Fourth Generation

Yesterday, you met your great grandmother for the first time. We've never had much of a relationship with my dad's side of the family, more of a live-and-let-me-live-way-the-heck-away-from-you kind of dealing.  Todd and I stopped by her house the summer that we got engaged, thirteen years ago, and it was rushed visit. We had no real plans, but since she was used to us heading off to meet a boat, she hurried us along the way without even setting foot inside.

My dad's side of the family was invited to our wedding but declined for reasons unknown. Money may have been an issue, but Dad would have tried to take care of it. He's got four brothers, a sister and his mom- not a one of them showed up. To say they're not close is an understatement.

So it came as a bit of a surprise to me that she wanted to meet you. Apparently Grandbob has been sending her pictures over the years and I sent him two of the Grandbob picture books I made up for Christmas so that he could forward one on to her.  

We left the island yesterday, you in your pretty blue dresses and all dolled up for a photo.  We left on the 8:30 boat and arrived just in time for your grandfather to take his mother for a blood test.  Her first words to me were, "You're a lot less chubby than the last time I saw you." I smiled, nodded and went out to call Aunt Michelle with the official WTF phone call and Grandbob and Great Grandma Hazel left in the minivan.  Leaving us alone in her small, packed apartment. With three small children.  Good idea, bad idea?

Lunch was an adventure.  You were as fabulous as a three year old, four year old and six year old could be for an hour and a half in a restaurant you did not want to be in, eating food for a picky twelve year old rather than a toddler or a little kid.   Sure there were restless feet and heavy sighs, but you were well behaved.

To be honest, the whole day was tense.  She doesn't talk much, your grandfather doesn't talk much and your Granne was tolerating the whole day while I wanted to think of ways get our stuff so that we could leave them at the dock and keep driving.  

I know, you're wondering if I had any fun at all when you were a kid, right?

I did, I do. Promise. There is no place that I would rather be than here with you guys. There is nothing and no one more important than you.  After a conversation with one of my cousins, she actually said that she always felt my mom had something better to do and someplace else to be rather than hanging out with us kids.

Which is why I can't figure out why she's pressuring us to stay here.  I tried to take off for the day, but there was something on her schedule that made it impossible. Not "go ask your dad is he can watch them during 9-11" but  "I can't watch them. I have something."

It was story time. Fucking story time.  The whole reason I couldn't go off island and spend time with a friend was so that Mom could drive us all over to the school and read.  This writing rampage is mostly due to the fact I can't reach your dad an I'm about to explode in confusion.  If she wants so much time with you, why does she want me around to watch you guys?   I wrote this one to your dad the other day...

Another fun day on Prudence.  Without you here to bash ideas with me, I've had to do all the thinking by myself. I think it works better with you.

It's lonely without you. My parents are lovely, but we're not friends. It looks so ugly in writing, but it's true. 

I'm getting worn down by the criticism. Especially the stuff our kids do- this one eats too much, this one too little, this one takes too much and doesn't finish. Frustrating. 

It hurts that my dad really couldn't care less about the girls or me unless they're in the garden or on the dock. We've got almost nothing in common and he will be right back to normal when we're not here.  I was invited to go fishing one morning and he left forgot and left without me. Never invited again. Sounds like not a big deal.   But it is. 

The passive aggressive anger is annoying. If you put a wash in, do not assume I will hang it if you leave the house unless you say, "Wash is in the washer. Hang it, please."

The phrase, "And what do you plan to do with the girls?" is the "NO" of today.  Someone offered me an empty house to sleep in, I was planning to go after the girls went to bed and I got that question. Needless to say, I did not have a night alone. I have not left the island. 

I'm angry that my mom pushes SO much. They'll do it when they're ready. Yes, I've been known to push a few things (stop snorting) but if they're playing nicely, NO we do not need to go to the beach right now. NO they don't have to eat if they're not hungry and NO my cousins kids don't have to do what you say if their mom says different. And NO, if my kid is afraid that a crab will nibble her, we do NOT have to go in the water. Fuck off. 

Contemplating asking my mother for a list of all the stuff the girls and I do that keeps making her angry so we can try to avoid it. No, not seriously. Pretty sure that wouldn't help.

This is not a great evening. Be glad you're not here or I'd be snotty and weepy all over your shoulder.  But if you were here I wouldn't be weepy.

I miss you. You make everything better.

As far as self realizations go, I thought it was a good start.  Something tells me it's still not going to help....

Ultimatum

I just sent this message to your dad.


Dearest Husband, 
I miss you.

We miss you.

Am going through coffee kisses, rumbly voice withdrawl and would like to talk to you.

OR I GO SHOPPING.

And nobody wants that. 

Not much of a threat, really, considering we're on Prudence and I have access to no stores. But there is always the internet....

Signed, Confused in Paradise.

Suppose that I should follow up a bit more.  Sorry about that. The party went off without a hitch- very few people showed up, as expected, but the ones who did made the day. I had a blast.

This should probably teach me to quit my bitching, but I don't think it's going to have much of an effect.

We're on Prudence. Have been since last Wednesday when I drove up from Maryland after staying a few days with Michelle and her two.  Not sure that I would have chosen an extra few days of family bonding, but the slots on the boat were limited and you guys were so excited to see Granne and Grandbob that it made sense.

The weather has been pleasant, the temperatures moderate. The house is clean, the beds made and my parents have been bending over backwards to accommodate healthy meals and not expect me to clean up everything all the time. They have been ridiculously helpful.  So why do I want to scream?

Seriously, this place is gorgeous. A beautiful environment, trails, garden, access to the beach and the water. But as I sit here in the main room where I'm supposed to be writing to your dad, all I can think of is that I want to throttle someone. All I wanted was a bit of privacy. A moment of quiet. Some down time.

Not. Going. To happen.

You have run in and out a few times. Your grandmother thinks that right now is the perfect time to sweep the floor and sigh heavily. Maybe clang a few dishes.  Putting away the bags that have been sitting out for a few days up into the attic has become a HUGE priority. Now. Right now.

I never thought of myself as a loner. I just like being alone sometimes. I like losing myself in a book and concentrating to the point that it runs along my (Can you help me get a cup? I can't get a cup! ) brain like a movie only I can see.  But it's harder to concentrate and get any sort of groove to write or (I want a cup too!) read when you wonderful wee blessings are in my face every ten seconds.  Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change this time for love or money, but reading a book straight through seems like a  (I want water!) far off dream.

And let's face facts. Your grandmother and I are both strong willed people. Granne and Grandbob have their life and their schedule here that we are interrupting. We're adding an interesting new element and are more than welcome, but we're barging into the middle and disrupting their days. So of course,  they are trying to take back control.

Problem is, I'm usually the one in charge.  So when your grandmother gets you up and wants you to get dressed before blueberry muffins, I want to take a pass. It's no big deal for me to send you out to play in the yard while you're still in pajamas until you get hungry, but it's a HUGE faux pas to your Granne.  Food first, then change, then outside.  There is order to the chaos. Me? I'm okay with you going off to play until you get hungry. I'm more than okay with the dishes sitting until we feel like doing them, or the laundry waiting until we feel like doing it.  But they have a routine and we are trying to be respectful.

But the yelling. Wow. I never realized how impatient my parents are. Maybe I'm going to be just like them when you're older, but the knee-jerk barking responses are enough to make me tell them to back off. Of course, they find this endearing and do so immediately. NOT.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful and I know that I sound it right now.  We've been here for two weeks and they've been nothing but gracious.  But when you're older, and you and your kids come to visit....we're going to have a lot to talk about.  Just talk to me, okay?  I'll try not to get defensive and upset while you tell me what you need.  And I'll try hard to listen.

We can work this out. Either that or we can start drinking. I'm up for either one.

Hades has a disco ball

We're staying at Corrine's.  A wonderland where the televisions stays off, children are engaged and entertain each other and the juice flows freely and the peanut butter and jelly comes like manna from heaven.  It's been a week and the honeymoon is still going on. But as soon as the girls start calling Corrine Mommy again, we're out of here.

There is going to be a party tomorrow. Beth wanted to say good bye and have a surprise party for us, but Donna insisted that it involved husbands and neighbors and what began as a small get together turned into a bouncy castle nightmare due to a wayward Facebook message.  I hate parties. Okay, I don't hate parties, but I dislike parties for me.  In this area, people just don't show up. There's no malice or hatred,  just apathy and laziness. And tomorrow the weather is supposed to be over 100 and the drive is a solid twenty to twenty five minutes for almost everyone. At the least. Of the dozen or so families invited, I expect to see three. Maybe.

Never wanted a good bye party. Honestly, I'd like to take my time saying my farewells by going out to coffee and spending time with people who I have cared for.  The insistence of others that we turn it into a family affair, when your dad isn't here, is just strange. I don't know many of these husbands and they will probably be motivated to enjoy their air conditioning and a cold beer at home rather than run out here and sit in the heat.

There was a birthday party last fall for a girl in Grace's class- Nami. Her mom sent out invitations and asked for RSVPs so that she could book a roller skating party.  The whole place was dark and filled with eighties music- my idea of the seventh level of hell with a disco ball.  While we waited in line I saw that eleven people had responded-  I was glad we weren't going to be the only ones there on this lovely Saturday. But when we got inside, there was no one there. Eleven families had responded that they were bringing their kid skating, so Nami's mom had paid for the skating rink entrance, the skate rentals, pizza and drinks. She'd bought a lovely cake AND NO ONE SHOWED UP.  We stayed the whole time, I went and got skates and skated with the girls but this was awful and akward. Nami didn't really know the difference, but Nami's mom was quietly raging. Me? I would have been furious and hurt for my kid.

So this is what I think is going to happen tomorrow. Ms. Corrine has rented a bouncy castle for "all the kids" and I think it will just be us. My ego will be bruised and I will foolishly worry that my friend will think me the biggest loser of all that my other "friends" couldn't be bothered to show.  Logical or not, that's still in my thoughts.

Seems that every place we go, I get to know quite a few people. Your dad and I have a wide circle of acquaintances and people we spend time with. But friends, the people we really talk to and enjoy, are few. That's not a complaint. I just think it's rare to find someone who can accept you as you are.  The others are just there for the food and bouncy castle while it lasts.   If they show.

Quotes of the day

We stayed at Michelle's for a few days and came back to recharge and head down to Ms. Corrine's.  Mm and Dad's offer to use their place is very generous, but the mac-n-cheese painting on Mom's mirror convinced me that their time is not quite occupied.  We came down here to let the girls run free and not have the hazard of stepping into Dad's garden hanging over thier heads.

Three hours later- results!  Juice drunk, exhausted, non-yelling, and happy. Corrine and I went shopping for noodles. I have a crazy idea of building a raft floaty with the noodles. The prototype was less than successful. With the stunning exception of almost making Corrine laugh so hard she almost peed her pants when the center of the raft separated and left me dangling.

So the girls were riding on the sharks in the pool. Notable quotes:

Look Mommy, I'm riding him.
I'm blowing him, Mama. Now you blow him. I'm blowing him hard.

Yeah. That's one for the baby books.

How many times a day can you say, "Don't shoot your sister." At least I only had to tell them once, "You do NOT stick the American flag up your nose."

We're in the middle of moving. Actually, the girls and I are in the middle of moving. Todd is moving us to Oman and Sumeyye left this morning to go back to Turkey. More later on all that.

Lord love a duck. Let's add "Do not shoot your mother." to that list.

New hairstyles

Your Aunt Michelle is here. We finally got to see her for the first time since Christmas. Your dad is over at the table on the computer and we're in the kitchen at the counter.

AM: So I found out the best hair color.

Me thinking: Clairol? Loreal?

Your Dad: Grey!

We're both just staring at him. He hasn't got a clue.

You are so screwed.

Your dad is in the kitchen helping you with your homework. He's being patient, soft spoken and very clear. He is giving concise instructions, step by step and trying to teach you how to do math problems involving telling time, quarter hours and half hours.

You are about to lose it.

I can hear it in your voice. Every time he says, "Stop. Just focus." after you said "Daddy..." and want him to let you go play a game with your sister. You are not understanding the question, your dad or why we're doing this fifteen minutes before bed time. The frustration level that I always felt when my dad was teaching me and I didn't understand is probably something similar to what's going in there- so I'm in here.

"There are sixty seven in a minute. I mean, there are sixty seconds in a minute."

And now the chanting begins. Somewhere along your dad's education in Louisiana and the Marine Corps, someone drilled material in your dad's head by having him repeat it over and over again getting louder and louder.

"There are sixty minutes in a hour!"

Sounds like so much fun. So I'm in here with Eleanor. Don't get me wrong, I eventually liked math problems, but I think it will be a while until you warm up to them. Just like your mom. Maybe two, three decades...

I've been ignoring this blog for a while. It has been sitting idle while your father and I are taking Arabic in preparation for our move to Oman. Five days a week, we leave at four thirty, five in the morning and head up to the Foreign Service Institute to take six hours of language instruction. Throw in some lab hours and lunch and we don't return until four in the afternoon.

Thank goodness for Sumeyye. Otherwise we'd be beside ourselves.

But this morning, I am alone. And it shocked me, how long is has been, since the last time I had the house to myself for a few hours. The quiet. No television, no chatter, no escalating, excited voices. And I realized how long it's been since we talked.

Eight months of language training and your dad and I still have to take a few more training classes here and there. You're going to love the ones of your mom with a Beretta 9mm and the lovely pics of me shooting a shotgun. And before you asked, yes I qualified on the M9, the M11 and the m4 before playing with the shotgun. And no, you can't have one.

I've missed the mornings with you. The snuggly, warm cuddling where you are in the process of waking up and we curl up in one of my quilts and watch the morning news. I have missed the slow, steady getting ready for school; breakfast, brush teeth, change clothes, shoes on, backpacks. The evenings with you have been fun, but we're all tired and hungry and your dad, Sumeyye and I take turns trying to get the other ones to cook. Getting you all into the bath and bed is a bit more of a challenge than getting you excited to go to school...

On the news front, our government announced that it had killed Osama Bin Laden. He was a man who was responsible for the 9/11 attacks. For ten years, our government has been looking for this man and they finally found and assasinated him. I can understand their actions and the taking of intelligence materials from the compound where he was staying, but I am not understanding the huge arrogance that we, the American people, are showing by telling the world that we killed this man. My fears are of reprisals, especially with us heading overseas. Pictures of the body and burial have not been released, so the conspiracy theorists have said that he's not dead and the American government are hiding him. Some moron on the news actually said that they had "cut the head off the snake". I don't think so. I think we've taken out one of the eyes- and that snake had been functioning very well with that eye under cover for quite some time. So now we've gouged out it's eye, drawn its attention and pissed it off.

And what do we say about messing with our enemies? Either kill them or leave them alone. Messing with them just pisses them off. I just hope I'm wrong.

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.