Addition. Or not.

There are days in my life that leave me breathless, with a sore back and unwashed hair, looking back at my house that is neither organized nor clean, wondering how it is I stumbled down this road. It's in those times, shuffling up the stairs with a basket of laundry that I am almost positive made it through the washer, peeling a child or two off of my legs while ignoring the "CARRRIIIEED!!! CARRRIIIEEEEEEEED!!!" cries and the attempts to go all dead weight on me so I won't put them down... those times have my uterus clamping down on itself, willing my insides to just shut down, stop working, dry up. Two is enough.

But there are other days, when all I hear are giggles, everyone eats their entire lunch, and when Eli poops, nothing but butterflies fill his diaper. Rainbows fill my eyes, and I imagine things like my family of 10 skipping through a field of wild flowers while singing about Doe's and Ray's and Fa La La's, all wearing matching jumpsuits I made from my size 8 clothing that no longer fits me. Paul is carrying a basket full of sandwiches I cut into little hearts, and apple juice that's not watered down because I just felt THAT NICE. And while a little corner of my brain wonders how it is I've sunken so far down into the domestic role, the rest is wondering how I am going to ask Paul to work until he's 95 so we can get all of our kids through college.

I flip back and forth at the drop of a hat (well, more realistically, at the drop of a cup full of milk that I have repeatedly asked to be set down on the table to avoid doing EXACTLY THAT). I think that some people might say that since I am having any doubts at all, that maybe we should just be done and be thankful for what we have. After all, everything is so convenient for a family of four. Throw a third into the mix, and everything gets all crowded and awkward. But there are others, I know, that say because I am still left wondering if the next one is going to have bright blue eyes like Alex and Eli, and have gone so far as to scout out some names.... I don't know. Maybe we aren't done. As of right now, more would be nice.

If I could just avoid being pregnant for nine months, the decision would be so easy. I don't want to puke. I don't want heartburn. I am making good headway on my weight loss and I don't want that to not only come to a screeching halt, but actually reverse. I really REALLY don't want to puke. I enjoy regularly scheduled bowel movements. I enjoy being able to cut my toenails without being winded after.

And I enjoy not puking.

But... 10 kids singing harmony while eating little tiny sandwiches. Hard to pass up.

Christmas Happenings.

Merry Christmas from the Rinas Family.

They tried to warn me.

It's hard to hear the warnings of other mothers when your little ones are... well... little. Everyone says it goes quickly, and that you should store each and every moment up in a bottle, because soon you will be missing it sorely. When you're entrenched in diapers and crying and late nights and Baby Stuff, it's hard to take that warning seriously. But you know what? It's true.

While on the phone with my mother the other night, the subject of Alex's birthday came up, which is in March. Mom asked if she was going to be three. My first instinct was to say, No, Of course not, She'll be 2 months old. But then... Three. She'll be THREE. I couldn't believe it.

Sometimes I look at her and I still see this:

But then she'll do something or say something, and it's like I get sucked back to Present Day, and she's standing there smiling at me, saying "Good Job Mama! It's Beautiful!" because I put a block on our tower just so.


So I look to the other side of the room, and for a second, my Sweet Little Eli is laying there looking at me with his sweet little baby face.


But then he'll break out his best monkey impression and couple it with a dance that is just bizarre, all the while laughing because he KNOWS he's funny.


I just can't believe it.

As much as it breaks my heart knowing that someday Paul and I will look at each other, and our quiet empty house, knowing that they've all flown the coop (although, to be honest, alot of the time this sounds pretty fantastic), I enjoy watching them grow up. They are evolving into little people. And so different from one another. I always thought Eli would be my quiet, shy one. But he's not. He's just quiet because he knows he can get away with more that way. I am sure he looks at his sister and just shakes his head sometimes, because she'll go into Trouble screaming loudly and flailing her arms. He just sneaks into Trouble, and stays there quietly doing mischief until he's found. And if I raise my voice with Alex, she'll stop and most times break into sobs that can only be soothed with lots of cuddling. Eli, on the other hand, will just smile and do whatever it is he is doing wrong as many times as he can before I can reach him.

Life is pushing us steadily forward, and I think from now on, I am going to try and keep a better record of it, because there is only so much you can keep in your head before it gets replaced with "How To Change A Diaper In A Bathroom With No Changing Table" or "How To Effectively Get Pee Out Of Your Couch Cushion". Here's to trying.

A Short Tour.

The road leading to our house. If you look left, you see the freeway, right and you see the road leading into the village.

The village Church. Still active.

Across the street from the church, the graveyard.

With a place to rest.

Continue on the road and see our lonely bus stop.

And some rolling hills.

Not a bad place to call home.

The Nitch.

It seems as of late that my family life has been evolving, taking on new aspects that we never saw up until just a few months ago. I think that this is to be expected, for things to change like this, when you have a trans-continental move. I think that life probably changes like this a lot even without the move when you have two little people walking in your wake who are changing each and every single day, coming up with new independent tendencies and exploits to make you feel awkward in public. Our life changed like this one other time (in the years since we've been married), and that was our transition from England to St. Louis, which also happened to coincide with our transition from young newlyweds to overwhelmed parents. I was not prepared for that change. I had only just gotten used to England, and had only just gotten used to married life. St. Louis will forever be that awkward teenage-stage of our marriage, where there were too many things going on in our own bodies and lives to really be able to focus on what newlyweds normally tend to in those first few years. It was a great time, a time of change that I will be singing songs of thanksgiving for for the rest of my years, but one that I wasn't really feeling too equipped to be dealing with.

And then we made the decision to come back to England. One that was intertwined so tightly with both excitement and anxiety that I couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. I was so ready for a change. St. Louis never felt like home, and I could never come to grips with putting down roots. It just never happened. It could have been the house, it could have been the heat. I'm not entirely sure. But England presented us with an opportunity to start over. So we took it.

I really can't explain just how happy we are here. Within weeks of us moving into our house, it feels more like 'home' than St. Louis ever did. The Lord was gracious, as He always is, and lead us down the right paths to meet some amazing people. I have a circle of women that I adore, all of whom have children the same ages as mine. The kids have FRIENDS. Friends that they ask for by name.

Adjustments are still being made, by Paul and I and the kids. Alex is overwhelmed with the amount of playmates she has here. We go to an organized playgroup once a week in the village next to us, and then we get together with our new buds once a week as well, for a slightly less organized but much more fun playdate. It's taken her a while to get used to all of the activity, but she is blossoming. The other night Paul and I were going out, which usually involves us sneaking away while the kids are distracted by our babysitter, but Alex caught sight of us, and instead of screaming and clawing and not letting go, she ran up, said "BYE MOMMY! KISS!" It was no big deal. I was amazed. It was such a huge step. Sharing is still a hard concept, but we are getting there.

She is getting so big. She helps me cook.

I am starting to see myself in her. In her cheese grins that she gives me when I ask her to smile. I see years and years of goofing off for picture time coming back to bite me.

Eli is doing really well too. He gets helped out by his sister alot, which makes me happy to see. He spends most of his days finding new ways to amuse himself, and lately, it's been trying to fit into our toy bus. I have to hand it to him, once he sets his mind on something, he sticks to it. That will serve him well in the future. Now, though, not so much.

I've been finding my own way as well. I realize now looking back on it that I did not manage my time very well in St. Louis. I was always with the kids. Each and every single day. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. But I never took breaks. I never did anything to hold on to myself. I was mom, or wife. This was especially true during Paul's deployment. I see now that had I taken more effort to have time to myself, things would have been healthier for both myself and the kids. Best to learn from these mistakes though. So here, I've been going out of my way to find things that inspire different parts of my mind than the ones used to change diapers and do laundry. And it feels so good. I can come home from these things and be a happier mom, and happier wife. I feel more like the person I was before I had kids. I'm not trying to hold on to my youth, and I understand that change is inevitable. But I want the kids to remember me as more than the tired looking woman who shuffled behind them to pick up their wake.

Anyway, one of those things has been a ceramics class that I frequent on occasion. I've only done two pieces, but it's nice to get into a room filled with other people who are quietly bent over their projects, taking in the silence. This was my second piece, and I am altogether thrilled with how it turned out.

I've also been having fun in the kitchen. When the kids go to bed, our kitchen gets transformed into a baking machine. I love it. I've been experimenting with new recipes, and also ones with that are my own. It's been fun. I have a husband with a strong stomach, and that has certainly made it easier.

All in all, we are happy. We are content. And that's a really great feeling.

Short.

Hello again.

Sorry it's been so long. Our move, plus our lack of internet for the past few weeks make it a wee bit hard to get on here and update. But there are things happening here that deserve a little time.

Problem is, I just hosted a birthday party for a friend here today, as it was filled with fun times with new friends, and more baked goods than I can remember, and has left me just plum exhausted. So the update will have to wait. I plan on getting out the camera and taking a few shots of the house. I would say that 80% of the boxes have been unpacked, and the rest sit untouched in the 'office' and 'guest room'. Beds are not built, desks are not assembled. My mind implodes when I walk into those rooms, so I have quietly shut the doors to both rooms and let it go for now. They'll come around eventually.

So, sorry again for the wait, and sorry that the wait is a little longer now. Hopefully tomorrow will be lazy and give me some energy back.

:)

The Tough Decisions.

Being an adult blows sometimes. But along with those crap moments, it's peppered with moments that make me revel in the freedom and maturity that adulthood brings. I get to appreciate things that I wouldn't have understood as a child. I get to taste and savor moments of severe contentment, and have them logged in my memory to access as I need them.

Paul and I have made the very-adult decision of finding a new home for our first child, our puppy, our little dog Violet. It was brought on by several factors, the two most prominent being that she was not getting the active lifestyle that she needed with us, as we were overwhelmed with taking care of the kids, let alone a dog (who, really, was another child). Also, she's in such a good home right now, with a doggie friend and a loving and willing family that has agreed to take her in as their own.

Some people can juggle the kids, the dog, the house, the cooking. I am not one of those people. I really wish I was. Maybe I will continue to grow into my role as a stay-at-home mom, and will be able, in the future, to take on more tasks without losing my mind. But right now, the kids have all of my attention, all of my energy, and it just wasn't fair to Violet.

It makes me sad. Paul had to deliver the news, as I was curled in on myself with my fist shoved in my mouth, willing myself not to jump in a say "Nevermind! Nevermind! We want her back!" It was not the hardest decision I've made in my life. I've known for some time now that she would do better with a family who was able to give her the attention she needed. But it WAS the hardest decision I've ever had to follow through on. Knowing something is right does not make it easy to do.

I am happy for her, that she has this new home and new family to run around with. I am sad for us, that we've lost what was possibly the best dog ever to grace this earth. If we get another dog in the future, when things have settled down a bit, it will have some big paws to fill, as anyone who has met Violet would agree. There's a little empty space in our family right now, but it will be alright. We've done what's best for Violet.

We will miss you, girl.

No, I've never smoked Weed.

There are things that are different here in the UK. People drive on the wrong side of the road, they say lorry instead of truck. I'm pretty sure that if I told someone I liked their pants, they would walk away thinking that I just complimented them on their underwear. Just little things. Also, if I give someone the peace sign with my palm facing in, I might get punched. These things I knew about when we moved here. I had experienced them for a little while when Paul and I first married.

There's one thing, though, that has taken me by surprise this time around.

I was at the park with the kids today, enjoying some of the sweet sun that has infiltrated this cloudy country. The park is adjacent to a church, and within walking distance of our pimp-pad here in Cambridge (this latest temporary housing is so streamlined and sweet... therefore so inappropriate and frustrating with two toddlers). There are two little caged-in play areas (LOVE them for caging in the play areas. LOVE THEM), and a seemingly misplaced skate ramp. I was in the bigger of the two areas, enjoying myself while my youngest was learning the ropes and finally understanding why it's always best to go feet first, and my oldest had made a friend and was joyfully running around, enjoying the freedom. My back was facing the skate ramp, but I was aware of two older guys (well, older than my 2 year old... they were probably my age) that were doing some type of training with their bikes. Alex had just taken it upon herself to run out of the cage (why they put the gate so you push to get out, instead of pull, I'll never know), yelling BIKE BIKE BIKE. I quickly grabbed her, told her it was too early to start chasing boys, and brought her back inside. As she set about playing with her friend again, I caught a scent in the air that was striking me as vaguely familiar. It was a sweet, a little cloying. I tried to sift through my memories and place the smell. I glanced around to see if I could see the source and my eyes caught the guys, who were now perched on top of the ramp, apparently taking a break. And there in one of their hands was a little cigarette. Nay, a joint. Suddenly, I was in high school, feeling very uncomfortable as my old friend's new (and mildly, ok, really weird) boyfriend pulled over his car that we were driving in, pulled off the face of the steering wheel, and continued to roll a joint and smoke it, with the windows up. Oh my gosh, they're smoking weed on a playground. Why are they smoking weed on a playground?! Why are my children getting their first taste of weed at the ages of OOONNNEE and TWWWOOO?? I was trying to figure out what I should do, but was left with the option of staying put when they finished up and went on their way.

When Paul got home, I quickly told him what happened, laughing at the absurdity of it. And do you know what he said? That it's LEGAL.

Now, I haven't done any research, so I don't know if he's mistaken or not... but if he's not? GOOD TO KNOW.

The Sick.

Sorry for the lack of posts. Aside from moving twice in the last week, we've had some type of illness that swept in and stole away our 'head in the clouds, yay we're living in England!' atmosphere that we've been enjoying since we've been here. The kids came down with it first, and then kindly passed it on to Paul and I. Everyone else is on the mend, the kids completely over it. But I sit here, coughing up various colored 'stuff' and feeling generally awful. This has made the days long and the nights restless, and I haven't been in much of a mood to do anything worth posting about. That fact is just so sad as we are living in Cambridge right now, within walking distance of all these fun things, but I sit here, stuck, hacking up bits of my lungs and feeling sorry for myself. Yay!

Just about a week before we get into our house, though, and although the fact that our furniture is about 3 weeks away, I am still looking forward to some stability.

Yahoo for transitions! :)

Awakening the 13 year old within.

There are very few times when I actually feel like an adult. I've said it on here before, it's no secret. But recently, with everything that we've been doing, I've had no choice but to feel and act with a little maturity.

That is, of course, until this morning. Because as I buckled myself in the car with the rest of my family, my husband popped in a tape (ya.. a TAPE... remember those?) that had the inscription Disney Collection scrawled on the top in writing that looked remarkably like my mother's. My eyebrow raised, I waited patiently for "the point". Bear Necessities came on, followed by that song that those siamese cats sang in.... that movie about the dogs... Lady and the Tramp. I was enjoying the smooth ride into my past, remembering listening to these songs that my mom recorded for me, all from when the Disney movies were good. But then my nice ride into my past was pushed violently to the cusp of teenage years, to that awkward time when I still wanted to act like a kid, but it suddenly wasn't cool anymore. The song broke off, and in a very noisy fashion, my young voice came on saying something to the effect of LAAAAAAAAAAAADIEEES AND GENTLEMEN!!!! INTRODUUUUUCING WEIRD ALLLLLLLL!!!! That younger version of myself then went on to record several Weird Al songs (by holding the tape-recorder up to my boom-box, of course), all the while singing along with them. It was karaoke. Karaoke done very badly. By an awkward version of myself. After a few songs, young me dazzled the crowds by doing a few minutes of stand-up, laughing uproariously at her own jokes and not minding the least that she was talking to herself, and not knowing that years down the road, she would be forced to relive this moment with her husband and children sitting in the car.

I could do nothing but laugh. I tried to convince Paul that I was only 8, maybe 10, but immediately after I made that claim, young me started going on about how she was about to turn 13. Dang.

We only got halfway through the first side of the tape, so I am sure there are more fun times to come in our car. Paul is thoroughly enjoying this, and I've learned not to mind it because, well, he's already married me. I've had his children. He's stuck, no matter what he learns about me from 8th-grade me. So carry on, tone-deaf Laura. Sing your heart out, girl.

New Ground.

(Please excuse the greasy lady in the background... Just focus on the cute kid. Thanks.)

(Also, ignore the clutter. And if you can't ignore it, just know that we've been living out of suitcases for... a long time now, and the kids don't exactly leave them packed.)


(Also, there just comes a time when you just don't want to repack them anymore.)

(And then you go crazy because it gets all claustrophobic in the room.)

(Really, just focus on the kid.)

Stagnant Water

Def: When water is confined so as to be practically motionless except as it may be moved by the wind or by the application of other forces to the surface, there is apt to be an accumulation of debris, which manifests itself in various ways.

That pretty much sums it up right now. We are stagnant at the moment, stuck in the 'hotel' of sorts on the base, which, along with the conveniences of actually being on base and within walking distance of stores, playgrounds, and various walking paths, also makes it feel as if you may never get moving again. Our ball has been rolling so quickly lately that this stillness is both appreciated and foreign.

Soon, though, we will be moving into our house. But between now and then, because of the delay in our arriving here, our reservation ends on the 13th of August, so we will be moving out of here and into another short-term housing situation. Not entirely excited about having another move thrown into the mix. The task of moving all of our luggage, along with the food we have in our cupboards and any other random items that have tagged along in our journey so far seems daunting to say the very least. I'm ready for some permanence after all of this moving about, but it will come soon enough... middle of September I am guessing.

The house makes me excited. It is not at all what I envisioned us in during all these months leading up to this, but that's ok. I really did think that we would be living in some old country house, with quirks and character and an odd layout and inconveniently small.... uh... everything. And we found a few of those. And I fell in love with one. You needed a map to get from point A to point B in the house, and the only way the third story could be reached was by a ladder (which my mother pointed out to me last night... how would I vacuum?). It was my personality come to life as a house. And really, if our kids weren't so small, and if we didn't have a boat full of huge, American sized furniture on the way, it would have been the ONE. But after thinking about it and facing the fact that perhaps all those quirks would only become tiresome after a few months, we kept looking, and three houses later we stumbled into this one. Well, I did anyway. Paul stayed in the car with our sleeping children, who have taken to sneaking naps in whenever they can. As I walked through the house, which promised to fit our furniture, I liked it more with every room I saw. I went out to the car, told Paul to go see it because he would have to know where to put the furniture when it arrived, because it WOULD be arriving here. This was it. We are in the process of 'sealing the deal' right now. I am excited!

Well, I think I was planning on writing more, but the kids are getting antsy. We are house-bound again today because of the rain, so I've deemed it a 'quiet day', but apparently they don't agree. I'll try and get some pictures and get them up here.

Cheers!

Blurb.

Have you ever had one of those days where you were going to the airport to begin a trans-Atlantic move, and about 30 minutes before you get there, you get a recording on your cell phone saying that your flight has been 'affected by a cancellation', only to find out that your connection to Chicago has been canceled and that there was absolutely no way for you to make your connection to London, so you have to push back your whole trip for a day, and now instead of starting at 5 pm and going through the night, you have to start at 6 am, and have a 7 hour layover in DC before finally making it on a flight to London?


No?

Well, I give you permission to live vicariously through me, then. Because I got to live the dream. And through it all, I met some great people, some interesting people. and some very unhelpful people. The kids did wonderfully. We had a few bumps where the insanity of it all tripled, but I did NOT ONCE resort to tears. And I think that says a lot. We were blessed on our trip over here, and it was nice to have at least one thing go smoothly in this bumpy transition of ours (well, you know, besides the canceled flight).

Now, I'm sitting here, with my coffee drip pumping caffeine into my system, trying to adjust to the time shift. My body is not really convinced that I should be awake right now. I am staring out of our window in our reconditioned army barracks, watching the rain start and stop again, not sure whether it really feels like putting forth the effort to really soak us. It's about 70 degrees, cloudy, and everybody is driving on the wrong side of the road. Eli is WALKING across our hotel room right now, looking for the next chord he can attempt to chew on. Alex is "taking a nap". Paul is out searching for a car for us to either buy or rent, so we can start looking for houses.

This all sort of feels dream-like to me, like I am stuck revisiting my past, back to our first year of marriage and misplaced on some foreign land, completely out of my element. But in reality, I am so relaxed and content and at ease being here, like I can finally settle in, after being bounced from place to place for so long. It's a good feeling, especially since part of me was worried that I would get here and immediately regret the decision to come back.

This will be home for the next three years at least. And that makes me happy.


(In other news, [well, not really] I have started looking at houses online that we can rent, and not having actually visited any yet, the following statement does not hold much water, but I think one huge contender in our house hunt is the following: HOUUUUSE!)

Destination: Sanity.

We leave in... wait, let me do the math.... 8 hours.

We don't have as much to do as we both thought, though there is still plenty to keep us busy.

And as of right now, I am kind of feeling like I am on a roller coaster, making the slow climb up the first big hill, thinking to myself what the HELL were you thinking willingly climbing on this thing and strapping yourself down when you KNEW this huge hill was looming in the near future? But climb we do, and eventually, around 5:30, we will hit the crest, have a little moment of OMGOMGOMG, then down we will go, holding our stomachs in our mouths and closing our eyes as tight as we can.

Dynamic Duo

Paul and I make a good team. We each have our strengths, and eventually we get around to admitting our weaknesses. It only takes us a little bit to sync with one another and stop grouching and just get the job done. And we only very rarely resort to just ignoring one another for a little bit until the other finally admits that it was actually YOUR idea that worked. ...

We make a good team.

This was very apparent yesterday, as we painted over our daughter's very colorful room (me, with a heavy heart). Here are just a few of the tidbits from our adventures:



Laura: *Surprised yelp*

Paul: What happened?

Laura: I got paint on my eye! *begins to lift the tail of her shirt up to wipe the paint off*

Paul: DON'T GET PAINT ON MY SHIRT!!

Laura: ....



Laura: Oops.

Paul: ...what happened?

Laura: ...nothing.

Paul: *goes back to work*

Laura: Hey, Paul?

Paul: Ya?

Laura: Can you go turn the power off? Quickly?




Laura: Oops.

Paul: What happened?

Laura: ...nothing.

Paul: ...What happened?

Laura: Nothing! ...but we are carpeting this floor right?



Laura: Oops.

Paul: How about you go clean out the fridge? I'll finish this.

Laura: ...are you sure?

Paul: YES.

Laura: .... I love you?

Paul: Go.

StandStill.

I know. You didn't expect to see me here. I didn't either.

I am sitting in my living room, surrounded by boxes and empty cupboards. There are two girls in my house, going from room to room packing everything up. I am pretty positive that they are both younger than me. I keep feeling as if I should help or do something, but I'm not allowed. Which is not an entirely bad thing. The kids are with a friend, so I am left here by myself, only being utilized as a pointer and the 'final say'. I'm not sad about this.

But I am sad. I was out all morning with the kids, doing loops around the mall with Alex running beside me. We got lunch, ran some errands, and then I dropped them off. I came back to a house that was about halfway packed, one with country music melting out of the stereo that must be getting packed last for this very reason. I ate the lunch that I brought back for Paul and I, then went and sat on my back porch and cried. And really, it's too hot to being such things, but I couldn't stop it.

Paul was worried that I was sad to be leaving, regretting the decision to head back over the pond. I didn't calm his fears right away. I took a moment to examine myself, because I actually did not know why I was crying. But, no, upon further investigation, I'm not sad to be leaving. I am excited for this next leg in our journey. I am excited to take the kids to the parks we were tromping through when we didn't have a clue as to where our life was headed. I am excited for them to meet our friends we had to sadly leave 3 years ago.

I'm not sad at all in fact. The last few months of our lives, Paul and I have been running, full-steam. Things keep happening, which keep us going. Every bad moment, every stressful event, has taken step behind us. We knew they were there, but we kept running. I dealt with what I had to deal with, then forgot about it, letting it tail after me. When I walked into the house today, it was like I stopped running for the first time in such a long time. I stopped and looked around. And because my feet stopped moving, everything that's been building behind me for the past few months slapped me, one by one, in the back of the head. I was crying because of my mental instability in the home stretch of Paul's deployment. I was crying for the short amount of time we had to reconnect before Life shoved us forward. I was crying for Paul's dad. I was crying over the goodbyes I had to say to my family. I was crying over my damn toe onto which I dropped a fillet knife on last night as I was rushing to organize things.

But... not sad tears. Just tears that needed to be shed that I'd been neglecting for a while. I feel lighter with them gone, and it feels nice not being followed anymore. I am sure that for the next few months I'll continue to build more things up behind me as I go, but at least I will be starting with a clean slate.

Ok, really.... I'll see you on the other side. :)

Just Checking In....

First, this house is a madhouse.

Second, I am not nearly as mad (mad hatter style, not mad hulk style) as I thought it would be at this point, and I think most of that is a direct effect of our previous few (uh.... 7?) months. I am not glad that they happened, but they prepared me for this move. I have been pretty calm and collected through most of this (besides the beginning of our garage sale, with people showing up a good 45 minutes early and rifling through our baby clothes before I even took them out of the storage bin. NOT IMPRESSED, EARLY BIRDS! Quite a few of my family members can attest to my not-calmness and maybe-a-tad-bit-crazyness. Sorry guys. Thanks for being troopers!). Yesterday was hard only because we had had a break the night before, getting out of this house to spend some quality time with some friends that we will miss dearly. It was like our garage sale, where we baked outside in 99 degree heat for 8 hours, and we grew used to the heat after a while, but when we came and ate lunch in the AC, it was SO HARD going back out into the heat. And now that we've had a break from the constant go-go-go, it's been hard to go back under.

Third- our movers come tomorrow. Our house does not look like we are moving, aside from the gaping holes that some furniture left after we sold it in the sale. We don't pack anything, so it's not too bad. I am just trying to get things organized, so when they get thrown into boxes by men who do not care whether it is grouped into different categories, it will make just a little sense when I pull it all out in a few months. I'm impressed with the work that Paul and I (and our parents, who were here to help last week) have gotten done in a relatively short amount of time. We have most of our suitcases packed (pretty sure we will have about 7... yahoo!). I am mourning the loss of my washer and dryer, as we are leaving it here (I don't think ANY house in England would be able to house those suckers. They are huge!), and cringing as I think of the teeny tiny washers that will be undoubtedly waiting for me on the other side. We are cooking steaks, hamburgers, fresh rolls, and two different types of roasted veggies for LUNCH today because it will be the last time that we are in a REAL kitchen for quite some time. I might even make some ice cream for the road just because I can. And I woke up this morning with a little frown, only because I know that this would be the last morning that I wake up for a 'normal' morning in this house. With everything that we've done to this house, not to mention that huge yard, I've grown more attached than I thought I would. It was a blank canvas when we walked in, and we've made it our own. Though we will still own it for the next three years at least, there will be strangers here, painting over our colorful walls, erasing Alex's chalk marking off of the pantry door, and probably taking down my very colorful and very lopsided home-made curtains. It will no longer be our home. But that's ok. We will hopefully get settled in not too long into our new home in England, and then after that, hopefully make our way to somewhere in the States and settle in. Moving every three years is wearing on me.

Fourth- I can only assume that our hotel will have Wi-Fi, but if not, this is it until we get tucked into our army barracks in England (yep.).

Till then!

Winding Down.

I was raised with two older brothers. For my entire childhood, they had me by height, weight, gumption, everything. I was never on the receiving end of any cruel treatment (well, if you don't count my bike being dragged down the street by a car... thanks Mike!), but I learned to stick up for myself. Add to this years and years of playing sports (on girl's teams nonetheless, which I still hold to be more brutal than any guy sports out there), and what you have are lots and lots of head injuries, one which actually drew blood (tackle soccer, anyone?). I never worried too much about them, because why else would your skull be so hard if not to protect your brain? But I think all of those bumps and bruises are catching up to me, because I cannot for the life of me remember that we have about two weeks before we move to England. And only one week before our movers come to take away everything we own. I look at the calendar about 5 times a day, and every time my eyes pop open and my jaw hits the floor, because, OMG, two weeks.
In preparation for the big move, I've been pilfering through everything we own and setting aside some for a garage sale this weekend. Anything that we have not looked at since we've moved back from England? Gone. Baby stuff? Gone. Those size 10 pants I've been holding on to with lofty dreams? Gone. I refuse to take anything with us that we will just have to find a place to store, if only because storage space and England do not coincide. My days have been busy, going from room to room and pulling out memories, deciding whether or not they are valid enough to be shipped. It's an exhausting task, both mentally and physically, but Saturday will come, and the plan is to have the bulk of the work done by then.

All this being said, those bright and shiny moments of relaxation are welcomed with open arms, one of which was my birthday.

Breakfast: Homemade pancakes with homemade blueberry syrup, courtesy of Paul.

And then... surprise!

I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. I've already put it to use, making some pita bread. And not having to knead dough for ten minutes was so, so wonderful.

Times are busy, and soon they will be even more busy, but I am lucky to have my family to help ground me every once in a while.

Speaking of family, I went through about five tubs of baby clothes yesterday, and I put every single thing in the garage sale boxes.... except.... these two. The teeny tiny shirts they both wore at the hospital and for the majority of their first few weeks of life. I surprised myself with my inability to toss these away. I'll just stash these away in a small box in the back of my closet, taking them out every once in a while to bury my face in their newborn scent. My, how fast they grow.

Birthday.

Aside from the kids, birthdays aren't much of a big deal in this house. We get each other small things, and maybe a high-five, but that's pretty much it. The same goes for Valentine's Day, Christmas. Gifts are never the priority. Both of us would much rather do something than get something.

There is one gift, however, that I look forward to every year. And it's one that has not been forgotten once by Paul, so props to him. I'm not sure why or when this started, but since I was young, I always got really excited when I saw that milk cartons had my birthday printed as the 'sell by' date. I suppose it was because that meant that my birthday was that much closer. (Man, do you remember how excited you would get for your birthday when you were young?? Am I the only one that doesn't get thrilled by the prospect of another birthday anymore? It's not that I dread them, it's more like I just don't care.)

Anyway, for some reason, this got brought up the first birthday that Paul was around for. And since then, whether we needed it or not, a carton of milk with my birthday on it has always made its way to our fridge.

So much better than roses.

Do Not Feed The Children.

My birthday is this week. I am almost positive I will be 26. For a while this year, I was telling people that I was already 26. I think that's where the confusion lies. I really did think I was a year older, until one day I did the math and, lo! I was only 25. So... yes. 26 this year. ...Right? Ya. '84. Means 26.

Anyway, I've been doing a lot of baking and cooking lately, and because of that I have been really looking forward to my birthday this year. I knew it would a perfect opportunity to do the most ridiculous cake recipe I could find, one that I would never have an excuse to do otherwise. The winner? Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes. ... go ahead and read that again.

Irish. Car Bomb. Cupcakes.

Oh my word. I started them yesterday while the kids were both down for their afternoon naps. It was a little more labor intensive that I had thought in the beginning, but that was ok. They were fun to make. I had a moment of doubt in the beginning. I had to mix 2 (TWO!!) sticks of butter with the Guiness and a bunch of cocoa powder. It was heating on the stove, and it just smelled so good that I stuck my finger in and grabbed a taste. It was so awful. So bitter. I couldn't believe it. I was a little worried that the end product would be inedible (which, in hindsight, wouldn't have been too bad, because then I could just choose another recipe to do!). But... I worried for nothing. These cupcakes are the most delicious and rich cupcakes I have ever tasted.


They have a Guinness chocolate base, with a Baileys-infused ganache in the middle (which is the most wonderful surprise when you bite into them!), and a Baileys butter-cream frosting on top. The frosting is like kick-you-in-the-mouth Baileys, so much so that I made a few with a simple white frosting on them for the kids. I don't think the officer would understand when they were stumbling around drunk that, SIR! IT WAS THE CUPCAKES!



I didn't get a picture of the inside because when I took the first bite, my eyes dilated and my nostrils flared and then my memory just went black until I was standing in the kitchen with cupcake residue smeared all over my face.

The recipe can be found here, and if you have time, I highly suggest browsing through her website. I have tried a ton of recipes I found there, and not once have I been let down.

In other non-related news, I snapped a video of the 'other one' this morning, so if the kids ever look back at this blog, neither one can say they were featured more than the other. Nothing like planning ahead!! Enjoy my sweet sweet daughter.

One of the family.

When things are already stressful because of things that are beyond our control, it's hard to see the silver lining of joy sometimes. It's hard to look past the sleepless nights (thank you teeth!), and the early mornings, and the constant whine that's sputtering out of my kids mouths.

But sometimes, it's sinfully easy. And those times fill me up and sustain me for the time being.

And soooometimes... I even catch them on video to share!

Eli has become quite the jokester. Between yelling BANANANANANANANA at various times in the day, looking like the hottest cock in the hen-house as he's standing there not holding onto anything, and scrunching up his hands and mumbling "giggle giggle giggle giggle" (read- tickle tickle tickle tickle), he's cracking me up. I find myself just laughing with delight with our interactions now, which is just so fun. I forgot how fun this transition was, from babyhood to toddlerhood, when the interaction is more than just butt-cleaning and boob-feeding.

I do want to mention how hard it was for me to make this video so short. What I wanted to do was keep the camera recording for our entire dinner, just so you could hear how funny he was, and how hysterically Alex was laughing at him. But I kept it short so I could load it on here, and because I realize that not everyone wants to watch hour long videos of my children.

Enjoy. (and because I think a caption is necessary for this video, I will just let you know that what Eli is doing is 'sneezing'. Alex fake-sneezes all the time, with her head thrown back like that, and it's a game for me to say "BLESS YOU!" right after, and it goes on and on and on as toddler games do. Apparently Eli picked up on it.) (Also, I LOVE this game because now when I sneeze, I will hear Alex say BLESS YOU from the other room. So precious.)

Oofta Oofta etc. etc.

Where did June go? I'm not even sure. For some reason, I've missed the entire month on my calendar, which sadly leaves all of those Waldo characters unfound. That's a shame.

To say that we have been busy is an understatement of great proportions. I find myself giggling from time to time just thinking about what we've done in the past month and what we have yet to do. And it's not a fun giggle that releases tension and therefore helps you carry on with your day. It's definitely the kind of giggle that comes right before you completely lose any remnant of sanity that you had somehow retained up until this point.

By the end of May, we had finally started to get things done in preparation of our impending move. We had lined up someone to come take the pool, we (Paul) had taped the entire basement and started painting, we had booked flights, scheduled movers. We were on a roll. July 5th was coming fast and hard, and we were doing a pretty good job of keeping up. But then.... *sigh*... we got the call.

Paul's father passed away at the end of May, and four hours after we heard the news we were backing out of the driveway with four weeks worth of 'stuff' jammed in the trunk, along with the dog who was on her way to a friends house for the month. The next two weeks were messy and sad and everything else you would expect at that particular point in someone's life. We struggled to keep a balance of normalcy for the kids, as well as getting things taken care of for Paul's family. In the midst of all that, we celebrated Eli's first birthday, the third birthday we've celebrated for the kids in Michigan. So, that makes all of them. It ended up being a breath of fresh air, a night in a gorgeous park surround by family, celebrating life.

Since we already had our vacation planned for the last week in June, we stayed in Michigan until it was time to leave to avoid 2 extra days of driving. At the last minute, we decided to cut out early and spend two nights in Chicago and take the kids to Shed Aquarium. It was fun, although I feel as if we will get more out of it when the kids are older. Most of the time was spent chasing Alex around and taking her up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs.

From there we drove to the farm that my mother grew up on in Minnesota. It was so nice to be back there, showing Paul that part of my history, walking the kids around the grounds that I used to traipse as a child. It was so cathartic, exactly what my heart needed. To reconnect with that part of my family and to be able to spend so much time talking with my Grandma and hearing all of the stories that she has to tell. Plans were made for our return whenever we can manage. I would so love to make that a regular stop. It had been too long.

After a few days there, we all jumped back into the car and headed to the resort. We were the first to arrive, quickly followed by various family members. The week was spent not doing much of anything, which was exactly what we all needed. I am 100% positive that this trip was divinely timed.

Finally, we headed out, stopping for one night in Minneapolis to take the kids to the Mall of America, and finally getting back home, four weeks after we left.

And now, with flights rescheduled, movers rescheduled, painting stalled, and laundry coming out of my ears, we have until July 29th to get ready. Our house gets packed on the 22nd, and then it will be hotel-life for us until we ship out. We've done so much hotel-ing in the past month that this part no longer makes me nervous. The kids are adaptable, and are used to all of use being crammed in one room. (I can't TELL you how great it was have a room to ourselves again when we got home! We've been sharing our room with either one or both kids this whole time!)

My head sort of feels like everything in it has gone to mush and just slops around inside as I whip it around trying to find what needs doing next. But it will be done soon. Like... in September when we finally settle in a house in England. Soon enough.

That being said, anyone have any good books they are reading that can be read and enjoyed by a brain that's gone a bit numb? Nothing too heavy, but interesting enough to hold my attention? :)

In Which Sharing Bagels Becomes an Elightening Moment

I've had a crazy morning. It was not bad, per se, just crazy. Loud. Even as I write this, Alex is standing in the living room screaming "ALL GOOOOOONE ALL GOOOOOONE!" because I took away her means of climbing into the baby's bed, where all she does is jump up and down and try to kill it. Oh wait, now she's on top of the changing table. One moment, please.

Ok. Where were we?

Crazy morning. It's usually in these moments that certain instances in my own childhood coming roaring to life from some part of my brain that I didn't know existed. The part that's gone all cob-webby and dusty, storing memories that are tapped into so rarely that it's not really worth it for that particular part to spend the energy cleaning house.

Mostly, these memories leave me in a state of nostalgia for the past, the ease of being a child, being the one that's not in control (or, not appearing to be in control). Not to say that I am not wholly and completely content in the life that I lead now; I am. I have a white-knuckled grip on my husband and my children that no amounts of barbie birthday cakes and awesome big wheelies from my past can loosen.

But today, it's not nostalgia that's beating at the doors of my head. It's appreciation. Granted, the memories I have of my own childhood are not from when I was one, or even two. But I see the same workings in my own children of the times when I looked to my parents for help, whether that be saving me from a mutt gone wild who was chasing me down the street, or to make my bagel just right, so it's kind of burnt, but not in an overpowering way, and the cream cheese is spread on juuuuuuuuust so. And now I look at these crazy little people that have taken over this house, and I see the needs that need to be met, and the food that needs to be made, and the boo-boo's that need to be kissed, and even the random dog that needs to be shooed away. Except now, I'm the big one. And for the most part, it's easy to do these things. Well, maybe easy isn't the right word. It's not an issue. Of course I would take care of them. I would die for them if need be. But there are certain little things in my day-to-day that are giving me a certain clarity when it comes to my relationship with my parents. Because I am not a perfect parent (and I am going to fall back on Original Sin and say that my parents weren't perfect either). There are times when I sit down with my breakfast and my coffee (which is usually lukewarm at best at this point), and even though the both have already eaten, the kids come crawling or running from whatever toy they were playing with and claw their way up onto my lap with their mouths hanging open, waiting for their share. And of course I share. Or I just get up and make a new piece of toast of whatever it is that I'm eating. But I don't want to. What I want is to just sit down for a little and have a warm (or cold) breakfast without little hands snatching it away right before I pop it into my mouth. Not perfect. Not entirely self-sacrificial. But out of the depths of my dusty brain, memories of me seeing my mother eat something, and then asking (without really expecting a no) for a bite, or a piece, or the whole thing. And she would give it to me (mom, if you are remembering times when you ran into the other room and locked the door and didn't share, don't the feel the need to tell me... I'm having an epiphany here!). Or she would set her breakfast/lunch/snack down and make me one too.

So, for those little things, I appreciate you, mom. Because now I understand that (ALEX DO NOT STEP ON THE DOG!) your brain doesn't rewire itself when you pop some kids out, and it's still just as hard not to have some time to yourself. Selfish tendencies don't just fly out the window and leave you be. They are still there, and you still need to continuously work, beating them back with a stick. So, thanks for that.

Yes, I DID forget about you.

I suppose I should update, huh? I gave you all the suspense, the sadness, the climax, and didn't even hand the 'happily ever after'. How rude of me.

Paul is HOME.
Am I done? Can I get away with just typing that?

*sigh*

Paul is HOME, and it is WONDERFUL.

We were worried for a little bit there because of the copious amounts of volcanic ash that was lazily floating over the Atlantic. His flight out of Paris was delayed three hours because of it, causing him to miss his connection in Minneapolis. I was attached to my computer that entire day, refreshing the Delta airlines page again and again, checking on his flight, checking for other flights that he could jump on when he got there. When he called at 4:30 to tell me that he missed his connection and that he didn't know if he would make it home that night, I told him to hang up and RUN to the desk and get on the 5:15 flight. He laughed, hung up, and got a seat on that flight. (I failed to tell him that if he waited until the 6:50 flight, he would be put in first class... NOT WORTH IT.) When it was time, I packed the kids up, went to the airport, and made use of my fantastic double stroller. He was already there, waiting in the baggage claim (having arrived about 30 minutes early), and it was one those moments that was kind of dream-like. I saw him there, well, I should say that I saw HALF of him there, due to the massive amounts of weight that he lost (which I promptly told him 'I found it!). We met in the middle everything and everyone, and we both knelt down right there on the floor in front of the stroller and hugged. A big, long, teary-on-my-end, family hug. Alex had this look on her face that I will never forget. A huge smile, but one that was unsure of what was happening. Was he home? Why isn't he on a big TV screen? Is he really HOME? Then she raised her hand, said, "DADDY!" and refused to be set down from that point on. Even Eli was looking back and forth from Paul to me, wondering what was going on. It was clear when we finally made it home and were all sprawled out on our living room floor that he knew who is daddy was. Finally another man in the house!

It's been two weeks, and things are pretty much back to normal. There was an adjustment period, where we got used to each other again, got used to these new routines. The hardest part was on my end, having to relinquish some of the household and child-raising duties that I have had on autopilot for the last four months. You would think it would be easy to just let it go and have some help, but it was hard. I had to stop myself from butting him out of the way in the kitchen, and taking over when one of the kids cries. But I've learned. I have remembered how nice it is just to sit and not have to jump up at the first sign of something needing to get done. Just to relax. And it's been so nice.

I am happy. I feel like the part of me that I had to shut down when he left has been revived, like I regained a limb that I had lost the use of a while ago.

So now, we jump right into our transition to England. We have about a month and a half before we are set to leave, and in that time we have... alot of stuff to do. But I have my partner back. It will get done. Eventually....

OHMYGOSH

ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh.

I'm excited and I can't sleep.

ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh.

The Home Stretch.

I'm not a runner. I wish I was. I think the freedom of the open road underneath your feet would be exhilarating. I think the quietness except for the slap of your feet on the pavement would be refreshing. If only the numbness of my legs, the burn of my lungs, and that nasty dry mouth I get which makes me want to spit except that when I do I get a dribble of saliva that doesn't quite want to part with my mouth, making it necessary for me to stop and do my best to get it off first with multiple attempts at spitting again, then finally resorting to pulling it off of my face and then trying to shake it vigorously off of my hand, only to look up and see the woman who was having a nice quiet afternoon on her front porch wondering why she was so lucky to have just witnessed this all. Been there? No? Well. Anyway. I wish I were a runner. It's one of my goals for my life... be a runner. Right up there with Play the Piano. Oh and most recently added, I want to be able to do this at least once without falling off of the bar... though if you see in the fine print there at the bottom, not even the model for the picture was able to pull it off. So maybe I will put that one at the bottom of the list.

I think the problem is, aside from the problems listed above, that I don't like the Home Stretch. I know alot of people really like the last part of a marathon, race, game, whatever. But I don't. I don't get that thrill of "JUST A BIT FURTHER!" I get more like, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THERE'S STILL THAT MUCH MORE!?!" I don't Push It or Tough It Out. I get depressed. I give up. (Character Flaw! I wish I could sit here and type about how I finish everything I start and am always the most dependable one to get the job done... but I know I'm not. And I figure the first step to change something about yourself has to be the acceptance that it isn't so in the first place.) This is all kind of hitting me in the face right now. I have FOUR DAYS left before Paul gets home. FOUR DAYS. I started this with FOUR MONTHS. But right now? I'm not excited that it's ONLY FOUR DAYS. I am depressed and overwhelmed because I still have FOUR DAYS LEFT. Ack. I try to turn these thoughts right back around and send them back into nothing-land before they leave a lasting imprint, but it's hard. I have crazy moments where the kids are being perfectly normal and driving me nuts, and I just want to run out of the house and hide for the next week. I WANT to give up. I want to quit. But I can't.

I don't want to come off like I am whining or feeling like the World just has it against me, bla bla bla. That's not what this is (though I won't deny having whined on maybe one occassion prior to this... well, maybe more than one, whatever. I understand that I have been so incredibly blessed in my life that I have absolutely nothing to look back on with regret or pain, and I try my best to give back as much as I can. This is just facing the dents in myself, and trying to hash them out so I can fix them. I am glad that I have no choice but to finish. The things I have given up on in my life were much easier than this. Walking away was never hard (though looking back, I think I was just very good at convincing myself that 'it wasn't a big deal'). And now it's impossible (though even if it weren't, I wouldn't make it two steps out of the door before running back in and begging for forgiveness from my little ones, both of whom would just assume I was playing a really involved game of peek-a-boo).

Four Days. Just Four Days. I suppose I should take the time to look back on these past few months and see the growth that has happened within myself, within the kids. I should be thankful that Paul is coming home now, instead of 11 months from now. Everything is a choice. Do you let life happen the way it's going to happen, letting the tide drag you along the bottom? You are still going forward, yes, but you are hitting every rock and wall and hard place along the way. Or you do you decide to kick, the put one arm in, then other, again and again? You are going in the same direction, but this time you deciding to go, deciding to swim. The second option is alot harder. Much more effort on my part. But I would much rather float than get dragged.

Dad, you may want to skip this one.

I have a two year old. And an almost one year old. And aside from the lack of sleep (thank you teething!), this means that, for the most part, whenever I go out in public, my clothes are a bit stretched due to 4 little hands grabbing and pulling, my hair is a bit frazzled from those same 4 hands yanking and tearing (also, if I am being honest, from sleep, because usually the first time I catch a glimpse of myself in the morning is in the reflection off of a freezer door at the grocery store... which usually has me immediately smoothing down the wildness that is happening, sometimes resorting to my own spit to nail down some of the more stubborn parts... ya... luxurious). Also, I usually don't mind at all that my clothes are being stretched because for the most part, they are pajamas... and Paul's shirts. Which even that sometimes has me doing a double-take as I walk past the freezer door when I glance the sayings on Paul's shirts, which are usually along the lines of "BEER" and "SMARTASS UNIVERSITY." I really should start screening his t-shirt drawer. Because I feel pretty classy when I realize I have Alfalfa hair and a shirt that has some vague references to some alcoholic beverage, all the while pushing my two lovely little darlings around in the cart, both of whom are blowing very wet raspberries and laughing hysterically at the spit that is hitting mommy in the face.

So, you have me, chubby because of stubborn baby weight... or my lack of enthusiasm when it comes to working out, I haven't decided which to blame this week... with my scraggly hair and my frumpy kind-of-inappropriate t-shirts and my man-sweats and flip-flops. Now put that person in front of a rack of frilly, pretty, and mightily initimidating lingerie. What is that? Irony? A cruel sense of humor? Wishful thinking? Who knows. All I know is that those ten minutes of my life were the most flustered and red-faced in my life. I don't do lingerie. I do sweatpants and boxers and tank tops and hand-me-down t-shirts... which I then proceed to wear in public. Every day. But I haven't seen my husband in almost four months. And we have two small children. So I don't even see him that much while he's home. So I decided to do something nice... nice? Not nice. Naughty. HA. Sorry, I just cracked up typing that word. That goes to show just how unprepared I was for this experience. Because I giggle at inappropriate things still. (Also, I'm giggling because I am fairly certain that my father did not heed the advice in the title of this post... and now he's paying for it!)

But really. I went into the store and stood in front of the rack of lacey crazy skimpy things that I guess could qualify as clothing if you really stretched the definition. I stood there. And I stood there. Literally not moving anything but my head, as I looked up and down the racks. I am pretty sure I had beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. A woman came and asked if I needed help, and I turned my head and mumbled something about lingerie and needing some and not knowing what in the world those straps were for. From the combination of my frumpy clothes and crazy hair, I think I overwhelmed her, so she rattled off all the different kinds of lingerie that were ever made ever in the history of lingerie and then yelled over her shoulder as she beelined towards the back employee door that if I needed anything else to just ask. I turned my head back to the rows and rows of straps (because, well, that's pretty much all they were) and began choosing a few of the more sensible ones that I could wrap my head around. As I pulled one off of the bar, about 6 other ones came with it, all of their straps and clips and who-knows-what-else's intertwined and stuck together. I resembled some type of bumbling cartoon character as I tried to shove them all back on their respective hangars without drawing too much attention, which is hard to do when you have a Little-Bo-Peep looking thing that's somehow gotten snagged on the strap of your purse. At that point, my face was red and my palms were sweaty so I just grabbed one and headed for the cash register.

I don't do lingerie.

So now when Paul gets home, I get to say something to the effect of "Sure you had to go to AFFRRIICCCAAA and work SEVVEEENNN DDAAAYYYSS AA WEEEEEKKKK for FOOOUUURRR MOOONNTTTHHSSS STRRAAAIIGGHHHTTT, yada yada yada. But LOOK what IIIII had to do." The scale is so tipped, is it not?

Little Steps.

The sixteenth of this month will mark the One Month Till Paul Is Home Day. I am incredibly excited for that, and was actually going to wait until then to post something on here, but I've had such an AWFUL last few days, that I was inspired to come on here and tell you how great things have been going. Make sense?

We really have had a wonderful few weeks here. Things have finally fell into the groove that I had been waiting for for two months. We each fell into rhythm with one another, and life was flowing smoothly. There were fits, and tears, and full-out tantrums, but life was flowing smoothly. Life IS flowing smoothly. It's been a joy to be here, with the sun out and the snow gone and breeze warm. I hit a wall last night, yes, and we had an incredibly pathetic and sad scene playing itself out on the couch (picture me crying with my head in my hands, while the children each cry as they try and fight for space in my lap). But I have a babysitter tonight, and things are looking up again. I really can't complain.

Eli is crawling now, which adds a whole other element to my day. It had gotten to a point where doors in the hallways and cupboards in the kitchen no longer needed to be bolted shut because Alex had just gotten accustomed to not getting into much (although, when she gets tired, you better bolt everything down... because she just goes from one thing to another until you put her to bed). But now, it's back to closed doors and child-locked cupboards. Eli gets into everything, but it's so fun. I was worried about him getting mobile, but it's not been too hard. Alex is such a great big sister (and I say that in all seriousness...)... she keeps an eye out for him. Gets him toys he's trying to get to. Comforts him with little pats on the head and "It okkkaaaayyyy"'s when he gets frustrated. She shares her toys, he shares them back. They share food (which has me restricting all SORTS of snacks right now. Nothing is given to Alex when she is on the move unless I want the baby eating it too). I really enjoy just sitting back and watching them interact. It makes my uterus hurt in big ways, wanting to expand my family as much as I can so I can see them love on each other like this.

I've also changed our diet. I was cringing at the foods I feeding myself and the kids for a while, but not doing much about it because... those foods that are bad for us? They are really easy. And Easy is so great right now. But after hearing some facts and seeing some shows and doing some research, I couldn't knowingly give my kids that type of food anymore. I went and stocked up on fresh and frozen veggies and meat, and for just over 2 weeks, we've not been through the drive-thru, and we've eaten very little processed foods.. and those that we have eaten, are usually organic and not so bad for you. It's been great. It's been both harder than I expected and easier than I expected in different aspects. It's hard not getting a quick lunch or dinner when I am exhausted. But it's nice to be able to sit back and know that what my kids are eating (or throwing, depending on the day) is good. And I've had so many leftovers recently, that I haven't needed the fallback of a quick meal. I've been freezing meals for the first time in my life. Making homemade salad dressings, homemade bread. It's been great. I think this is a change that is going to stick. I just hope Paul is ready for it when he gets home. :)

The Next Step

Today I caught a glimpse of what parenthood must be for those with older children. And let me tell you, it was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. There is hope! I've seen it!

We had late naps today, so as soon as everybody was up, I packed us up in the car and headed to the grocery store to get some produce that I would need for dinner. We got home at 6, which is normally when we are sitting down for dinner, so I threw Eli in his highchair with some cereal (since he's totally digging the fingerfood thing... my little garbage disposal!). Alex was not content to sit inside while I made dinner (a quick one- quesadillas), and since I couldn't quite cook with her literally wrapped around my leg (which is where she has been stuck for the last few weeks), I opened up our patio door, gated up the stairs on our back deck, and let her go. She has her sand box out back, and I just got the kids a bubble machine, so I threw that out there as well. And then I stayed inside and made dinner. It was so odd not to be what I think is referred to as a helicopter mom, hovering around her every move, ready to jump in and save her from some great peril. All I had to do was shout out some warnings to her through the window (Alex, do not stick your hand in the bubble machine! Alex, do not stick the chalk in the bubble machine! Alex, do not put the sand in the bubble machine! Alex get your mouth off the bubble machine!). It was so great. She's growing up, and I am seeing the changes happen. The maturity, the understanding, the awareness, the thirst for knowledge of the world around her. It's amazing to see. I can't even say it was bittersweet to cut some of the strings attaching us today. I loved it. I am ready for her to grow and learn and become an independent woman. As long as I get to watch it all unfold. (Of course, I say all this now. Wait till Eli is at this stage, and I will be having to fight back my uterus and the accompanying longings for itty bitty babies with a bat.)

Distraction Techniques.

This will be short as I am on my way out the door, but I wanted to throw this up here before I left. I have been having to 'go out of the box' lately when it comes to keeping both the kids busy while I get things done like, you know, cook and, when I am feeling very luxurious and in the need for some pampering, going to the bathroom with the door closed, get this, without any children in there with me. I know. Big dreams over here.

Anyway. I stumbled upon this last night, and I think it may be a lifesaver. We had sat down to make a video for Paul (which I may post on here later), and after we were done, I left the program up so Alex could see herself. She sat there for about an hour while I made dinner, watching this funny little girl she could see on the screen. It was so dang cute I had to get some of it on film, and after that was done, she sat there even longer watching the video over and over again.

If you've not had the pleasure of meeting her yet, this gives a good insight.