People Say the Darndest Things

I have found that once you reach a certain age (ahem), telling people that you are pregnant can elicit all kinds of responses. Such as:

"Huh? We're adopting? Because you said you were too old to give me a baby sister even though I've asked and asked and begged and begged bunches of times." - 7 year old daughter, Sabrina

"Nuh - uh. No way. Really? Is this one of your weird jokes? 'Cause I don't think I believe you." - 9 year old son, Dalton

"Wow. I'm shocked. I mean, I am sure I will be excited later, but for now I am just shocked." - the mother-in-law

"Popping out a kid at almost 40? Niiiice." - brother Matt

"WHAT!!!!!!!!!! OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG SHUT UP!!!!!" - sister Sam (via text message)

"Well. I find that just completely irresponsibly brave." - THIS fellow soccer mom

"You know, there are a lot women that would pay big bucks to be in your particular situation." - the nurse at the ob/gyn office

And my personal favorite:

"Really? That's great. Really. It is. Wow. Are you sure? Wow. Man. Really? OK. Cool. Wow. Just wow." - the darling hubby

Hardee Har Har

We all know that saying, "If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans."

When I was a junior in college, I found myself treading through a low point in my life and was feeling pretty darn sorry for myself and the choices I had made. I remember feeling stuck and stagnant and like everything and everyone was moving forward too fast and without me. Then one day this epiphany washed over me.

I would join the Peace Corps.

I fell in love with idea of being able to run far, far away from my life and my troubles and to be able to do it in the name of a good cause - something noble. I would run to someplace like Micronesia or Vanuatu and help build schools, plant gardens, or teach children how to sew. In my spare time I would write long letters home to my mother telling her about my exciting adventures and asking her to send me paperback books and construction paper. It was a two year commitment, but I planned to spend a lifetime away from everything that was familiar. I had a plan.

Then, from somewhere deep inside, I heard a giggle.

That Christmas I met the man that changed my life. He was kind and patient and good. He allowed me to just be me and even though I told him I wasn't sticking around, that I would be gone for good within two years, he stayed. I ranted and raved and painted our kitchen the deep blue of ripe blueberries, and he still stayed. When I yelled and accused him of crazy things and set his beloved Jeep on fire, he got upset, but he still stayed.

And when I finally graduated from college, he asked me to marry him. And you know what? I said yes and I stayed. And I am so glad I did.

My husband and I worked hard at building a nice little life. We moved to a small town and spent the next ten years building our family, rejoicing in new friendships, and finding our careers. My husband and I would sit in the evenings with our coffee and speculate on which of the Webber boys our daughter would marry, the neighborhood yards Dalton would mow the summer he turned 10, the rise and fall of the river that ran through town, and when construction on the main road would ever end.

It was a simple life, but it was oh so sweet in it's simplicity. I knew that this would be the place where we would grow old. We would sit on our front porch and watch the ebb and flow of our little town, knowing that we were deeply rooted. And I was happy with that - I wanted to stay.

Then, one night in July, from somewhere deep inside, I heard another giggle. Only this time it was more like a chuckle. Or maybe it was a guffaw.

When my husband was offered the promotion that would move us from Texas to Massachusetts, my immediate reaction was, we can't do that - it's not in the plan! But here we are, a little over a year after our move, and we are so happy. It's true that we miss our friends and family. And it's true that this is a whole new way of life for us. But all in all, we love it here. We have been blessed with wonderful new friends and here lately the house has been full with visits from our family. We have come to appreciate the change in the seasons and the traditions that go along with those changes (Apple picking in the Fall! Sledding in the Winter snow! Gardening in the Spring! The beach in the Summer!). I am glad we came here.

But as life goes on and the seasons change, the body gets older. Last month I went to see my doctor because I was fairly certain that the great change of life was around the corner. I had the classic symptoms of perimenopause. Although facing my age was difficult, I knew that we were done with having children (Dalton is 9 and Sabrina is 7), and this was a new stage of life I would just need to accept. After long discussions with my husband and with my doctor, we came up with a plan. We would try birth control for two years and then re-evaluate. All I needed to do was wait for that magical time of the month to visit so that I could start on the medication.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a plan.

So I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And late at night, while the rest of the house was sleeping, I started hearing that now familiar laughter.

Last week when I went back to the doctor, I wasn't too surprised when she gave me the news - I'm pregnant! At 38, I am venturing once again into the world of diapers and binkies and spit up (as well as slobbery baby kisses, total adoration, and that sweet earthy smell of a new child). We are thrilled that we have been so abundantly blessed and I am thankful that my husband can see the humor in it all.

If God had a Facebook, I am pretty sure his status would be "LOL!!!!"

But isn't that the beauty of life? The unexpected - the crazy stuff we never see coming? Isn't it the the detour from the main road that makes the trip something to write about? Isn't it the surprise that makes this adventure so worth the price?

Girl, Put Your Records On

This is what I love about life. Each day brings the possibility of something amazing happening. And meeting amazing people. And getting amazing deals on stuff that really brings you joy. Are you wondering what in the world I’m talking about? Well, let me tell you….

Several weeks ago, our really nice neighbor called and asked us if we had any use for an old stereo system. He had just gone and bought a new one and thought our kids might enjoy the old one. Absolutely! When he brought the “stereo” over to us, I was shocked and awed to see this:

THAT is an actual real live record player on the top! I immediately told my husband that there was no way in Hades that the kids were getting their grubby little hands on that! All through my life, music has fed my soul in a way that even chocolate fudge cake could not compete with. Although I can not play any type of instrument and my singing voice is, shall we say, something only a husband can love, the sounds of music have been both a tonic and an amplifier for the deep, morose, lonely, love-filled, and happy feelings of my life.

My father likes to tell the story of how one morning when he was driving me to school (I think I was six), he was playing The Eagles “Wasted Time” on the good ol’ eight track and when the song was over he looked over to see me sobbing silently, my whole body shaking. In alarm he asked me what was wrong, because believe it or not, I was not a child prone to hysterics (that came later), he says I choked out the words, “I never knew a man could sing so pretty.” And even now, well maybe I should say especially now, that one song will always – every time – stop me in my tracks and reduce me to a deep – you know, pit of my stomach – kind of sorrow. The songs of The Eagles so defined my relationship with my father that when I found out that my first child was going to be a boy, I decided to name him Dalton, after the “Doolin-Dalton” songs and as a way to honor my father.

Growing up, once the dinner dishes were done and the house shifted and settled down for the night, my mother would put on a pot of coffee and play record after record on the turntable in the living room. Usually it was Linda Ronstadt, Janis Joplin, or Billie Holiday. Sometimes it was Led Zeppelin or Jimmie Hendrix. But she would wearily fall into that worn yellow couch and drink her coffee and chain smoke her long cigarettes and the music would soothe her, much like a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine would soothe others. Over time, it became the same for me.

There is just something about a vinyl record spinning on a turntable. The crackles and pops and static and soft hum of electricity bring the music to life in a way that those digitally remastered CDs just can’t accomplish. The soundtrack to my life embraces the imperfections and scratches that an mp3 file often doesn’t hold. Don’t get me wrong – I love my ipod and I am sure my treadmill would be covered in dust and laundry if it weren’t for the convenience of magical, portable music on demand.

But here’s the sad part of this story…my husband and I lost every single one of our 300+ records to a terrible flood that swept through New Braunfels in October of 1998. We also lost all of our clothing, furniture, and other useless knick-knacks. It was all gone. Just gone. Even though I know that stuff is just stuff, I remember trying so hard to find even one record that survived. I cried for the ruined mildewy photo albums. I cried for the warped and splintered Russian china cabinet. But mostly I cried for my lost music.

In the ten years that have passed since that flood, my husband and I have rebuilt a nice life. We bought new antiques and dishes and rugs to fill our home. New clothes and shoes and raincoats to fill our closets. We have been blessed with two children that require more stuff than we could have ever imagined. The ipod and music downloading sites have made it possible to have most of our cherished music back.

And now our neighbor has given us a record player.

This past weekend we went to a used record store in the neighboring town of Natick. The place is called Déjà Vu Reords. I am not sure what I was expecting, maybe some ratty little shack that smelled like mice or something, but we were very warmly greeted by the shop’s owner, a tiny little Greek woman who acted as though she had been waiting there all morning just for us to show up. It was like she knew us or something. She immediately led the kids over to some boxes that held children’s records and told them to start a stack of their favorites (some Beethoven for children, ET narrated by Michael Jackson, many Disney collections) and then led my husband and me over to the “Classic Rock” section. Dudes – there were thousands of records! It seemed like every stack I went through held a familiar record from my youth. It was like going through old photo album and seeing pictures of friends you had almost forgotten.

An hour later we brought our huge stack of records over to the counter and waited to hear how much our indulgence was going to cost us. The shop owner asked each one of us our favorites. We talked with this sweet woman about music and about moving to this strange land they call Massachusetts and how we miss our family and how cute the kids are. And then she gave us her price for our records. Ten dollars. Get out, you say. Seriously. 10 singles for all this:

AND. And she asked us to come back this weekend and we will all go to dinner at a little restaurant down the street that she wants to show us. Because she likes us. And I think she might be lonely. But mostly, I think she is just really nice. How cool is that? The kids are so excited and keep reminding us that we have a dinner date with a stranger this weekend. Life is so full of adventures!

So all week, after the dinner dishes are done and the kids are settling down for the night, my husband puts on a record (usually Linda Ronstadt or The Eagles – last night it was an amazing Big Band collection) and we sit on the couch with our evening coffee and feed our souls. Life is so good.

For those of you that are super observant, you might notice that I picked up two copies of “Hotel California.” One is for us to play, and the other is my back-up copy.

Just in case.