The TMI Post

I've received emails and calls about why I haven't blogged in nearly a week.

I think this is the longest I've gone without blogging in a looong time.

I was trying to explain to a friend why I haven't been around.

Part of it is because I worry I will bore you with truck stories...or gross you out (oh the things I've withheld on the bloggy for your benefit).  I have to remind myself often that this blog is for my girls. Journal of our lives through my eyes. Many things we've experienced they'll be too young to remember, this blog is for them to know all we've experienced or endured and gotten through, by the grace of God.

All of you have been so encouraging to me, of our new way of life, and our soon to be roommates.

But it's hard on a daily basis to throw out there the thoughts (and sometimes actions) of my heart. My heart can be very ugly and it's quite embarrassing to see so often in my entries. I fear people getting sick of my moaning and groaning and truck stories and just giving up on my blog altogether.

Not that I wouldn't understand!

However, I want my girls and my husband, too, should he ever read this, to see where I have been emotionally, spiritually and physically and hopefully see growth.
Run on sentence!

Okay, enough about that, how about some truck stories? FYI, you may want to click that little X at the top right and leave now while you have the chance.
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There was your warning time.

I am not the type of person who embarrasses easily. I don't shy away from talking about personal stuff, in person. On the blog, I keep it pretty tame. But my family talks about burping, farting, potty, poop, s*x, oh and of course the ever wonderful menstrual cycle.

There's just not much that gets held back.

To me, there is really no such thing as TMI also known as Too Much Information.

But I know that some people have a harder time talking about or hearing about those certain topics. I try to be respectful of that.

And that's why I am giving you yet another chance to leave the blog before I tell you something that was actually embarrassing for me.

Rest areas are hard to come by. What's even harder to come by is a husband who will stop so you can use them. He does pretty well but miles are money and if the truck stops so do the miles.  I use most every opportunity I can to use the restroom.  But sometimes I find I have to potty between stops and I can usually hold it just fine.

#2 is, um, a different story.

When I gotta go...I gotta go.

(last chance to leave the blog)

It was the end of our first week. We were out in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho at a lumber yard. All lumber yards require hard hats for you to step out of your rig.

We only have one hard hat.

My husband was wearing it.

He's strapping the load (snort) and as he comes by my side of the truck he asks how I am doing. I had been fine until a few seconds before. I told him I had to go to the bathroom.

"Pee?" he asks. I shake my head. He's a quick study and knew what I meant.

He starts running. He's strapping the lumber, working as quickly as he can.

But I quickly realized I was not going to be able to wait.

Panic set in.

I started to sweat.

And I realized my only option.

A plastic bag.

I had enough time to put Sugar in Josh's seat, close myself behind the sleeper curtain and then use the um, makeshift restroom.

Spice was on the bottom bunk of the sleeper, pulling herself up on me and babbling, she thought it was a hoot I was on her level, while Sugar is up front, yelling, "Mama, what are you doing back there? Are you okay? I want to come back there!"

Here I am. Squatting. Waiting for someone to pinch me and wake me from this nightmare that is currently my life.

But it was my reality.

I finished what needed finishing.

Tied up the bag.

Sprayed some Scentsy freshener and watched as my husband continued to scramble about the lumber.

He gets done and comes into the cab.

"I don't need to go anymore." I tell him.

"Did you poop your pants?!" he asks and I can tell he's sad and horrified for me.

"Nope, in this bag," I tell him as I lift it up.

I wanted to die. It's funny after twelve years, two kids, and two surgeries I can still get embarrassed in front of him.

But I doo.

Don't you wish you lived in a semi too?

-- Post From My iPhone