Greg is upstairs playing the guitar. I usually try to hurry him through his guitar playing because he gets locked in "guitar world" and can't hear anything I say.

But tonight I am just sitting and closing my eyes and enjoying it. He's recently started playing to the boys at night to help them settle down before bed. It's been a rough past few days and sitting on the couch closing my eyes to the muffled sounds of the guitar seems like just what the doctor ordered.

Thursday BYU lost a heart wrenching sweet sixteen game, that although was the end to a great season for the cougars, caused a sense of melancholy to settle in our home. And while many of you may question my "true BYU fanhood," because I am rather indifferent to sports in general, there is nothing more depressing than being in the same room as my husband after a loss. I can almost hear his heart break.

And Friday night while in bed at 2:30, Greg was awake downstairs to witness a strange man enter our home. While he probably just mistook our apartment for his, Greg (and I) were rattled just the same. It proved to cause a mixture of emotions. Fear that something our door was unlocked and that this man could have had ill intentions. But also I felt blessed. Blessed that the Lord watched out for us, that the kids were not roused, and that Greg was awake, downstairs, and that I was safely tucked in bed upstairs.

While I would like to report Saturday was much better, it too turned into an emotional roller coaster. After 3 hours of regular contraction, I was thrilled to see that they were finally 5 minutes apart. We called our friends who had agreed to watch our kids and they came to pick them up and take them to their house for the night. We were a flurry of activity as we packed our last minute essentials, emptied our dishes and put the last of our laundry away. When I finally sat down for a breather, I noticed the contractions slowing. Seven minutes apart, Nine minutes apart, twelve minutes apart. We called the doctor who suggested I lay down and drink water, and if the contractions continued, to come to the hospital to get checked.

Well they went away. I felt disappointed. I felt embarrassed. For Pete's sake I was three days over due. Why can't my body figure out how to go into labor? So we called our friends to inform them that we would indeed be at church the next day and could they bring our kids and we would just take them home.

Here's to hoping that the next few evenings prove to be uneventful and normal. Unless we have actual labor, I think I'd be okay with that.

Well the music upstairs has stopped and now I am sitting in silence as I type. And right now, I'm not going to complain about that either.