It was a beautiful day for a trip to West Virginia for a wedding.
Recently we celebrated my adorable nephew and his sweet bride.
Happy Saturday friends.
The whole crew was together for exactly 24 hours and I was here for it.
We were finally able to catch up on our trip to Mexico, which leads me back to our little cliff hanger…
When I caught my husband’s eye with that look that every husband knows better than his own cell phone number, he IMMEDIATELY began to help me find a public restroom.
He did this in a NOT SO VERY PRIVATE way that he’s been known to exhibit when I give him “That” look, no matter how much I hope for a discreet, delicate announcement.
This is not one of my husband’s strengths and since he has so few weaknesses I just let this slide.
Was that the best way to put that considering the subject matter we’re dealing with, probably not, but it sure is hilarious.
Let me preface this whole scenario by saying that the word RESTroom in Mexico City is a complete misnomer if ever there was one.
Our gracious hosts began navigating through the sea of people to get our WHOLE GROUP to a sketchy set of toilets.
There’s no free lunch here or free toilet so we counted out pesos and hoped for the best as we ALL ducked deep into this alley maze from a horror film.
For a few moments I did wonder if we would ever be seen again but at this point yours truly was willing to risk life and limb for help.
Let’s take a moment to let your mind wander to the worst case scenario when it comes to stomach trouble.
Where would you least like to find yourself in the whole wide world helpless with stomach cramps- I mean where the very thought of it makes your skin clammy and heart skip for a minute.
Bundle that feeling, multiply that by ten billion and you’ll have this story pictured just about right.
I paid my pesos and was handed no more than three petite squares of what must have been half-ply toilet tissue.
Yes, it’s real and it was melting in my sweaty palms while I waited in a very long line.
Does Mexico City need the gospel?
Absolutely.
Does Mexico City need Charmin?
Youbetyourbottomdollar.
Did you see what I did there?
Your welcome.
Did I think I would die?
No. Not yet.
That was many more pesos to come.
After the third jaunt to the delightful rest areas we cordially beseeched the group to leave us to the wolves, er, I mean go and enjoy a bit of sight-seeing on their own.
We hoped at this point that Montezuma had only me in is sights and I was willing to take this one “for the team.”
As long as they left me a few pesos for my trouble.
Is this an appropriate time to mention that their are NO toilet seats in Mexico City?
So when I say I was “in the trenches,” well, I actually was.
One restroom actually had a floor-to-ceiling metal turnstile with a man guarding it.
You had to hand him your money and he would apparently judge by your grimace just how much toilet tissue you really needed and dispense it.
This just may very well be the worst job on the planet.
After about my third visit he seemed to be a bit more lenient in that regard though his frown became more pronounced each time I handed him pesos as if he had never seen a “repeat offender” before.
I couldn’t have looked more American if I had a neon sign on my flushed forehead.
While this is all taking place two things are notable.
One, how earnestly you can pray for very oddly specific things and how stalwart and positive my dear husband was each time I met him on the other side of the turnstile.
We would both sigh, he would give me sips of water and I would wondered how on earth you know to pick someone for times like this when you decide to go to the college Christmas banquet with them.
I would also wonder if we had enough pesos or if we needed to sell one of the kids if they ever found us again.
I reached the point where even the bathroom cleaning ladies were beginning to feel sorry for me, or at least I’m guessing that’s what they were saying to me each time they saw me.
In God’s awesomeness he gave me a respite and upon exiting the alley we stumbled into the front of a 500 year old church where there stood a lovely spray of greenery and white roses arching the doorway from a recent wedding.
There was a bonafide monk in the foyer making it feel like we were stepping back in time.
I hoped for my stomach’s sake that time would stand still for at least 45 minutes.
We enjoyed beautiful frescos painted hundreds of years before we even existed, caught our breath a bit and soaked up the cool silence.
We wouldn’t have chosen the means to our impromptu date but we sure were grateful for a moment to catch each other’s eye and remember how thankful we were for the other.
The pews were silky smooth from years of parishioners- the most comfortable I’ve ever sat in.
But at this point anything was welcomed that actually had a seat.
Gazing at the sanctuary’s seemingly sky-high gilded architecture we found the peace to let the words spill out we had been meaning to say for some time.
Our kids were staring at the beginning of finding a life’s partner and here we were in the comfortably worn middle section.
And we were grateful, beyond grateful to be this distance from those first fire-works and fanfare.
We laughed at the fact that you can’t even imagine at the starting gate the importance of a smiling someone handing you pesos for toilet paper.
You can only grow into that someone with someone.
Time can be such a gift, wearing away rough edges and smoothing out deep ruts you can get completely comfortable in.
Ruts don’t have to be bad, or feared for that matter.
They can be a familiar path home again.
One you can almost navigate with your eyes closed.
Marriage is the sweetest, hardest gift the Lord has given me.
When we left our little sacred space to meet our kids, someone was taking apart the spray of flowers, giving handfuls of it to those leaving the church.
A sweet reminder that I may not be a blushing bride anymore but I’m good with that.
I handed my bouquet to a passerby with a smile.
It’s wonderful to hand sweetness to the up and coming.
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