First off, before I start the post proper, I have to say that when I wrote that post about refining, I was not trying to tell anyone, like, say, God, that I wanted to be refined more. I think he misheard me. That must have been it. Because just like praying for patience gets you nothing but what feels like indefinite waiting, apparently posting about being refined calls attention to that fact. And God goes "Oh yeah, I was working on her!" and throws His little project back in the fire.
Yep, I'm being melted down and beaten up with the hammer and tongs as we speak. And it took three times writing, erasing, and rewriting that phrase to keep it from sounding dirty, so if it did don't tell me, okay? Thanks. Suffice it to say for now that we could use some prayer and a break. That barrel of water looks really good right now.
But that's not what tonight's post is about...I don't know if I could articulate it if it was. So instead, I'm going to tell you about a Baby Shower.
My friend Angie is having her fourth baby. I want to tell a funny story about how wanted this baby is, but I'm going to refrain because somehow I'm not sure Angie wants her funny stories bandied about on my blog. Suffice it to say that this is an amazingly wanted baby, who is going to be one of my daughter's best friends or else...something. All of her other kids are great friends with all of my other kids, and so Vivi and this new baby, who will be gracing us with her presence on June 23rd, will definitely be tight. Or else, like I said.
Anyway, last night was Angie's baby shower. She was lovely and pregnant and her hair looked really pretty as usual. My other pregnant friends were there, taking cute belly bumping pictures, and it once again made me jealous that my baby had to be surgically extracted from my uterus before I got to wear any of my cute maternity clothes.
Like any baby shower, there have to be embarrassing games. Let me tell you something.
I hate baby shower games.
I'll say it again.
I hate baby shower games.
I can't help it...I have these two personality traits warring within me. One is super shy and hates drawing attention to myself and will deny myself lots of fun things because they could be embarrassing and oh, the horror! The other is a huge extrovert and laps up attention like a kitten drinks milk. Or like how Seth craves Pediasure. Like it's the love of his life. Attention! Yay! People like me! Yes, it's a strange life to live, balancing out these two trains of thought.
Baby Shower games bring out both and man, is it ugly. See, I hate baby shower games because you have to do stupid things and look silly. So I say I hate them. But then, almost against my will, I get sucked into the games and I win them. My competitive side comes out or someone laughs at something I say and the bold side of my personality just jumps right out there. Once I sang Karaoke against my will, and people seemed to like it, which thrilled me. So I kept singing. And kept singing. I couldn't stop myself. I needed more adulation! And then I was singing "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to." And everyone was all clapping half heartedly and smiling but totally whispering "get her off the stage" urgently to the person sitting next to them. If I hadn't been about 12 years old, marginally cute, and said singing wasn't taking place at my Grandparents' 40th wedding anniversary, they would have come after me with the hook. And it wouldn't have mattered that I was family.
Wow, I digress. Point is I win baby shower games. I should probably not play them, because it's really not fair to anyone else. No matter what the game is, I get in the zone, and my brain just knows; I'm the winner. Last night's game was Hot Potato. Of course, in a nod to the baby part of "baby shower", the "potato" was a baby doll. We all gathered around in a big circle and the lovely hostess stood by with a boom box.
It all began very light hearted. We passed the baby side to side, minding the baby's head. The first person to get out, my friend Diana, loudly protested her ousting, saying she was going to get the prize no matter what it took. We laughed and moved on. Someone else got out. And someone else. And then Angie's six year old daughter got out, which I think we all felt a a little bad about, but come on. She just didn't have the Hot Potato experience of the mature women of the group. As the circle of ladies shrank, the mood became a little more intense. I started to pick out the competition, the women who were especially quick on the draw. The tension was rising, and every time the doll came near me I started to stress out. I couldn't be caught with the doll. The baby doll was being manhandled (dollhandled?) now, roughly passed from person to person. I perfected my move, The Pullback, in which I would gasp, throw up my hands, and shrink away from the person next to me, taking a large step back to avoid accepting the doll at the moment the music stopped.
Before I knew it the game was down to three of us. Me, Ava's kindergarten teacher, and her future first grade teacher. It was crazy and loud and we were all cracking up laughing so loud we couldn't even hear the music in the background. I knew there was a chance that if I beat them, there was a chance that Ava's grades could be secretly altered in order to get me back, but I was too far gone to care. Ava's teacher got out next, and it was down to me and Mrs. Karn, the first grade teacher and the most cutthroat hot potato player of all. She barely even touched the baby...it was as if we were playing volleyball and she was bumping the poor thing back to me every time I sent it her way. Diana was in the background yelling "Don't shake the baby!" It was too late, though...the baby was flying through the air like a circus performer out of a cannon. Then, suddenly, the music stopped. We both looked to the crowd, as things had gotten so intense that I don't think either of us were sure who had won.
It turned out to be my moment of glory. I was declared the winner and handed a gift bag. I kind of couldn't breathe. Who knew Hot Potato was a cardio work out? I pulled the tissue paper out of the bag to reveal the prize I'd fought such a hard won batter for and found...
A bottle of PAM.
Which I actually needed. So, I laughed and said so. Then everyone noticed that Diana was looking strangely guilty, and eventually she copped to hiding the real prize away in the pantry and replacing it with the PAM. I was momentarily sad, since I really had needed some PAM, but I handed it back over and accepted my prize, a perfectly lovely little set of Mary Kay Timewise stuff. Which I need. I was happy again. Seriously, don't you remember those guys at the mall who told me my eyes looked all old? They did. But now that I think about it, I don't know if I ever blogged that...I think I facebooked it. But suffice it to say I apparently have old eyes. So I needed it. When Diana protested that she needed it more, Mara handed her the bottle of PAM, saying "Here, you can use this!"
Of course, everyone else was protesting my need for the Timewise, and then someone said I was born in 1985 and they all laughed and laughed like that was so ridiculously young. So, like people do when they get defensive because they feel insecure about their age, I immediately said "I was not born in 1985...that's crazy! I was born in 1982!"
Because apparently, those three years make all the difference.
And I kept the Timewise.
18 hours ago