Don't you wish I had something to say? Something funny? Something clever? Dare you hope, something worth reading?
Ya, me too.
I've figured out that Monday night is the perfect time to write, while I wait for my kids to finish practicing Mozart's 40th Symphony with their orchestra. I have a couple of hours to kill, with no one to interrupt or nagging laundry to protest.
Trouble is, my inspiration has not coincided with my calendar.
What's left is a recitation of our strange-but-true weekend. (Sure to be less than brilliant. If you give up here, I'm not going to say you made the wrong decision.)
I had a mild-to-moderate breakdown on Thursday night. (David would definitely characterize it as more moderate, bordering on complete lunacy, but he's not telling this story.) Anyway, by the time Friday morning was upon us, I think he had given up all hope of a decent weekend.
(This is not the strange part.)
After I dropped the kids off to make their way through the final day of the quarter, I went to the gym. (Again, contrary to popular opinion, this is also not the strange part.) But instead of the treadmill or the Zumba class, I went to yoga, to try and get my brain or my hormones or my chakras in line. While I was in downward dog, I realized I needed my toes painted. (Look how focused I am in yoga! I am so good at so many things!) So, uncharacteristically, I went to get a pedicure. The girl at the salon said "Do you want a manicure too?"
"Are you sure?"
And while she was doing my manicure and we were sitting face-to-face, she said, "Do you want your eyebrows waxed?" I think if anyone asks you that question, it's just like if someone asks you if you want a mint. They're trying to tell you something. And yes, you want one.
So what else could I say? "Yes."
And while she was waxing my eyebrows, she said, "Do you want me to do your lip too."
You got it.
It was a strange morning.
But I did feel better.
Strangely so. Even David noticed the change and found something a little odd when he kissed me at the end of the day. "What happened?" he asked.
On Saturday between sessions of General Conference we ran to Old Navy to get fleece coats for our weekend in Utah. While we were there I tried on (gasp!) and bought (shock and awe!) a pair of skinny jeans. I know, downright eerie. Who knows what possessed me, as normally I don't like my clothes to actually touch me. But there you go. It's fair to say that by the end of the weekend, I was practically unrecognizable.
And then, perhaps strangest of all, on Saturday night, after priesthood session, all the other kids were at friends' houses, so Caleb and David and I went for sushi. And over chef special rolls and wonton soup we talked about the new missionary age announced that morning. And what it would mean to us.
My sister Rachel had texted me that morning: How does it feel to have just lost a year?
(And yes, to answer your question, that is an enormous amount of sushi for three people. We strangely, notoriously, invariably overorder. Saturday night was no exception.)