The Waiting Game...

No baby yet. In fact, she may have reversed course. I think I've been feeling fingers pretty near the bottom of my throat. There is a foot in my rib cage for sure. And without much shame I have taken to drinking a strong herbal raspberry tea four times a day, taking an herbal supplement called black cohash, walking circles through Target, and practicing acupressure points on myself all in the hopes of coaxing this little girl out. 

They are not working. She is backtracking. My massage therapist, who I went to (again, without shame) with the only hope of triggering labor, said Anniston is too "chilled out" right now. She didn't get the vibe that the girl was on the move at all. 
I told her to try again. 
2 hours and nothing. 
So here I am playing the waiting game at home.  And this gives me lots of time to think. 
Today I had two big thoughts

First of all, I have decided that of my five senses, my sense of taste is absolutely the one I cannot live without. I told this to some of the guys on tour and they said I should take a few days to reconsider because I was talking out of weakness. Pregnancy. Strep throat. Road weary. They were sure I would change my mind. You would really be blind over a few lost taste buds?
Today is the 8th day in a row I have not been able to taste my food. Every single bite I take is utterly frustrating and torturous. Why put calories in that I cannot even taste? Why eat for energy and sustenance alone? Why not just take a vitamin or supplement? Why even go to the table if I must sit there and chew on an amazing concoction that I cannot blissfully enjoy and savor? I leave defeated every time.
I have been blessed to see a million beautiful things with my eyes, most recently the Hoover Dam.  I have smelled the best cookies in the world baking and I have even taken whiffs of fish from Pike's Place in Seattle, noodles and steaming bowls of soup in San Francisco's famous Chinatown, loaves of bread baking in Boston's Little Italy... I've even smelled my way through the chicken farms of Texas to the paper factories in Monroe, LA. Take my smell, you can have it. My hearing? Makes my job a bit more difficult, but I enjoy the deaf community. And I enjoy silence. I could watch a concert and be just as happy. My sense of touch would be a close second as I love little touches more than anything in the world. They are a love language unto themselves. But then again I could always catch the persons eyes, and the eyes are the way into the heart, right? 
So take my sight, smell, hearing, and touch away... but Lord, please let me taste my enchiladas. 
This is, quite possibly, the most selfish thing I have ever decided for myself. But right now, in this moment, maybe I am a desperate woman. I need to wake up tomorrow and taste.  
(And this would be the appropriate time to say yes, Josh, you are being deceived by this woman who claims to know the best Mexican food in your home town. Is she a quarter Hispanic like me? Has she specialized in Mexican food consumption for at least 20 years like me? Has she made it her personal mission to eat Mexican food in every state and country she visits like me? I've had Mexican food in Budapest, Hungary! And most importantly, did she work at Ninfa's for three years of her life and never tire of it's amazing food... like me? Finally, you're from Louisiana. No offense, but seriously, this lady needs to stick with crawfish reviews. Trust me on this one... mama ninfa knew what she was doing.)  (( And now I sound completely insane.))
On Having Deep Roots 

Lately because my parents are "down with it" and into Facebook, Twitter, and the good Lord only knows what else... our family has been reconnecting with so many old friends from churches over the years. 
Admittedly, I am behind the times and cannot bring myself to do Facebook. I don't think I have time for it and I am quite certain I will become addicted if I make the time. So I am living vicariously through them. Anyways, because of their cultural relevance we have been able to catch up with so many people and I am loving it. 
That prompted me to want to use this space to say hello to all of my First Baptist Duncanville friends and family. 
This is the church I attended from 5th grade until I left for college and I have so many roots with the people that I grew up alongside of there. But sometimes you wonder if roots maybe shrivel up. Or if they were ever really roots to begin with? What if they were just twigs or potato string roots... easily washed away or broken? What if no one remembers me or that time was not nearly as important or beautiful in their lives as it was in mine? What if that church, that moment of time, was like a bad x boyfriend never to be heard from again... and so many kisses in vein? 
And then, after all this time, we begin to reconnect. Scott Hoffmeyer, Brandi Wells, Rebecca Wells, Chris Payne, Josh Peterson... these are all the people that read this blog!  I saw Elizabeth Lamb recently as we played a show in her hometown and got a card from Linda McKinney in the mail! Jennifer Tinsley (I should know your real last name by now) and Amy Stendenbach (seriously, sorry about the married people last names) even Dave Watson have all left comments on these pages recently and I am sure I am forgetting many more people! My mom just sent me a picture of friends who were at the Dallas concert Friday night and I had no idea they were even there! But I saw those high school faces and it felt like yesterday. And I guess I just wanted to say hi to everyone from that time in my life.  I'm so excited about hearing from all of you that I am tempted to throw a reunion party. But, with the little person on the way at any moment, I might need to wait! 
If you are still reading even though you did not know anyone in that list of people, know this, it is a beautiful thing to realize that your roots are real.  They may not be perfect or plentiful, they may not be up-to-date or even in the same time zone as you, they may feel like a million years ago... but we live in the golden age of instant communication and because of that reconnecting is easy. And if you are brave enough to take the first step and reconnect with someone from your past, I think you will soon begin to see that you do have roots. That love and friendship and community, no matter how far in the past it existed, has a way of etching into your identity and becoming a part of your soul. Those things do not easily wash away or tear a part. And I am grateful for that. 
Our roots are gifts. They are anchors. Even if it just one root among the weeds. Roots may not know everything about you. Like your husband, your family, your career, or any number of things that may have grown up on your tree and in your branches, but still, they know what is underneath. They are a part of the past that shaped who you are today, and if you look, they might still be there, buried somewhere below the surface. 
I have been blessed this week to be reminded by so many of you that I have roots. So I just wanted to say thank you. 
Thank you for being intertwined in my life and letting me be a part of yours.  
And thank you Facebook. 
There. I said it. But don't expect me to get all gushy about Twitter.