Sunday, September 28, 2008

Happy 3rd, Big Man Sam!

This is a little belated, since his birthday was actually Sept. 13th. But, folks, that just about the speed we're going nowadays. For your viewing pleasure, here is a recap of Sammy's third birthday. After I suffered through the bitter guilt of not throwing him a big 'friend' birthday party, we decided to just have a fun family day. It included going to the zoo, riding the train, a family party (embarrassingly enough, I succumbed to a popular character theme--NOT because I, in any way, thought that it was acceptably creative, but because my little boy has huge, beautiful eyes that light up when he says "I want a SPIDERMAN CAKE!!!!"), playing baseball outside with his new set, and having popcorn and a movie. I can't believe he's already THREE, and at the same time, I can't believe he's ONLY three.

Sunday, September 21, 2008


It's been a while since I last posted. Clearly, we've been busy.

First, to my darling friends here in St. Louis, it's devastating to leave you. I love, love, love you and will miss you terribly. I cry almost every day just thinking about it. Our roots have become very deep here--you've seen us through the births of our three kids, we've laughed, we've cried, we've had annual Christmas parties. Ah, good times. We really, truly LOVE our life here, and it breaks my heart apart just a little to leave. On the upside, you can now throw "Yeah, my friends in Seattle..." around in your every day conversation. You now have a place to stay, should you be in the Pacific Northwest neighborhood. And, I'm only a blog away. Thank you so much, for everything.

My house looks very bare. Much barer than, I'm sure, you've ever seen it. We haven't packed or anything, just cleared away any excess so that it 'shows' better. My goal is to keep it "1/2 hour from perfect." It turns me into kind of a crazy lady. I gave away my last house plant today. It was really sad. They're kind of like extra children. Children that I frequently forget to feed and pay attention to. So, not really like children... Still.

We're very busy, desperately trying to keep our home clean enough to sell. October 11th is the tentative date that we'll arrive in Seattle, to our temp housing. Pray that our home sells quickly, because if this lady has to have a Christmas without her decorations... Sniff, sniff. I can only comfort myself with the knowledge that I'll have IKEA so close by, should I get desperate. Really, it won't take desperation for me to spend more than my share of time and money at IKEA. Really it would only take some sort of transportation.

Meals around our home are getting interesting. Trying to eat through our food storage, freezer, pantry. Can anyone really have too much spaghetti? Rules are getting interesting too. Gone are the days of half-hourly wardrobe switches by Girlie.

I know we'll love it. So much to do, so much to see, a phenomenally expensive cost of living (for this Midwest girl, anyway). So, if you're in the neighborhood, please come find us. We'll be the ones in the $400,000 shack.

Monday, September 8, 2008


We are moving to Seattle.

No, I'm not kidding.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

All in the Eye of the Beholder

So, today I was shopping with Sam Sam. A display of fake eyelashes for Halloween caught his eye and he asked if we could get some. I said no. Besides the fact that he's a 2 year old boy, Sammy is the last person who needs fake eyelashes. Any mascara model would kill for his forever-long beautiful lashes that were clearly wasted on a boy. But then I started thinking about my eyelashes. I've never had big, full lashes. I just don't. I blame genetics. But, I didn't think they were that bad until my little sister wanted to give me a makeover and commented on them with a subtle, “Wow, your eyelashes are really short.” It had never really occurred to my consciousness what short, stubby eyelashes I have. It makes sense now, why I always get excited about new mascara commercials. I spent some time in the mirror that afternoon, staring at them. I tried batting them. It just looked like I had something in my eye. I tried opening my eyes really wide. Then I just looked surprised. And I got wrinkles on my forehead. So, I thought, what if I did get some fake eyelashes. Obviously I couldn't just start wearing long, luscious lashes right away. People would do a double take, and then probably start laughing. No, maybe I could sort of graft them in over time. I'd start out with some short stubby fakes, and then gradually replace them. Every week I'd do another sixteenth of an inch or so. Then, after about a month and a half, I'd have these long, beautiful, innocent-yet-so-seductive eyelashes. People on the street would stop and stare, this time in the good way. But then there's the issue of maintenance. If they were to fall off, there could be problems. Especially if they fell off while I was talking to someone. “And then I walked into Ann Taylor Loft and I saw—what? Is something wrong? What are you looking at? Why do you look afraid?” I'd smack into walls as I covered my eyes and ran blushing out of the building. Or worse, what if only one of them fell off and I didn't notice? The person I'd be talking to would look from eye to eye, trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with my eyes, and what that hairy caterpillar-like thing was doing on the collar of my shirt. They'd start unconsciously toying with their own eyelashes. Then when they figured it out, they'd be too nice to laugh. Instead, they'd kind of cough and say (fluttering their hand around their eye) things like, “Um, you' of...right...there...sort of..” They'd never be able to get it out, so they'd quickly excuse themselves from the situation. And I wouldn't understand, until, that night, after a day of running errands in public, when I looked in the bathroom mirror. And then I'd move to Canada.

I think I'd better stick with my own “fun size” eyelashes and keep hoping for some new miracle mascara.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

What a trip...

We decided to go to my family's home in Kansas for Labor Day weekend. Road trips. That, my friend, is some good quality family time. Seven hours is a substantial time in the car together. In Europe, I'm not even sure it's legal. But, it doesn't start when you close the door to your not-hip minivan. No, it starts way before, when you're packing for every conceivable emergency. You pack the usual: snacks (fun enough to excite the kids but healthy enough to ease your guilt), drinks (that won't stain the new seats of your not-hip minivan), toys and entertaining-yet-educational books. Then there's the one's that only moms think of. There's the butter knife (the ugly college one that Josh contributed to the marriage) that you'll use to spread peanut butter for sandwiches and then later use as a tool to fix the jet ski that left you stranded in the middle of Winfield City Lake. There's the entire tub of wipes that are used for diapers, wiping hands and faces and will later be used for hats and then thrown at the windows when your kids get really bored. There's the little paper cups that you'll use to control drink portions and then later tear the bottoms out and hand them out in pairs as binoculars for a rousing game of I Spy.

You know that about a half hour into your trip your child will need to use the bathroom. So you'll look and look for a rest stop or a gas station. When you find the gas station, you'll go inside and you child will ask in a very loud voice who the other people are, and why are they going potty. They'll continue in that volume as they ask about why you are putting toilet paper on the seat and then not sitting all the way down on the toilet. They'll ask about the little box on the wall and then they'll ask you why you're talking in such a quiet voice. They can't hear you very well, so they'll talk even louder to encourage you to do the same. When you get them on the potty, they'll sit for longer than necessary before informing you that they just don't have to go anymore, the potty is all gone. You'll wash you hands, and their hands thoroughly with soap. You'll go to great pains to use paper towels to turn off the faucet and open the restroom door. You'll keep a tight grip on their little hand and lead them back to your not-hip van before you realize they've been dragging their free hand all along other people's cars and the gas pump. You'll spend a good amount of time maneuvering your way around the van picking up dropped colored pencils and retrieving books and your broken cell phones that now belong to the kids (because, they are, after all, the reason that they were run through the dishwasher). You'll twist your back in unnatural positions to turn on a movie and distribute Cracker Jacks, which you know are not healthy but you bought them anyway because they remind you of car trips when you were little. While you're stumbling around the van the kids will chastise you for taking your seat belt off. You'll smile sweetly, tell them they're absolutely right and hope that they don't report you to the pediatrician. About every ten minutes or so, they'll ask if you're to Grandma's house yet. You'll tell them no, and then spend the next ten minutes explaining 'why not?' About12 granola bars later, you'll get to your destination. You'll have a fabulous weekend, just long enough to forget about those seven hours that ended up being so worth it. Just in time to do it again.