Labor Day weekend started out innocently enough. Logan had had a sleepover at Ben's parent's house, so we went over Saturday morning to get him. He had a stellar time and didn't miss us one bit. "Just the baby" he told us time and time again (thanks, kid:) ). We got some home projects done, I mowed the grass, it was a boring, hot Saturday. Sunday we went to church, out to lunch with lovely new friends, and worked on the house some more. MONDAY, ugh. Monday. Labor Day. May I have a do-over please? Monday just needs to be forgotten.
I had been up all night with Levi, who kept crying due to that top tooth that just won't pop through. One a.m. Three a.m. Five a.m. So I was already a little grumpy. We had the brilliant idea to drive to Orlando to get some tile from a discount tile store, because we're redoing our kitchen and our budget is peanuts but we really want to sell this place. So we went. And we bought 75 dollars worth of slate. Which looks pretty cool actually. Well, the cart was too heavy for me to push, so Ben went to pull the van around. He came back five minutes later without the van. He said we had a problem. That's never good to hear him say. Our van was broken, the part was roughly 350 dollars and if we didn't get it the van just wouldn't work again.
Now, we had our boys with us. And it was hotter than Hades. Trust me. The boys were sweating, Levi was crying, and I was worrying.
Bless his heart, Ben's dad came to rescue us. He towed us all the way to his house. I sat in the back seat of his van and thought "Don't you dare cry in your father-in-law's van. He didn't ask for this. He is helping you. Pull it together, Gable."
So I didn't. I waited until we got to their house, I walked back to the guest room, and I bawled my eyes out. It wasn't just the stupid part for the car or the heat or the embarrassment of breaking down once again. It was a million little things. It's been a rough year. Hospital bills. My teeth. The gluten allergy that we didn't even know about. The no sleep. The lack of money. The lady at the dentist that made a pass at my husband when I was RIGHT THERE (another post). I just couldn't hold it together anymore. Ben walked in and asked what was wrong. I had no words, really. Sometimes you don't. The funny part came when my brother-in-law burst in, looking for an exercise ball and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw us crying. I laughed. He laughed. It made everything better somehow.
The other humorous thing.....we were dressed.....like we maybe shouldn't be at Ben's parent's house. They were having a dinner party and we essentially crashed it. Ben was wearing a shirt with no sides and cutoffs. You could see his tattoos and all the grease all over him from working on the van. I was wearing tight jeans and a zebra print tube top. I kid you not. The counselor said I need to make an effort in how I dress for Ben because not caring about my appearance is NOT helping ( I guess no makeup and gym shorts are no longer cute). SO I was dressed like maybe I should be anywhere but my conservative in-law's house. Oh, and the kids? Well, Levi pooped through his two outfits we had packed for the quick trip to Orlando. Logan was covered in chocolate milk. We were a sight.
I'm not sure what the point to this post was, except to say that when you're feeling overwhelmed, it's okay to cry in your in-law's guest room until you get it all out. And maybe, if you're pushing thirty, just say no to the zebra print tube top from Wal Mart. You're not doing yourself any favors.
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