Chaos, Complete and Utter

As most of you know, we spent the week of Thanksgiving in Washington with Hubband's parents.  I have so many stories to tell about the journey: three kids, two adults, one Prius, a thousand miles, sixteen hours in the car over two days.  Visit for six days and repeat.  This sound like it would make an interesting story, doesn't it?  Not to mention my detailed reviews of every McDonald's with an indoor Playland between Sacramento and the Canadian border.  Ah, good times.

Unfortunately, I do not have time to tell these tales now.  We got home Tuesday night, opened the back on the Prius, and my life exploded all over my living room.  While we were away, we were invaded by ants.  The the floor around the toilet in the master bathroom (laminate over concrete) developed a squishing noise.  I hope this is not related to the tinkling noise the toilet has been making for over a year.  Jimmy the plumber can not see me for a month.  So he suggested I call Pedro the plumber.  Note to self: Call Pedro the plumber.

 By Wednesday morning, I had not even begun to dig my way out, but we had no food in the house, of course, so I had to run to the market (with all three kids).  Then there was a previously scheduled trip to the pediatrician (with all three kids).  And, shots.  For all three kids.  They acted like wild animals just let out of their cages.  Cate is suffering from Grandma withdrawal, which means she wants to be held all the time.  And, Jonah is off school, and bored.  Our little yard does not hold as much adventure as Grandpa's farm.

We should be back to normal by the weekend.  But, that is not going to happen either.  Hubband and I are leaving Friday afternoon for our church's couples retreat.  A friend of mine (Love you, Marissa) is going to stay here and watch the kids for us. 

You never know how dirty your house is until you imagine a friend living in it for three days.  So, on top of the laundry (twelve loads, by my estimation), and the unpacking, and the packing, I have to get out the sand blaster to get the crud off the underside of the dining room table and the backs of the chairs, detail the botanical experiment that is the shower, change the sheets (Make that thirteen loads of laundry.), and mop the floors.  Do you suppose the kids will want to eat between Friday and Sunday afternoons?  Ugh.  Add meal planning to my list.

So you see, I really do have tales to tell.  But I don't have time to do them justice.  I don't know when, exactly, I will be back, but knowing me, it won't be too long.  Please promise to miss me while I am gone.

Chicken Coop in Snow

I am including this picture, taken at Grandma and Grandpa's farm, because I find it soothing.  And, breathe.

The Week in Kids

This week...

We went to Grandma and Grandpa's for the week of Thanksgiving.

Samuel and Cate had their first experience with snow.

It wasn't all good.

"Ow!  It's in my eyes!"

"Look, Mommy.  I found my mittens."

"Now, what do I do with them?"

We weren't out there long, but we left tracks.

The snow has since melted, the rain has returned, and all of this beautiful land scape now looks like dirt soup.

Also this week...

Jonah found an old castle in the attic.  It used to be Daddy's.  It has not been under siege in awhile, but it proved worthy of conquests.

Also this week...

Samuel and both of his grandmothers (we brought one with us from California) built a gingerbread train.  It was a pre-packaged kit.  Sam is only four.  He doesn't have a whole lot of patience for making a Notre Dame of  gingerbread, like Jonah is planning.

Also this week...

Getting Cate to bed in a strange place was a bit of a challenge.  She shared a room in the attic with Daddy, Sam and me.  The first night, I had to hide out in the stairwell, watching to see if she tried to get out of bed.  Which she did, every time she stopped crying.  From there, I heard Sam whispering his form of comfort and encouragement.  "Go to sleep, Catie.  Go to sleep, Catie."  He is such a sweet big brother.

Also this week...

Jonah was a real live grown up boy.  He was helpful, and polite.  He played quietly alone.  He was nice to his little brother and sister.  He even joined the men, when they drove into Seattle to help my his aunt and uncle  move.  Oh, and he lost another tooth.  I feel like we will be visiting colleges soon.

Also this week...

We gave thanks.  We ate turkey.  And stuffing.  And potatoes.  And pie.  Sam had four pieces.  And, I gave thanks some more.  I am blessed, and so are you.  I hope you had the opportunity this week to be thankful.

See you next week!

For These Things, I Am Thankful

Freedom from Want, by Norman Rockwell

This list is by no means exhaustive, or even thorough, but it is what I have to offer on this Thanksgiving Eve.  In no particular order...

I am thankful that we made it 1000 miles to visit Grandma and Grandpa, yet managed to just miss all the ice and snow.

I am thankful for the DVD player that straps to the back of my headrest, giving my children something to do for the fifteen hour, two day drive, besides ask, "Are we there yet?"

I am thankful that Jonah spent all day today on the farm "adventuring" and not once asked to play a video game.

I am thankful for Cate's laugh and playful personality.

I am thankful for Samuel's cuddles, saved just for me, and sometimes Daddy.

A cold attic room (shared with my smallest children, sleeping soundly) a warm, pre-heated bed (thank you, electric mattress pad), and my net-book.  Hubband has not flown in yet, so I am cuddled up with you folks, for whom I am thankful.

I am thankful for Nana and Grandma, and all of the other people who have my back and pick up my slack.

And Hubband and Jonah and Samuel and Cate, healthy and happy, all.

I am thankful for my salvation.  Thank you, Jesus.

I am thankful that, compared to many people in the world, I live this a queen.  Thank you, God. 

Hot running water, flushing toilet, a big cold box called a refrigerator.  Let's not take these things for granted people.

And, to quote the lyrics of the song Sam sang at his Friendship Feast...

I'm glad I'm not a turkey, a turkey, a turkey

I'm glad I'm not a turkey on Thanksgiving day.

They stuff you, and baste you, and then they want to taste you.

I'm glad I'm not a turkey on Thanksgiving day.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!

The Week in Kids

This week...

Jonah and Samuel were both in shows.

On Thursday, Jonah sang in his class' Visual and Performing Arts Show.

This deer caught in headlight look was the best still photo I could get.

It was here that I realized, my camera stinks.

See what I mean?  And, yes, I read the manual.   Which is how I knew that it takes video.  

I must let you know that this was not exactly Jonah's finest hour.  He rehearsed his little heart out for this show, and he was good...at home.  Then, when the big day came, and I was sitting there in the audience, it wasn't so good.  I began to wonder if he had stage fright.  When he came up to hug me after, I realized he had a raging fever.  Poor kid.  Keep that in mind, as you watch.  It's only 29 seconds, and he finishes strong.

On Friday, Sam's pre-school class had their annual Thanksgiving pageant, called the Friendship Feast.  Once again, my best pictures were moving.

Okay, this is one whole minute.  Only grandparents might be able to sit through sixty seconds of Sam's star quality.

Uh, never mind.  Stupid Blogger keeps telling me that there is an error with my video and encourages me to read the terms and conditions.  I am not going to read the terms and freaking conditions.  They don't apply to me anyway; I'm a lawyer.  Sorry, grandparents and people who might care.  I will have to load Sam's adorableness some other time.

Also this week...

Cate said her first complete sentence.  "Mommy, I have poopies."  It was accompanied by the cutest point at her bottom.  But I have no pictures, sorry.

How about these?

Cate has been following Sam around since she was old enough to move, but lately he has been letting her.  Even taking her hand and running/dragging her from room to room.  She loves this.  It is fun to watch their relationship develop. 

See you next week...Maybe.  We are going to be in Washington over the whole week of Thanksgiving, but I will have my computer, and I may be able to fit this in.

What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?

Sleeping Beauty by Thomas Spence

The clock said 6:14am.  I was avoiding getting out a bed, because I had a migraine.  Hubband was avoiding getting out of bed, because he is lazy.  He may have had some legitimate excuse, but as he offered none, I will go with my assessment.

All three of the children were awake.  They had come to see us several times: first in turn, and then en mass. We had finally managed to get them out of our room, when we heard this:

The refrigerator opened.  A drawer in the refrigerator opened.  A plastic bag rustled.  I recognized it as a bag of cheese sticks.  (Yes, I recognized it.  I have mom-hearing.  It should be studied by the NSA.)  The drawer closed.  The refrigerator door closed, with a couple of hard thumps, because the drawer did not get closed all the way.

Sam:  What's that Catie?
Cate:  My cheese, my cheese.
Sam:  Catie...
Cate:  No, no.  My cheese, my cheese.
Jonah:  No, Sam.  Catie, do you need me to open your cheese?
Cate:  Uh-huh.  My cheese.

A kitchen drawer opened.  Utensils were jostled.

Sam:  No, Jonah.
Cate:  My cheese. my cheese.
Jonah:  Hang on, Catie.  I'm trying to open it for you.
Sam:  Jonah, give me that.
Jonah:  No, Sam.
Sam:  Jonah, I want it, I want.
Jonah: No, Sam.
Cate:  My cheese, my cheese.
Sam:  No, Jonah.  That's sharp.  No, Jonah.  That's sharp.  That's sharp.
Jonah:  Sam, be quiet.  I'm just trying to open the cheese.
Cate:  My cheese, my cheese.
Sam:  No, Jonah.  That's sharp.

Hm.  One of us had to get out of bed, or spend the morning answering uncomfortable questions in the emergency room.  But, it did not have to be me.

I rolled toward Hubband and whispered, "Jonah has a knife."  With that, he lept out of bed, like the super hero that he is.

I take back what I said.  Hubband is not lazy.  He just needs sufficient motivation.

Friendship in a Cup

I have a friend, whom I have known longer than all my other friends.  At least the ones I still speak to regularly.  She has long legs, an exotic name, a unique cadence to her speech.  Long hair, which I have heard her describe as, a sign of good breeding.  (I don't know about this, but she is my friend, so I say nothing.)  She rides a motorcycle, and her idea of a family dog is a Great Dane.  When we met, we were from the same bland town, with the same government job.  But since then, she has lived in several different cities and on a Virgin Island.  She has visited countries that I don't even have a desire to see, such is her taste for adventure.   

In short, she is prone to flights of fancy, like only a beautiful woman can be.  Fancy becoming reality more often than not.  I don't begrudge her this.  She is my friend.

Why, I do not know, as we have always been so different.  But she is my friend.

This beautiful, exotic friend of mine, recently left her sea side cottage (It may be a tract home, twenty minutes from the ocean.  I don't know.  I don't want to know.  I like my version better.) to return to this bland town for a visit.  While she was here, she rubbed some of the beige off the place, revealing a bit color that is there, if you care to look.  We drank overpriced coffee, while our kids scattered banana bread crumbs all over the carpet.  We swapped recipes.  We watched dumb television.  We went out to dinner and ate only appetizers.  We saw a movie; a documentary we knew our husbands would never go see.  And, she was a great help with my kids, when I really needed it.

And then she was gone.  A month is so short, really.

A week, or so, later, a small envelope arrived in my mail box.  Ooo.  Real mail.  What a treat!  It was a card, thanking me for everything.  I loaned her a car seat and a couple of un-missed toys.  Worthy of a card?  Maybe, maybe not.  But it gets better.  The card contained a Starbucks gift card.  Wooohooo!

You have to understand.  Starbucks is a luxury around here.  It may not even be that good, but it's scarceness makes it seem so.  A Starbucks gift card is like plastic gold.  Especially this close to the holidays.  Have you ever had a peppermint mocha?  It is like Christmas in a cup.

Even so,  I waited a few days.  I had to go when I didn't have the kids with me, because they, somehow, have come to view Starbucks a Scone Hut, and I was not willing to share.  Sorry.  I just wasn't.  Besides, I didn't know how much was on the card.  How much is the loan of an old car seat worth?  Not much, right?

So, almost giddy with excitement,  I walked into my neighborhood Strabucks, and I ordered the giganti-ventiest cup of espresso infused milk, sugar, and chocolate I have ever dared order.

"Would you like whipped cream on that?" asked the friendly barista.

"Yes.  Yes, I would."

Why, you ask?

Two reason.  One, it was free.  I figured there had to be at least five bucks on that card, or she would not have bothered to send it, and I wanted to spend every penny.  Two, I had recently lost a little weight, and I wanted to treat myself.

What, you ask?  Aren't you worried you will undo all of your hard work, you ask?

Well, yes, and no.  You see, I have to be careful.  I have, over the years, put an embarrassing amount energy into the idea that my life would be perfect, if only I were thinner.  I would hate to go to all the trouble of actually getting thin, only to be disillusioned.  As long as I am not thin, there is always hope for that perfect life.  You understand, right?

"Would you like a receipt?" asked my barista.

"Yes, please," I say.

"Here you go.  The remaining balance on your card in $20.25"

Twenty five dollars!  Seriously?  Woo-double-hoo!

Can I send a thank card for a thank you card?  I suppose I could.  Or, I could write a nice little story about my beautiful friend, letting the world know how beautiful she is.  (I used the word four times, if you want a tally.)

[The painting is Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, a watercolor by Warwick Goble and I found it here.]

You Know You're Married to a Lawyer...

You know you're married to a lawyer when you have a conversations like this...

Hubband: I love you. You know that right.
Me: Yeah. That's what you're always telling me.
Hubband: Do you doubt it?
Me: Well, talk is cheap.
Hubband: Not at my hourly rate.

Also from the Hubband department...

Me (from the other room): Hubband, are you busy?
Hubband: Yes.
Me: What are you doing?
Hubband:  Jobs American women won't do.

I come into the room to find him taking out the garbage.

Here's hoping that you, too can share a smile with your spouse this week!