no, not mine . . . they are thankfully still gone!
But our man-child had his tonsils taken out on Monday morning. Poor Bubs.

And well, frankly . . . poor me. Although my physical pain is non-existent, watching my boy go through this hurts my heart. And raises my anxiety and blood pressure. I had quite the emotional breakdown last night. To properly re-count it, you may need the history/full-picture. And if you don't want to muscle through the details of my afore-mentioned breakdown, then just scroll down and skip the next several paragraphs of my b*tching therapy!
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On Friday, John casually mentioned that he wasn't really doing clinical hours on Monday and Tuesday. Nope. He had agreed to a teaching job. Months ago. But he failed to put it on our shared calendar. Which meant that in stead of just missing a few clinical hours in order to be there for Dylan's surgery? He wouldn't be there for Dylan's surgery. Grrr. Which also meant that it wouldn't be two parents vs. two kids. It would be 1-2. So I got a sitter for Halle. And pulled up my big girl panties and planned on taking Dylan to surgery and bringing him home on my own.
On Friday, I picked up the house. Helped the cleaning ladies (God bless them) really clean my house. And paid the (newly-hired) yard guy to take care of the yard. While my husband worked extra clinical hours. (To help make-up for today.)
On Friday night, we actually had a date night.After a lovely dinner on the patio at Grana, we picked up Dylan from basketball practice and took a little detour on our way home. We ended up going to our church's first softball game. We had the sitter drop Halle off with us and even got see Lauren and Prince Bobby. It was good. We were the fun parents who let their 5-year-old run around Hooker Oak until 10:30 pm. Fun=crazy? Possibly!
On Saturday morning, I drove to a local bakery at 7:15 to pick up dessset for Easter Sunday. Then just after 8:00 am; Dylan, Aunt Karissa and I headed to Roseville for a basketball tournament. John and Sis stayed home.
Dylan's team played three games. My Dad met us at the tournament and stayed for the entire day. And took Dylan to lunch/entertained him during his four-hour-break between games #1 and #2. Which was awesome. Karissa and I tried to get our shop on. We weren't overly ($$$) successful, but we tried! Although I did manage to score a super-sweet Easter dress for Halle at Nordstrom. It rang up for $14!
Dylan's team ended up losing the consolation game by a couple of points, but given that they had never played together as a team prior to that tournament? I thought they did pretty well. We got home just before 10:00 pm. At which point I put Halle to bed. And then went to Safeway. I got home around 11:00 and prepped the ribs. And other stuff. But I don't remember what, at the moment. Too. Tired. For. Details.
I got up at 6:00 on Sunday (Easter) morning. I put together Easter baskets. And filled plastic eggs with candy. Then I made Jell-o. And boiled eggs. I got dressed and headed to church. I ushered at our early Easter service. Then, surprisingly, I got done early and decided to come home and pick everyone up so we could drive together to our later service. I arrived home with a few minutes to spare. Only to find John and Dylan still asleep. Halle was happily watching cartoons. Exactly 10 minutes before we all needed to be in the car, headed to church.
I actually experienced an out-of-body-moment. Fortunately, sanity (Lexapro???) and/or possibly Jesus prevailed and I didn't lose every ounce of remaining sh*t on my family. I very calmly got everyone moving in the right direction and we actually made it to church. On time. Without any yelling or tears. It was an Easter miracle!
After church, we came home and I got dinner pulled together. Ribs. Mac & cheese. Molded Jell-o. Rolls. A spinach salad. Drinks. Etc. I also managed to throw some vinegar, food dye and hot water together. When everyone arrived at 3:00? We colored eggs. Then my mom and I hid eggs for Halle. (Dylan came behind her and picked up her missed eggs. He's such a great big brother!) We had dinner. On a positive note, I didn't give anyone food poisoning. On a realistic note, I've decided that ribs are better when eaten at a restaurant. But it was a fine attempt. We watched basketball. Talked. Ate. Drank. Ate dessert. Opened Easter baskets.

All in all? It was a lovely day. Was it how I imagined it? Nope. Not at all. But it was good. It was real. And I didn't give in the pressure and snap at anyone. Not one time.
After everyone else left? We watched Parental Guidance. I laughed. We all laughed. And then, I cried. I was the only one crying. I then couldn't seemingly stop my tears, but hey . . . it was a good movie! So I put our children to bed (sob!) and edited some pictures (sob!) and listened to some music (sob!) and sat and cried (sob!) and finally (sob!) fell asleep.
I didn't sleep well. Possibly due to post-nasal drip from all of the (!!) sobbing.
At 6:15 on Monday morning, I woke up. At 6:20, I woke up our man-child and took him to the outpatient surgery center.
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Which brings me back to our original point. Which was, we are under a fair amount of pressure right now. Our family is being stretched. My mind's version of our life doesn't always fit our reality. My heart's version of our life is seen in glimpses . . . not long weeks of blissfulness.
But (and this is a big but . . . ) for the Grace of God. We would not be here. Here. In this abundant-often-crazy-and-messy life that we are living. This life that we are fortunate to be living. Living at all. I am forever grateful for the love that flows down from an amazing and glorious and grace-filled God. He is risen indeeed!
He is risen when I cry at movies that are not really sad. He is risen when I am frustrated by schedules and mis-communication. He is risen when I am angry. He is risen when I pray for my son's healing.
So maybe our Easter played out exactly like it was supposed to. With the glorious risen Christ in the details. The good, the hard, the sad, the mad, the noise . . . all of it.
Dylan was in and out of surgery in 30 minutes. We were home after an hour in recovery. He spent the day on the couch, uncomfortable, but doing OK. Do I wish that John had been there with us? Yes. I do. But he wasn't. And it wouldn't have changed the outcome of Dylan's procedure. So it is what it is. I am just grateful that we're through it.
Living life with grace. Truly an Easter miracle on it's own!