Blovel: A blog post wherein I write a novel

So, in an effort to immortalize those random (and sometime ridiculous) adventures that mark my passage in life, I bring you the following novel.  

But seriously, don’t feel compelled to read all or any of it.  I wrote it mostly for my mother...and, um, my posterity.

It all began on August 1^st. (Being prone to obsessing about straight lines, perfect circles and closed closets, I find this to be amusing.)  My husband got up painfully early to catch a flight to Washington, DC where he would spend the day interviewing with his dream company.  This was the third time he had applied for a position with the company.  (And, the fact that the “third time is the charm” fits perfectly into my little package is equally amusing…and somewhat enthralling.)  With all of his hard work, tenacity and a generous dash of Divine luck, he found himself (out of 100+ candidates!) on the short list.

We were ecstatic.

And cautiously optimistic. 

This was, perhaps, the last rung on the ladder.  The proverbial end of the rope.  If this one didn’t shake out…the dream would be shelved for a bit, with other paths pursued that would hopefully someday loop back to the dusting off of that dream and making it a reality.

I kind of held my breath all day that day.  (I mean, I did sneak some gasps of air…but only to avoid passing out.)

I waited up all night for him to signal his return with a phone call…and then I would rush to greet him at the airport and get the full skinny on the day.

That is, I waited up until I laid myself down to read my text book.

And—for those who know me well—you know the rest of the story (that ended approximately 30 seconds later).

Somewhere after midnight a frustrated knock on the door startled me from slumber into the realization that I had failed.

Most unfortunately, in this realm, it was certainly not a first, maybe not a last…and maybe not as easily forgivable as I would hope for.

But, lucky for me, my man forgives seventy times seven.

But, we were both too tired to really discuss the day.

Besides…the waiting game had ensued:  other candidates would be interviewed the next day, and according to past experience, it could be months before we heard any news.

The only urgency we were experiencing was that of slipping back into blissful unconsciousness for the next five hours.

But little did we know the real fun was just beginning.

Before the close of business the next day, there was an offer on the table.

SERIOUSLY?!

AN OFFER?!

It almost felt like a hallucination.

You know…the kind where you dream your trip to the mall so vividly that you wake up looking for that new outfit in your closet, only to be severely disappointed that it’s not there?

But.  For crying out loud!  It wasn’t!

It wasn’t a trippy dream!  It was really real reality!

But…as there seems to be opposition in every nook and cranny of life,

It was also a reality that if we took the offer, our cost of living was going to increase over 100%.

That kind of drizzled on our parade.

From that day on, we spent every last free moment scouring PadMapper, budget wrenching and agonizing over the fact that we felt so close and yet so far away.

I think my husband called every bishop in the DC Metropolis area asking for leads on places to live for prices that just don’t exist. 

This man I married does not give up easily.

Finally, without anything firmly arranged, we found ourselves at the end of our allotted decision-making period.

We came to the conclusion that walking away from it could potentially lead to years of “what-ifs.”

So a decision of faith was made, a step into the dark was taken, and the dawning of understanding slowly by slowly (Jambo Kenya!) began to break over the distant horizon.

The next few weeks were insane.

It involved awkward conversations with current employers with the hope that maybe, just maybe, telecommuting was a viable idea.

It involved giving 30-day notice, and then never mind, and then, oh wait, yes, and then frantically throwing things in boxes in the name of packing with less than a week to find a new place to stay.

And then it was the pregnancy hormone-related meltdown that lead to the delaying the 30-day notice to a 60-day notice, and introduced the prospect of living apart for three weeks.

It involved falling behind in school for the first time in my life, but professors who were gratefully understanding.

It involved a whirlwind trip to Utah wherein we didn’t have nearly enough time to do everything that needed to be done or to see the people that needed to be seen.

It involved a cross-country voyage in a Black Beauty that cost us (and my saintly father-in-law) a good chunk of change to get up and legally running again.

It involved getting a late start, an oasis with good friends in Omaha, and a pull-over, sleep, drive, pull-over, sleep, drive, pull-over, sleep, drive scenario from Omaha to South Bend—rolling into town at 7:00 am, with just enough time for one of us to shower, make a Dr.’s appointment and then get to work with moments to spare before giving a training presentation, and the other to sleep for an hour, unpack the car, repack the car and continue on his way to his final Eastern destination.

It was an apartment looking like it just lost an epic battle with a Class-5 tornado.

It was starting a new job without proper celebration.

It was first this apartment, and then it was that one, and then it was the first one again, no wait! it was the second, and then no, seriously, the first.

It was the final projects, the transfer of work, the final football games, the ending of an era (albeit short).

It was the blossoming belly, the decreased energy, the muscle pulls, the ridiculously late nights.

It was the selfless offers of service, the baby showers, the good-bye breakfasts and the final hurrahs.

It was a business trip to Tanzania from Sunday to Friday, a return flight on Friday morning, a move from Virginia to Maryland Friday afternoon, and an all-night train ride to South Bend on Friday evening.

It was [again] the frenetic packing, a two-hour delay of the train to South Bend, the missing moving truck, the woman who had the moving truck but didn’t return it on time which ended up a blessing in disguise, it was the rental company that waived the $700 charge for reservation cancellation because the woman didn’t return the truck.

It was the wife trying to figure out where in the heck to pick up the other reserved truck, the rental employees who didn’t know how to load a car onto the dolly, the husband showing up in a taxi just moments before the wife embarked on her maiden voyage in a 17’ Budget beauty—car dolly in tow—and the sheer relief that disaster (and a second trip to the boonies to pick up the car) was most-likely averted.

It was the Elders quorum showing up at our chaotic house with no one there to guide them in the moving effort, it was Brother Cramer taking charge and making it happen, it was the profuse apologies and attempted explanation of the insanity, it was the run to the store because the wife didn’t buy enough packing tape, the strenuous lifting of furniture and the haphazard tossing of loose items into the back of the truck.

It was the engineers who helped to rig up the car, and the [again] late start.  (Do you see a pattern here??)

It was the hefty sigh of relief to be on the road, it was the slow moving and the pregnant potty breaks, it was the huge rainstorm we were traveling with in sync, on the high mountain ravine passes in the dark.

It was the $50 stay at the Knight’s Inn in all its retro 60’s glory.

It was locking the keys to the car in the trunk and not being able access any of the items so carefully packed there for that exact purpose.

It was getting stuck in the motel’s narrow parking lot and not being able to turn around or back up the truck, it was the revving of the engines and forward, reverse, turn, forward, reverse, turn, forward, reverse, turn sequence for about an hour.

It was the older gentleman who thought the husband didn’t know how to drive, but found out that he himself didn’t either, and who (just having gotten out of the hospital the day before with a hernia) ultimately helped the husband unload the car dolly so that the Budget truck could finally turn around.

It was the large-and-pregnant wife that sat in the passenger seat, largely useless to the situation.

It was the 10- hour drive that had turned into a 24-hour journey, it was finally arriving at our destination, it was the kind Relief Society president who invited two complete strangers to her home for General Conference and dinner.

It was the fitful night’s sleep on an air mattress, it was realizing that we did in fact have AAA and could rescue the key from the trunk of the car, it was the four missionaries who helped us unload the entire truck in record time.

It is the complete chaos that is now our apartment, the reunification of our little family, the love of a new job, the continued opportunity of an old job, the incredible blessing of being so easily and warmly welcomed into a new congregation of Saints, and the adventures that yet await us on the Eastern coast of the United States.

While hands down I almost lost my sanity, and there are still details to be worked out, there have also been so, so many tender mercies that have graced and aided us on our way, and it has been a period of time where the evidence of the prayers of others becomes tangible.

And for that, and to all of you, I am deeply grateful.

Next on the list: 

Parenthood.