"I can't, Mom, I need to focus on my novel writing. I don't have time (or the creative space) to do both. I tweet. I facebook. Read those."
Bahahaha. I know, RIGHT?!? *shakes head*
I don't have time. Oh, One-Month-Ago Erin, you're HILARIOUS.
A mere week later, maybe even less, our Hahn lives got twisted, curled, flipped-flopped, stomped on and wrung out. For those of you who don't read my fb posts or haven't picked up on my vague-tweeting: My husband, Mike, had a truly epic sledding accident on a truly steep and icy hill and dislocated both knees and tore basically every tendon imaginable in those knees. Turns out, that's a Big Deal and Very Rare. I'll skip over all the gory details because, ew, but suffice it to say, he won't be sledding, or walking or even standing on his own any time soon. And by soon, I mean at minimum two surgeries, months of rehab, a wheel chair, a walker and a commode lift-away. If you are a praying person, please pray for his spirits. He has yet to regain feeling in his feet and they say he might never recover that. It's those nerves, man. They be fickle little guys. But my handsome, extra-capable, outdoorsy husband needs to climb rocks and stand in water and operate chainsaws. He HAS to, it's what makes him glow— it's how he feels God's presence— it's where he finds his joy. (I mean, he loves us too, obviously, but he loves us even more when we're outside.)
This past weekend, we moved across town. We had planned to move anyway, just not for several months. Instead, we gave three days notice and packed up our lives to a place that has zero steps and wide doorways. I was *supposed* to enter my newest MS into a writing contest that day. It's sitting on this very laptop, basically untouched and disregarded right now. I can't sit still long enough to concentrate on my fictional characters. Those who know me, know this is probably the hardest part for me, personally. Those that don't might think I am being shallow. Artists, you know? We're super self-centered. Or rather, we're trapped in our own minds? *shrugs*
I sit at this moment in the waiting room of Mike's physical therapy. We should both be at work right now, but this is more important. Isn't that nutty? MORE IMPORTANT THAN WORK. Like, a month ago, very little was more important that our livelihoods.
Now, practically everything is.
Here's a snapshot of Current Erin: This morning I was making the kid's school lunches and breakfast. Again, we just moved, so I can't find anything in my kitchen on the first or even second try. Also, since we moved, in order to keep the kids in the same school to finish out the year, I am driving them to and from each day, so our timing is new. Once Mike is settled in his chair for the day, he's good. He's a strong and proud man with amazing faith and will. Honestly, he's incredible. He's just not able to help right now (for the record, he's always been a superb partner in parenting. Always.). So add to the kids the occasional patient request from my husband, "Can you please refill my coffee cup?" or "Can you put on my sock?"
I get distracted easily, lemme tell you.
In addition to all of that, our place isn't new. It's nice, but not new. So there are a few quirks that we need to report to maintenance. Such as the strip of laminate on the counter that catches on my sleeve every time I open the fridge and the bottom ledge to the cabinet that pulls off.
This morning, and every morning, Mike puts Jesus Music on the Pandora. We are still breathing by the ultimate, sloppy generous grace of God. There it is. Without Him, I'd be crazy. And not like fun crazy, like certifiable hot mess crazy. So I am flying back and forth between cabinets and counters and cutting boards like a lightening bug stuck in a jar and I'm signing praise music and loving on my Jesus and simultaneously dropping more f-bombs than this third grader I know named Omar (which is a LOT).
My life: Praising Jesus, depending on Jesus, leaning on Jesus and then dropping a sh*t-ton of F bombs.
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