Since my big event is only two days away I ventured to the mall.  My grand hopes were the perfect dress, for less than $50.00.  But I would settle for some bling to wear with my back-up dress.

Cameron was at preschool so I just had Eli and Miriam.  I do not have a double stroller, and I will never take these two children to the mall again without one.  Have I mentioned that Eli is our tortoise child?  Our last trip to the mall was to see Santa, and it didn’t help Eli’s pace that he was turning every corner asking if this is where Santa lived, and where was he?

First stop: Dress Barn.  Waste of time.  But an entire store of dresses statistically seemed like my best option.  The two kind ladies old enough to be my grand-mother were so disappointed to see me walk out without so much as trying on a skirt-suit.

So I went for the other extreme: Forever 21.  The youngish girl assisting me showed me a few black dresses. 

“I’m looking for something a little bit longer…”

From behind the counter another 21 year old informed me that none of the black dresses in that store went below the knee.  I was starting to feel very uncomfortable.

Sales people make me very uncomfortable.  I am the type of person who would look at, try on, and even buy something when compelled to do so by a salesperson.  You know how they flatter you, pressure you, guilt you.  I just can’t handle it.  And when you go to the mall at 10:00 in the morning you get 100% of the attention of the employees.   In fact the only other people in the mall are the mall-walkers, with their pleasant smiles and bright white shoes. 

With no success, except the “bling” I bought from Claire’s I headed to the nearest department store to use the elevator.  I needed to leave the mall in approximately two minutes to be on time picking up Cameron from preschool but I thought I’d pass through the “special occasion” area just in case.  I had avoided the mall anchor stores because I was sure I wouldn’t find a dress for the money I was willing to spend. But because I wasn’t planning to, nor did I have the time to, I did.  I tried it on in a hurry, paid for the dress and frantically carried Eli back to the car, while pushing the stroller. 

I was thrilled.  As soon as I got home I tried it on again and realized two things.  Either I should have started dieting three months ago to fit into this dress, or I was going to need to return to the mall (with all three children this time) to exchange it. 

Sigh.

Five years ago when my oldest child was just a newborn I had an ultrasound that found “suspicious” spots on my liver and kidneys.  The radiologists recommended further diagnostic imaging to investigate.  A CT scan was scheduled but not for a few days.  For a few days I was sure I was dying.  All joking aside, I was very worried and so were family members who were aware of the problem.

The results of the CT scan showed small cysts on my kidneys and livers.  They were asymptomatic and not causing any problems with liver or kidney function but my doctor diagnosed me with polycystic liver and kidney disease.  He suggested I have yearly CT scans to moniter the cysts.

Well other health problems came and went, two more pregnancies and two more babies.  Five years went by and I all but forgot about my yearly CT scan.  A few weeks ago while doing some spring cleaning I came across my medical chart from my doctor’s office in Pocatello.  My doctor had given it to me when we moved to give to my next doctor for the sake of the detailed health history it contained.

I made an appointment with my current physician and she read over the radiologists report from my original CT scan five years ago.  It described small cysts on my liver and kidneys, etc.  My doctor suggested blood work and scheduled a CT scan for me to check the status of the cysts. 

I wasn’t worried about the CT scan.  I didn’t expect any bad news.  But I certainly didn’t expect to hear what the nurse said when she called after my doctor read over the radiologists new findings.

“You don’t have any cysts on your liver or kidneys.”
“I don’t have any?”
“Nope. Looks good.” 

I am not here to try and offer a scientific explanation for why the cysts that once existed no longer exist.  I am here to testify that all things are in the hands of the Lord.  That is why I am eternally grateful for faith.

Sometimes we don’t understand why bad things happen.  It is the universal question when someone is asked to endure a trial. 

Why?

But just as asking this question in times of difficulty rarely brings any answers or peace, I believe the same is true in times of blessing. 

Why this trial? Why this blessing?  Because our Father in Heaven loves us.  He has a divine plan for each of us that involves rough roads and smooth ones.  But we can be grateful for Him and His love because all these things are ultimately only for our good.

I know it is easy for me to write this when I am experiencing the ease of a smooth road.  But know this, that I believe these things when the road is rough as well.  And no one is exempt from rough roads.  Five years ago this same faith carried me through three very worrisome days.

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”

Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth’s smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
 
Not once beat “Praise be Thine!
I see the whole design,
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:
Perfect I call Thy plan:
Thanks that I was a man!
Maker, remake, complete,—I trust what Thou shalt do!”
– small part taken from Rabbi Ben Ezra by Robert Browning

Time. There is only so much of it. There is only so much of it in life. And there is only so much of it before the next “deadline” life demands. I find that at the end of the day I often have regrets about my time management. Some nights I don’t, and on these nights I fall asleep at peace with the days events and accomplishments. Then there are other nights, where I lay in bed disgusted with myself, greatly wishing I could have the day back to do differently.

The way I see it, there are two ways I regret my use of time.

One way is when I spend it doing something I expect will turn out well, but due to circumstances beyond my control it doesn’t. These time wasters are easier to let go of because I didn’t know it would be a waste of time going in to it. At the end of the day I might say to myself “I wish we hadn’t gone to the library today. Our class was cancelled and the boys were so naughty while we looked for books.” Oh well. What is done is done. I had no way of knowing it would turn out badly, so the regret is only fleeting.

But the other regrets are a little harder to cope with because they are longer lasting. Dealing with my own foolish choices is what really sours my soul. When I choose to spend my time doing something that, from the beginning, I know is useless and unproductive I feel a more frustrated regret. Those are the hours I desperately long for. Because I did know better. And I my desire to relive them is more deep because of my shame for how I idled them away.

Oh time.

I wish I felt a bit more like the Rolling Stones. I wish time was on my side. Yes I do.

The last couple years Richard and I lived in Pocatello I was working at a dental office in Idaho Falls. It was about a 50 minute commute, door to door.  I did that three or four days a week.  There were times I hated it but now looking back I miss that quiet time to myself.  In particular I miss the drive home in the spring or fall.  I would take the back roads of Idaho Falls to get to the freeway.  I would roll my window down and turn up the music. 

Everyone should do this.  It is good for the soul. 

One of the advantages of living in Kuna is that you have to drive 55mph on “country” roads to get into Meridian or Boise.

55mph is the perfect speed for rolling down the windows.  It gives a sufficient airflow to really feel a breeze but it isn’t too noisy. 

The last few Saturdays I have left the children with Richard and gone to run errands.  These days some of my most liberating moments are driving away from my house alone.  I am responsible for myself only.

Add to that liberating feeling, the beautiful 70 degree weather we had on Saturday.  

Windows down.  Hair blowing.  Good music.  Singing at the top of my lungs.

It was exhilarating and I highly recommend it.

Even if you drive a mini-van and you are jamming out to Neil Diamond and Michael Buble.

I’m one of those people who types their symptoms into the Google search box and then starts to have irrational fears about being sick with all the dreadful diseases that come up.  I am convinced the internet should be the last source to consult when your body is not well. 

But this time, it turns out, I did have what the internet diagnosed based on my symptoms.  It’s pleurisy.  An inflammation in my right lung.  Basically it hurts to breathe. So I just don’t.

Ha.

I’ve had pleurisy before. This time around the pain doesn’t seem quite as intense, but I am attributing that to the fact that I have been through childbirth three times and my perspective on pain has been forever altered.  So I tolerate it better.  But a sneeze, yawn, sigh, laugh can all cause exquisite pain.  Blowing my nose? Not an option. 

This is also a problem because one of my coping mechanisms for those difficult moments of motherhood throughout my day is to take a deep breath. 

I was feeling just a little bit sorry for myself when I thought of a woman I know.  She is terminally ill, but she is kind, unselfish and a joy to be around.  Why is it that when my body isn’t well, I am prone to self-pity and laziness?

I guess I will just keep getting pleurisy until I learn what I am supposed to learn here. 

**I am feeling much better as the week progresses and therefore do not need any comments that would validate my self-pity,  but I appreciate your sympathy.

I think I barely missed the generation of college students for whom a personal laptop is standard.  This was disappointing to me. 

I really wanted one.  I wanted to save a few trees by simply placing the laptop on my counter with the recipe window up, rather than printing it off.  I did try the running back and forth from dinner-prep to computer room but that was terribly inefficient.

I wanted one to take to bed with me on those lonely nights when Richard was out of town.  So I could read blogs until my eyelids grew heavy and then I could just close it up and roll over.  Thank goodness there aren’t any more lonely nights because that sounds like a terrible waste of time. 

I wanted one for movie watching.  I wanted one because there is just a totally tech-y feeling about having a computer on your lap.  And I just love the click-click of the laptop keyboard.  (Is it even called that?)

Although I don’t believe much in life is actually free (this laptop I currently type to you with is no exception), we didn’t really have to pay for it with money.  We paid for it with business flights and lonely hotel stays.  Richard cashed in some company credit card points, and voila!  It was a surprise to me, and Richard deserves props for speaking my love language.

Because surprises are not part of his love language. 

My dad taught me many things.  He taught me the importance of honesty.  He taught me that happiness comes from kindness.  He also taught me that you never make a meaningful purchase without first consulting Consumer Reports. 

I think Consumer Reports is part of Richard’s love language. 

So we did our research, made our purchase and I love sitting on my couch to blog.  Much more comfy than that computer chair. 

I am bragging a little bit here, but I also get to buy a new vacuum.  A new vacuum is the kind of thing a happy little homemaker like myself gets really excited about.   Unfortunately there aren’t any more employee perks to cover the cost of those phenomenal KIRBY vacuum systems.  The term “vacuum” alone doesn’t do justice to an appliance that runs for quadruple digits. 

Nevertheless with the help of CR I hope to find a vacuum to meet my hearts desire. 

Then, with my new laptop and my new vacuum I could not ask for more.

I have made an exception to my no-advertising rule.  Because it is family.

Richard’s cousin Wendy hosts scrapbook retreats at a cabin in Donnelly, Idaho one weekend a month.

Having been there and enjoyed the delicious food, pleasant company, comfortable lodging and sunny back patio myself I can personally recommend it.

See the button on the side or West Mountain Retreat.