End of an Era (for us)

When Greg was at BYU he always planned to come to Poland “to help build the church”.  2 1/2 years into our marriage and soon after his graduation, he quite suddenly and unexpectedly got a job in his homeland. Nine days later, we moved to the other side of the world.

There was no branch of the church anywhere near our little city but it was kind of fun catching the early morning bus for the 3 hour drive to church in Cracow every Sunday.  Attending our little branch was such a different experience than I'd ever had in the church.  A missionary was the branch president and there were very few priesthood holders of any other sort. 

For probably 7 months we went.  Same routine, every Sunday.  It was a great experience.  Greg didn't get a calling.  Just about the time I started thinking that this seemed like quite a waste of resources (yes, I like to call my husband a resource), he was called as the branch president.

A few months later David was born.  On our first trip to church after his birth when he was 4 weeks old, a kid sitting in front of us on the bus vomited all over.  I gave his mother a handful of wipes and a sympathetic look and vowed to myself to never take my infant on a bus again.  

So we got a car.

We'd only had the little red Fiat for about a month when the new Mission President asked if we could drive to Katowice to meet with him after he held a fireside there.  So we went.  

The drive felt like forever and ever.  It was winter and it was very dark and we were very inexperienced in driving in Poland.  We'd never been to Katowice.  We got lost.  Over and over.  What should have taken us 3 hours took us more like 5.  We missed the meeting but were still able to meet with the Mission president.  

That night Greg was called into the Mission Presidency.  He was to oversee the branches in southern Poland, 2, 3, and 5 hours away from where we live.  And he did.  And he loved the President and his fellow counselor.

About a year later a District was formed and he was released from the Mission Presidency and called as the Katowice District President.

That was nine years ago.  Today he was released.

That nine years (10 1/2 if you count the time in the mission presidency) feels like our whole life.  

We drove and drove and drove.  We stayed in lots and lots of hotels some very scary, some quite nice and most completely serviceable.  We ate lots and lots of plain rolls and cheese (and fast food).  

Our family grew.  Our testimonies grew.  The branches grew.  We spent lots of time with wonderful members of the church.  I spent hours every Sunday talking to the missionaries while Greg had meetings and the kids played on the keyboard in the chapel or wrote on the white boards.  

It was our life.  We loved it.  It changed a little as the family grew, but it was pretty much the same routine for all that time.  

And we were blessed.  David proved to be a baby and then toddler who just loved being in the car, even for long, long drives.  The other kids never minded much either.  Greg was blessed to work with some really wonderful men and I had the pleasure of spending time with their even-more-wonderful wives as we waited for them to finish their meetings.  

We learned a lot.  We overcame some of our weaknesses.  We discovered new weaknesses.  We worked to make everything fit (suitcases in the car, school and church trips in our schedule etc.).  We struggled and we thrived.

Our kids grew up that way.  It's all they've ever known.  

Now they'll have dad sitting by them at church (I don't believe there is a single branch in our district where there is a row of 6 chairs together in the sacrament meeting room.  Hmm.  We'll have to work something out).  They'll maybe even have a Primary teacher.

We'll have new adventures.  We'll learn what regular weekends are.  We'll sleep in our own beds.  We'll eat fewer plain rolls with cheese (and fast food – glory be!)

It will be wonderful.  And we will always, always be grateful for the blessing of these past 9 (or 10 1/2) years.  

Missed Her Sister

There once was a woman whose sister visited her in Poland with her four children.  They played and had fun for two weeks, after which the visiting sister left.  Her absence left the woman asking the question, "who's going to wash the dishes now?"

Having pondered this question without finding a satisfactory answer, the woman walked away from the sinkful of dishes and headed to the computer, where she decided to write down a few memories from the family-filled two weeks.

She recounted the sweetness of her nieces and nephew.  She remembered watching them play with her own four children and delighting in the quality cousin time, on this, the first time they had ever had cousins visit in their home.  She recalled the billions of hugs she had been given.  As a non-hugger, she was surprised at how much she loved all the love.

She documented memories of her sister washing the dishes, helping with the cooking, taking care of all the children and constantly looking for ways to be of help.

She thought back to a conversation:
Woman: I know it's weird that we eat in the living room, in front of the TV.  We're so Simpson-esque.
Sister:  Yeah... Wait, did they eat in front of the TV... No, they ate around the kitchen table!  You're WORSE than the Simpsons!!

She was amazed at how, after a week of eating things like cake, pie, cookies and muffins, her sister announced that she only had a few weeks left until her 40th birthday, and she wanted to be at her target weight.  The sister immediately started in on the Dukan diet (the one the woman's husband had used to lose 35 pounds in 6 weeks). She completely ignored the woman's next week of dinners and treats in favor of lots of yogurt, eggs, tuna, and oat bran.

The woman had lovely memories of a power outage, a patriotic holiday, castles, underground tunnels, old town squares, ornate churches and lots of ice cream shared with family.  She relived attending church in her own little branch--meeting in the missionaries' apartment--as it overflowed with children who all attended the one-class "Primary" in the living room.  

She didn't write much detail, but just the act of typing it up was nice.  And a little sad.  She missed her sister. And still didn't know who was going to wash the dishes.

A Not Very Merry Story (but with a happy ending)

The flight to London, though delayed by an hour, was quite good, right up until the landing, at which point Spencer vomited all over both of us.  A lot.  This was the first time he has ever thrown up and, luckily for us, happened to coincide with the first flight for which I have ever forgotten to include a change of clothes for all travelers in my carry on (usually done in case of delayed baggage).  

We had the distinkt pleasure of running through one of the busiest (and hugest!) airports in the world looking like I had just drunk a Big Gulp and then peed my pants and smelling like I had just climbed out of a dumpster full of rotten everything, while racing to catch our connecting flight.  It was 2am California time and Spencer was in no mood to run alongside me so I had the other privilege of carrying him in one arm while dragging my carryon with the other, stopping every few minutes to switch arms, and then, after awhile, every 10 seconds or so because my arms were done and let me know by offering me approximately zero strength.

When we finally arrived at our gate I was sticky, sweaty, sleepy, smelly and physically exhausted--in its true sense, not just the "very tired" we often mean when we use the word-- only to find that the plane (departing at 12:15) had already departed (before 12:10), even though they knew to expect us.  The heavily made-up woman who gave me this news told me to head back to the ticket counter where I should make new flight plans, whereupon I said, "You're kidding.", dropped into the nearest seat and began to cry. So, after a minor breakdown (I've always loved me a good cry in public) we went all the way back to the customer service desk and waited in line to make new plans.  Our new flight would leave six hours later.  Six glorious hours of hanging out with a cranky, sleepy toddler in, again, one of the busiest airports, trying to keep as far as possible away from anything with a sense of smell. 

We did meet another family in the exact same situation (minus the throw up and the single parent and the sleepy toddler -- well, mostly they were on our previous flight and missed the connection to Warsaw, too) who helped us out and walked with us part of the way (and their five year old only mentioned our smell like twice).  Also, Spencer wasn't at all sick, it had just been a motion/air pressure thing.  Trust me, I counted every blessing I could.

In our last flight (2 1/2 hours) I requested seats situated as far as possible from other passengers, but learned that the flight was booked.  I prepared to apologize profusely for the odor to everyone who glanced in our general direction.  As it happened, nobody did.  And even the young lady sitting right next to us didn't say anything and I just hope she heard me when I hurriedly mentioned and apologized for it half under my breath early on in the flight.

But what joy to finally arrive in Warsaw!  Only one of our two checked bags didn't show up, and seeing Greg, Evie, David and Aaron was pure bliss.  

I can't imagine anything making me happier than I was to see them, but I have to say, putting on clean clothes was a really close second.

For the reconrd, this was the least offensive vomit I have ever smelled.  But it was still stomach contents and wasn't very fantastic.

So They All Rolled Over And One Fell Out

The first day of school was approaching and we had done precious little to make summer vacation fun for the boys (Evie's was the best of her life, of course) so I decided to pitch the tent in the backyard.



We have two 4-man tents that connect with a little tunnel. Perfect. A tent for me, Greg and Spencer, and one for David, Aaron and Ev. The kids "helped" me set them up and after spending only about one hour and 45 trips in and out of the house, we each had a place set up to sleep (which is the only thing I wanted to do after that ordeal).



We had a party, laughed hysterically and ate candy. We joked about where the starburst that got lost among the bedding would wind up in the morning. With stomachs aching from giggling and sugar overdose, we settled in for the night.



I knew from the beginning that it might be tricky with Spencer. At 20 months old he really just needs a crib. But he was excited about sleeping in the tent and drifted to sleep after only crawling away (usually to the kids' tent) 2 or 3 times.



Before bed I told the kids to make sure they were comfortable and to please, please wake me up if they got cold during the night. (remember, I'm a sleep nazi, meaning I fight for quality sleep for everyone. :)



At about 2:30 am Evie crawls into our tent and says she needs another blanket. I get up and spread one over her. I crawl further in and make sure the boys are warm, feeling in the dark under their blankets to make sure their legs feel toasty. They're cuddled close together and I check one leg, Aaron's, I think. It's warm but there is another leg outside of the blankets. It's a little cold, but not too bad, and I can tell I can't get the leg out from under the blanket and tucked away without a lot of effort and possibly waking kids up, so I leave David to cover himself up when he needs to and go back to my bed, revelling in the thought of spending another 10 minutes finding a position that doesn't KILL my hips.



But first I peek over at Spence. I can make out that there's no head on his pillow and his blanket is pushed down. I don't see him. He must have gotten turned around. I pat around. I don't feel him. Huh. I lift his blanket, and feel around the corner of the tent. He's not there. What on Earth?



I check all around my "bed". Oh! He must have ended up with Greg. Maybe he was fussing and Greg took him? (fussing that wakes Greg and not me? Yeah, right). He's not there. He's nowhere. Greg wakes up from me feeling around him and I tell him the deal and crawl into the other tent to search there. I do a thorough search. He's not there.



A tiny bit of panic starts up as I keep searching, but then I laugh. A tent is a place you can lose a Starburst, but not a child. Still, flashes of scenes from news coverage of children taken from under their parent's noses in the night flash through my mind.



But no way. I'm shocked that Spence could even have moved in the night without me waking to make sure he stayed covered, so the thought of someone unzipping the tent without waking me? Impossible.



The ONLY other possibility is if he was atomized and taken through the wall of the tent. While this could certainly have happened, I feel that we are (almost, but) not quite white trash interesting enough to be singled out by alien life forms for investigation.



Just as I'm assuring myself that it couldn't have been an intergalactic kidnapping Evie whispers, "Here he is!" I go rushing into her tent and she's pointing to the boys. But I already checked there.



I get closer and feel around a little and then I can just make out that Spencer is lying there in between and on top of David and Aaron. He's lying out straight, flat on his stomach (and on Dave and Aaron's arms and legs) with his face under Aaron's pillow. He is fast asleep, just like his brothers.



What a relief. And I couldn't have hoped to find him in a better place. I tucked Spence back in his own bed and made sure everyone was covered one last time before turning to my own bed, where it took 45 minutes, not 10, to get comfortable, but I had plenty to think of after that mini adventure and its happy ending.



Like, for example, that the not-warm leg I'd felt belonged to Spencer, not David, and I couldn't tell the difference. And also, that occasionally a mom's idea of quality sleep: in your own bed with proper covering and a parent nearby to keep an eye on you, might differ greatly from a baby's idea: to sleep squeezed on top of two brothers with no covering at all. Quality. It's so relative.

Mea Culpa

You know how you sometimes do something you shouldn't and then, soon after, something bad happens and you are sure it's your fault for having been so evil?

Well. I have a tale to tell.

It's a good thing Greg has seen On the Way Home so many hundreds of times because today while we were. . . On our Way Home from church we got a flat. Greg was able to change it in his suit and dress coat, (his stylish scarf blowing in the breeze) on the side of a very busy freeway between Katowice and Krakow. I'm sure this is because of his having seen that girl (the one who says "Maybe she's WRONG!!") change that flat tire so many times. However, we did not have great 90's music playing in the background while he did it. I guess that is not built into the process.

So I know why Greg was able to change the flat so quickly and efficiently but I wish I didn't know why we got the flat in the first place.

I was not aware that I had committed a sin until last night. As a matter of fact, even then, I thought it was just funny.

At the hotel, just after turning off my light, I hit "random scripture" on my scripture app. As is often the case when I read by this method, the scripture was incredibly relevant to my current situation.

It was Proverbs 13:24 "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." That is a good one, but it was the one right after, and the last one in the chapter that hit home:

"The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want."

With my stomach growling from want of carbohydrates I laughed out loud and read it to Greg. I decided to repent and quit my diet the next morning.

But then we went to breakfast and I skipped the DELICIOUS crusty rolls that I usually eat two of with 4 or 6 helpings of butter and had cottage cheese and a slice of ham instead.

Sinner am I. Which, of course, is why we got a flat tire.

We were safe and everything. I mean, if it had happened a half an hour later it would have been dark and very difficult to change. If it had happened last week it would have been below freezing and snowy. It could have been much worse. No thanks to me, though. It wouldn't have happened at all if I had satisfied my soul with those peanut butter brownies last week, making me righteous again.

At least Greg's righteousness (i.e. having church videos memorized) saved the day! Thank goodness we really do balance each other out with our strengths and weaknesses in marriage and make up for what our spouse lacks. (Although, come to think of it, I wouldn't be on this diet if it wasn't for him, since he succeeded at it and set the example, wicked man.)

I think I will print out that scripture and post it on the fridge.

Different Over Here, But Also The Same

It is 1 am. We just got home.

We went to church, went straight to a temple recommend interview and then came straight home. And here we are at 1 am.

I had my interview with my branch president after church at 12 pm, then we drove to meet a member of the mission presidency on his way home from visiting a distant branch to have our second interview, which took place around 7:30 pm.

We had our interviews in his car.

We drove 9 hours today, instead of the 4 we would have driven if we'd only gone to church.

We made a large triangle instead of just boring lines going to and from church.

Life is interesting in Poland.

I had the privilege of giving my favorite answers to my favorite questions on the most important subjects to the Lord's representative.

I love saying yes.

(well, and no, but it's the yeses that make me teary. The nos are a formality.)

It's as awesome saying yes when you drive 5 hours out of your way to do it as it is when you wait for a half an hour in your own chapel.

It's as meaningful to hear those questions and say those yeses in a car as it is in an office.

This was a hallowed e'en.

I am going to bed.

Finding Treasure

School starts Wednesday so we decided to get out and do one last family activity.

It ended up being an adventure that involved lots of dark clouds, rocky terrain, , pitch black, cramped spaces, age-old fresh springs in hard-to-get-to basements, thunder, huge, open corridors with dusty red floors, sudden, cold drafts through enormous window openings, and a green, grassy courtyard.

We visited Krzyżtopór castle (an hour away!)and found treasure. There is a legend that treasure is buried somewhere beneath the castle, but we found it everywhere we looked. It was a family adventure that I really will treasure forever. (I reserve the right to be as cheesy as I choose on my personal blog, thankyouverykindly.)

Funny, too, because I'm usually the one who wants to head home as soon as it gets cold or wet, but I could not get enough of the weather. It created the greatest ambiance for castle ruin exploration.


The ruins date from the first half of the 17th century. I was super excited to visit it because this castle features prominently in James Michener's Poland. It has (had) 365 windows, 52 rooms, 12 ballrooms and four towers.

We didn't have flashlights, but next time we go we'll be sure each of the kids has their own. You need them to get through the dark cavernous passageways on the ground floor and below.
Plus, it's easier to see all the ghosts with a flashlight. Or without one. Hmmm.
My favorite spot was in the place shown below. There once hung huge portraits of family members in the openings. Not sure why I loved it so much but I could spend all day there. I just felt so small and it was beautiful.

Everywhere we went we could tell if other explorers (call them tourists if you're boring) spoke English by whether or not they chuckled or stifled a laugh. This was because everywhere we went Aaron repeated phrases such as:

"Mom, we kinda hafta go because daddy's walking now."
"Okay. We have to be really careful in here."
"Be careful. You can't run because you might go. . . and bump your head on a rock."
"It's kinda freaky!"
"Oh my gosh! I LOVE it in here!"
"It's like a ghost in there."

In the car on the way home he said, "You don't what, mom? I love you, but I want some toast." No, that has nothing to do with this post, but I thought it was funny. (He always says, "You don't what?" instead of "you know what?")

He also got tired of us pointing out all the cows, goats, tractors, storks, ponds etc. on the drive and eventually said, "I know mom! I can see EVERYTHING!" Well pardon me, Aaron!

I'm so glad we finally discovered this castle and that it is so close by! Now we can go there every other day.

A Birth Story

Boy, I sure have put this off a little, haven't I? Oh well.

This is a journal post, hence the details people who aren't me probably aren't interested in.

First let me say I have never been quite so (disappointingly) wrong as I was about when this baby would come. This pregnancy was rather different than my other three. Morning sickness wasn't bad at all, but other things were much worse. Around the fourth month I got my first taste of depression. It was a very difficult two or three months. I was very worried it wouldn't go away or at least that I would end up with severe post-partum depression. For the last two months the depression abated but I felt far more physically uncomfortable than ever, even though my weight gain and everything else was the same as my other pregnancies. I felt just like the pregnant women in movies who seem to exaggerate every movement and always walk with their hand on their lower back etc.

I finally understand those women who say they just don't do pregnancy very well (or that they hate it). And admire women who keep having kids when their pregnancies are like this one.

So the baby was supposed to come in the first two weeks of December according to my doctor. I KNEW I wouldn't go past the first week. Frankly I was surprised I made it through the Thanksgiving weekend. Then I kept being pregnant. Over and over. I kept waking up still pregnant.

The Birth

At my last visit to the doctor on the 9th he said the baby would surely come during the course of the week, but if it didn't that I should check in at the hospital on the 16th and wait for labor. Boy did that sound fun. Also, just before this a pregnant woman had died of H1N1 in our hospital which had thrown everything in disarray. Even my doctor, who used to be the director of the maternity ward, recommended not having the baby there. There were no visitors allowed and Greg would definitely not be able to be present at the birth. The doctor called his friend, the director of the maternity ward in the hospital in Kolbuszowa, the small town where David was born, and got permission for me to go there and have a "family birth".

By prearrangement our neighbors offered to come take care of the kids while we went to the hospital until Greg's parents could get here (they live 5 hours away). Then his parents declared they would come on Saturday the 12th whether I was in labor or not. The baby didn't come so they did. They cooked and played with kids, and we all waited together. When the 16th came and I wasn't in labor at all, (well, technically I was in the first stage of labor, but I wasn't having regular contractions yet) I was supposed to go to the hospital. We put it off, but decided the next day, the 17th that we would go. After a nap I ate some chicken soup and we headed off through the severe cold to Kolbuszowa. By the time we got there it was about 5pm. (the 20 minute drive took more like an hour because of the weather)

The doctor checked me and said that I was at almost 5 cm and the only thing missing was the contractions. After some agonizing I decided to stay in the hospital rather than take the dangerous trip back home, possibly to just turn around again within a few hours. While I was answering questions for the paperwork I started having contractions. Hooray!

They put us in this room, the "family birth" room.


Oh my enormousness



By 6pm or so I was hooked up to a monitor and my contractions were strong and very regular, although not remotely painful yet. I was thinking that this would be like with David's birth, which would mean that the baby would come within 2 or 3 hours. I was looking forward to a quick birth (as all the nurses kept promising me, since it was my fourth) and then a goodish night's rest.

Around 7:30 they started me on an oxytocin drip. When Greg asked what it was for she said, "To make it hurt more." Thanks! Glad that pain is the goal. Instead my contractions got weaker and nothing else was happening, either. From time to time the contractions hurt, sometimes pretty badly, but then they would stop hurting again.

I wanted to sleep. That bed was so obnoxious It was very tall and you had to climb over the metal railing. It was extremely difficult to get in and out of at my size and tiredness level. Also, my contractions were just strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, and they were worse when I laid down.

We waited all night. We took turns resting on the bed and I paced and sat on an exercise ball and eventually cried. I didn't love it. I remembered that in Provo with Evie I had been induced as well and nothing happened so they almost had to do a c-section. Apparently I don't respond well to oxytocin.

At 7am a new nurse came in. She assured me, "We're going to have this baby!" She gave me something to "soften my cervix" which made me hot and dizzy. Two hours later we were getting a little closer but I needed another shot of the same thing.

I was tired. I was hungry. It hurt a lot.

Finally they realized that my cervix would never be ready and prepped the bed and everything. The birthing bed had some kneeling setup and the midwife had me kneel through some contractions. It was significantly less painful but I was too tired to hold myself up in that position and said I wanted to lay down again. They thought I was weird but I laid down and it was time to push. On the second or third contraction they said, "Push, push, push. . . " as usual, then they looked a little surprised and said, "Breathe! Breathe!" Right in the middle of the contraction.

I really wanted to push, and breathing was nearly impossible but I managed somehow. They informed me that he had started to come out with his hand on his cheek. Oops! Before the next contraction they had fixed the problem (let's not think too much about that) and a couple more contractions and he was out! (9:40am)

I'm very glad I hadn't been on my knees because I don't think things would have worked out as well, since they might not have noticed his hand etc.

I was, of course, tired and relieved. I held that extremely warm and soft and PURPLE baby for a few minutes before they took him off to find out how enormous he was (9 lb. 23.5 inches). His purpleness was the only thing keeping him from scoring 10 on the apgar. Good boy.

Over the course of the next few hours I felt better than I had in months. I have always felt well after giving birth but I have never felt so much better than before the birth. It was lovely.

The next two days in the hospital were quite nice, minus the missing my family. I felt fantastic, and even got my legs back. My own legs. Spencer only took a full three hour session of work (hard work) to figure out how to nurse and did quite well after that.

Dear Greg braved the weather once a day to bring me delicious food made by his parents and sister. It was like heaven eating that food. Hospital food consisted of three slices of bread plus either a pat of butter, a chunk of pate, a slice of ham or a blob of jam given morning and evening, and for dinner at noon soup and a rather nasty meal.

I was so excited to go home. Here Spencer and I are in front of the hospital. It was recently painted, as it used to all be like the dirty cement you see on the awning.

The drive home was beautiful.

Being home was (and is) even more so.

Ruined

Not us. We're not ruined (keeping our fingers crossed that that trend continues). It was our weekend getaway that was ruined. Oh wait, it wasn't that either. It was the castle we were visiting. Yes, I knew I'd get it eventually.

One of my favorite things to see in Poland is the castles. There are billions of them (or so), since Poland lies between, um, Russia and Germany. Lucky her. It made it pretty necessary to have castles within view of each other for defensive purposes. In Cracow you have the gorgeous Wawel castle located right on the banks of the river. That one's been restored. Many of them have. I prefer my castles ruined, though.

So this past weekend we decided to spend at the Ogrodzieniec castle. It's gorgeous and is built on naturally formed rocks. Greg didn't get any pictures that capture its grandeur, so here's one I swiped off of google to give you an idea of the scale of it. (There are some much more awesome ones in the search I did, though).

egim1.wordpress.com

The first day we just wandered around outside the walls and picnicked. Pregnant Lisa can walk and pregnant Lisa can sit and lie down. What she can't do is stand in place, which means I was doing this (left leg elevated, of course):

While the kids sifted through the rocks that are everywhere in search of fossils. Those rocks are so full of fossils it's not even funny. It is cool, though. Greg looked up information about fossils on his iphone and gave the kids a little geology and, um, fossilization lesson there.

I was also laying around while the kids helped each other climb the rocks:

It was a fun day

The next day we explored inside the castle. That was fun, too. I love mini family vacations.

The Difference Between Pee and Water

Even though Aaron is just about exactly the age that both Evie and David were when they were potty trained (2 yrs. 3 months) I've been planning on waiting with him a little for his language and general getting-it skills to develop a little more. But then. . .

* He had a diaper rash

* Greg was out of town with the car (Vienna for a church meeting, poor guy) and we were almost out of diapers and

* it was Sunday: all day at home with nothing else to do but follow a naked boy around the house.

He's done alright, but nothing like Ev and Dave, both of whom just started using the potty night and day as soon as I took off their diapers. Aaron's more normal, I think, and has accidents, although hes gets it right most of the time.

When he does, he stands up excitedly pointing into the potty exclaiming, "Bee! Dah-doe!" (Pee! Bravo!) and does a little shoulder dance while showing everyone his M&M before he eats it.

When he doesn't we hear this from wherever he is, "Uh-oh, ah-lo!" (Uh-oh, water!) Following the sound of his voice I find him standing and pointing at a puddle on the floor repeating, "Uh-oh, ah-lo!"

Therefore:

Pee in the potty = pee

Pee on the floor = water

Now you know.

An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

The night before the wedding there was a rehearsal dinner at the Napa Rose, a restaurant in a Disneyland hotel (NEAT). Before we ate, Micah and Heather ran through with us what they'd practiced at the rehearsal at the chapel a few nights before.

For the bridesmaid's part, we were to walk down the aisle and line up on the left side of the altar. I was to go first. So much for being able to go without glasses and just follow the person in front of me. We ran through it once or twice, were told about the little yellow triangles on the floor to guide our positioning etc. Then we ate a very delicious dinner.

In talking to Heather a little at the dinner she expressed how nervous she was, and that she was scared something would go wrong or that she'd mess up what she was supposed to say etc. She had the perfect, bridely jitters.

The next morning the wedding was at ten o'clock. We were told that we could practice from nine to nine-thirty. I was glad, as I had never been in this type of wedding, hadn't seen the chapel's layout yet, was wearing those heels (I haven't worn heels since I got married since Greg, um, doesn't like them on me.) and have pregnancy wobbliness on top of my normal spastic tendencies.

We arrived a little after nine and rushed to dress so we could practice. But the bride wasn't there yet. So we didn't actually practice and I just peeked in the chapel once but was mostly wandering the grounds with family.

At five or ten 'til 10 the photographer was taking pictures of my family on the lawn and I was feeling as though it was very late. I ran to the dressing room to ask the other bridesmaids if we should be with them. They said yes.

I ran back to get my sisters and we got our bouquets and all six of us ran around the chapel to the back where we would enter from.

While we were running we started getting in order, me in front. At the back of the church I stood first. There were loud whispers from the wedding planner (I think that was her title) for us to hurry up! Get in order! Etc. I just stood ready and let her take care of the girls behind me.

Sooner than I expected I heard her voice in my ear, "Okay, you can go in now." I was starting to turn my head for confirmation and felt a light nudge on my back. Oh! Better go!

I walked as gracefully as I could down the aisle and turned left at the altar and took my place.

But Anne wasn't behind me. She was supposed to start walking when I was half way down the aisle. She should have been right behind me!!

Whatever. Once I was standing where I thought I was supposed to be (totally forgot to look for yellow triangles) I tried to sneakily remove my glasses and held them with my bouquet. Anne kept not coming. I smiled into the audience and reflected more than I had before on how very empty the front of the chapel was. How very, very empty.

I had no idea what was going on but I tried to smile as if I had been sent there to smile for everyone. To give them a hint of what was to come, or something. I was just hoping that there were more bridesmaids to come. And SOON!

I did not see the wedding planner at all. I kept looking for a sign from her (that I had done something wrong or to sit down or come back or anything). Granted I had my glasses off, but I could see her talking to the harpist (beautiful music!!) but never motioning to me or even looking in my direction. But I saw Anne standing there waiting. (FOR WHAT!!?)

Both my mom and dad kept giving me sympathetic smiles, which I appreciated. I wondered if I should sit down (I was standing right by a pew) until the other girls came but decided against it.

Finally Anne started walking. Hooray! Oh, wait. Then she went back . I noticed movement from the other side of the front of the chapel.

The groom and groomsmen came out of a door in the front and started lining up. So it was them, and me. Cute.

For the record, my level of embarrassment through this whole thing was a zero. I felt pretty confident that something had happened after I started walking so they had to change plans or something. But my level of feeling bad for being the one who sort of ruined the effect was well above a zero. Especially when Heather's words from the night before came back to me of her fears about something going wrong.

Once the groomsmen were nicely lined up the music changed (I think) and Anne started coming. And she looked great. All the girls did as they came in behind her. And I finally felt relief. We arranged ourselves:

See me smiling my relief to all my new-made friends in the audience?

Then Heather and Micah were married. It was a lovely ceremony.

Afterward I tried to find the lady in charge (to apologize/find out what had happened), but I never did. However, from talking to a few different people I learned that some guests had come in behind us while we lined up and were hesitant to go sit down so the lady told them, "Okay, you can go in now." Yeah. Right in my ear. (I swear!)

It wasn't until even later that I found out that the push I got on the small of my back was not from her but from Anne who also heard her and also thought she was talking to me.

Here's what I assumed we were lined up like when I started going in:

Here's what it actually looked like: (notice in the picture above it's Anne at the front of the line and not me. I'm at the front of the chapel). And that's my actual first step of doom. (I was seriously so shocked when I saw this picture, just today. I had NO IDEA we weren't all lined up.)

So there's my story. I already mentioned a couple of posts back that the wedding was wonderful. I never felt like anyone blamed me or really even cared about my big blunder. It was completely lost in the awesomeness of the day. And I got lost in it, too!

Here's another shot of my family, this time with our newest sister!

Spontaneity

Last night while listening to a classical music station Greg heard something that changed our plans for the weekend.  Well, our plans only included being home until going to church on Sunday in Krakow, but also finishing off the other half of a cake in the fridge and --  and this is important -- having vegetarian borscht tonight with the rest of the crescent rolls from last night (yesterday I neeeeeeded chinese chicken salad with crescent rolls and tonight I neeeeded borscht with them).  Oh well.  Plans change.  Apparently.

Instead we'll be taking the other half of the cake and the crescent rolls with us to Łódż (pronounced Wooch, sort of) This is where Greg's parent's live.  This is where we try to put a little culture in our lives when possible (we went to a concert last time, opera, and it's also where we almost went to the nude version of The Magic Flute) And this is where the concert will be tonight that Greg heard about last night.

Łódż is the third largest city in Poland.  It's not the prettiest of cities, as it was a manufacturing city.  Textiles.  The ooooold factories have been standing in their glory (really) unused with broken windows for decades until someone had an idea.  They turned it into this:

Isn't it pretty?  Like a really nice factory from the oooooold days that's been revamped? (they only sandblasted the brick, it was always this pretty, just sorta blackish)  Okay, so you can't really tell what it is, but they turned it into a mall.  It's cleverly named "Manufaktura" and apparently it's in the running for "Best Mall in the World" or something.  It's amazing, though none of the pictures I found really do it justice.  It's huge and there are buildings on all sides.  We go there almost every time we're in Łódż.  There are these fountains the kids can run through: 

and in the evening they dance and light up different colors to the loud music that plays in the courtyard.

In the summer they set up "beach" volleyball in the courtyard, and in the winter there's an ice skating rink.

Well, so back to the point.  In this very courtyard:

it was announced last night on the radio, there will be a concert tonight.  Not just any concert, though.  The Łódż Philharmonic will be playing the soundtrack LIVE to 2001: A Space Odyssey, which will be playing on a huge screen.  There will be 2001 seats and the show starts at 8:01 pm.  (I translated that for you, since you guys don't use army time like we do over here.  In Polish it starts at 20:01)

So Greg said "Drop everything!  Forget about your Borscht tomorrow!  We're going to Łódż!"  Then he called his mother and said something like, "Sorry it's such late notice, but some veeeeery important business has come up for us in Łódż and we'll be there in 20 hours or so. . ."  

So we'll go get the kids from school, eat some lunch (school ends at 12:15 today, 1:10 most days) and head off to Babcia and Dziadek's house (4-5 hour drive).  

I'm really excited except that I've never seen it and we recently watched 2010 (the sequel-ish)and I thought it was the most boring movie I've ever seen.  But being outside with the live music it will be awesome.  Without kids.  With Greg.  

A word about that cake.  If, of a Wednesday afternoon, you realize you reeeally want to make some special dessert, like a cake, since you've been craving a big layered one since you saw Pollyanna a few weeks ago (remember those HUGE pieces of cake they get at the fair?), and one with cream cheese in it, you might be extremely happy to stumble upon this cake.  Then you might make it, only double instead of triple layers because you have not three 8" rounds, not two, but zero.  Only a 10" springform pan.  So you bake half of it, wash, butter, repeat = two layers.  And you find that it is a veeeeery good cake.  And your son requests it for his birthday.  And your husband proclaims it delicious.  And you think it's a little sweet but exceedingly good.  So, anyway, those are some things that might happen if you are thinking about dessert on a Wednesday afternoon.  And then you might end up taking half of the cake to your in-laws with you.  Because your husband might be pontaneous.  (my S diet update is coming in a week or two. . . bet this post made you wonder how that's going)