Four years ago, I was holding my newborn son in a dimly lit room at Davis Hospital.
Room 205 was quiet except for me and Ben’s low whispers as we drank in this tiny little soul and enjoyed the relaxing ebb of emotions after nine long months of waiting.
Waiting … alone.
Because four years ago, Ben and I had a secret—a perfect, tiny little secret—that we were about to let the world in on … all six pounds, 7 oz. of him.
And in that quiet room, a nervous excitement began to grow as we realized it was time.
A quick gulp of my gloriously cold Diet Coke, a last bite of my I’m-so-hungry-cuz-I-just-had-a-kid-and-I’m-so-excited-be-able-to-eat-food-without-barfing celebratory sandwich and I grabbed Ben’s black Nokia phone to make a call I’d rehearsed for nine months.
You ready?
Peterson asked as he picked up Sean.
Do you think they’ll ever speak to us again?
I asked as I dialed the first number.
They’ll get over it--they like our kids.
Ben replied with a mischievous smile.
And over the next hour, four calls to four parents went out with our secret.
Happy Valentine’s Day! You have a new grandson; his name is Sean. Seriously … no, seriously. We wouldn’t joke about something like this.
And while we heard a little shock in the voices on the line, there was mostly wonder … and lots of ‘really?’s … and then JOY … and we love yous! … and that’s wonderful! … and please send pictures soon!
And my favorite memory of those calls was the moment my father finally realized what he was hearing over the commotion at Station 2 in Seattle was no joke … and he started to laugh … and kept laughing … until I finally heard a breathless “that’s hysterical!” from nearly a thousand miles away.
And I couldn’t stop smiling.
And celebrating our little surprise this last weekend was awesome.
We kept the party small, like usual, and hoped that it would be nothing like last year’s flooding and black eye fest.
And thankfully, it was.
We decided to celebrate on Saturday since Ben had the day off and could come with us to the Dinosaur Museum. But there was a two hour church leadership meeting for Ben that morning … and then a Relief Society service project for me that afternoon … and it became pretty clear that we’d be lucky to squeeze in cake and ice cream.
So we improvised.
During Ben’s meeting, I loaded up kids and went and cleaned out the truck. And we cranked up the music … and car danced all the way to the car wash …
… and all the way through the car wash as the rainbow soap and giant rollers scrubbed the truck clean … and while we emptied out a meellion sucker wrappers from Chevron … and tossed all the missing shoes/boots/coats/books into the back so that we could take them inside when we got home … and cranked the music up even louder while kids climbed up, over and under the seats to vacuum up all the kid schmere that always ends up in there.
And my crew laughed and danced and sang as we rolled out of the Layton Express Wash with our brand-spankin’ new Vanilloroma air freshener proudly hanging from the rear view mirror. Everyone was having such a good time that we decided to take the long-cut home, just so we could get a few extra songs in.
And while I still miss the ocean and the trees of Washington, I’ve decided that rolling in my ‘99 Suburban with the base cranked up on our stock stereo and TDHD jamming up against this kind of backdrop is pretty much the coolest way to run errands.
We rolled into the driveway just as another great song started. So we did what we always do: stay put until the song’s over. And I love that every time the clock hits the 1-2-3-4 of 12:34 pm, the kids go nuts and squeal and point and thinks it’s the greatest trick.
After the song ended and the annoying First Option Mortgage commercial started to play, the kids piled out and grabbed all the crap in the back to take inside. Savannah was helpful and decided to shove Ash’s yellow clippies into her hair so that she would have her hands free to help carry more. Or something.
While Ben got the kids lunch, I rolled out for what was supposed to be an hour service project. Three hours later I pulled in the drive way and had to push away those few, brief thoughts that told me I could still—somehow—make cupcakes, decorate for a party and pull off a trip to the museum in the next hour.
It just wasn’t going to happen and I felt terrible—like I was letting this amazing little boy down.
When I walked inside though, the kids were happy and running around and still excited about the prospect of some kind of celebration. So Ben made a quick run to Walmart to grab any kind of cake that could pass for monster truck themed, and then pick up Sean’s favorite kind of pizza from Papa Murphy’s. He wound up getting the heart shaped ones because, well … they were cheaper and Sean was most definitely our Valentine’s baby.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the kids and I ran to Maverick to grab a few movies from the RedBox kiosk and ended up helping deliver dinner to the service project family.
While we waited for the pizza to bake, the kids played Candy Land and trucks and danced along to the ending credits of their current favorite movie, Despicable Me.
And when we finally did sit down to eat, Sean practically inhaled his pizza. He kept excitedly asking, “My birfday now, mamm?” as he eyed the presents sitting up on the top kitchen shelf. And I’d smile and say, “Not yet, bud. Almost.”
While the rest of the kids finished up their dinner, Ben brought out a 1/4 sheet cake covered in crushed peanut butter cups and asked if it could pass for “rocks.”
“It’s perfect,” I told him as I rinsed off one of Sean’s monster trucks. And because monster trucks are known for tearing any and everything apart, it took me all of two seconds to drive Sean’s blue Tonka 259 right up the sides of that store bought beauty.
There. Now it’s custom.
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