This day is seared into my mind for eternity.

7 years ago today I was determined to break out of the depressive funk I was in.  I took 3 of my 4 kids, who were 5, 3, and 1 to the downtown library storytime (instead of the base one).  The 7 year old was in school.

It was 40 below with windchill.

The baby, who was a 20-month old Hammy, peeled off his socks and shoes on the way to the library and SCREAMED at the top of his lungs the rest of the way there-- because he was probably getting frostbite in the van.

I was determined to be positive and happy and bust the down, depressed, guilty feeling I had.  I had kids who needed puppet shows and books from the library and I had errands to run afterwards.

My period was late.  I was pretty convinced it was messed up since the miscarriage in May.  Or maybe it was hibernating.  I had been hibernating after all.

After the library, I went to Target.  I picked up a pregnancy test.  It was a double pack.  I had to use the bathroom so I took it right then in the Target bathroom.  And it didn't work.  I slipped it back in the box and took it home intending to call the company and get a refund.

I called the company from home and they apologized and promised coupons would come in the mail.
So I threw the defective one in my trash.

5 hours later, when Danny was home and I was able to use the bathroom again, I noticed that pregnancy test that didn't seem to work at all, now had two lines.  Dumb defective test.  I mentioned it to Danny.  He said he saw it in the trash and figured it was past the 10 minutes as is written on the box-- so it couldn't be accurate.  We decided I'd give my period a few more days to show up before testing again.

But then I ended bawling over something insignificant and decided to just test again that night.

I tested.  It was positive before I even set it down on the bathtub.

It would be another 2 1/2 weeks before I found out I was carrying triplets.