Three Day Weekends Forever Please

Three day weekends can really make you smile, can't they?  It's amazing what just ONE
extra day off work can do for a person, how much more refreshed and revitalized it can
make you feel.  We did this past weekend right: the perfect blend of rest, work, and play.
I didn't feel the doom and gloom of a Monday workday hovering over me, I just felt free.  

On Friday: I went grocery shopping after work and got this week's meal planning
schedule taken care of.  I had a certain meal in mind all day and I took my time choosing all
of the ingredients, changed out of my work clothes and spent the next few hours in the
kitchen getting everything just so.  We sat down to a meal of salmon and crab, coleslaw
with fresh tomatoes and bacon, grilled asparagus, and tortellini with fresh basil and roasted
red peppers.  I felt so completely satisfied after that meal, every single pregnancy
craving served.  And Shawn gave me a big 'ole kiss and ran out for ice cream before bed.  It
was perfect.

On Saturday: We hit the river with our best friends.  Lots of mamas and daddies and babies
on the boat, swimming in the cool water, sipping on cream soda.  There's nothing better to
me during pregnancy than swimming, finally feeling weightless, floating in the sun.  Brees
was in a terrible mood for the first part of the boat ride and stayed glued to me, literally.
She relaxed after a nice swim and a turn "driving" the boat.  We later realized she was
terribly constipated, I'm sure the bouncing up and down on the water didn't feel
especially great to her tummy.  She made "it" happen after we got home, if you know what
I mean, and was back to her sweet and cuddly self in no time.  We spent the rest of the
night having a big slumber party: 5 adults and 6 kids.  We ate fajitas and chocolate chip
cookies and fresh peaches and stayed up REALLY late talking the way only best friends can.  
It was a wonderful day with especially wonderful people and we drove home the 
next morning feeling brand new.

On Sunday: We took lots of naps, watched movies, and stayed in our pajamas all day.  
Because sometimes you just need a day like that.

On Monday: We all woke up really early and started our chores.  Shawn went to
physical therapy while the girls and I power cleaned the whole house.  We all had lunch
and then spent the rest of the day floating in the pool, listening to music and sipping on
sweet tea.  We grilled shish kabobs for dinner using squash, zucchini, and peppers from
our garden.  The girls cried when it was time to go inside and they realized they would have
to finally get out of their swimsuits.  We were all a little sunburned, I cut up some aloe for
after shower skin soothing.  As we said our prayers together before bed, we all thanked
each other for the best weekend ever.    

Dance On, Brother

We received very sad news on Friday: one of our oldest and dearest friends passed away
on Thursday night.  A life taken too soon, no goodbyes, no final moments.  It just was.  And 
we were all left with our hearts on our sleeves wondering what?  Are you serious?  
He's gone?

It is very difficult to process such a tragedy.  Shawn and I felt denial at first, the words, "I
just can't believe it" passing between us over and over.  The phone calls started, words
of condolences, long time friends crying tears of sadness and all I could do was shake my
head in disbelief.  I started pouring through old photo albums, reliving the countless nights
and days we spent together, laughing at old stories and inside jokes only our group of
friends could understand.  And the more I looked, the more real it became.  He is gone.

We met Mike when we moved to New Orleans so many years ago: a charismatic rebel with
a true zest for life.  He had a laugh that was contagious, a mischievous grin, and a free spirit.
It was a time in our lives when no one had cell phones, there was no Facebook or
Instagram, most people only used their computers to illegally download music.  We
LIVED,  we lived so big and loud and free, a group of hippies with no responsibilities and
the Big Easy at our disposal.  We went to rock shows and drank Pabst Blue Ribbon, danced
at the Shim Sham and jumped up on stage at Rock'n'Bowl.  We had late night singalongs
with our mish mash of instruments on the back porch, Sunday afternoon BBQs and
hurricane parties.  And in all those memories, wrapped up in all those stories, was Mike.

Years later, we all started getting married and having babies and building careers, some of
us moving to different places while others stayed.  But, despite the distance and different
life stages, we remained in each other's lives.  Phone calls to check in, weekend trips back
to the city, reunions at Jazz Fest where we picked up right up where we left off.  Our band
of friends that was more like family, a group of individuals that felt empowered when we
were all together.  It is a special blessing in life to know such special souls, to find love
and comfort in a group of people who accept you and love you for who you are, who
find beauty in your flaws and love you in spite of them.  

And it was in remembering all those times that I came to realize that Mike is and never will
be gone.  He will forever live on in all of us, in the memories that we all hold so dear.  He
will forever be the brother who, instead of warning me not to jump a fence or climb on top
of the roof, offered me a helping hand and a shoulder to stand on and said, "Let's make this
shit happen!".  He lived life his own way, truly dancing to the beat of his own heavy
metal drum.  And we are all the better for having danced with him. 

Listening to this today, Mikey.  You are a very loved man.

Soul Food

There are times in your life when the most therapeutic medicine you can receive is
a weekend with your best friend: a sister soul who drops everything in her busy life, puts
her own family aside, and flies across the country because she knows how much you need
a break from the everyday even when you insist that you are fine.  She carries with her
a servant heart and an accepting spirit, listening to all your war stories and comforting
you by sharing her own.  She can make you laugh and drop all your insecurities, boost
your spirit with an afternoon beer and a long bike ride.  Having this kind of friend in
your home makes you realize how heavy your load has been as she lifts off each layer one
by one, lightening your burden and allowing your free spirit to resurface.  She hugs you
close even as you try to pull away, remembering how tightly you used to hug her before
all the trauma made you fragile and guarded.  She brings that out in you: the before.  But
she also embraces the new, understanding that though you are a little more broken that
the last time she saw you, you are still Liv.  That's the beautiful thing about a friend
like Charlie: she knows you inside and out, believes in you, supports you, trusts you, and
is always there for you.  And you are the same for her.  

Thank you for the most soul sister rejuvenating weekend, my dear Charlie.  May we
always remember to separate the truths from the blow hards, to be grateful that we
woke the fuck up, and that we continue to do whatever the fuck it takes.