Hormonal wreckage

This last weekend was General Conference in the LDS church, a semi-annual conference during which the leadership (most notably the prophet) of the church speak to the general body of the church on subjects and issues they feel spiritually impressed upon to address.

So Jonathan got to make a long anticipated trip to Utah to be with his brother Brandon and Papa Cope for the occasion. He flew out Thurs. right after work, so the girls and I hadn't really seen him since Wed. night. They enjoyed a BYU football game together, as well as attending the priesthood session of conference Sat. evening. He also played golf with some old college roommates, and took a walk down memory lane at the legendary Cafe Rio. It was a great weekend for him....

On the other hand...

The girls and I watched the Sat. morning session, and Sun. afternoon session via satellite transmission at our local church meetinghouse. The weekend started off well enough for me, considering I was flying solo. The girls and I made homemade spinach and tomato pizza with mozzarella and parmigiano reggiano cheese ( I am a cheese fanatic) Thursday night. They had a great time "painting on the sauce" and making fall leaves out of the mozzarella with my cookie cutters. They really didn't think they wanted "salad" on their pizza, but I sliced it up and put it on anyway, reminding them that vegetables keep our bodies healthy. They thoroughly enjoyed the finished product and never even noticed the spinach! I think this will become a frequent happening in our home as it was so easy and fun! I really enjoy cooking, and especially when I can involve the girls!

Friday, however, brought some bad news. My washing machine's water line stopped working. At first it was just the cold water that didn't work, so I ran a load or two with hot water (something I rarely do). But then, the hot stopped working too. Now the washer fills with a very slow trickle (imagine your child washed their hands and forgot to turn the water all the way off). It is so frustrating because it takes like an hour just for the the washer to fill up, then it does its thing, and takes another hour to fill for the rinse cycle. I seriously think it takes around 3-4 hours to complete one load in the washer. It is killing me! So that was Friday sometime.

Then on Sat. the girls and I went to conference as I mentioned ( which went very well) and then headed to the grocery store for a few items, after a pit stop at the park to get out some wiggles and reward their excellent behavior at conference. On our return trip from the store, with milk, ice cream, etc. in hand I went to open the back door to the house. It was locked ( I had made sure it was unlocked sometime previous to our departure, but little Macy must've been inclined to practice her big girl skills and play with it)! I went for the spare key in the garage and it was missing. Then I remembered that I had already used the OTHER spare key a few days prior, and Kennedy had taken it from the counter and lost it somewhere. I tried not to panic...but I think I really did. It was already 6 at night, dusk was quickly setting in and it was already quite frigid outside. I put the girls in the van so I could survey the house for any open windows, doors, etc. I tried every single lower level window (7 in all) and none would budge. I searched under rock wall stones, door mats, and anywhere where the previous owner might conceivably have hid a forgotten spare key. No such luck. By this time I was frantic and crying. Then I had the idea to use this as a teaching lesson. I brought the girls out of the van and asked them to kneel with me on the dirty garage floor. They did and I asked Kennedy (for the sake of a child's innocence and faith) to offer up a word of prayer that we would find a way into the house. Unfortunately, I had left my cell phone in the house, so I had no way of calling Jonathan for his ideas. I finally humbled myself and drove to Panera to ask to use the phone to call a locksmith. When we arrived at Panera, the place was humming, and I chickened out. I just knew I was going to break down into tears and make a scene. We walked through the shopping center to T.J. Maxx, thinking perhaps the crowds would be thinner there. Wrong again. I started to turn away, but realized I was running out of time to catch Jonathan on the phone ( priesthood session was about to start) and forced myself into the store to share the sad tale. It was very uncomfortable to feel so helpless and pathetic. I suppose I needed the experience. I did in fact manage to tell them I needed to make a long distance call ( Jonathan's cell is still a Texas #) before I started to cry. They obviously felt sorry for the sad looking creature before them and allowed use of the phone. As luck would have it, Jonathan didn't answer. Then I asked if they had a phone book so I could call a locksmith. Prior to this point they were probably wondering if I was fleeing an abusive sitiation or what. Here I was, puffy eyed and pregnant clinging to the hands of my two young daughters. I can't imagine what they were thinking. Finally I divulged the whole sorry tale of my being 5 months pregnant, alone for the weekend, locked out of my house, no spare keys to be found, haven't met my neighbors yet, tried all the windows, etc. I could sense some relief on the part of the store manager as it all came clear what was going on. I suppose he had imagined far worse. His assistant suggested I call the non-emergency police line to see if they could help. She helped me locate the number and I called. The nice officer on the other end said he would send someone right away and what was my return number just in case. I bashfully admitted I'd left my cell in the house and was calling from T.J. Maxx and did he want their number? No he did not. I drove back to the house to find a very nice policeman in our driveway. He escorted me to the garage door to try that first. Much to my dismay and embarrassment, he noticed that though the basement door was locked, it wasn't pulled tightly in place. With a firm jerk he pulled it right open. Boy did I feel sheepish. Then comes the worst part... I walked through the basement, into the house, and right back out the garage door to thank him, letting the still locked door close behind me! Are you kiddding me ( I only wish I was!). So now, with the basement door firmly in place, we were back to square one. Next we decided to try windows. I assured him I had tried them all, but he suggested we try the little bathroom window again. He hopped on the A/C unit, and managed to open the window! Hurray... only he was a wee bit too big to fit through. I told him I could do it, but once I got up there, I thought it better to lower Kennedy in than to risk wedging my pregnant belly in the window, and thus be in an even worse situation. I explained the task to my little K and she bravely said she could do it. The officer lowered her through the window, and a moment later she appeared triumphant through the open garage door (which I promtly unlocked to prevent any further embarrassment). We all thanked the policeman profusely (which seemed such an inadequate gesture) and in we went. I hurried to make dinner and get the girls in bed so I could diffuse my nerves. When at last they were down, I curled up in bed and cried and cried. I have been so hormonal this pregnancy! I feel like a premenstrual teenager sometimes. I felt so sad and spent. My body was exhausted from trying to be supermom and find a way into the house. My nerves were raw and emotions rampant. It was a bad combination. I cried myself to sleep and that was a rap...