Real Simple’s Life Lessons Essay Contest (My Entry)

Best of everything to the gal who won - even though it wasn't me. :o)

Be sure to read her winning story contribution in the April Issue of Real Simple Magazine. In the meantime, here's the story that I submitted to the contest. I thought you might enjoy this blast from my past, that, by the way, really happened.

(My Entry)

On the best day ever, I was the mother of two children under the age of four.

I know what you’re thinking, “She’s crazy, or, not another lengthy, touchy, feely, warm and fuzzy story about the joys and woes of parenting!” Well, yes and no. I mean, you are partially right. While there have obviously been numerous joys and woes along the way, I’m sharing just one incredible day of our journey.

It was on this day that I learned that baby number three would be arriving sometime around the Fourth of July the following summer. As it goes with many autumn days in the northwestern Chicago suburbs, you could sense winter approaching. Blue skies had been replaced for gray and it was definitely a bit brisk outside. Since I hadn’t felt all that great to begin with, the short but chilly trip to the corner drugstore toting my just turned four year old son, Michael and his sixteen month old baby sister, Sydney, was proving to be about all this Momma could handle.

There was no real need to make that frantic call to my OB/GYN or even complete the frenzied hike to the drugstore, for that matter. I tried to talk myself out of the idea of bothering to buy that quick test in a box. I knew good and well what that little pink stick was going to say before I even started. Seriously, after having gone through the queasy and sluggish start of the day type of feeling two times before, I had a pretty good idea of what my incredibly fatigued and increasingly nauseous body was trying to tell me. Still, to market, we went. I guess I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.

The not so quick trip had left us a bit cranky. After a bite of lunch and a naptime story, Michael and Sydney were ready for a nap. I could have used a nap myself but that little box on the bathroom counter was calling my name. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to read the result. I, mother of two under the age of four, was officially pregnant with my third. As expected as the outcome should have been, I briefly considered saving the stick as evidence to share the news with my husband, Joe.

Like any woman with even half a complete hormonal thought, I felt both elated and bewildered at the same time. As I pondered the various ways to share the news with Joe, who despite our recent careless romps was no more anticipating this turn of events than I had been, I carefully resisted the temptation to call my Mom and Sister for a practice run of sharing the big news. Understandably, given his hands-on involvement in the situation, Joe might not have appreciated being the third person in the know. That being said, I immediately threw myself into creating the perfect dinner. Nothing takes my mind off of worries and drains nervous energy like cooking something wonderful in the kitchen.

So there I was, up to my eyeballs in pasta, a big, fresh salad, warm bread, complete with homemade sauce accompanied by a lovely wine, for him. On past occasions, that old saying about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach had proven itself quite true. Maybe it had actually been the too much of a good thing food coma that sets in and dulls the senses. Whatever it was, it had worked before and it was worth a shot.

The ringing phone startled me out of my intense dinner preparation and back into the reality of sleeping children who still needed about twenty more minutes of uninterrupted napping. I did the lightening fast dive for the phone and caught it after barely a full ring when I received the news we’d been waiting to hear for the past three weeks. We had qualified for the loan to purchase our first home.

I had to sit down for a second to soak it in and then squealed in excitement and gratitude. We’d been renting up until that point and we had been hoping, praying and saving so that we would finally qualify for a loan to purchase a home based on one income. It hadn’t been easy, but we had been managing to make ends meet and had finally gathered enough funds for a small down payment.

Wow, what a day! Now I was looking at a genuine twofer! A twofer is when you get two for the price of one and the news for this day was definitely a twofer! I had to wait to tell Joe because, by this point in the workday, he’d be on his way home and I had no way of reaching him. This was back in the early nineties when everyone didn’t have cell phones to deliver the, “I can’t wait to tell him news” like we do today. As you might imagine, it was now even harder to resist the urge to call my Mom and Sis.

Overwhelmed with joy I began to think of all of the times we had scrimped and saved in order to get to this point. We had lived so financially conservative and it was finally paying off. All of those times we had eaten in and rented movies rather than paying a sitter and dining out. The way too many tuna casseroles and hot dogs on the grill. The countless nights of tortillas and eggs for dinner. (Hey, it’s actually really good – you should try it.)

I was now in awe about this baby, too. As I’ve suggested, it wasn’t like we had been planning to add to the family at that point, or ever, for that matter. Honestly, though, I had always had a feeling that there would be three children for us. Now the timing seemed nearly magical. After all, a combo is usually the best deal on the menu and we were all about finding the best deal.

My thoughts raced as I tried to decide which big news I should share with Joe first. I finished making dinner and went ahead and fed the kids as it seemed that Joe was running a bit later than usual. I was tidying up the kitchen when he walked through our back door.

Michael raced to his Dad and with Sydney on my hip, we shared our usual hellos. Once hugs and kisses were exchanged, Joe could see on my face that I had a few things I’d been waiting to share. Likewise, Joe looked like some things were on his mind, too. We both started talking and before we knew it we had plates overflowing with changes for our growing family.

Joe had been given the news that day that the company he worked for would be relocating to Colorado and that he was invited to transfer. Unbelievable, right? We were having a new baby, approved for a loan to buy our very first house and being offered the chance to move to a new state. A twofer was one thing. I mean, at least twofer is an actual word. I don’t believe that the word three-fer even exists in the English language.

Again, my mind was racing and my hormones were surging. I imagine that my insides looked like the waves of the ocean before a hurricane hits.

(You will understand my reasons for that reference in a minute.) My feelings were all over the map. I thought of everything I’ve ever heard regarding the number three. Good things happen in three’s. There’s a three point shot in basketball and a triple play in baseball as well as third base, where I’d obviously passed on more than one or two occasions. In poker you can play three of a kind and in football there’s the three point field goal. There’s the triple threat of an amazingly qualified or talented person and the buy one get two free deals at the grocery store. Oh, remember that Commodores song, “Three Times a Lady”? If it involved the number three, this soon to be mother of three was doing the math.

Joe and I fell to our seats at the table where our overflowing plates of perfect pasta grew cold. Who could eat? In one day, the world had opened up in ways we would never have imagined just hours earlier. What a difference a day makes.

We ended up staying in the area and Joe found a new job. We moved into our brand new, three-bedroom home at twenty-three Ridge Court. Our beautiful third child, Ryan John, was born and officially joined our family on July thirteenth.

One more thing, in 2003, we moved to Florida. The very next year, our town was hit by three out of four hurricanes. No kidding. All I can say is that at least those three hurricanes happened on three different days.