Monday

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This past week has about sent me into early retirement. Here's what it looked like.

Monday.

We flew home that morning (after an amazing weekend of shows with the people of Indiana) and hit the ground running. Ryan and I had so much work to do that we drove an hour away to his parent’s house so that they could watch Annie while we got our “computer” jobs done.

Annie was not down for this drive. Not after an airplane ride and two car rides the day before which left her in the car seat for close to five hours. Nope. She was having no part of this.

She went ballistic.

Ryan jumped in the back seat to soothe her.

She gave him the stink eye.

She continued her high-pitched squealy scream.

We gave in. We pulled over in a stuffy, upscale shopping center and we looked like worn-down airplane rats (gypsies if you will). Ryan went into Smoothie King to ask for free water and I held our dirty, angry, crying baby outside on the bench in the Texas heat.

The rich ladies looked at me. I pulled out the pour-n-go packet of formula from my bag, whipped up a bottle, and began to calm this little person down. Just when it got quiet, I heard a buzz. Then another buzz. Then lots of buzzes.

This bench was like a rich person’s house… only meant for looking at. It was surrounded by big potted plants and needed a sign that read, “Warning: This bench is just meant to be looked at and not actually sat upon. In reality, we don’t want you sitting in front of our stores anyways. That’s why the bench is surrounded by an entire rainforest of plants, shrubs, bushes, and flowers. And, just in case you don’t get the hint, we’ve planted three beehives and wasp colonies to ensure you don’t sit here. But thank you for visiting our shops. Really, we are happy that you came our way today.”

I was sitting in a bee colony. And this is a moment, as a parent, you are trying not to scream like a little girl…no, you are trying to stay calm and not instill fear in your kids (The way my mom did with us when my dad was working night shifts as a police officer. “What was that noise? Did you hear that? Girls, be quiet! Jenny you get a knife from the kitchen. Melissa you grab the phone. Sarah, you stay under your covers.” Wow. Thanks lady. I’m still dealing with anxiety attacks and reaching for butcher knives). So, as calmly as I could, I brought Annie up to my chest, held her tight, buried her eyes into my arms so she couldn’t see…

Then I screamed like a little girl, bolted from the bench, and opened up the door to the first store and ran in. Literally, I ran in.

I was panting. I’ve got a baby and a bottle in one arm, an ugly purse and drool running down the other arm, no make-up, and we look like airplane rats. Now I’m in some high-end swanky boutique with really cute clothes that, I tell myself, I could have fit into long before the stretch marks. That is, if I could’ve afforded them. “Stop Jenny. No room for self-defeat right now.”

The two gorgeous college girls with boob jobs, blonde hair, and awesome outfits that were working there just sort of looked at me. No welcome or anything.

What? I can shop in your stupid store. In this moment I wish I had a $1,000 to drop just to make a point. Stupid point, I know. But dang I wanted to make it.

So, I strolled around (in my sweats, hair falling into my face, still feeding my baby with a petrified look that should’ve let everyone know I was just barely attacked by the wasps that live on their fake-not-for-real-people-to-sit-on bench) looking intently at each piece of clothing and stitching as if I were the master of their universe and I had every intention of purchasing something real nice (again, spoken as Eddie from Christmas Vacation). As if I were intentionally planning on getting out of the house that day to go to their store. As if I have so much money and so much class that I don’t even care how I go into a store, I just go when and how I please.

I was tempted to have them set up a fitting room for me and order the finest clothes sent there for my approval. But then I remembered how exhausted I was. I just needed to get this baby fed and get on with the trip.

“Hum. Perhaps next time I will buy something from you ladies,” I said in my head. I scanned the store over with my eyes, giving it a look of disdain. And then in my Meryl Streep, Devil Wears Prada, voice I said to them in my head, “That will be all.” And I left.

Tuesday and Wednesday

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I am skipping over the rest of Monday night. Like the massage I got out of desperation from the only woman giving a massage in that town at that time of the night. She worked from a building where I am quite sure people actually go into just so they can smoke. Maybe it’s backwards there. They work outside and come inside for a smoke. I am not sure. But I was sick within minutes from the smell and totally stressed out. Woman, I am coming to you for healing but I am leaving with second hand smoke lung cancer. All I could see were those tar commercials from the 80’s with the little shriveled dying lungs, little dancing carcinogens, and I could here the song that my friend Jeff sings that he learned in first grade, “We are the smoke-free class of 2000, two triple zero, everyone’s a hero.” I started feeling cancerous instantly. I should’ve left but I felt bad.

And, in the nicest but most honest way I know how to say it, it was like getting a massage from a sumo-wrestler. It took every ounce of energy and will power to doze off and not pay attention to the fact that my head or foot or whatever body part she was working on seemed to disappear somewhere within her rolls and rolls and rolls of skin. Nope. That was not four layers of armpit just swishing back and forth over my forehead; it was a very heavy raincloud, so go back to sleep.

So Tuesday and Wednesday?

Tuesday and Wednesday we did one final round of songwriting for the album that, yes, we start recording on Monday morning. This lasted all day long. Ryan watched Annie. I expended the last little bits of brainpower that I had on songs that will probably not even make it onto the album. I felt done, you know, with life in general. I just wanted Oprah and ice cream. Instead, I went home and watched Annie so Ryan could take a break and get his work done.

Exhausting. We were both worn out.

Thursday

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Patiently watching Mom and Dad pack.

Helping mom with laundry.

This morning it dawns on me that we leave after our show on Saturday to go record the new album in Nashville and then we head straight into a tour with Sanctus Real. I won’t be home until the end of October. Two whole months. By then my baby will be almost 7 months old. She is going on 5 months now. By then my baby will have her first tooth. By then the weather will be cold. By then she will be eating solids (if I am ever brave enough to feed them to her). By then I will need a Halloween costume for her. And for me. We are going to be matching this year; I can’t believe I get to start trick-or-treating all over again! This makes me supremely happy! I will finally get my chance to be the Little Mermaid! By then she will wear different size diapers, fit in different clothes, and she will need a coat. And maybe some gloves. Oh, and maybe her feet will fit into shoes by then.

How do you pack for such an outing? I have mom friends who get overwhelmed bringing their babies somewhere new for a week. And here I am staring down two months. Who signed me up for this gig? I don’t think I want it today.

I want to crawl back in bed and claim disability. Early retirement. I want to lay on the couch and eat donuts. I want to move to Australia. (I stole this line from Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, NO Good, Very Bad Day.)

I mope for a while and then rally the troops. I spend Thursday and Friday packing and cleaning. Remembering to turn off the ice machine, unplug chords from the wall, and scrubbing toilets. I try and give the small amounts of food I have in the fridge to the neighbors because I cannot bear to throw away perfectly decent food. I scrub the shower with my toothbrush, which I do not use again. I am afraid that if I leave the shower with even a bit of mold or mildew I will come home to a butterfly or insect garden in my bathtub. That would be gross.

Annie wakes up Friday night at 2:30 a.m. covered, head to toe in her own urine. We switched to Luvs diapers. Luvs diapers are now my enemy. I have to basically bathe her on the changing station, feed her, and try to get her back to sleep… in my bed. I felt so bad for her. Who knows how long she had been lying there like that. And the kid doesn’t cry when she’s unhappy, she just rolls with it, or in this case, lies with it. We woke up three hours later and left the house for our show today. And now, we are driving home with an ETA of 12:15 p.m.

Whew. Australia does sound nice.

But tomorrow we will leave for Nashville.

And tomorrow a new week begins.

Epilogue

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Epilogue.

Annie is sleeping. The boys are in the van driving to Nashville. I am meeting my mother-in-law at the airport in an hour and we are taking Annie to airport via my second home: American Airlines.

I have a stomachache. I am so tired. My body hurts. We packed 7 suitcases total. And the show we did played in the dirt bowl last night in San Angelo? Three hours behind. So we didn’t get home until really, really late (I feel bad for Third Day. Mac twittered a little after 11 p.m. and said they were still not on stage. They were supposed to be on between 8:00-9:00 p.m. Wow.)

Anyways. That’s all over now and I am sitting on the couch, literally in a daze, trying to catch my breath. It feels good though. The kind of catching your breath you do after a good run or hard workout when you know you have just done something good for your body and soul. It sort of feels like that.

I am grateful for my mother-in-law this morning.

I was raised in a family of career women and I can’t say that I’ve always understood her choice to stay home and be a full-time mom. After her sons left she continued on as a full-time wife and full-time, unpaid, volunteer at church who teaches choir and leads an amazing, in-depth women’s Bible study. I never thought it was wrong; I just never understood it.

I told her this week how much her helping us with Annie means to me. How her being able to drop everything and come to Nashville while we record is the best blessing in the whole world; for us, but more importantly, for Annie Boo.

She said she had always known she was called to serve her family and the church and that in the midst of that call sometimes she felt misunderstood or judged for her decisions. When money was tight, and her having a salaried job would have made a huge impact, she held firm to the belief that God had called and gifted her to be available to her children, family, friends, and church. I think this took amazing obedience on her part.

Now she is a stay-at-home grandma. I wonder if God knew that I would desperately need the help? I wonder if He weaves our dreams and ambitions and cultivates things within our hearts so early in life because he knows, perhaps, that Ila’s son will go on to make music and travel all over the country and Jenny’s family will all move away (also following God’s call) and that there will be a big, gaping hole for someone. And then that someone gets to be his grandma who has always known her calling was to take care of her family. And now her grandbaby. That’s pretty beautiful I think.

I wonder if God really is that thoughtful? That careful? That mindful? Though I don’t believe He would ever force a certain life on us, I think He puts things in our souls that, if followed, can be a part of a very beautiful dream He had for us long before we even had it ourselves.

At least that is what I am thinking this morning.

Off to Nashville my friends.