The One About the Friends

This has been one of those days where I don’t know quite what to think, or quite what to do. What do you do the day before your son comes home from a two-year mission? Clean and go crazy? Well… first I worked to mail out a bunch more CDs. Then I tried to organize some new guest blog posts and managed to have a misunderstanding with a friend. Good times. Then I went to a Christmas dinner and instead of sitting with the ladies, I sat with the young people who were the entertainment. And they were very entertaining. They counted how many times people came up to me and asked when Casey is coming home (Wednesday at noon, in case you wanted to ask) and how many then followed up with the million dollar question: Are you excited? Haha! I think they stopped counting after about 30. Then my daughter-in-law showed up with Jif, which is always the best. We went home, with Jessi riding in the back seat next to Jif atop a layer of wheat (no, seriously… don’t even ask…) and made pizzookies. More friends came over and we ate the pizzookies and played a humiliating couple rounds of a dice game called Chicken until after midnight. All in all, the day was about friends. A little sour, a little sweet. Maybe every day is really about friends.

Over the past while, friends have done a lot of things for me. One friend brought flowers and planted my front yard so that it would be beautiful when Casey comes home. One brings Skippy home from school for me several days a week. A couple of my friends bring me frozen yogurt on their way home from work, and sit to talk for awhile. One friend encouraged me all year long on my CD project, even when I told her to shut up because I wasn’t doing it anymore (several times). One listened to the master CD about five times straight the last week of the project (when friends seemed in short supply and no one else seemed to have time for me!) to try to help me find things to fix. One friend talks me down when I get too stressed, and reminds me not to listen to people when they are making me crazy (which happens more often than I care to admit). My sons and daughter-in-law, who are the best friends anyone could ask for, all pitched in to get me ready for my CD party, and it was like having a housekeeper, a decorator and a chef all show up at my door just at the right time. One amazing friend even catered that party for me!

I am definitely not worth so much trouble. What are the best things that friends do for you?

The One With the Baby Piano

Stupid things I do when I'm distracted. Thursday I had a turkey in the oven (turkey? on the last Thursday of November? I don't believe in coincidence). About midway through cooking time I was feeling so in control of my fate that I decided to risk taking a shower and putting on clean clothes. I came down an hour later to find the turkey sitting in a cold oven. I apparently turned the oven off when I checked it before my shower. I tried to blame it on DK, but I know it was really me. This morning I wasn't feeling very well, but we are out of bread, and domestic goddess that I am, I realized that I needed to get bread made before the missionaries came home for lunch. I threw everything (well, almost everything) into the mixer, and sat down to check my e-mail for the six minutes it takes to make the magic happen. After six minutes, I turned the dough into the bowl, covered it with a towel, and placed it into a warm oven. Ten minutes later, it came to me in a flash...I didn't put in any yeast. That whole mound of beautiful dough...straight into the trash. Start from scratch. Couldn't blame that one on DK. This is a stressful week. What else am I going to do? Forget Skippy at kindergarten? Go to church with my skirt tucked into my pantyhose? (I actually don't wear stockings anymore...this is Orange County, after all. But I totally did that once when I was pregnant...let me tell you, it was super attractive!) When I'm under a lot of stress, it finds its way into my dreams. Sometimes I even go sleep-walking. The worst was a couple of years ago when the whole family was staying at the Hotel Monaco in Salt Lake City, and in the middle of the night, I went sleepwalking. Out of the hotel room. I woke up enough to realize that I was in a hotel, in my pajamas (thank you thank you thank you), and I didn't know what hotel, why I was there, or where my room was. Fortunately, as I woke up more, I remembered some details, and was able to find my way back to my room without providing amusement for the desk clerk. Sleepwalking. It is why, in a house with teenage boys and missionaries, we sleep fully clothed. Anyway, I can tell this week is getting to me... last night in a pretty graphic dream, I gave birth... to a piano. It wasn't a large piano, as pianos go, but come on...where is that anesthesiologist when you need him?