When I think back on this weekend, I want to remember a few things.
I want to remember how foggy and rainy and gray it was the Friday morning of my first Car-fit event as a technician. I want to remember how random clusters of bees kept flying up at us, making us run around like crazy people. I want to remember practicing on each other's cars. I want to remember breakfast at Coffee Shack at 7:30, bright and early, before we set out.
I want to remember rushing home to write a SOAP note, scarfing down an apple and peanut butter, and hurriedly putting together an outfit that I hoped was appropriate for stand up paddle boarding (which is apparently called "SUP"). I want to remember the van ride with our SUP crew, learning the seat belt game and laughing the whole way there. I want to remember how scared I was when I first set foot in the Tar River, how scared I was when I felt the river's current trying to pull me out away from the other paddlers, how scared I was when I finally tried - successfully - to stand up. I was scared, but I still did it, and I am proud of myself. I am especially proud that I never even fell into the water once. That is something I was sure was going to happen. I want to remember the car ride back, when I was quiet and hungry, but then laughing about going as different parts of the homonculus for Halloween.
I want to remember changing at Rebekah's and having lime Perrier. I want to remember dinner at China 10 and having two glasses of cab and laughing as hard as I could. I want to remember the fortunes we grabbed and how one was about friendship.
I want to remember feeling pretty ragged when I woke up on the couch on Saturday morning, and how I couldn't wait until Justin got home, partly because sleeping on the couch multiple nights in a row isn't fun, and partly because I want someone to share the job of taking Tahoe out, but mostly just because I miss him. I want to remember trudging down the roads outside before the sun came out. I want to remember how it was just a pink and orange streak in the distance.
I want to remember my first Habitat for Humanity build day. I want to remember the banter and the sore legs and the hammering in linoleum flooring. I want to remember how proud Kalyn and I felt that we had actually learned a new skill that day, and that we had worked together and problem solved and just generally owned our task.
I want to remember breakfast with Rebekah at 1:30 p.m. at the Scullery. I want to remember that delicious veggie scramble, toast and jam, and the CHEESE GRITS. But mostly, I want to remember the conversations over multiple cups of luke-warm and somehow still delicious coffee. I want to remember feeling that comfortable feeling of knowing someone is listening to your stories, laughing with you, and sharing their stories as well. I want to remember how much I needed that, how much it helped me to de-stress and remember that this school thing is something to really experience. Not something to stress over.
I want to remember chatting with Mom on the drive home, telling her all about this weekend that I want to remember. I want to remember my long talk on the phone with Dad when I got home. We talked about wheelchair transfers and SOAP notes and gait belts and other things therapy-related. I want to remember how happy I am that we now have therapy in common, that, by the end of my schooling, we will both be therapists.
I want to remember everything about this weekend. And now, it's down in writing, the best place for it to be.
The main thing I want to remember tomorrow, though? All of my Foundations information. To not stress. To take things one day at a time. That everything is going to be ok. That school is going to fly by at the blink of an eye, and that now is the time to enjoy it and experience it, not when there are no tests on the horizon.
Now, I sit at the table, about to make a schedule for this week, in order for it all to work. I sit and wait for Justin to arrive home. I sit and I study. And I clean the house. And I start reading the Bible daily again. That's today.