A Slow Leak from Haides

For two weeks in February us little Wigs found ourselves calling a hotel on Wilshire home after an angry after-church note from a downstairs neighbor revealed a massive pipe leak in the kitchen. What she thought was soda spilled through the kitchen vent was actually dark sludge coming from the hot water valve en route to our dishwasher (and instead finding wide open spaces to explore in both of our walls, cabinets, floor, ceilings, etc). The restoration team was in our apartment early the next day letting me know that this little leak made a big name for himself and that we were to be displaced immediately for an unknown amount of time--probably about three days. Well, as is nearly always the case, three days turned into a week and then into two, and when we finally moved back into our apartment we still spent a few more days with workers coming in and out, re-installing appliances and cabinets and countertops and such. Just now, about a week after we moved back in, things seem to have settled down on the home front and I don't expect or fear that there will be a buzz on my door every time I turn around. Now I'm just expecting and fearing calls from the insurance companies. I think I'll take the construction workers back!

Our hotel was nice and there was a kitchen which was a MAJOR plus since Quinny still requires morning and evening bottles of warm milk. There was one sleeping room where all five of us rested our heads, but there was also a sitting room where James and I could work after the littles were in bed for the night. There was also a pool, and since February in Los Angeles is my BFF it was warm enough for the kids to swim a few times and feel like they were on a staycation. But the thing was we weren't on vacation, and trying to balance our normal busy schedules while being out of our normal atmosphere was jarring for the kids and exhausting for me. Every Friday a friend walks Talmage home and since I didn't want to mess up anyone's routine I would just drive back to our apartment and pick the kids up from carpool there. The first Friday I met T on the normal corner and as soon as he saw me he screamed in a shrill voice I didn't recognize, "WHERE WERE YOU?" and then melted into my arms in angry, anxious and relieved sobs. At first I was confused because he knows that Friday's are her pick-up days, but living in the hotel had him convinced that I wouldn't remember him, that I wouldn't be at home to meet him, and that I should have come to the school. Heart-breaking doesn't come close to describing my feelings in that moment. There were other hiccups along the way, forgotten jerseys and wrong shoes, no clean socks, no scissors or pencils for homework and no packed lunch, and even though these are all small things they feel awfully big to a couple of kids who lacked control. Luckily we made it through the two weeks and are oh-so-happy to be back home--and isn't that funny? We haven't been crazy about this apartment since the day we moved in, but kick us out for a couple of weeks and it still felt nice to be back.

This month has been a rough road for me. I'm usually such an open person but my wild pregnancy hormones and a string of bad luck has left me rather withdrawn and feeling ever so private. The stories I could tell about the last six weeks or so, they're something all right. This morning as I waited to attend traffic court for a parking ticket (a sad story for another day) my anxiety levels were so high that I found myself taking deep breaths, saying silent prayers and wishing I could retreat to my bedroom to hide under the covers. But then I heard that same voice that comes whenever life feels out of balance whisper to me, "Write your words." I grabbed my computer, desperate for some relief, and as simple stories flowed from my fingertips the sadness swept away from my soul. The stories I tell are not elaborate, sometimes they're not all that exciting and I'm aware that they're probably not all that unique--but they belong to my memory and I cherish each one.  Tonight as I sit here continuing to write I'm feeling grateful for that subtle whisper, for this blog, and for peace.