So, how was your trip????

Fantastic, thanks for asking. Really, the plane ride couldn't have gone better (aside from the inevitable circus that we were getting through security). Thanks, mostly, to the kindness of patient strangers and Barbie doll-looking flight attendants. The kids did very well on the plane. Little Red just slept, aside from the couple blanket-less nursings he had (I had conveniently checked all the blankets and forgotten to pull a blanket out). On the plane we feasted on cashews, fruit snacks, gum, and cheese crackers. The string cheese which I bought that morning, specifically for the plane ride, is still in my fridge. At home. The same place the extra binkys are. As well as Girlie's backpack full of special things for the flight, Little Red's Halloween baby chick costume, my swimsuit, important documents, our home plans, the Seattle brochures I grabbed on our house-hunting trip, and a slew of other semi-important things. All things that are not here. Other things that are not here? Clothes. I am not kidding. I shipped all of our clothes earlier in the week, so we came with the clothes on our back. Last minute (read: 'almost forgotten') things made it into my plane luggage, so I've got plenty of clean socks, jammies and "under-things". Oh, and Riley's favorite outfit (the one I told you about, Amy): a hideous concoction of an 80's style mesh jersey, swimming trunks and light up snow boots. That made it here safely. Phew. Which brings me to my next dilemma. I am about to be a Sabbath breaker. I did, in all fairness, try my best to go get some church clothes at Target last night. But when you race in the door 5 minutes before closing time, they don't smile at you. I looked around as fast as I could, but didn't even find a shirt to go with the skirt I had in my hand, let alone clothes for all the kids. So I hung it back up and met J empty handed. Luckily, church doesn't start until 1. For a nanosecond, I considered just not going to church today. It seemed too inappropriate to attend in our stinky travel clothes and I didn't want to have to shop on Sunday. Then I thought of the faithful Saints in the Ensign who travel 5 hours on foot through jungles and dusty roads to get to church, and hung my head.

This is two hours later.

So, I bought Sunday clothes for my entire family. There. Judge me if you will.

In other news, let me tell you about our apartment. It smells. Strongly. Of curry. And, according to J, it is a million times better than it was before he spent a small fortune on air freshener. So, he put in a request that they (the apt. people) figure out something with this smell. When we got home from church, there was a note from them on our table that read "The smell I smell is curry." That's it. It was so funny. We've been quoting it all day. Anyway, our apartment is pretty big, three good-sized bedrooms and two baths. It's an older, updated apt. New flooring, cabinets, fresh paint, but I can still see the dark wood doors through a big chip in the new paint. The furniture is really nice, but even so, it reminds me of Pelican Cove apartments where J and I lived when we first moved to St. Louis, 6 1/2 years ago. It kind of makes it seem like the rest of our life has just been a dream--except now I can't figure out where these three kids came from.

Monday morning. I've GOT to publish this before it drags on any longer. Church was fine. Not as good looking as my old ward, but still friendly. : ) I crashed at 7:00 last night (in all fairness, it was 9:00 to my body). Okay, I'm out. My sweet St. Louis friends, I miss you. A lot.

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.

Ramblings...

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.

SURPRISE!!

We are moving to Seattle.

No, I'm not kidding.

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've...got...um..kind 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.

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.

For Cryin' Out Loud

So, most of you who know me well, know that I cry. At almost anything. I don't know, I think I just came that way, wiring all crossed and whatnot. There's the normal stuff--anything patriotic, Church commercials, anytime I see parents and kids loving each other, Extreme Home Makeover, whenever I hear Pomp and Circumstance at graduations, etc. But then there's the other stuff, the Emotional Upgrade, let's call it. I cry when kid's teams perform, whenever someone is being brave, at beautiful music, whenever I read the Friend magazine to my kids (one time Girlie asked me why reading it always makes me so sad), when sports teams take the field (although I have to be there in person for it to make me cry). Parades are like an hour of crying for me. If you ever see me at a parade, I'll be smiling really, really big. That's to keep the tears from running down my face. I don't know what it is about parades--all the horses, American flags, little tiny gymnastics teams, marching bands, I guess. I've seen phone or soup commercials that do me in. But, a couple nights ago I was at the gym. I didn't even have my headphones, so I couldn't hear the TV that was on my elliptical machine, but I was watching the Olympics. Did any of you see that little Chinese girl and her amazing dive? It was like she jumped off the platform into a crumply, complicated blur, and then entered the water without a splash. It was truly amazing. Okay, right there, in the middle of a gym, with no obvious reason to anyone watching me, I burst into tears. Smiling, crying, there I was burning calories and sobbing about it. Then the TV showed her looking at the score (which included a bunch of 10s). Tears. Then she bowed. Lots more tears, great big smile. Then it showed her hugging her coach and bawling. That's when the noisy intake of my gulping air really disturbed the concentration of the gym. I called my sister (who had been watching it) on the way home and we cried again about it. I got home and told J about it. I cried some more. I'm even tearing up as I think about it now.

And now, my three month old seems to have inherited the crying gene, so goodbye.

Cheerful Disobedience

Lately, Sam Sam has taken up the practice of “cheerful disobedience.” I know, I had no idea what that was, either, until my little guy would give me his biggest grin as he'd say, “But, I just don't want to.”

Sammy, please help pick up your toys.
But, I just don't want to.

Sam, can you please stop yelling "Great balls of fire" and flinging water out of the tub?
Well, I just don't want to.

Hey, buddy, let's not glue your fingers together.
You guessed it--he just didn't want to.

He's been carrying on this way for a few days now. My wild Sam, WHY did you rip this page in your new book? He'd look down and shake his head, as if commiserating, and give me his sincerest, “I just don't know.” Son, WHY did you smash the wings of your wooden airplane into tiny shreds? That was met by a long shrug, a big sigh, and a, “I just...got carried away. I don't know.” Did my 2 year old really just...sadly think that he got “carried away?” He will gaze up at me with his huge eyes and then close them and shake his head as if to say, “Oh, I am right there with you, Mom. I so cannot believe that I did this. And, it's cheerful, too. There's no true remorse, there's no penitence. Just a matter-of-fact, cheery little statement of the obvious.

Well, I suppose I'll take this over "IT'S NO FAIR!!!" that I got in response to my dangerously slow "You had better get down on this floor and help clean up this entire bag of lentils that you have just spent the last five minutes standing on the table and flinging around my entire house."

P.S.: Under no circumstances buy into the "Help your child's motor skills by teaching them to pour. Use beans or rice if you don't want a wet mess!"

Daddy's Cup Cake

Well, I did it. I sent my first off to kindergarten. The day I've been dreading, and the one she couldn't wait for. All morning was spent asking "Is the bus here yet?" I brushed her hair for an extra long time, probably because of the funny, twisty thing my heart was doing today. She declined my well-planned outfit for her first day in favor of her "Daddy's cup cake" t-shirt, and insisted on picking non-matching hair elastics. "That's okay," I told myself. "That's what I raised her for--to make her own decisions."

We took plenty of pictures, pinned her name tag/bus number to her shirt, loaded the school supplies into her backpack, made sure she knew where the hand sanitizer pocket was, and walked up to the bus stop early. Well, it was supposed to be early, anyway. We were a good house away when the bus pulled up, so we had to hurry. The lump in my throat got huge and we hurriedly loaded her onto the bus. I waved and called out, "Have fun!" It came out too loud, and ended with a strangled sound and a sob. The other moms patted my back and said "Your first?" Then they assured me that by the second, third, fourth I'd be booting them onto the bus and cheering. The only thing that kept me going was her excitement and anticipation. And, only two hours 7 minutes until I see her again.

My Heart--in three parts

Little Red in his blessing outfit that J brought back from his trip to China.