I found another grey hair today.

It wasn't on my head.

Yeah.....

Grass is always greener...

There's another body in the bed tonight. It's eight o'clock and your father is still plugging away at his Arabic lessons, Eleanor is singing to herself in her bed, Jordan is snugly tucked up in her toddler cage/bed with rails and we've already had enough conversations over where Emily is lately. Any guesses?

It's been a rough night. You had a great day at school and came home in good spirits. Another blue note from the teacher! We piled in the car and headed up to the Marine Corps museum where we played for a while and then headed home with grumbly bellies. I think you're too tired. I think you are exhausted. And I think you miss me half as much as I miss you during the day.

Apparently, this whole Mommy-being-gone-before-you-wake-up thing was not explained well to you and you were under the assumption that it would only last a week or two. While Granne was a wonderful surprise addition to your special morning (Great job, again, by the way) when you got Student of the Month, she is not the Mom. And I was supposed to be there. Tonight was the night you decided to let your feelings known. With tears. Lots and lots of heart wrenching, sobbing, melt down tears.

We have had the conversation about leaving. About how when I go to school and drive with Daddy, I'm going to school and I come back. About how when you get on the bus in the morning to go to school and go learn new things, you are not leaving us for good but for the day. That you need to go to school to be with your class and your teachers and your books. The fatal flaw in my logic was when I pointed out that you went to school a week before I started. That you were gone all day long and I thought it would be all right if I went to school, too.

You offered to stop going.

I keep telling myself that this is an incredible opportunity for us and for our next three years in Oman. But at the same time, I have a running dialogue with myself asking how the heck working parents do what needs to be done every day. How do they manage the household, the cleaning, the shopping, the cooking, the papers, the bills, the laundry, finding clothes for the morning, packing lunches (totally understanding the joy of just sending 10 dollars a week to school for crap, non-nutritional lunches) and all the assorted what-not that creeps up? Because I'm exhausted and we've got your dad and an au pair who occasionally blesses us with a cooked meal and enough leftovers for lunch the next day.

That weeping sound you hear is just Mommy- tears of joy.

Not to mention the things that you want to do. I want to read books, play games, take a walk. I would love to curl up and watch a silly movie or a Justice league. And I desperately miss the morning snuggles. The quiet, non rushed, gentle morning with wee warm bodies breathing your girly morning breath and demanding gummi bears in the tiniest voices possible. I miss you guys like crazy.

I'm enjoying school. The challenge of school. Despite the daily smack upside the head with all the crap I don't know. But when this is over, I'm back to being home full time. I'm missing way too much of your lives.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU HAD FOR BREAKFAST TODAY.

For now, we've come to a compromise. I will get up, kiss you softly in the morning, call you and have breakfast over the phone with you and you will go to school. I will do my level best to be home when you get home or VERY soon after and will try to spend my time wisely playing and reading with you as much as possible and ignore the mountain of laundry trying to eat Jordan.

And in the meantime, you're in here snuggling with your foot on my leg while your sister sings herself to sleep.

Every night, as is our routine, we go upstairs, brush teeth, change into pajamas and hop into bed to read a book, sing songs and do the hug-and-a-kiss. This all happens with varying degrees of success and may or may not include a bath.

We used to have a standard "Halls of Montezuma" or "Angels Appeared" as the song, but lately "Jesus Loves Me" has been requested. And then there are the original songs with beautiful, awe inspiring first lines such as:

"Don't bite your sister or push her down the stairs....."

or

"Don't throw your pizza at the mooooooon...."

I feel like we're teaching you so well.

Middle of the week

Todd and I started school on Monday. It's Wednesday now. The challenge of keeping all the balls in the air has kept me away from the computer.

On Monday morning we put on our pretty clothes, took the time to look extra pretty in case we were introduced around and then came up from Stafford to Arlington. After a smooth entrance, your overly eager father and I waited around while the woman charged with watching over us came in late that day. "Early is on time, on time is late."

Your dad is over in a speaking, reading and writing class that is covering materials miles over my head. Our third day of Arabic School and I've got an hour of lab time that is languishing while the instructors try to decide where to put me. I have a grasp of the letters and how to connect them, but my vocabulary is so small and limited that we are having trouble conversing. Walaa is a good teacher, but I get frustrated when I am trying to say a sentence and she interrupts mid way to correct me. I'm not that interesting in English, so trying to think of things to say in Arabic is stretching my abilities.

You guys are fine with Sumeyye. I come home to new art projects and fascinating structures around the house. I miss hanging out with you guys. The morning cuddles and the smooches before you get on the bus or head into your classroom.

We come home in the afternoon to find you three running around and happy as clams. On one hand I am thrilled to see you so happy and carefree. That is the success we were looking for. But on the other hand, I wish you missed me a little more. There, I've admitted it- your mom is a selfish, selfish woman.

I know that this time in class will be a good investment for us. I know that you are growing up and can do just fine without me. But I do miss you.

We walked around our first day trying to find the right rooms and teachers- I remembered Gracie telling me that it was going to be all right. She told me that my teacher was going to be really nice and that I was going to make friends with the kids in my class.

So far, so good.

Dear Clothes Designer

Dear Clothes Designer,

First of all, thank you for thinking of putting spandex in my denim. For that alone, I love you. School is coming up for me next week and it has been brought to my attention that those beloved jeans and a few fun shirts have been my wardrobe for the last five years. They would probably not be appropriate for the Foreign Service Institute, so we went hunting.

Okay, technically, we went out to Nordstroms and found a "style consultant" who got to dress me up like State Department Barbie and had endless patience while I nixed endless numbers of your creations. Here are just a few of the things I would like you to know:

The current trend of feminine detailing, ruffles and flowers on shirts and jackets is wonderful. The ones that suit my taste are the more subtle, but I can appreciate the more daring and colorful. However, I am not paying eighty dollars for a T-shirt that looks like you just threw on all your leftover embellishments and no woman wants the huge ruffle up and around her neck making her look like bozo the clown.

Real women have hips. I could go nuts talking about these new "paper sack" dresses with the huge wrap around belts, but I think you should just take away the lesson that real women past the age of 19 have hips and a little saddle bag. We do not like all the attention on them.

Almost everyone wants to look and feel good. Could you please not mess with our sizing? Last year I was a size 8 or a Medium, now I'm a 12 or an Extra Large in some stores. I can still fit into those eights and mediums, so I know it's not me or my waist that is changing.

I know it's not exciting, but if you make something and sell out of it, could you please make it again the next year? A different color or with a small twist, maybe. Yes, this is more business than design and art, but if it will get me my favorite sweatshirt in a new color, I'd like to try.

Washable is good. I'm willing to front load the thirty bucks I would probably spend at the cleaners if you'll just make it out of something I can wash it myself. There's a lot of peanut butter and tomato sauce in this house and I'd be willing to take it up a notch if I could actually clean my clothes.

There's probably more, but I can't think of it right now. I'm sure I'll see something at Christmas and want to chat some more.

All the best,

Kristi Lyons

Much ado about nothing

So apparently I'm a worry wart who borrows trouble.

Kindergarten was fun.

Lunch was fine.

Mrs. Haasen is nice.

Physical Education was fun. You need shoes with no holes. (??!!?)

You sat next to a nice girl whose name you can't remember.

But the best, the COOLEST part of your day was that the bus has no booster seats or seat belts. When I expressed my concern over the safety of this, you told me that it was okay because Mrs. Kim drives really slow.

Well, okay then.

September 7

You and I need to talk about this Kindergarten thing. The whole-growing older-getting taller-becoming-more-independent-leaving-Mommy thing. Because I'm not sure it's good for us. And I know I'm not ready.

You go to Kindergarten tomorrow morning. Technically, this morning. Because I'm not sleeping tonight. At least not any time soon.

I know that you're a great kid. You're smart, good hearted and funny. You're a leader and don't have any qualms about speaking up when you see someone else your size picking on a smaller kid. I love that about you.

Your father and I have met your teacher twice, briefly. I've done my best to find out information about Mrs. Haasen and her cohort, uh, teacher's helper, Mrs. Borden. Talked to other mommies, daddies, the school, a few substitute teachers who know them. I may or may not have also asked the cop across the street to check them out...

But I don't know these ladies and I'm worried that they don't know you yet. I'm concerned over the fact that I know almost nothing about these women to whom I am entrusting my life's most important and valuable work. I'm stressing about how delicately they will handle your body, your mind and your spirit. Your spirit most of all.

I'm sending you to Kindergarten in the morning despite my fears.

Because you seem to have none. I know that you will be successful. I know that you will have a wonderful time and enjoy this adventure. I know that you are going to learn more and see more than I could provide here at the house. I am so excited and terrified for you.

But I'm still not ready.

Our Emily

We had a dog. Her name was Emily. She was a beagle bluetick hound and she shed half her weight in little white, black and brown hairs daily. No outfit was safe.

She snuggled under the covers in the morning as soon as your dad got out of bed. I would hear the jingle of her collar and then feel her little warm body press up against me a few seconds later. Since your dad has the ridiculous habit of getting up before daylight, Emily and I would fall back asleep until the thundering pitter patter of your tiny feet and your precious morning breath would wake me up.

Downstairs we would go, Emily curled up in a cocoon of warmth underneath my blankets on the warm spot I had just vacated. We would cook breakfast, run, jump, scream, squeal and make all sorts of noises until it was time to leave the house. After a few futile attempts to get our beautiful, sleepy dog out of bed, I would give up and go upstairs. Pull back the covers and look at a dog blinking up at me with an innocent expression that seemed to say, "Whaaa? You mean you were calling me? Is it time to get up and go outside?" I swear that dog could hold it until noon some days before she decided to come downstairs and go potty.

Emily loved the sun. She loved to lay on her side and soak in the warmth. If a random squirrel or bird came in our back yard, she would viciously raise her head and watch them as they scampered around the yard. They may not have run away, but there was fear in their hearts.

We are moving to Oman next year. To a country that will hold many adventures after a fourteen hour flight and summers that average way over 100 degrees every day. Your dad and I had already discussed options for Emily since she is getting on in years and would not enjoy her limited time outdoors in Muscat, let alone the flight. Back when we were in Israel, my boss and his wife were good friends and dog lovers. Every year since we've met them, they have something for you girls as well as remembering our Em. They were our first choice of someone who might adopt her if we thought we had to make a change.

Don't get me wrong, your grandparents offered. They would take great care of my dog and walk her and feed her, but the Macintosh's would LOVE her from the moment she walked in the door. If I know Marcia, there will be a non stop stream of conversation, pats, rubs and affection as well as a few treats.

We're up on Prudence right now. We've been here for a few days. Came up early on Sunday and spent the day in Newport with Brian, Marcia and Kallie, then came over to the island on Monday. Emily-dog ran around off leash for a few days, devoured Kallie's food and ignored the small furry animals that live here year round.

This morning the Macintosh's left the island with my dog. Their new dog.

I know that this is the best decision for her in the long run. That she will be welcomed into the family and loved. She will be given the best food and care. Your dad is being very patient with me, but I'm having trouble letting go of our girl. We adopted Emily. We didn't find a cute puppy, play with her until she wasn't cute any more (she was always cute) and then try and foist of an ill behaved animal on someone else or a shelter. We brought her into the family, spent the time and attention on her to house break her, walk her and she trained us how she liked. The decision to let her go live with another family is not an easy one.

Later on when your father and I are reticent to "let you get a puppy/kitten/small furry creature" it's not that we are being mean or lazy. We know what it is like to lose a beloved pet. Go ask me about Barney. Ask me about watching Em sail away.

At night, our Emily would jump on the couch and stretch out along the back. She would wait until we were comfy and find a way to lay down, stretch out and still just barely touch us with a toe or a nose. When we went to bed, she would come upstairs and curl up in the chair next to the bed. Her perch to see outside and watch the world go by. And she would wait for your father to abandon his warm spot.

Homecoming Presents

Your father just came back from a week long conference in Denver. He went into a store while he was on his trip and found something that he thought would remind me of Prudence.

I don't care how you rationalize it, a "tick nipper" is never going to be a romantic, "I was thinking of you" gift.

There are days

when the only thing you can do is hope and pray that the brown stuff you are cleaning off the sink, the faucet, the cabinet and the wall is Nutella.

You can thank me now

When you're older, you'll see Mommy on the computer reading through various blogs and you will lose your belief that Mom is a uber creative person who comes up with all sorts of brilliant, creative projects and games at a rapid rate. (Let me have this one, guys. ) You will finally figure out that I glean through hundreds of blogs and pick out tutorials and ideas that we try around here much to the joy of the local hardware, craft and thrift stores.

But I have never, ever, made you guys wee baby headbands, bows or stick on frilly things to identify your sweet baby heads as girl or boy. EVER. Now that you are older and HAVE HAIR, I have made you hats and hair thingies (it's a word, look it up) to keep your bangs out of your faces but I never used double sided tape to adhere some bow to your noggin. This is the part where you say, "thanks, Mom".

Now- if I could just get Eleanor to stop cutting off her hair with every available sharp implement like she did yesterday, we would be all set.

Look what I made for you

Swimming Lessons

You have been taking swimming lessons this past week. Three nights a week, we go to the pool over on Quantico. We missed the first night, but that was not because your dad and I forgot. It was because we remembered the start date wrong.

On Wednesday, you had your classes and we played for a bit before going home. On Thursday, we got there early, had a bite with your dad and then had a few minutes of play time after the class.

Grace and Eleanor were excited to show us what they had learned. And you, sweet Jordan, were becoming more and more comfortable in the water. Blowing bubbles, splashing, even wading up to your chin. Such a huge difference from your first few days there. Your dad was playing with your sisters while you and I were talking with another mom and her little boy. You were right there. Right near my leg in about 18 inches of water.

You will never know how much I regret not keeping my eyes on you.

It was ten seconds. Maybe twenty. And I looked around for you. The rest of the family had drifted over to the very exciting three feet area and were showing off their scooping hands and kicking feet and you decided to follow.

Your head was tipped back and you bounced up from the bottom to grab a gulp of air. Your hands were going underneath the water and your were bicycling your feet. A dive later you were coughing on my shoulder and I was sure the pounding in my ears was never going to stop. I cannot believe I failed you like that. I'm supposed to be keeping you safe.

We want you to enjoy going to the pool and the beach. To learn to swim and love the water. You've powered through timid and scared of the slightest wave to a girl determined not to let a little thing like lack of oxygen stop you. And that terrifies me. I want you to be brave. I want you to have the courage to try new things, to fail and to continue to try. Your dad and I just need a little help with the adjustments of attitude and the rapid rate and which you and your sisters develop and grow.

I'm not proud of letting you down. Of failing to keep you safe. Of endangering your life. I woke up on Thursday night with you bobbing in the pool - over, over and over again. At one point, I got up and went into your room just to lay down next to your bed and feel your chest rise and fall under my hand. The possible consequences of my actions are not something I wanted to think about and kept running through my head.

So I'm going to do better. Your still probably going to swallow some pool water, but we're going to be watching you daredevils much, much closer.

Although I doubt I'll be of much use as I won't be sleeping for the next month or so.

You are five.

Five years old today. You still have blue eyes like your dad and hair that was the color I had before Ms. Clairol and Loreal started helping me with my greys. You have freckles on your nose and a mole on your forehead that I find adorable.

You wake up groggy. You rub your eyes and wobble a bit, but you usually follow it up with a smile. You and Eleanor are still in love with night dresses and fight over who gets to wear you dad's T-shirt at night.

For some reason, you don't prefer milk. Oh, you'll drink it if we put it in front of you, but you would rather a glass of water any day. The cheese sticks and yoghurt that tempt your sisters hold no appeal to you, but an ice cream sandwich is welcome any day. I believe that to be universal.

You love to tell a story. You're getting better at it every day.

You're the little mother. For good and for not so good. You lead, you plan, you boss, you help, you direct, and you say "now!" a lot. The mirror I get to look into every day is not always pretty. But you read to your sisters- the most wonderful made up stories. You encourage your sisters and tell them what a great job their doing, you hang their pictures on the fridge and you always want to rub their backs and kiss any owies. God help anyone who pushes or shoves your sisters on the playground.

You make your bed every morning. "Nice and flat" just like Granne taught you. I think your Granne is so proud of this because she still hasn't trained me to make mine every morning. You are her success story.

You are smart. So smart. And I worry that the group activities that we do are not challenging you enough. I love the way you are always willing to assist your sisters, but I worry. Hopefully I'll find a lot of things for you to do this summer with just Mommy-Gracie, Daddy-Gracie time. Your dad and I are trying to find a few things for us to do with you and your sisters one on one, but we have yet to overcome our biggest obstacle- getting out of pajamas. We're working on that.

You can reach my waist. You wrapped your arms around my waist last week and I wanted to cry. When did you get so big? When did you grow so much? HOW DID I MISS THIS?? You hugged me with your wonderful strong arms and told me you loved me and all I could think was, " Jordan hugs my kness, Eleanor grabs my leg, Holy crap....."

I love you. I love your beautiful smile and your bad knock-knock jokes and your made up songs. You are five today. Five. Happy Birthday, Grace Anne.

Today is mother's day

My mom taught me

• to love reading and books.
• resourcefulness. Imagination and creativity are powerful and not to be wasted.
• to change your mascara every year. That's why we give it to each other at Christmas.
• how strong a woman could be.
• that being alone doesn't have to mean lonely.
• to always show up for weddings and funerals. This was the tip of the iceberg of "just show up" because people remember who came to a wedding and a funeral. (And to always have a black dress or appropriate clothes for a funeral because in a time of grief you're not going to want to shop.)
• to be independent
• that oatmeal cookies are for breakfast if you change the name to "breakfast cookies."
• how to sew. She taught me about quilts and then encouraged me to run with it.
• to give quietly. That helping someone else financially or otherwise has its own rewards.
• that apologies are important.
• that family is priceless.

I've had a lovely day. There were breakfast muffins (batter baked with crisco, rolled in butter and dipped in cinnamon sugar are not cupcakes if eaten before ten in the morning) church, then the hardware store, hammock swinging and lots of gorgeous Mother's Day art. And tonight? Tonight I'm going to be SO surprised when I get Mother's Day cookies for dessert!

Dearest Jordan,

I cut your hair for the first time this morning. Not a lot, but enough to even out the long strands from the top of your head to the ones you've rubbed short on the sides and back. You've got a cute little bob that reminds me of your sister Grace and Katie.

No more baby straggly hair. No more floaty wisps. My head knows the haircut looks good but my heart doesn't like it one bit.

New Hampshire

I went to New Hampshire last weekend.

Because I could.

And because I was invited to go on a road trip with Kerry. But mostly because I could. It's been a long time since I went adventuring for adventure's sake. For the last several years this has comprised mostly of day trips to or mini outings to learn the terrain or inventory of an area. Sounds boring enough, but I liked going to a new place and finding something extraordinary even if it was at the local International supermarket.

When Kerry started talking about a weekend up north, I remembered my road trips in college. Forget about the destination for a minute, even the journey was a marked improvement. Where I was usually in the backseat, I got shotgun. Checking a map every five minutes? Now we have mapquest. Limited budget of college years became a cooler full of snacks, a six pack of diet coke (we'll talk about Mommy's addiction later) and a few twenties designated for crappy, greasy delightful road food. And foraging for decent music every thirty minutes was replaced by an ipod full of swing music, gravelly voice seducers and an audio book about the CIA that had my attention for over six hours of the ride home.

Or maybe that was Kerry's evil plan so I would shut up. Didn't work, but I was distracted for a good portion. I consider myself well read and have an okay understanding of history but even I had to ask a few questions along the way. I mean, who uses Halcyon in every day conversation? And just for reference sake: hal c yon

n.

1. A kingfisher, especially one of the genus Halcyon.

2. A fabled bird, identified with the kingfisher, that was supposed to have had the power to calm the wind and the waves while it nested on the sea during the winter solstice.

adj.

1. Calm and peaceful; tranquil.

2. Prosperous; golden: halcyon years.

We left Virginia on Friday and drove up north, carefully avoiding Interstate 95 and all the traffic that always seems to accompany that road. I'm sure it won't have improved by the time you're old enough to read this and drive that highway. It was a gorgeous drive and I got to see some areas of the country that I either haven't seen before or have forgotten. We had french fries, milkshakes and a slew of other food that I would have tried to avoid feeding the three of you. And it was gooooood.

Kerry's home town was a delightful and I kept looking around her parent's house and finding wee surprises. I unknowingly usurped Kerry's usual bedroom and found ABC blocks nestled underneath the bedside table. Her mom used a small quilt rack to hold the towels (or maybe we've been reinventing a towel rack all these years?) and had a tiny pastry box holding four incredible chocolates tied up with a pretty ribbon. I wanted to move in. Or at the very least steal the bed and put it in the back of the truck. But that would probably mar our chances of going back, so I'll wait until next time.

More later. You guys are getting frantic on the playground and are a bit distracting. I wonder if popsicles would help?

I am so proud

Let's forget for a minute that your mom is a loon. We won't talk about how she spent her hard earned cash to have Becca come over so that she could scrub down the bathrooms and use bleach in peace. Because only serial killers and other mommies of multiple kids would enjoy that kind of thing. Because that's what I did this morning and you can bet I told at least three other mothers who were envious.

No, we're going to talk about you guys. And your new game that is always set off by the fact that Grace suffers the indignity of STILL having to use a booster seat at the ripe old age of four almost five. "When I'm old enough- When I'm as big as you" is our new game. First, Grace buckles herself into her car seat. Then she starts mentioning her car seat. Then, she starts a sentence with "when I'm big enough" or "When I'm as big as you".

The first one is almost always, "...I won't have to use a booster chair." which is quickly followed by one of Eleanor's quips and then the volleys begin between Eleanor, Grace and a word or two from Jordan. They include being able to drive, borrowing my shoes, having your own purse, being able to fly (not in an airplane), being able to fly an airplane, going to the moon and a whole assortment of other ideas. But this morning Grace blurted out, "When I get as big as you, I'll be able to get the butter all by myself!"

Paula Deen be praised.

Mom's day

Mother's Day is coming up. In two weeks, there will be joyous celebrations and shouts of "I love you, Mom!" on one Sunday in May. Mother's everywhere will be given breakfast in bed, flowers, cards and dragged out to brunch in crowded restaurants everywhere by adoring families in order to show their love and appreciation.

And then the following Monday everything goes back to normal.

I've got two things to say about Mother's Day. The first being that I'm a freak. Really- Mother's Day is no big deal to me. Your father shows me every week, almost every day, how much he appreciates my efforts here at home. Either he's putting on a really good show or he knows that a day with the three of you can be...chaotic. Joyful, fun and adventurous, but also frustrating, confusing, annoying and HARD. And because of his example, you girls routinely make me feel as though my work is worthwhile.

Bestides, I get breakfast in bed almost every Saturday when I hide out upstairs and you make pancakes with your dad.

The second thing I want to say is that motherhood should not be an accident. Motherhood is a CHOICE that you can make in your life, not just so you won't be left out on Mother's day and have to face all those annoying comments and questions every year. This is not saying that you three were not an incredible surprise to us, your dad and I never knew we could be this blessed. But from the moment we found out about you, we wanted to have you in our lives.

We have friends, both married and single, who have chosen not to have kids. These people are dedicated family people, adventurous, ambitious, talented and brilliant. And they know that they do not wish to be (or feel they would not be good at being) full time parents. I can respect that. While I could never imagine my life without you, I respect that they took the time to think about what they wanted rather than blindly doing what society demanded was the next step to marriage and biology.

They are generous with you three every time they see you. To a person, they smile and talk to you like small people; NOT babies. They read to you, they listen to you, they are patient with you. They would be great parents, but instead stand firmly in the position of aunts, uncles, godparents and friends.

You will be so lucky to have them in your life.

What I'm trying to say (and saying badly) is that if you decide to have kids, love them and raise them to the best of your abilities. If you can't have kids and want them, blood is not an issue. You love that kid, they are YOURS. Which makes them my grandkids. If you can't or decide not to have kids, it doesn't make you any less of a woman. Not one bit.

To be clear- I want grandkids. I want to spoil them rotten and see you grow your family in a way that will bring you joy. But if your choice takes you down a different path, I'M OKAY WITH THAT. Just make sure I get to make quilts for SOMEBODY. I can say that. I'm your mother.

S. N. A. C. K. S.

Grace has snack this week at school and the letter of the week is "V". Am I just a crazy person to think that vegetables would be a good snack? I sent a whole bottle of Ranch dressing for pity's sake.

Oh well, we can always have them for dinner.

The other two days are a bit easier with Vanilla wafers and Viking cupcakes. For some reason the thought of inverting savory Bugles into any kind of iced cupcake seems like the perfect food for a bunch of four year olds who are not going to care about the letter thing anyway. (Update: three days later... The cupcakes were a HUGE hit! Carrot cake cupcakes with white icing were very well received but the nacho cheese bugles were probably JUST for decoration.)

Speaking of which, your dad and I had his parents here this last weekend. In order to not cause a riot, we spelled out a few words. Like "gin" and "beer" and....oh, that's right. Your grandparents can understand those....

But we did spell out a few others like "ice cream sandwiches" and "snacks". Your father and I were a bit shocked and more than a bit proud when Grace said, "I know what that spells! S, n, a, c, k, s spells snacks."

We're in trouble.

Getting old

I feel as though I've forgotten something. Something important. Taxes are done, there are three kids here safe and fed and Emily is snoring. So what have I forgotten?

Grace's birthday is coming up next month. We're still up in the air about if we're having it as a joint party or just having a small outing with Grace and a friend or two. In typical Mommy fashion, I've already started working on the favors for the party if it's joint with Georgia. If it doesn't work out, we can always just give the small "trinket keeper" bags that I'm making to the class on the week we bring in cupcakes for Grace's real birthday on the 25th.

I can rationalize anything.

Granne and Grandbob are going to a wedding in New Orleans next weekend so we are doing a cultural exchange with Louisiana and your father's parents are coming for a visit. We're in negotiations as to where they would like to sleep. The grandparents room will be available, but I think they might like the privacy of being downstairs. Not sure how your grandfather will deal with a full sized bed and a blow to the crotch in the morning when you guys jump on the bed. It's taken my dad a full two years to learn to tuck and roll whenever he hears the pitter patter of your little feet.

This is going to be short- I've got to try and find the shoes you have lost. How did we lose a brand new pair of Keens already? It's only April! I've looked everywhere and they have disappeared. Not in the van, the garage, the closet.... none of the usual place. We're going back to school this morning and Jordan and I are heading out for an action packed morning at the commissary. Yes, the new vinyl springy green tablecloth and grocery shopping. I party that hard.

Who says romance is dead?

Someone needs to tell your father that offering to show me what he just pulled up out of the shower drain is not a prelude to intimacy. That making comments such as "Oh holy crap, you should smell this!" is also not going to entice me to come into the bathroom to investigate.

And why is it that when I whine about this to my girlfriends, all I get in return is , "He cleaned out the shower drain? That's awesome! Why on earth are you complaining?"

I can't win. But I did go to bed with a smile on my face.

We can do better

We're on spring break this week. So this is a non-stop whirlwind of Mommy/daughter joy, bliss and togetherness. All the time. From last Thursday afternoon until next Tuesday. That's eleven full days of us. Together. Every meal, every diaper, every craft project, every play date, every errand.

Joy.

Bliss.

So it may come as no small surprise to you when you read this later on in life that we had a few mishaps yesterday. And I may have made a few calls to Michelle along the day. Maybe one or two more than a few. Maybe so many that she called back at nine last night to ask how many children I still had.

Yesterday was one of those days that makes me want to turn in my Mommy badge. Yesterday was the kind of day that makes other Moms drink. Drink booze. Lots of it. Yesterday was one of those days that reminded me of your Grandbob telling me about his time in the Pentagon, "Hours and hours of sheer boredom punctuated my moments of stark terror".

It started with the half gallon of milk on the floor. That you dropped, decided NOT to pick up and came running out to tell me that you had spilled it on the floor. The puddle on the floor was still growing when I came running into the room and started throwing towels down.

The tone of the day really started rolling when I went to use the toilet on the main floor only to find it covered in poop. On the seat, the side and the floor. LOVELY.

And after lunch, you guys were playing trains and I foolishly left you alone for a few minutes when Grace came running into the office to tell me that Jordan had gone into the pantry and taken out the brown sugar. Apparently the recent good weather motivated her to try and build a sand castle under the train table with the two pounds of brand new brown sugar. I found you running trucks and bulldozers through your dunes.

Twenty minutes later, Jordan was going down for a nap and Grace and Eleanor watched me clip all the sticky strings off the head off the vacuum cleaner. I threw away the garbage, set everything else to the side and took little Ms. Sweet Tooth upstairs to wash her off, change her clothes and put her to bed. I returned to find two small people doing their impressions of Paul Mitchell.

"It's my turn to cut hair!"

This is not something I want to hear. In fact, a big old "WTF?!" came out of my mouth. I'm your mother, not a saint. I will never be a saint. And today, my patience and ineptitude for parenting has been pushed to the limit.

Eleanor had a small trim to the curls on the side of her head, nothing super noticeable. As for Gracie, the slanted chunk over her ears, the one in the back and the two on the other side let me know it was time for a trim.

I have to admit I lost my temper. There was some yelling. Mine and yours. I have no idea why you would want to do this or where you got the idea other than the scissors foolishly left by your mom on the floor. Silly mommy. And I know that there was no blood, no broken bones and no real harm done. I KNOW THAT. But we, together, had not done a great job of keeping busy. I was worried about a few things that needed to be accomplished around the house and was concentrating more on a project I'd worked on the night before than giving you something to do. "Executive Play" is a great way of telling myself that you need to figure out how to entertain yourselves.

Yesterday was not a good day for me letting you guys decide how to play on your own. The pirate's ship in the morning was great. The milk, not so much. The fashion show downstairs was fun until I found the poop. Your two hour tea party with stunts in the top of the fort was incredible until you returned with your ambition to rival Dubai with your indoor sport dune driving. And the hair cuts, why???

This morning, we've had breakfast and I'm watching you guys on the swings and the hammock. Then we're going OUT to run errands and stop by the Ikea where you guys can see Ms. Rosa and spend 30 minutes without me in the kids play area. We're going to be a bit more busy and without a schedule. Because I know we can do better. We will not falter. We will not fail. We will not pick up scissors and cut each other's hair today.

RIGHT?

Questioning my housekeeping skills.

Yesterday was the Easter Egg Hunt for Grace's class. We now how a dozen empty Easter eggs floating around the house that are supposed to be in her bunny bag in the kitchen. This morning, Grace was awake and downstairs bright and early with me in the living room and she asked me if she could have one egg. Since the other girls are still asleep and she was asking so nicely, I didn't see any harm.

A few minutes later she walked up and showed me the funky spider shaped chocolate in one hand and a fist full of M&Ms in the other.

Grace: Look, Mom! Look what was in my egg!

Me: Oooh, I see that spider! Are you going to eat him?

Grace: (crunch, crunch of an M&M) Yes! I'm going to eat him all up!

Me: Okay, but I thought I told you only one egg. (Insert stern look here)

Grace: (crunch, crunch)I did take one egg. (crunch, crunch) The M&Ms were in the couch.

Greaaaaaaat.

What a crock

I just read the most recent blog posting from the lady making a blog of advice to her daughter. Number 232 was "If you are privy to someone else’s secret, I advise you to keep it in confidence. But if you have a secret that’s gnawing you from the inside out, you can unload it onto me. I promise never to judge you, to keep your secret locked in the vault, and to respect your decision if you choose not to share it with me at all."

I have to say that I'm a little surprised that she's putting that big, fat, whopping lie right out there for her kid to come back and hold against her.

First off, I love you. I think you're incredible, smart, creative and sensitive. You are going to have a fascinating life and meet people who will change your life for better and for...not so much better.

So let me be honest. You tell me something that you've done with little to no use of your brilliant brain and/or exercising none of your self control and good judgement- OF COURSE I'M GOING TO JUDGE YOU.

But I'm still on your side.

I'm still here for you.

I will always be on your side and here for you.

I just may not agree with you or think that you are on the right path. It's my job as your mom to try and look past my bubble of "Kristi-world" (If you don't immediately get that, go ask your dad. I'm sure he'll be happy to explain.) and try to see what could be best for you.

It's YOUR job to be honest with yourself and me. And if at some point you have a secret that is weighing on you, you can talk to me. And unless you give me express instructions not to tell your father, he's probably going to know soon after. Because I'll tell him. He's one of my very best friends and the first one I go to with a problem, so unless you tell me otherwise- you dad will be in the loop. He is one the smartest, kindest, most loving Machiavellian people I know.

As for the friend's secret, I do know how to keep a confidence and would never encourage you to betray a friend- but if the information that you have is that heavy to carry.... you have options. You can talk to us in hypotheticals and get advice. You can call one of your Aunties and get advice if you think we're too close. Or go talk to a priest. Yes, I'm serious.

And if you do decide not to tell me, I will try to respect your decision. But I will ask that you cut me some slack if I automatically do not defer to your wishes to not be questioned. You're my kid. The walking, talking part of my heart that is roaming around this earth outside my body. I will always care and worry. So do your dear old mom a favor and throw me a bone. Tell me that you're working on it, or thinking about it and PROMISE me that you will come to us if you think it's getting out of control. BEFORE it (whatever it is) gets out of control. I will try hard to trust you to use your good judgement.

And we will be there for you. We promise. I just hope you and the poor kid from that other blog don't end up drinking coffee together somewhere and holding this all against us.

Its the thought that counts

It's starting to get warm. Which means that the world's most perfect summer food has made an appearance. Ice cream sandwiches.

Your dad and I were talking last night while the three of you were snuggled up together on the couch. Of all the things that we will say and do on our adventures, I hope that you come back to the United States with a great appreciation for some of our American ways and do not take for granted some of our nation's greatest treasures. Our system of government, our flawed but still impressive justice system, the ability of some to make something out of nothing in this great country, and most especially- our junk food.

Your Dad: "So this is all about the Rotel dip and ice cream sandwiches?"

Me: "Yes. Yes it is. "

Don't get me wrong, there are a million things that stunned and amazed me about the middle east. I enjoyed our time there, I loved seeing and doing new things that were completely alien to me. They forced me past my comfort zone and reminded me how blessed, lucky and sheltered I have been. They also reignited a love for home.

My parents. The ferry. Dad's garden. Church. Church in English. A casual conversation that I didn't have to translate. People who smile, just for smiling. Southern manners (although they've got nothing on Arab hospitality). Pork products.

So your dad and I sat talking about moving overseas, taking a few trips, our friends and I came to the last of my ice cream sandwich. The last bite of the HALF of the ice cream sandwich that we had shared. And as I held it up to him, he shook his head. So I felt the need to explain.

"You know my birthday? The one where you planned the dinner, got reservations, invited Kerry, Amy and Jamie? The one where you went to the jewelry store and found that beautiful tornado necklace that you surprised me with? This is on par with that. This offering of the last bite of the HALF of the ice cream sandwich is filled with as much love, caring and effort as that whole evening. Seriously, you know we can't have ice cream in the house. You sure you don't want it? Because this is some good stuff here."

So he ate it. I'm just worried that I've talked him out of good jewelry and he's going to give me a pint of Ben and Jerry's for next year's birthday.

Is that wrong?

We went to a birthday party for a one year old today. Good times, good times.

When one of the adults there asked Eleanor where she got her bruises on her legs, she answered, "Bar fight."

Whoops

We are not having a good day.

You and I need to talk.

Unfortunately, you are under the age of five and my reasoning has more to do with your prospects for getting into college improving exponentially if I don't trip and accidentally sell you all into white slavery.

That, and there is no way I could explain a camel and forty sheep to the neighbors.

HERE.

Baby steps, people

Whenever I hear a siren, I remember what one of the instructors in my driving class once said. "Those sirens are there for a reason. Those people are trying to get somewhere in a hurry to help someone. So get out of the way, it could your family. Your mother. Your father. Your grandmother. Get out of their way."

Since then, I've tried to say a small prayer that He would watch over not only those in trouble, but the first responders whenever I hear a siren. We started that in the car last year when Grace started saying her own prayers, a simple "Lord, please protect them." or "God, please help them." I firmly believe that while He listens to everyone, your prayers are the clearest and loudest.

So today, while we were sitting at an intersection about to get on I-95, all four of us strapped into seat belts with a movie going, a fire engine went by.

Me: Guys, can you say a prayer?

Grace: Lord, can you make that noise stop? It's too loud.

Nothing happened

I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop today. I was even a bit afraid to get us all in the car tonight because our day has gone so smoothly.

Nothing happened today. Nothing. The remainder of this will be a dry, boring, peaceful account of our lovely, dull day. You have been warned.

Your dad and I were up early, our resolution from the New Year still holding to go to bed early and try and get enough sleep. He needed to finish a few things for work that were on his mind and I wanted to spend some time getting our family back on track after my week of ick. Did my weekly check of the pantry, the empty freezer, the fridge and started planning our menus for the next few weeks and a few things to restock the freezer. Consulted the cookbooks, the sales and the coupons and got to spend some uninterrupted time making a master list.

You guys lingered in bed until well after 6:15 and we all snuggled for a while before you all requested your morning vitamins and started asking about pancakes. You and your dad made pancakes together and I headed up for a shower so that I wouldn't scare anyone when I hit the grocery store (unaccompanied!!!) later on.

I told you nothing happened.

After pancakes, you guys went with your dad to "help" him trim bushes in the gorgeous sunshine and I skipped off to the store and then sold your father's red truck on the way home to the man who did the inspection. You and your dad finished up your yard work while I made up the four pans of meatloaf, the brown-bag burritos and the four pans of lasagna to go in the freezer (happiness is knowing you can pull something out of the freezer and keep playing checkers).

The afternoon was filled with self made Nutella sandwiches on pancakes, melon, melon and more melon, another jaunt outside into the sunshine and naps. For dinner out with the family, we headed off to Costco where your dad purchased his current obsession, his ipod touch. And then we came home and everyone jumped into the bath except for Eleanor who went to bed in a fleecy, her t-shirt and socks because she fell asleep in the car and everyone knows you do not wake a sleeping Eleanor.

A quiet day. A slow, uneventful day. It was WONDERFUL.

You were warned.

Shut- ins

Yesterday Grace came running up the stairs to tell me that Eleanor had locked herself in the basement bathroom. The lock is not the standard turn-the-knob-unlock-the-door ones like the rest of the house, this one you actually have to turn the lock inside to get out and Eleanor was temporarily trapped. In only took a few seconds for me to find a quarter (to turn the lock like most bathroom stalls) so no one was panicking. But when I came down stairs Grace was standing with her hand on the bathroom door saying, "It's okay. It's okay. I'm here for you, Eleanor."

I'm totally taking credit for that.

Career Path

My twenty year old self and my 38 year old self were having a conversation today. My twenty year old self was standing there shaking her head like we were pathetic, looking all-knowing and skinny in her size 6 jeans and bad shoes. We spent the day trying to come back from almost a week of my feeling awful and lying on the couch- I was sick and woozy and spent my last five days holding court with a flurry of Kleenex.

Today was all about smells. Getting rid of the sick smells, the trash smells, the dirty smells, the musty odor, the dog smells and the I'm-not-sure-where-that-smell-is-coming-from smells. So I cleaned. I changed beds, I scoured bathrooms, I cleaned out toy boxes, I tossed closets. And I was so joyful to get these things accomplished that my twenty year old self was wondering why we went to college at all.

I think about where my life is going and I know this NOTHING like what I imagined. It's better.

I wanted a job I would love, a job where I was rewarded and compensated accordingly. I wanted to do something meaningful, to travel and the chance for advancement. I wanted to one day retire and live happily ever after.

I got all of that and more. Let's face it- I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. The Financial Counseling is going to be there waiting in the wings and I think it will be a very good fit for me. But for right now, we're thinking about Oman, overseas, the house and a few other things that are going to take us on another path for a few years. I may grouse about the chores and the daily tasks, but I smile over a hundred times a day. Real, genuine, oh-my-goodness-my-heart-is-gushing smiles. I would choose you and your dad again and again.

In the meantime, I've got a few words for the skinny, know it all cow in the jeans. It's just going to take me a few days to get them all together.

You are going to be THAT mom

Make lists. Make them now. All the things that you swear you will never, ever do when you have children. All the things that YOUR children will never ever do because you will raise them with patience, love and dignity.

The piece of advice that stands out in my mind is when Nike Rovero told me to never say never about my kids. Because as sure as I'm breathing, your kid will turn around and do whatever obnoxious thing you just told a crowd of people your kid would never, ever do.

• I will never spank my kids. Talk to me after you have pulled the baby away from the shiny, pretty oven for the fourth time and she is not listening. Talk to me when your older child kicks the younger one in the back, on the stairs. If there was danger involved, you got a sharp reminder. Call me, we'll talk.
• I will never yell at my kids. You're my kid. There will be yelling. No not intentional, hurtful, mean screaming, but yes you have vocal skills and will use them if motivated. Again, you're my kid, so your kid will be my blood.... there will be trouble and you will be motivated.
• I will not use the television as a babysitter. Your dad was in Iraq for almost a year. The only way I had a shower, folded laundry, put away laundry or handled raw meat was with the grace of God and PBS kids. I'm not proud, but it got the job done and I was able to get a few seconds break. Notice that I said "had a shower." Not had a shower, washed, dried my hair and was able to shave my legs. Darn shows are only twenty minutes long.
• Followed by, I will spend my time with my kids in a productive, playful environment that will encourage and motivate them. Sure, we play alphabet games, matching and counting games every once in a while. But the majority of the time you guys are "the great pirate (fill in the name here) or super hero (fill in the name here) and running amuck. If you're sitting down, I'm not above bribing a snuggle out of you with a television show.
• I will never let my marriage get to the point of having to schedule "date night" because my significant other and I will keep the romance alive. Talk to me after you have baby number two. A bit less sleep, a bit more work for both of you. I always thought date nights were a joke until I looked at the calendar and realized your father and I had not been outside the house alone in over four months. Here's a tip- hire the babysitter early so that you get the time to wash, dry hair AND shave your legs.
• I will never my kids on a captive group of people and just let them scream. Hello? You were born in Bethesda, Maryland and we lived in Israel. Grace had more stamps in her passport before she was one than I had when I was 34. I view small people on a plane as terrorists. Keep them happy and fed, meet their demands and hopefully everyone gets out unharmed. I have enjoyed our travels over the years, but even the thought of getting you guys on a plane right now gives me hives.
• I will expose my children to art, culture and travel. I love you guys. I do. But there is no way in hell I'm taking you anywhere to a museum without animals or dinosaurs until you are ten. Then maybe you'll appreciate it. And even then we're going to do it the way my parents did it. We go in, see everything in ONE exhibit and then leave. Okay, snacks and then we leave. As for travel, if we can go in the car, we'll go. Otherwise, I'll wait.
• My kids are not going to throw tantrums in the store. Yeah, right. The last time you did that, I sat down and asked you to let me know when you were done. I wanted to pull a Jeff Foxworthy, ask you "Where is your mother?" while shaking my head. The other mommies were not approving of this tactic and the store manager wanted me OUT.
• My children will use their manners and not hit, bit or scratch. You three have manners. Beautiful manners. But when you are tired, stressed, hungry or ill I keep expecting your head to spin around and blow chunks like in Psycho.
• My daughter will not be a prissy girly-girl, super tom boy or a problem child. You three have such different personalities that you are going to surprise me with the different facets for an eternity. I'm looking forward to it. But can we skip a Goth phase?
• My children will respect me. Okay, let's get back to the spitting issue Eleanor seems to have recently.
• My children will not have to wear hand me downs or clothes that are cheap and not in fashion. I have to say that I'm going to try very hard on this one. I'm going to make sure that you have a say in your clothing (which means you will be responsible for your own laundry- but that's another day) be as fashionable as possible while still being age appropriate and are comfortable. But you need to understand that you WILL be wearing hand me downs and probably things from the local thrift store. If you don't like it, so be it. But I'm not paying fifty dollars for a pair of jeans that you will outgrow in a year.

Oh my God. I sound like my mother.

Sad news

I got a call from a friend yesterday who wanted to talk. At first I thought it was a call to check in, see how everything was going and maybe touch base on a few recent events.

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Your Granne and Grandbob were here, so luckily I was able to actually give this person with my whole attention. And I'm in shock. Our friends are a couple we've known for a while. Someone that I thought we knew. We've spent time in their home and they've spent time here; there has been no outward signs of hostility or discord except for the expected stresses of new family member, new house, etc.

My friend feels as though their efforts are not appreciated. As though what they do in the home, for the family and the recent attempts at job hunting are not valued. Without the outside validation, there is not a lot of respect being given. And then they followed up by telling me about how they do not feel as though their spouse loves them as they should be loved.

I had no clue what to say. So in an atypical fashion, I shut up and listened. And listened some more. And tried to repeat back the parts I didn't understand or felt needed clarifying. The biggest part of this was the part about intimacy. Even now, a day later, I still don't grasp a clear understanding of what was being asked for.

When I talked to your dad last night, I asked him to pray for this other couple. I had thought that this was a new thing to their relationship, a new hurdle to cross. Unfortunately, it seems our friends have been dealing with issues in communication, appreciation, priorities and intimacy for a while. They have been on this road for years and my friend is contemplating their marriage and weighing their happiness and future happiness. They are not taking this lightly.

They feel as though they are not the go-to person for their spouse. As though they are not being given the time, attention, respect and intimacy (there's that word again) that they need. This person's pain was palpable through the phone.

When I think of intimacy, I think of how vulnerable I am to someone else. I have an intimacy with my parents. A comfort, an understanding and a relationship that is close. I am intimate with Michelle in that we talk every day, she knows all the stuff going on in our life, she knows a majority of my flaws and she still loves me. I am intimate with Cousin Laura in that she is family, I love her quirks and her craziness and could tell her almost anything and we don't need to talk every day, week or even month. Same with Sandi.

But your dad. Your dad knows me. He knows my personality, my character, almost everything about me and he loves me anyway. He is a comfort, he is the even keel, and together we make the center of this family. When I think of intimacy with him, I don't think of sex. When I think of intimate moments, I think of driving home with him in the car after leaving Jordan at the hospital and crying my eyes out down I-95 because we were not supposed to have left that place without her. I think of the times after you guys go to bed when we snuggle up and talk. I think of holding his hand and that look he gives me over your heads when he's holding you in his arms. Sex does bring a certain closeness, but not always as intimate as a great soft kiss in the middle of the living room.

So here's the one piece of advice I gave my friend. When you find someone in your life that you like as a person, who you respect and trust, if you also have passion with this person- this is priceless. It's rare. It is not something to be treated lightly.

They agreed. But I'm not in their shoes. I don't have to wake up in the morning and look at my beloved and think that they don't see me as their end-all-be-all. Pretty sure my heart would break a bit as well. So for now I will shut up and listen. And pray. And pray some more.

Your mom is weird

We went back to school yesterday after almost two weeks of being at home together. And while I'm sure that while you won't be surprised to say I grabbed two other mommies and did a hugging, jumping happy dance in the middle of the hallway after I dropped you off, you might be surprised to hear how much I missed you guys during those two hours.

I will admit that things are usually much easier if I can run and do errands on my own. If there is a time constraint, just the thought of getting all of you dressed in coats, HSM and getting you out the door and into the car, into your car seats without incident usually wastes three minutes while I try to come out of that mental tailspin. But for the last two weeks I didn't have that option and I am happy to say how pleasantly surprised I was by how well behaved you have been.

We work on your manners at home. We work on please and thank you, we work on "Come here, please" so that I don't have to be that mom who yells and chases her kids, we work on sitting at the table while eating (still working on that one), on using napkins and cleaning up after ourselves. But last week I was the beneficiary of all our hard work when I took you three to Costco and was able to sit down and ENJOY that lunch with you. You smiled, you waited, you shared your drink, you cleaned up your messes with your napkins and you cleared your spaces and threw away your own garbage. I was so tickled that we even went back and split an ice cream.

Call me crazy, and I know you think it's such a silly thing, but I'm starting to enjoy taking you out. When your Dad was gone, it was a chore. Baby in a car seat (30 pounds there), a toddler who would run into traffic or away at any opportunity and a two, then three year old who was remarkable for her age but still a hassle. There was NO point of it where I was able to relax and watch you eat your lunch.

But now, now I think we might be willing to work something out....

Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?

Indoor Camping

We've got a full sized four person tent in our living room because the kids were driving me insane (did I mention that we had SEVEN of them here for a while?) and I made that the "reading tent".

Me: "ITS QUIET TIME. NOW. Go grab a few books, settle in and we're ALL GOING TO BE QUIET AND STOP RUNNING AROUND for at least twenty minutes. THAT IS A FULL TWENTY MINUTES. For those of you who can't tell time, that means when the buzzer goes off on the stove. A full twenty..."

Small child: Does the buzzer mean cookies are ready?

Me: No. I will be sitting and resting too. With a book. QUIETLY.

Small crying child: But...but does that mean we don't get cookies?

Me: Oh for Pete's sake

OTHER small child: Is Pete having cookies?

I love my kids.

Snow day. Again.

It's snowing again. When I finally get the photos up from this storm, Jordan will look at me with the evil eye and say, "THAT explains a few things" from the horrors she experienced at being plunked into the middle of snow banks so that we could show how high the snow has fallen. Never mind that I could have just taken a picture of the swing in the backyard and then waited a week to take a pic of you guys standing next to the snow...No, that would have been to easy.

We've been inside for the last several days with only minor forays out into the chilly, white world. But today that is not an option- the wind chill factors makes those half inch snowflakes feel like miniature knives scraping on your cheeks. Besides, I started timing us....

Time to get on jackets, snowpants, socks, HSM (hat, scarf, mittens) and various zipping= 24 minutes.

Time out in the snow= 38 minutes

Time to clean up jackets, snowpants, socks, HSM and get you guys in dry clothes= 16 minutes

All for a net loss of two minutes. And on days like today when its miserable outside, I'm going to rot your brain with television, distract you with as many cartoons as possible and keep you full of hot chocolate.

I'm not proud.

We have our house back

For the last several days, a friend of mine and her family have been without power. Because of this, we invited them over to come stay with us and stay warm. You guys get along great with their kids, play with them regularly and I adore their mom. There is just one little problem.

The dad in their family is an enigma to me. I do not understand this man. I can't comprehend his motivations, his actions or his reactions. There is no outward hostility or rudeness, but his personality is so quiet, so reserved and so...different than anything that I'm used to that the last few days have been very difficult. They interact with bursts of unpleasantness, and there is a lot going on that we just do not understand. The tension has be palpable between my friend and her husband, the husband and kids and sometimes between me and him. After trying and trying to engage him in conversation, I'm just started smiling and nodding.

Me. Not talking. HARD.

I won't go into details, but suffice to say that I have found this man's biggest gift to be that he helps me appreciate your dad in many ways that I have taken for granted. Not necessarily in any order...

• I love the way your father does the dishes. When needed and when asked.
• The way he smiles all the time.
• The way he says, "Great job! I'm so proud of you." and means it. I love the encouragement we get every day.
• The way he talks and tries to communicate with us.
• That he loves to cook. That he was jealous that my friend made pancakes with you guys.
• His consistency in the way that he cares for us.
• His JOY.
• As a mom, I love the way he guards and protects my private time. Right now I asked for a few minutes to write and he's making sure I get it. This is huge. A few minutes in the shower, in the toilet, at the sewing table, on the phone- unless I hear a scream and a "Kristi! We need you!" I know he's got it all under control.
• I love the way he parents. The way he LOVES being your father. And how much it shows.

So for today, we're going to get ready for the next snow storm and I'm going to add my friend and her family to our nightly "thank you" list.

And I'm going to go make out with your dad.

Because you'll probably end up getting married one day...

...I found this online and thought I would copy it here. Read it. Memorize it. Print it out and give it to your significant other. I've got other things to add, but this is a GREAT start.

1. Marriage is not easy.

2. Marriage is not a fix - all. If you had problems before, marriage and family do not make things easier. EVER.

3. Marriage is not easy.

You'll hear that from just about everyone. But I think it would also be good if you had some more practical advice, too.

1. Don’t call vacuuming or washing the dishes at your home “chores.” You don’t have chores at your own house. If you call them chores to your wife things won’t go well.

2. Watching television doesn’t count as “spending time together.” Don’t try to take credit for sitting next to your husband during an episode of “Lost.”

3. If your wife or husband has a job that doesn’t allow them to go out to lunch, don’t describe the delicious lunch meeting you had in exquisite detail when you get home. “The Ahi Tuna was almost too fresh, you know? I’ve just never seen it that perfect. It was kind of intimidating it was so delicious. But enough about me, how was your peanut butter & jelly sandwich? How’s chunky peanut butter working out for you?” (Your dad is going to Monterey at the end of this month. He should be paying extra special attention to this one as he treks out west to eat out every night.)

4. If you have kids, don’t ever say that you “have to babysit them” while your spouse goes out. You don’t babysit your own kids. You watch them. Huge difference.

5. Make sure you don’t break into a bad cop/good cop routine. For instance, my wife is better with numbers so she was initially handling the money. But because I am dumb, I started to look at her as the bad cop. I was the fun, “spend it all on glitter and happiness” guy and she was the tyrant that wouldn’t let us spend any. Things got ugly, quickly.

6. Never, ever introduce your spouse at parties as, “this is my first husband” or “this is my first wife.” Although funny, people seem to not like that. Go figure.

7. Don’t buy your wife, who grew up in Georgia and hates snow, expensive snowshoes for Christmas. Really wish someone had told me that one earlier.

8. If your wife loves to walk for exercise, don’t one day say, “So do you think you’ll ever do any real exercising?” Speed walkers have surprisingly limber arms and will windmill them at you in a threatening manner if provoked.

9. Don’t ever call any pair of jeans your wife wears a “really nice pair of mom jeans.”

SO not appropriate for your Valentine's Day Cards

How to say 'I love you' in 26 languages English -- I love you Spanish -- Te amo French -- Je t'aime German -- lch liebe dich Japanese -- Ai shite imasu Thai -- Phom rak khun Italian -- Ti amo Arabic- A hib Ick Chinese -- Wo ai ni Swedish -- Jag alskar Hebrew- Ani ohevet ot cha Alabama, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, West Virginia, Kentucky, and parts of Florida -- Nice ass, get in the truck.

Indiscretion

There is going to be a time in our lives when we're going to have to sit down and explain to you three that "what goes on at home, stays at home". Unfortunately, none of you have even the smallest sense of discretion and like to tell the world our news. Especially if it involves accidents, boo-boos, scrapes and band-aids.

So in the spirit of family indiscretion and so that the following makes any sense at all, let me just tell you that it is my time of the month and Gracie walked in on me in the bathroom earlier in the day.

Grace told the people at the gym this morning that I had an ouchie. But I was very brave and didn't need a band-aid even though I had blood on my bottom.

Happy New Year

It's 2010. Twenty ten. A new year and I'm excited. You guys are getting so big, you're learning so fast I can hardly keep up. Our new year's celebrations were as exciting as ever- your grandparents came down for the evening and Kerry came over for dinner. There was forgotten champagne in the fridge and we were all in bed by ten.

Yes, we party that hard.

Actually, I have three New Year's Resolution this year. The first one is to sleep more. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don't get a lot of good quality sleep. And there is a big difference between softly waking up in the morning, slowly opening my eyes, stretching and deciding to get up out of bed and being yelled at by a miniature falsetto drill Sergeant who is screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" BIG difference.

The other two resolutions are to eat better and to feel stronger. The eating better is pretty self explanatory, but to do it I think we need to plan meals and snacks so that I don't get tempted to just hop on over to the local fast food place more than we have to. The feeling stronger part will require me to go to the gym, work out more, maybe lift some weights and work on a few parts of my brain and my life that also need exercising. Kinda cryptic, I know, but I'm working on it. Promise- I'll tell you about it later.

When I told your dad about my resolutions he was encouraging, as usual. Unfortunately, he also wanted me to put "Stop swearing" on my list. I told him that if he would take all three of you girls with NO help for 48 hours and not utter one cuss word, I would try.

He has withdrawn his suggestion.