher and passed her love and knowledge on to all the kids. There is some hope, though. Though the one baby hawk didn't make it, we learned yesterday that the other, which our neighbor friends named Nari, seems to be doing well and has been placed with a foster mom, another red-tailed hawk, who is taking good care of her. Hopefully in a few months she will be able to be released back into the wild and live on to a happy outcome of adulthood, even though mama and papa bird are at a sad, sad loss.

Sweet little Nari - picture courtesy of our neighbor.

In the end, despite the headaches and major renovations, we are still lucky for numerous reasons...we're lucky that around here, Mother Nature usually graces us with more beauty than destruction, that the storm didn't turn into something worse like a tornado, and that we didn't have any flooding. And I'm certain both mama and papa hawk would agree that we are beyond lucky to have our whole family safe, sound, and under one [leaky but fixable] roof!

January In Brief: aka, Eye Can't Even

Or, for some alternate titles of the cinematic kind:

Eyemageddon

Eyepoccolypse Now

The Corneal Games, Round 2.

Lethal Weapon.

Or simply, You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

But first, the more boring/tame stuff.

The start of January saw us rudely thrown back into our [new, even crazier] school and work routine after a nice visit with family. We had one jam-packed drill weekend to pull off a farewell for our Brigade Commander, followed by two separate weeks of star students (both of whom did an amazing job with their star student duties!), and some pretty fantastic Broncos games to keep us busy. January was also good month for getting meetings scheduled and events planned for the mom's at church that I've been helping a friend run. It's resulted in some great new connections. We've also had some nice little moments of family bonding, with a few notable ones initiated by Peter. He's started passing on his love of Calvin and Hobbes...and he recently introduced the kids to the now-infamous concept of Nerf Gun Wars.

Superbowl, here we come!

Now, over the years we've kind of just acquired things like foam pirate swords and plastic Ninja Turtle Nunchucks and light sabers. Somewhere along the line, the Nerf Guns started popping up. I'm not the biggest fan of toy weapons, and multiple times I've had to confiscate the swords after angsty boy fights and put the nunchucks in timeout after they broke a light switch. But with kids, minor damage just comes with the territory, and they've never actually done serious damage. So when Peter came home a few weeks ago brandishing three new Nerf toys, chirping "look what I found on sale!!" I simply groaned and rolled my eyes instead of putting them in a return bag. (I never did think to ask him what he was doing wandering through the toy aisle of Target that day, though, when we only needed milk). Soon, I even became a reluctantly enthusiastic participant of the family Nerf wars Peter started in our room whenever the kids got ready for bed with a few minutes to spare...setting up ambushes, hiding behind pillows, popping out from behind the bed for the perfect shot.

It was during one such evening, two weeks after New Year's, that Peter was supervising bedtime and I was determinedly packing away the nativity set in hopes that our living room would not spend a second full week after the Epiphany buried in all things Christmas. I didn't realize that another Nerf war was underway behind closed doors until Erik came running downstairs, whimpering and trying to re-load his gun. I helped him, then accompanied him back upstairs with the intent to cut the Nerf wars short in time for bed. We carefully ducked into the to the sound of laughter while Nerf darts whizzed everywhere. Sighing, I begrudgingly picked up a spare Nerf gun and joined the fun instead. All was fine for 10 minutes; so fine--and fun, apparently--that Peter decided it would be great to capture the fun on video. In it, you can see me attempting to wrestle the automatic Nerf gun away from Ethan while trying to remind him about muzzle awareness after he kept trying to fire at me from point blank range. (Oh the foreshadowing. And irony). About .5 seconds after Peter stopped filming, he charged over the bed and fired, just as I, unaware, started to turn my head toward him.

Yes, Peter was the culprit, not one of the kids. (He's admitted it to others so I can safely incriminate him here.)

I definitely didn't see the round coming, so I had zero reaction time to duck or even clamp my eyes shut--I simply found myself on the floor very suddenly, covering my left eye while writhing around and yodeling loudly and rather comically. 

But as funny as I sounded, let me tell you--the final pains of childbirth, though more prolonged, have got nothing on the intensity of a dart to the eye at close range. Nothing. Those little devils pack a brutal punch. Only after the feeling that I might simultaneously puke and pass out dissipated was I able to low crawl to the bathroom, and after about five excruciating minutes of deep breathing, painfully pry my eye open to confirm that I could still see. But it was blurry and my eye wouldn't stop watering and hurt like the Sam Hill Dickens...so I knew that I probably shouldn't try to sleep it off or wait it out. 

Being Saturday night, that meant the ER. Which meant reliving more memories of when I was seven and landed in the ER for an almost identical injury. 

I know, right? Like I said, so much irony. When the first incident happened, we lived at West Point, and it was graduation day. It was a tradition (and still is) for little kids to be able to run into the stadium to try and try to grab a cadet hat from the field following the legendary hat toss. While waiting in the holding area for the hat toss, one of my friends and I were playing innocently, holding hands and spinning around. Somehow, her free hand swung in the direction of my face and her fingernail scratched my eye. She was so apologetic, but seconds later the hat toss happened and everyone started running in all directions. And so I stumbled around the field in bleary-eyed pain in the middle of the chaos until I somehow found my dad in the throngs of people. I remember him holding me while I held my eye, talking to and congratulating his cadets until he realized how serious it was. So off to Keller Army Hospital we went (I was a frequent flyer of the Keller ER at that age)--only I didn't want my friend to get in trouble, so I told the adults that it happened when I was swinging my arm and caught myself in the eye instead of saying that it was her hand. Ah, the mind of a 7-year-old.

Anyway, 25 years later I faced a new challenge; though I was now an adult, I still couldn't drive myself to the ER. So I called our amazing friend and next door neighbor who agreed to come sit with the kids so Peter could take drive me. Even more ironic? The very same friend and I had been talking about eye woes earlier that afternoon, and I'd just told her the story of what happened when I was seven. Self-fulfilling prophesy, I suppose...

Somehow, we got the kids in bed and astoundingly, we were in and out of the (somewhat busy) ER in under an hour. I didn't even know that was humanly possible! They confirmed that there was a scratch on my cornea, prescribed some antibiotic ointment, and said it would be sore from the impact but should heal just fine within a week. It was still quite sore through mid-week, but now 10 days later, I'm thoroughly back to normal. I didn't even have to wear a pirate patch like I did when I was little! We heard plenty of entertaining Nerf stories from the ER staff and friends the rest of the week, along with recommendations to wear plastic glasses or ski goggles while warring. Which would've been a great thing to consider before getting my eye shot out. Hindsight, I guess (pun intended). But I still don't know if I'll ever be ready to un-ban Nerf guns from our home, since I can't even blame age or immaturity!

While probing my shot eye, the ER doc got
frustrated that I couldn't keep it open and
actually asked, "why do you keep blinking?"

I did let the real perpetrator take the blame this time, and thankfully he didn't get in trouble with anyone except his own guilty conscience. He spent the rest of the week buying flowers and trying to make it up to me, even though I did remind him that accidents happen. But I didn't actively discourage the groveling, either.

Epilogue:

Before the incident, Peter had booked us some tickets to the yearly Knights of Columbus Gala that our church holds. Whether through genuine thoughtfulness or a nagging feeling that he might need to redeem himself for some reason, Peter had decided to make it a little getaway; he said I should get myself a dress and he booked us a room at the hotel, arranging for the kids to stay overnight at his parents' house. So by the time the eye injury occurred, I at least had something to look forward to. (More puns. So many puns!).

I had a follow-up for my eye the day before the gala, confirming that I still had 20/20 vision (whew!) and clearing me to wear eye makeup again (double whew!). The event itself was loads of fun and I think we'll be frequenting it yearly from here on out; there was a charity auction to raise money for the poorest region in our state, as well as a lovely dinner and some dancing. 

One of the coolest auction items: this painting
of the very area we raised money for, painted
in real time by our incredibly talented friend.

Sadly we were outbidded for the handcrafted custom-order farmhouse table we had our eyes on (one of our friends/parish members does some jaw-dropping work, including the beautiful wooden kayaks used at our church campouts, and the table up for bid was very similar to amazing one by Clint from Fixer Upper). But we did score some symphony tickets to thank Peter's parents for all that they do. And the table-making friend told us we could always commission him for our own project if we ever want to. I all I had to do was give Peter a puppy dog look and point woefully to my eye to seal the deal... (just kidding. But who can honestly turn down the chance for a custom table?).

Overall, it was a great night, and the perfect way to close out January--eyesores and all.

Wink.

All's well that ends well!

Where November Went

So practically yesterday, November started, and suddenly today it's practically over. It's certainly not lost on me where it all went, though; here's a quick synopsis if you want to skip a few paragraphs of whining below.

Week 1: Anniversary, then a hasty goodbye on the way to my school (aka Army training, Round 2).
Week 2: school and sickness.
Week 3: school and homesickness.
Week 4: home and Thanksgiving. So much thanksgiving.

I will say that at least the month both started and ended with a lot of love and happiness, even if the rest of it pretty much went down the tube.

My first stint at school in September wasn't so bad, but for some (okay a lot of) reasons, my second and final round this month was a whole lotta rough. For starters, I arrived after some long delays to find that our "hotel" was not the same well-appointed, civilized establishment as last time; instead we were relegated to the should-be-condemned Roach Motel across post. Which necessitated a trip to Wal-mart [foreshadowing] for roach spray after a late night grocery run in the pouring rain.

I wasn't feeling great the next day when I woke up to go to class, but figured it was just traveling and jet lag. And maybe a little hangover from the roach spray. I felt increasingly blah as the day went on, but told myself that I was fine because in order to graduate we couldn't miss more than 4 hours of class. So obviously my top priority for both rounds of training was staying healthy. My body, frustratingly, did not listen, and I went to bed that night in not-so-hot condition.

Day 2, I woke up feeling horrendous, and of course found out that my kids had been sick so I knew I'd almost certainly picked up a virus from them. Immediately after passing our first test, my instructor convinced me to go to the clinic. Over the course of 4 snail-paced hours the doc did a blood test and gave me meds and said it was probably viral but it looked like I was over the worst of it. HA. Famous last words, Doc.

The reality? Day 3: Horribly sick, couldn't even get out of bed. (Thank you God for Veterans Day which we magically had off so this veteran didn't have to miss class and get sent home but instead could suffer in peace in bed at the roach motel.) Day 4: Still horribly sick, but I drug myself to class. (Seriously it has been literal years since I've been so sick). Day 5: Slightly less sick, finally able to eat for the first time all week. Somewhow passed another test. Day 6: a half day of class, then I rested away the remainder of my Saturday and Sunday.

Somewhere in there, between the beginning of the plane ride and the end of the sickness I also devoured a really good book...probably since I could devour nothing else. (Tangent: How is it that there's less than a month left until it's time for my annual 'What I read This Year' post? So many good books left to read!!!) I also watched a whole lot of Fixer Upper on HGTV. (Tangent #2: Joanna Gaines is my new celeb crush. Everything she is and does is amazing and if you read this Joanna could you please come to my house and make it amazing?). I also said countless and constant prayers for everyone I could think of to distract myself from my own misery...so I think I can count that as a positive for week one?

The second week passed in a blur of long days, late nights, and this fun thing called MDMP where we basically pretend to plan a mission with all the right steps like we will most certainly do in the real Army. Oh and ALSO. Lest I forget my foreshadowing: somewhere in the middle of week 2 I got a call from my trusty bank, saying that while I was sitting in class that day they had intercepted some not-so-trusty (and ridiculously lofty) charges on my card from a certain Wal-Mart which I had only ever frequented the very first night for the danged roach spray. So getting to cancel my card made traveling back extra fun.

But finally, finally we were free to walk across the stage in our extra fancy uniforms that required a whole second bag check for a mere 30 minutes of graduation glory. But I grabbed my civilian garb in record speed and soon I was jetting off into the beautiful Colorado sunset blizzard.

And you know what? When I collapsed back home in the middle of that blizzard, I was the most weary, rumpled, thankful, contented mess there ever was. I literally could not stop saying "I'M SO GLAD I'M HOME"... and Peter too. Because for every one of my woes in this long and drawn out woesome tale, he had an equally wearisome and exasperating woe to deal with back home.

Accordingly, I think we were in the best mindset possible approaching Thanksgiving this year. There was no rushing around, no worrying about what needed to be done or how things appeared (including the Halloween decorations that were still out when I got home); only settling in and appreciating the life we're so lucky to normally have. I snuggled the kids and my husband, and thoroughly reveled in the fact that we hardly had anything to prep for Thanksgiving except pie since my wonderful in-laws hosted again.

As such, the rest of this post will be devoted to such memories of gratitude of Week 4, as a little reminder to myself that ultimately this month wasn't a loss, and it still ended as well as it started for just as many good reasons as there were woes. [But I'm still glad to see it in hindsight].

Now bring on the Advent season! Please!

Cousins and grandparents.

Brothers.

Yes Please.

Did I mention that it was a White Thanksgiving, too?

...and a perfect weeked for relaxing with the best Polar Bear Rug around. 

Merry almost December to all, and to all a happy Advent!