Temples. ...and balloons.

Analee says I should write about balloons today.  Bub says "I love the temple."  Duck says "temple."  Two out of three ain't bad.  I should figure out a way to write about balloons, too. 

We don't get to the temple near as often as we want to or even as much as we should.  It's one of the reasons I want to live close to a big city, but not quite in it.  Close to a temple sounds wonderful to me.  Of course, I figure close to family is just as good.  There are few people I trust with my children, but Grandma and Grampa are on top of that list.  So if we move to within 6 hours of Lincoln, we'll probably use them.  If not, I hope to be near a temple. 

In fact, one of my dreams is to live within walking distance of a temple.  I've looked up area prices of the temples we've almost gotten jobs for, and Mesa looks great, price-wise.  It's not the only one.  Omaha also looks great.  The problem with Omaha is that family might use our home as a stopping place for temple trips, which might involve us in family drama.  We want to avoid that. 

With our kids all so young, it's tough to get to the temple.  Literally.  I have an early morning job, which means I should have an early evening bedtime.  That means we would have to leave for the temple right when I get home, and with the temple roughly 3-4 hours away, that means rush hour traffic in DC.  For those of you that don't know, I hate traffic.  I also hate big cities.  Put the two together and Daddy gets cranky quickly.  Then you add in the fact that my wife and I can't go into the temple together.  So I let her go first.  ...and then when she comes out, we realize that we'll have to get home because I have to get to bed.  ...and we can't afford to eat out.  ...and we can't find anybody to go with us. 

You see, the problems seem to snowball on us.  They always seem to.  For example, just after struggling through my senior essay at SVU (I wrote 30+ pages in less than 4 days), I got a call from the registrar.  Backstory: I'd been working on getting my language passed off for two years.  I learned and still speak dialects from the Philippines.  Hiligaynon (also known as Ilonggo) is the one I chose to pass off.  Great!  I know it well!  Just before my last semester at SVU, I finally got the registrar to sign off on my language.  When he called a week before I graduated, I knew it wouldn't be pretty.  Somehow, Dr. MacDonnell gave me a B on the essay, so I knew my problems would get worse before they got better.  So the registrar tells me that BYU has a test for the language, and I could just take that and get credit for my language. 

Wait.  I was supposed to graduate in a few days!

Nope.  I sent away for the test.  Only, when it got to SVU, I didn't have any way of knowing about it.  They never called.  So 6 months later, my wife, who happened to be a student at SVU (a story I'll let her tell), went to the registrar's office, and they gave her the runaround.  Something about confidentiality.  So I went in and found out that they had my test and were trying to contact me.  So I set up a time for the test.

Another problem: the good people at BYU don't know how to speak Ilonggo.  I could tell they were (a) reading from a bad script and (b) knew nothing of how to pronounce the language.  Wala ko nakaintiende sang langwahe nila!  (I couldn't understand their language!)  So I guessed.  The entire way through the test.

The good thing about our snowballing problems is that Heavenly Father seems to realize that we're incredibly problem-prone, and finds a solution to our problems.  I passed the test.

The temple problem, however, is still a difficult one.  We can't very well expect our kids to sit through 6-8 hours of driving plus temple time without stopping at least once along the way.  Plus there are other costs involved.  Gas.  Snack food.  (My wife can't exactly prepare a dinner for us, so we're eating finger foods, which come at a cost.) 

Suffice to say, we don't get to go to the temple near enough for our tastes.

One day, though, we will.  ...and when we do, we'll even tie balloons (see?!  I told you I could do it!) to the car.  Filled with helium, as we will be.  Giddy to go to the temple.

One day.

While I've got your attention, let me correct my wife a bit.  The "10 minutes" that it took for Bub to be born isn't quite accurate.  We had to get from the car to the delivery.  That means (a) parking, which wasn't hard, (b) walking *slowly* to the hospital, (c) going up the elevator, and (d) getting the doctor to see her.  We were in the delivery room for about 2 minutes.  They checked my wife into the hospital about an hour later.  One of the questions they asked: "Did you want pain medication?"  Awkward silence.  "I mean, I'm supposed to ask."  Defensive look.  My wife's response.  "Yes."  What she was thinking.  "Thanks for bringing up such an unhappy memory!" 

When Bub was first put in her arms, her thought process seemed to be "what is this thing?!?"  There seemed to be no rush of oxytocin.  The second the nurse left the room, it was "John, take your boy."

Mommy was not a happy camper that day.  I don't blame her.