Bryon and I had dinner last night at one of our favorite places in town, a little sports bar that the kids love to go to. They have popcorn while you wait (joy is being the one who helps Bryon bring the baskets of buttery goodness back to the table) and shirley temples aplenty. Bryon and I go because the burgers are phenomenal, the kids eat free, and the television coverage of all things sports-related is unbeatable. All of this to say that this place crippled me last night.
Painting their bedrooms didn't do it.
Talking about them and looking at old pictures didn't do it.
Talking TO them didn't do it.
But boy howdy, it's been growing - the lump in my throat.
Last night on our way out the door, I ran to the ladies room quick. The ladies room where I've ushered Moo on multiple occassions to remove barbeque sauce or popcorn salt from her fingers after dinner. The ladies room where she washes her hands and then blow dries her HAIR on the super-fast-vortex hand dryers.
It happened the moment I went through the door; thank goodness the bathroom was empty. I stared at the brown tiled walls and I could hear the echo of Mabel chirping in there, asking me to lift her up for soap. I remembered how she always goes into the stall with me and insists on being first. I remember the little faces she makes because that's just what she does. And I LOST IT.
I came out of the bathroom, got into the car, and fell apart.
The time alone with my husband has been amazing and necessary. He is doing a fantastic job of keeping me occupied and ridiculously happy. But he is not them. I am not completely me without them. I miss my babies. And I am ready for them to come right this very second.
Except it is not July 23 yet.
Send more prayer, post haste!