Forgetting Finland? Forget It.

Years ago I stumbled upon an adorable little notebook designed specifically to keep track of all the cute/funny/ridiculous/oh-please-never-let-me-forget-this things that kids say as they grow.

I've used it all of like, maaaaaaybe 10 times. *sigh*

It's not that I don't absolutely love the concept of the notebook, but the moments when I think "Oo! I should write that down!" are never the moments when I am actually near the notebook, pen-in-hand, ready to record the totes adorbs-ness of my wee ones. At times, I've written whole posts dedicated to toddler-isms and those are fun, but again, I just don't do it on a regular enough basis, so I know some of these funny phrases are going to fade out both from usage and my memory, and eventually Raegan will learn to say "Surprise!" instead of "Ka-Prize!", and I won't remember just how many times Lincoln really said "UP!" and "NO!!!" in one day (we'd be horrified if we'd actually count, especially the second one), or Harrison will no longer refer to events as happening "accidentally-maybe-on-purpose-actually" and so on.

In the spirit of keeping my Littles little, I want to do a bit more of so-called record keeping, documenting their budding personalities and passions, both in the words/phrases they use and in the totally-random-but-how-did-I-not-see-this-coming stories of raising my little future interrogators.

Today's entrainment stemmed from a conversation between HD and myself during lunch, after he was dropped off from preschool and while RL & LT were upstairs napping. This is our mid-day routine pretty much every day, and it is pretty much awesome because I get some one-on-one time with him right after he gets home from school and we get to chat and eat together before we both go our separate ways for screen time (or, in my case, a nap) (and P.S. you know I'm kidding right? I don't actually abandon him while he plays on the Kindle). Typically I don't get a whole lot of info out of him as he mows down his food, but this afternoon sparked a series of questions that I now fear is never going to end.

Because we know some friends planning a trip to Disney World, HD spent the first part of our lunch asking me about what Disney World actually is. And once he put two and two together to realize that it is basically a big playground populated by some of the characters most beloved by children in the history of children, it wasn't more than 15 seconds before he asked, "Is there an Angry Birds Land???" because, let's face it - that's where his heart is/was/and will perhaps forever be.

Being the tech-savvy mama that I am, I instantly took to Google-fu to find out that yes, yes there IS an Angry Birds Land, which I showed him via pictures on Google Images and a random video of a teenager reviewing some new rides on youtube (one of those parenting moments that could have been horrible because I did not view it prior to showing to my 5yo, but which fortunately turned out to be harmless except for that fact that it made my 5yo want to go to there even more so than before and sooner, too.). But for the life of me, I could not freaking figure out where on earth this said Land actually resides. The double dots (ha! I'm sure there is a proper term for those, but are you kidding me? this baby in my belly is taking brain cells by the second. I'm lucky I have any words in my own language left!) were a pretty good indicator, though, that we were screwed because there was no way that meant the Lower 48, you know?

After some more investigating, I finally figured out that the location is in fact Finland. I think. Again, see the above note about brain cells. But pretty sure it's something Scandinavian, which man, I would love to visit that part of the world, but are you kidding me?! Why does Angry Birds Land have to be in Scandinavia?!

In an attempt to explain to HD just how far away Finland is from Nebraska, I pulled up a world map next to show him that we would have to go over an ocean to get there and that would be hard because it would take a really long time and cost a LOT of money, which of course led to the questions of how long? and how much? which in turn lead to me pulling up Priceline and finding the answers: over a day of travel and a mere $1200 for one adult to get to Helsinki (which, for the record, I have no proof is actually even geographically close to ABL or not).

Of course none of my lesson in Internet research made a lick of difference in terms of actually getting said 5yo to accept that we probably aren't going to ABL any time soon/ever. In fact, the whole quest seemed to latch in his brain even more after seeing the images and I heard about very little else the rest of the day. I was thrilled - elated, I tell you! - for Ben to get home after school so I could go to my dentist appoint to have my teeth cleaned (not even kidding) and laughed myself out the door as I listened to HD tell B, "It's Fin-LIND not Fin-LAND, Daddy." Oh, the things a young boy can learn in an afternoon.

He wants to go next week, by the way, for my birthday, or for a Special Mama and Harrison Date, or maaaaaaaybe, he'll be okay with going on the 30th of the month. But really, that's probably too long to wait if you really ask him.

I would say, let's just hope The Next Big Thing comes along soon, but seeing how long he's been on the Angry Birds kick itself, I do not have high hopes of forgetting Finland any time soon.

Women Need Women

This morning at MOPS, our group heard ideas, answers, and advice from two of our Mentor Moms - women who have moved to the next stage of parenting (have adult children) and who can come to meetings to do any number of tasks which include listening, holding babies, and sharing their own wisdom from the Been There/Done That perspective. I've had the joy of being paired with women truly worthy of the title Mentor in the past and it was so good this morning to hear what they had to say about everything from how to handle tantrums to the Great Holiday Divide (totally a different subject/blog post, but wow. Good stuff and good discussion). But of everything that we talked about at this morning's meeting, it was these three words said by a member of the Mentor panel that jumped up and grabbed my heart: women need women. 

Have you ever heard anything more true? I don't know that I have, with the exception of a longer version of the very same concept that a friend shared online a few months ago. There's no way I can possibly paraphrase her and do her ideas justice, so I give to you the post itself:

"Ladies: Always surround yourself with women who let you be yourself. If you feel inferior around your people, they are not your people. If you dress differently, sit quit when you normally have something to say, feel bored, feel icky...You run like hell from these women. Although we are SUPPOSED to belong to each other, there are some who do not want you to belong. And my loves, it's not you. It's in their heart. Your women will tell you when you're wrong, they will hear your cries, they will shake you awake, they will call you beautiful. If you cannot share your deepest secrets with your women, they are not your women. If they laugh at you when you get a crazy idea, they are not your women. If they let you run around acting like a complete wench, they are not your women. Your best friends will see every part of you. They will invest in you, and you invest in them. A friendship deserves honesty and rawness and hurt and laughter. If you cannot tell your friend she hurt you, she's not your friend. If you pick up the phone and there's nothing to talk about, hang up the phone. She's not your woman. Our friendship to one another is important. Choose wisely. And when you get strong, you pull others in so they can belong, too." 

Isn't that spot on the best thing ever for a woman to write/believe/do? I think so, and I shared it on Facebook right after I originally read it because, seriously people, at some point we deserve to leave middle school. There is no reason we have to remain stuck in the hormonal hell of young adolescence, constantly trying to win the love and affection of others. Wondering if they like us. If we are good enough. We are good enough. But we need each other and if we can't be good to each other, we need to move on. That is the most simple and most pure way I can describe what it means to find your tribe, the women you need and who need you in return.

Two of my favorite writers, Glennon from Momastery and Patti Digh (of Life is a Verb fame), both write on this idea of tribes and what it means to have one. They both believe it is vital to have people in your life who can in fact, be your people. Your tribe might be members of your family or friends you have known forever, or maybe it is someone you just meet at the grocery store last week. Your tribe consists of those who know you, get you, and love you all the same. And sometimes it is really freaking hard to find these souls.

A few years ago, reading or having someone tell me I needed a tribe would have made me burst into tears. OK, it doesn't take much to do that, but this would have been the ugly cry sort of tears because in early motherhood I felt isolated and withdrawn way more than I felt connected, seen, or heard. It doesn't help that I am huge introvert (aren't most people who love to write?) and the thought of forcing myself to be social in order to meet women who could be my BFFs was terrifying. I mean, no pressure, right?!

Slowly but surely, though, I have made progress in the whole leave-your-house/make-some-friends journey.  This has meant I've had to both accept offers from others when given and extend invitations of my own to new people I meet or sometimes to old acquaintances I want to know better (and truth, all of the above can be out of my comfort zone). Over the last few years, I have met some interesting women. Some amazing. Some who came into my circle, my tribe, and stayed close. And some who came in for a time and then moved on, because let's face it,  once you get up the courage to put yourself out there to define your tribe, actually recognizing those who know, get, and love you all the same sometimes takes time. Being vulnerable and taking that time, though, are vital because women need women.

None of us were meant to go this road alone, whether we are SAHMs, working moms, pet parents, or "just" women (there is nothing "just" about being a woman or a person for that matter - it's all pretty freaking challenging from what I can see). We need each other to listen, see, accept, support, love, nurture, challenge, and need us. I believe you can be the most independent and confident person in the world and you will still need a tribe of a few who can be and do these things for you because without connection, what is the point? For some people, this support might take the shape of a spouse or significant other. I have an amazing one of those and I tell you honestly, I still need a tribe. My husband knows me, gets me, and loves me all the same, but without friends who can do the same, my heart is not as full as it could be. This is why I continue to put myself out there, to make connections with other women as I make my way (sometimes striding, sometimes stumbling) through this world. It is the grace and love I can give to these women and that which I receive in return that makes the trying and trying again so very much worth it.

No woman alone. There are those out there who deserve a spot in your tribe. Those who know, get, and love you all the same.

Backslide

Within six hours of my last post, at the start of last week, my Lenten Promise  was clearly shot. It's hard to commit to a daily yoga practice, even just for 10-15 minutes a day, when you can't breathe or stop blowing your nose for days, and have a fever for over 48 hours straight. Just getting through Tuesday through Thursday of last week was a challenge and that was without even leaving my house once in that time span. So no, no yoga for me last week (I even missed multiple days of teaching which has been very rare since I began last fall), because once I got my feet back on the ground, it was all I could do to keep up with getting my house back in functioning shape and food on the table and all that other maternal/spousal/adult stuff I am expected to do in this world.

Now it is Wednesday, two weeks beyond Ash Wednesday, and I haven't done any of my own practice in eight or nine days (Math. Blergh.) - not exactly a shinning start to 40 Days of Yoga. I can feel it, too, because whereas at the time of my last post I was feeling pretty good (was totally doing my best to ignore warning signs of impending doom in my sinuses), I am back to noticing the not-so-good in both my body and my mood. Back and hips? Stiff and creaky. Mind and attitude? Wee-bit sour and cranky.

At least I have an immediate answer and fix to this. I just have to step up and really recommit because this is a big week (big month, actually) of taking on some extra classes to teach and when you top that with the hubbub of activity we have going on this March, it's going to be April and Easter before we know it, and I do not want to get lost in the whirlwind. I know myself well enough to know that this much is true:

I cannot let my teaching schedule (or social calendar, etc.) get in the way here. Somehow I've also got to find a way to get past The Naps which is what I'm calling my No.1 pregnancy indicator (symptom seems like a poor word choice, but you get my drift) (and truth, it's probably No.2 because, let's face it, CrankyPants is my No.1) these days. I am so freaking tired all day long that I have been falling asleep on the couch even when the kids are playing - loudly - right in front of me. These bizarre cat naps do not actually result in great rest and often I wake up from them feeling super groggy and downright confused at times, but it's like I can't help it.

A baby in the belly means I don't sleep well at night and apparently my body has decided that it's going to make up for that deficit during the day, whether I intend to or not. And somedays this happens two or three times! Good practice for when Baby arrives? Maybe, except for that whole supposed-to-be-parenting-the-other-children gig I've got going on....

Unless I relinquish full control to PBS (and there's no way that works for a peanut LT's age), this current approach just isn't going to work. Here's hoping instead that the whole Second Trimester Energy Boost (it should totally be a proper noun) comes SOON!

Promises, Promises

On Ash Wednesday, a friend happened to ask in a group message if I (and the others in the convo, obviously) had any Lenten promises to share. I'll be honest, I was stumped. I mean, I knew Lent was beginning and all that but giving up something for Lent has never been a big part of my religious or spiritual life. Sure, I've given up stuff in the past in high school and college, but mainly because my friends were too, not because I was really committing it to anything higher. So when several of us responded that we in fact did not have any good ideas of what to give up this year, the friend who posed the original question then said the best thing - the exact right thing I needed to hear, actually - to explain her approach to Lent.

My wise friend explained that it doesn't have to be giving up something but rather a Lenten promise can be about changing something to help motivate that same change in behavior or attitude later, post-Lent. Of course this makes total sense and perhaps you already understand Lent in this way, but something about her description just clicked for me.

In fact, let's just say the whole exchange was a little Light Bulb moment for me.

Let me also be clear that lately I have been struggling. Struggling a lot, actually, with things like anger and parental patience and just my attitudes in general. Remember the recent "Regression" blog post? These are all things that I have made leaps and bounds with in terms of progress since I began therapy and yoga the fall after Linky was born. Not that I suddenly became this perfectly happy and eternally blissed out person, but major progress to a calmer, more realistic, and overall happier me? Yes. Yes. And YES.

And then I got pregnant. Laugh or scoff if you want, and while it is not entirely fair to attribute blame Baby No.4 for my backsliding as of late, said babe is going to bear some of the weight here. For one thing, pregnancy makes me not sleep. From the first trimester on, my sleep is a wreck and as a person who has dealt with some serious sleep deprivation over the years (and who just started to make progress during the second half of the previous year), being back in the land of little sleep is scary. I know what little-to-no sleep does to me and my general outlook on life, because my short fuse and quick mouth start to take over and it is no fun for anyone in my house. Fortunately, this time, I can look at my poor sleep as temporary. Yes, I am likely going to be tired from now until Baby arrives and then hella tired for some time after that, but eventually I'll get back on track. TiredCrankyMommy will not exist forever, or at least not for such an extended period of time.

Another thing Baby No.4 has contributed to, sort of/kind of, is my other coping skill beyond sleep which is, of course, my yoga practice. Now Baby's role here is really just in regards to my energy level. I haven't been to a regular class at the studio since early January because I just don't have the stamina to keep up with a mainstream 60-minute class right now. I also quit going because before people knew I was pregnant, I did not want to draw attention to the fact that I was making certain modifications that would look really strange for a capable teacher to be making. Not that I owe others an explanation, but it all felt weird, so I backed off the public class scene.

All of this leads me to the point where I take the rest of responsibility for losing touch with my yoga practice because I dropped the ball. Totally. Instead of hopping online to use a subscription site like yogaglo to support my home practice or putting on the prenatal yoga DVD I have or just applying the ding-dang knowledge I have as a certified prenatal yoga instructor (sheesh), I quit doing any practice outside of my teaching. For almost two months now I have chosen to go without the one activity that I know works. Not the best choice.

So yes, a light bulb pretty much exploded in my brain when my friend shared the idea of approaching Lent as a change in behavior/attitude. I needed both, and of course my answer to both was get.on.the.mat! Ever seen the hashtag #yogaeverydamnday ??  I sure have and it also popped in my head at the same time the light bulb blew up. 40 days of yoga. That became my Lenten promise. And nothing grand or super physical, either. I said if I could just do 10 minutes a day, I'd probably feel a lot better. And (yay, me!) I was right.

Since making my promise, I have done 10-15 minutes each day but not counting anything that includes when I'm teaching. That's teaching, not practicing. And the whole thing has been great. I feel like I have more space in my own body (always a bonus during pregnancy since the little peanut seems to instantly take up a lot of room) and I am dealing more appropriately with kid meltdowns and general shenanigans which keeps my head space in a much better place than TiredCrankyMommy's.

Now there was Saturday night when I got caught up reading a book and kind of forgot my yoga until I was in bed and instead of getting up opted to do some breathwork until I fell asleep, but I'm still counting it. Actually, breathwork and quieting my mind are probably even more important than a physical practice for me right now because the breath and the mind go hand in hand, so when one races, so too does the other, so yes - it totally counts and it's probably going to happen again. And that's OK! So long as I keep going, doing my little bits here and there every blessed day so I can keep clearing the fog in my brain and releasing the anger and frustration from my system (physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual) I'll be making such a positive step with my little Lenten promise. Because I know, for me, this works, and getting back to something that works for me - that allows me to stay me and stay the best version of me, is as crucial now as it has ever been.

Belly Up

Yesterday was an exciting day; it marked 12 weeks of Baby No.4 (who checked out wiggly - are you surprised?- and awesome at my OB appt. on Thursday) which in turn marked the start of said babe's Belly Watch. It is also the start of me doing some serious work on myself (attitudes/tendencies of thought) and being, in my own way, extremely brave when it comes to my issues with body/self perception.

I have been working on the body image stuff for a while now and have written about it from time to time on the blog, but right now everything feels heightened (probably because it is by all these crazy pregnancy hormones racing through my body right now). I want so very much to be okay with my size and shape, and you would think that being pregnant would be some sort of free pass on all that, but that's never been the case for me. I may have taken a stomach exposing picture of weeks 12-40(ish) of each baby but that does not mean it has been easy for me to do or share.

Last time, with Lincoln, I spent a lot of time feeling and being very self-critical of how I looked, and worse, very susceptible to the comments of others, which as we all know, come without invitation and usually without any sort of filter, either. I also felt a growing (pun intended) anxiety over potential comparison, both of my own belly to that of other mamas-to-be, and to myself as well. I was so busy wondering if people might think I looked fat or awful or waaaay bigger than ever before that I missed an opportunity to just enjoy the miracle of growing a person and all that physically accompanies such work.

So why do it again if it caused so much anguish in the past? It's not like Baby No.4 is really going to care if his/her bump was ever displayed on Mama's Facebook page, right? Well probably not, but right now this ventures feels as much about me as it does Baby. This is about finding that place of comfort and acceptance in my own skin, no matter how big my belly gets, and trust me, it's much bigger at 12 weeks than ever before, but see? There's that icky little comparison game again that I've got to stop doing. There are a handful (and more) reasons why I might be bigger at this point this time around than ever before. But much as I can rationalize it, it still doesn't matter if I can't accept it, and that's why I will be doing a fourth public belly watch - because I want public accountability of embracing and loving whatever comes. It doesn't mean I am fishing for compliments and it doesn't mean that people still won't say less-than-thoughtful comments; it means that I will continue to find positive things about myself and the pregnancy to share each week and will be brave in learning to detach from what, if anything, is said about the photos.

And on that note, I share with you, Week 12 of Baby No.4's Belly Watch: a bump that for the first time ever, has not lost weight in the first trimester because I have not been sick. Not even once! How could I not celebrate a belly like that?!

Regression

Holy mother of being a mother. This week, I tell ya, has been a bit of A Week. I'd love to credit blame the moon or the weather or anything other than myself, but the reality is, it is my short temper and edginess that is probably making everything seem worse/more intense.

OK, my kids deserve some credit blame, too. I won't name names but this week I've dealt with children bolting down the driveway/sidewalk (and laughing), screaming and crying because I let un-named child turn off the TV exactly as per said-un-named child's request, AND screaming and crying for 25 minutes because somehow I missed the telepathic request for peanut butter and jelly, not honey, on both sandwiches for lunch yesterday and how could un-named child possibly ever stop crying because it was my fault that said-un-named child was crying in the first place but said-un-named child also, apparently, needed me to keep talking to stop the crying. W.T.H.?! Are you exhausted yet? Patience lost? Yeah, me too.

It doesn't help that Cranky B* is a classic pregnancy "symptom" for me in part because I am run down and tired and not feeling well, and in part because of, you know, the raging hormones and all that. I am not ashamed to say that I don't always handle myself or my family in the best way when I am in the family way - it just is what it is. But this week has felt especially dispiriting because it feels like such a reversion to Angry Mommy of the past. Pre-therapy/pre-yoga/pre-better-coping skills (although I don't know anyone who could have handled the Great Sandwich Meltdown of 2015 - from their own kid anyway - without feeling despair, and, in my defense, I did not yell, WTF is your problem?! or call Bullshit! at any point in the 25 minutes. At least not out loud, so I'll call that a parenting win, especially during this challenging week).

After two extremely hard days in a row, of both kid behavior and my reactions/desperation, it occurred to me that a key part of my coping skills has been lacking totally missing lately - yoga. Yes, I know some of you might think I walk around thinking yoga is the wonder cure of all that ails ya (actually, that's pretty true), but that's because it is something that really does help most, if not all, of what ails me. It makes my physical body feel good, but more importantly it helps sooth my mental, spiritual, and emotional bodies, too. And lately I have not been getting on the mat other than to teach which is clearly a huge problem.

When I started teaching last fall, I immediately learned that preserving and protecting my own practice was going to be challenging but mandatory. After getting pregnant, those ideas did not change, but first trimester stuff has clearly gotten in my way the last two months and that is something I cannot credit blame my kids for - at least not the ones already out and running around my house like perfectly cute (and probably perfectly normal) hooligans. I know how important self-care and me time is and for me, that is best suited in yoga. I need to do the yoga! Not just teach it. So if I'm still not sure I have the energy level to do a full hr-long class at the studio, I need to do my own little practices here at home. Find something online or just make it up on own. It's not like I haven't had the training to handle this! Home practice is an area in which I have always struggled but seeing as how I am struggling so much right now without any yoga, even a less-than-stellar hop on the mat at home would be better than nothing. For all of us!

Listen

This past weekend found me in Omaha for one more (for now) yoga training, this one my final installment of prenatal training. In a beautifully (and symbolically appropriate) way, this closing module brought me such a sense of peace plus knowledge, which is great because the very first one stirred up a lot shtuff for me, and now that I've done the work and put in the time, energy, and tears that always seem to accompany my yoga trainings, I feel prepared and ecstatic to begin teaching my prenatal class this coming Sunday. It is going to be awesome! What turned out to be less than awesome, however, was my journey home from my Ommmazaing weekend in Ommmmaha.

As all of you in and around Nebraska know, this past weekend brought with it something we haven't seen much of this year, known in local circles as "Winter." Because we have had such little snow and within the last week, days of 60* temps, I don't know that any of us were quite ready for this so-called Winter (nor was it properly predicted which made the whole appearance of 6-8 inches of snow plus wind plus freezing-arse cold even worse). At least, I was not. When I left for Omaha on Friday afternoon, I actually had to come back in the house to get my winter coat, "just in case" and oh my, come Sunday when I was digging out my car in my friend's driveway (bless her heart and another friend's for digging out said driveway so I could leave), was I ever glad to have that coat (and hat, gloves, boots, and Smartwools!).

After going slow and taking twice as long as normal to get across town to the studio for our final of final days (and rewarding myself with Starbucks upon doing so), I attended a great birthing workshop lead by two doulas from Omaha (on Baby 4 and still learning amazing things about birth and labor and natural birth!), had a tasty late/working lunch with all my yoginis, and celebrated our group with a heartfelt closing ceremony that cracked my heart wide open, once again, in all the best ways.

At that point, it was time to finally decide what I would be doing with the rest of my day, which included calling and texting both my hubs and couple friends to see what they thought of travel. Since one of my dearest friends was in Lincoln with her family for the day, Ben thought it would work well if I left Omaha, met up with them as they were leaving Lincoln and we caravanned home. I agreed because, man, I wanted to get home so badly, even though I knew there had been some pretty serious accidents along I-80 throughout the day and that it would be slow going. Part of me hesitated though because I did not want to put myself at risk and was hemming and hawing for a fair chunk of time before I finally took the plunge and headed out into the frozen tundra.

Two indicators that I should have stayed overnight? The first was that I left my rings at my friend's house Sunday morning in my flurry to dig out my car, throw everything in it, and head for the studio. I don't know how I did that (or why I even had them since I normally don't wear them to yoga other than the fact that I wanted to feel connected to Ben and my family while I was away), but I knew I wasn't going to drive the opposite direction from home to get them unless I was staying again. The second was that when I was going back and forth on "Should I stay or should I go now??" I thought about calling my dad and then didn't because I knew he would tell me to stay put and apparently that wasn't what I wanted to hear so I didn't ask. Sorry, Dad; you were so right, even though you didn't say a darn word. So yes, the lesson learned is that when the Universe gives you a sign (leaving your wedding ring and great-grandma's mother's ring) at your friend's house and you want to be as stubborn as a toddler and ignore the good advice you know you'll get from you parents, LISTEN TO THOSE VOICES. Sheesh.

As it was, the first hour of my trip went really well, so I thought I had made a great choice. I made sure I had a full tank of gas and was driving cautiously, and I made it from Omaha to Lincoln much faster (but not actually fast, mind you!) than anticipated. I even manifested Katy Perry coming on the radio to inspire my inner-Durga (that's not going to make much sense to those who were not with me over the weekend at training, sorry) and all was well. Except that my phone started beeping "Low Battery" just as I went around Lincoln and I thought about pulling over to chill somewhere for 20 minutes and charge it, but then decided to just keep going because the roads were clear(ish) and there was still daylight. My friend and her hubs were not ready to leave Lincoln yet, so we chatted briefly on the phone, and decided maybe we'd meet up along the way home, maybe not. All was well. Until it was not.

While getting around Lincoln was no trouble, the roads started to get more snow-packed and slick as I got closer to the Crete exit. Traffic slowed down but kept moving and I thought, OK. This is still OK. After passing the Milford exit and shortly thereafter, the Seward exit, traffic slowed all the way to a stop. I bet I wasn't a 1/4 mile past the Seward exchange at that point but there was clearly no going back since, hi, that's not legal, and cars and trucks were packed in tight in both lanes. That was at 6:00 p.m. And although I did not know it at the time, it would not be until two-and-a-half HOURS later that I would make it the SIX miles down the Interstate to the next possible exit, at which point I felt like the biggest fool for even considering the idea of leaving Omaha yesterday, much less actually trying to do so!

During those two-and-a-half hours, I went through the full range of emotions. At first I was like, well, no big deal. I have plenty of gas and I am warm and I'm not in the ditch. All is well. Thankfully, all of those three things remained constant the entire time I was stuck either not moving or inching along the road. But then I started to panic and freak out a bit because my phone had been beeping low battery for so long and I had no way to charge it, so I was worried that it was going to go out on me and then no one could keep me updated on road conditions or know that I was OK and the whole thing was just panic-inducing, isolating, and kind of scary.

By some not-so-small miracle, though, my phone hung in there for the entire experience. And it allowed me to make multiple calls and send multiple texts which also had me experiencing the full range of emotions (bursting out in tears while taking to my dear friend who, after leaving Lincoln well over an hour after I went by, caught up to the Seward exit and was able to get off I-80 to drive on the highway instead whereas I was still stuck less than four miles in front of her) (getting really upset at my husband for telling me I should get off at Goehner - the next exit - and "find a bar" where I could charge my phone and hang out for a bit before heading on) (laughing out loud with my SiL, whose house, at that point, was my goal destination via the exit past Goehner, about the fact that her brother thought I should hang out at a bar when I couldn't even drink) (to relief when I heard from Ben that he'd found multiple places for me to stay if I did in fact get off at Goehner, including the house of a friend of his mom's who lives, literally, a 1/4 mile off the exit ramp there). Full range, people. Full range. All told, it was NUTS (and don't even ask about what my pregnant bladder thought of the whole debacle).

But yes. Six miles in two-and-a-half hours and I finally, blessedly, thankfully, safely made it off that damn road and to a landing spot for the night where I could plug in my little wonder-phone, let people know I was OK, eat some yummy SuperBowl food, and have a room and comfy bed all to myself. And all courtesy of gracious people whom I had never met before but were beyond happy to help. Thank goodness for good people!

Clearly exhausted from last night's proceedings, I slept in until almost 7:30 this morning and after breakfast and starting/loading the car, braved the end of my host's driveway and got back on the interstate at 8:30 this morning. Two hours after that (which is normally just shy of the time it takes me to get from Hastings all the way to Omaha), I made it home. The roads were clearly not great but traffic was at least moving, so I took my time and was in no-rush whatsoever to get anywhere. Except maybe Starbucks in York. I had already decided I was stopping there because that's what I do, but just outside of York, a truck went by me and found just enough melted junk on the road to cover my windshield in yuck, at which point I realized my driver side windshield-wiper-fluid-dispenser-thing-a-ma-bob was plugged with ice. The seven miles into York from there were less than fun, but I made it safe and sound and got my scrapper out after I parked at Starbucks to fix everything. However, the ice was especially stuck in the tiny little holes, so my scraper didn't quite do the trick and my windshield was still a mess, leaving me to wonder how I was actually going to get home if I couldn't see.

Fortunately I have some mad MacGyver skills and managed to use a Starbucks stir-stick to get it cleaned out so I could in fact make it all the way back to Hastings yet today. Have I said THANK GOODNESS yet in this post? Because I've been thinking it nonstop for the last few hours now that I am safe and sound (and bathed and showered) in my own cozy home.

A girl and her stick. Just another reason for
me to heart Starbucks. 

Of course hindsight is 20/20 and no one could have predicted running into that intense of a traffic jam when nothing about it was being reported at the time I left, and while my sanity and pride wish I had listened to those little voices that said STAY, ultimately it all worked out and in the safest, most pleasant (all things considered) way. And my lesson is totally learned - sometimes being a bada** means just staying the flip put and waiting for better conditions to travel!