The end of 2016

It's the last day of the current year.

I wrote a letter to send out with my Christmas cards this year, but never finished editing it, and never got copies made.  I did send out Christmas cards though and and Ross' Great Aunt Pat made sure to send a note in her holiday card telling me she missed the letter.  She also called me "Amy".

It's all good in the hood. 

So, being as it's the end of the year and I never sent the letter, it will serve as the final blog post of 2016, along with my accompanying end of year slide show.

The boys and I discussed it the other day and decided that our song of the year was "Hand clap" by Fitz and the Tantrums.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas 2016

As I sit down at my computer and try to figure out the best way to sum up the past year, I sort of draw a blank.  It feels like the last year has been a whirlwind of activities, vacations, carpools, practises and games for all the kids sports.  But, of course, I’ll give it a try, and I’ve got my instagram feed to remind me of all the highlights.

This year we took a great trip to Seattle in June to watch Argentina (Leo Messi specifically) play Bolivia in the Copa America soccer tournament.  We hit all the Seattle sites, drove up to Anacortes to go on a whale watching excursion and ate great food!  We went to Disneyland with Annie’s extended family in October to celebrate her parents 40th wedding anniversary and the safe return of Willie (Annie’s brother) from a LDS mission in Lithuania.  Ross’ parents also returned from a mission in South Africa and spent the Thanksgiving holiday in our home.  We took a couple road trips to and through Las Vegas just so we could eat hamburgers and french fries at Shake Shack.  And, the biggest project of the year, we finished our basement over the summer.  It was a long 9 weeks, but we are so happy to have the project completed and no, we didn’t do it ourselves.  

Ross started a new job in April of this year with a company called Solera.  He is just as busy, doing just as many projects as before, all of them technical and finance related, but luckily is working  closer to home.  He coaches Elliott and Wyatt in basketball, Quinn in soccer, and is a great dugout manager for any of the boys baseball games we are attending.  This fall, Ross was released after 5 years as scoutmaster as his church calling and was given a new calling as executive secretary to the bishop, keeping him very busy on Sunday’s in meetings.  Oh, and lest we forget, he spends what little free time he has (about five minutes) playing fantasy football and obsessively checking the ESPN and WOOT apps on his phone.

Annie is continuing to be a stay-at-home-mom with the boys and staying busy being their tutor, coach, short order cook, nurse, classroom volunteer and everything else that comes along with keeping three growing boys from starving every day.  Some days, she drives back and forth from the elementary school 6 or 8 times.   She continues to make and sell tote bags and lots of other stuff at local boutiques and seems to always have one too many projects going on to keep her sane.  This spring, Annie switched over to an insulin pump for her Type 1 diabetes and it’s made all the difference in the world.  Like Ross, Annie  also got a new church calling in the fall switching from a three years tenure teaching primary to a position as the secretary to the young women’s organization working with 12-18 year old girls.

Elliott will be turning 10 in January and is in the 4th grade, in his 4th year of Spanish dual immersion.  He is nearly fluent in Spanish speaking and is above grade level in reading and writing en Espanol.  He’s growing like a weed, and by next year at this time, may be taller than Ross’ mom.  He is turning into a really great kid and a  pretty responsible one, too.  He’s pretty goofy, but takes his school work, mine craft, ipod, fit bit and Pokemon very seriously.   He plays competitive soccer in the Spring and the Fall and basketball in the Winter; regularly helps cook dinner; has become an obsessive reader; plays the trombone in the school band; and mows the lawn.

Wyatt is 7.5 years old and will be turning 8 in May.  He is looking forward to getting baptized in the Spring.  Wyatt plays soccer, basketball and baseball.  He is a really good baseball player.  He is fast and smart and has a great time.  At the end of this past season, he was chosen to be the “all-star” representing his team   Wyatt is in the 2nd grade and also in the Spanish dual immersion program.  He is a very talented artist patiently coloring complicated designs and paint by numbers; he loves to listen to music and identify all the instruments being played; he sings and dances, plays nice with his brothers, and is a perfect, straight A student.  In fact, his Spanish teacher, Senora Gonzales told us at the most recent parent teacher conference that she LOVES him.

Quinn is 4 years old and the crazy sparkle of our family.  He loves Pokemon and dinosaurs and his favorite movie is Jurassic World.  He sings and dances and talks all day long.  He loves to draw and color and practice writing his letters and numbers.  Quinn goes to preschool three days a week, just finished his first season of soccer, where, surprisingly, he was exceptionally aggressive and scored a dozen or so goals.  Quinn makes us laugh all day long, is pretty sarcastic for a 4 year old, and would live out on the trampoline, no matter the weather, if we’d let him.  Or at Target.  The kids loves to go to Target.  I can’t complain about that one.

13 years

Today is the wedding anniversary of Ross and Annie.
We have been married for 13 years.

A while ago, we had one of those late night, reminiscent talks, and it was concluded that I live life in two memory formats: BE and AE.

Before Elliott and After Elliott.

After Elliott, I remember a lot of stuff.  In fact, I remember most of it.  Before Elliott, I remember practically nothing and Ross has to regularly remind me of people, places, and things we did together before kids entered our lives.  I feel bad, but there isn't much I can do about it.

I do remember the day we were married, in snippets.  It was Easter weekend and the sun was shining on a beautiful Saturday morning.  It was warm and the tulips were absolutely beautiful at the temple.  I remember that after our sealing, we went out side for pictures and I had forgotten to put on my necklace so I looked a little casual for having just been married.  I remember the location of our luncheon, in a church gym by the Utah State Capitol, but nothing of the food or the things that were said.  I remember that after lunch, Ross and I headed out on our own to run some errands before meeting everyone back at the reception.  I have pictures to remind me how beautiful our wedding reception was.  My parents were generous, the location was spectacularly breathtaking, and I smiled a lot.

That's where the memory ends.  No details.  No recollection of our honeymoon, except for a few sparse details that Ross has reminded me of over the years.  No remembrance of the open house at Ross' parents house in Arizona except for a few frustrations and throwing up at the end of it with food poisoning.

Fast forward to today.  We have been married for 13 years and tomorrow embark on year 14.  To be honest, this past year has been extremely stressful.  Job, family, church, relationship, health have all gotten in the way of our path and caused some pretty big speed bumps.  Some of those bumps were that, just bumps, others felt more like pot holes that I really wasn't sure we were going to be able to pave over.  The last year has been hard.  But, we have perservered, fought our way through the muck, and have come out on top, and at least recently, have maybe been getting along better than we ever have.

Because I'm a nerd, I've spent the last year trying to come up with our "song".  Not a song that we danced to at a wedding (there was no dancing) or a song that we both really liked, but a song that, when I hear it, it reminds me of the why:  Why we try to make it work year after year.

I found the song.
Every single time I hear it, I am reminded of why we work, why we need each other, and why we keep trying.  As corny as it is, I cannot sleep when you aren't at home, and I get stressed out when you aren't close by.  We may fight like cats and dogs at times, but we work well together, have wonderful kids, respect each other, and are the best team I know.

Happy Anniversary.


You're the fire and the flood
And I'll always feel you in my blood
Everything is fine
When your head's resting next to mine
Next to mine

Since we met I feel a lightness in my step
You're miles away but I still feel you
Anywhere I go there you are
Anywhere I go there you are
Late at night when you can't fall asleep
I'll be lying right beside you counting sheep
Anywhere I go there you are
Anywhere I go there you are

Viva Las Vegas

Months ago, Ross discovered that his boy band, the Kings of Leon, were starting out on a new tour and that the closest they would get to us would be Las Vegas.

The conversation basically went like this.
Ross - how strange would it be if I went to Las Vegas by myself to go to the concert?
Me - strange.

Me - what if all 5 of us went down for the weekend and you just went to the concert when we slept in the hotel?
Ross - that could work.

Me - Or, what if we asked my parents if they wanted to come down with us and they could just hand out with the kids and I went with you?
Ross - you'd go with me?
Me - yes, i'd go with you.  That makes more sense than you going by yourself doesn't it?

Anyway, when we presented the idea to my parents, my mom surprised us with the idea of keeping the boys with her for the weekend and Ross and I going to Las Vegas by ourselves for a quick trip to the concert.  It was a great idea, we were very appreciative, and we made plans for the trip.

This weekend, the time finally arrived and I guess it was a small blessing that all the early morning soccer games got rained out so we could head down early.  We drove through pretty torrential rain until about Cedar City and then the weather cleared up and the sun came out.  We got to Vegas in time to check-in, have a nap (because we are old farts) and then wander some outlet malls and have dinner before the concert.

We arrived around 9:00 pm thinking that the opening bands would be about finished.  Nope - they were just getting started and we were warming up for the longest and latest night ever.  The concert ended around 1:00 am Utah time (Midnight Vegas time) and we'd been standing up for a little over four hours with a few sitting breaks on the astro turf covered parking lot in between bands.

The show was good - for  a show with three bands that I'm not a fan of.  The light show was great for the Kings of Leon.  Opening bands pretty much suck, no matter where you are or what show you are seeing and electronic cigarettes are pretty much as bad, or maybe worse, than the real thing.

But aside from the concert, I spent more time with my husband in about 30 hours than I have in the last several weeks.  That was nice.  I sort of remembered why I like him, and that I like to spend time with him.  I have to admit that I think both of us were sort of forgetting that lately.  We aren't good at finding time to spend with each other, and this time, without our kids, the first time without them ever (and Elliott is almost 8!), was time needed and well deserved.  And, we couldn't have done it without my parentals, who I'm sure were pretty tired.  But it was most excellent of them to take the boys for us.

2002 caught up with me at the gym

 

Me, high school teacher, circa 2002

In 2002 I was a high school history teacher.  I was still pretty new and still figuring things out.  And, perhaps most importantly, I was still very young.  I was 23-24 and my students were 16-17...there wasn't much of an age gap there.  Every year that I taught high school, there were always one or two young men who, for whatever reason, be it the way I taught, the things I said, the music I played, or because I tended to wear tight sweaters,  took a fancy to me.  It was always easy to spot the kid with the crush.  He was always in my classroom before or after school.  He wasn't the best student, but did okay in my class.  He tried to hangout in my room while ditching other classes.  He figured out when my birthday was and gave me a small gift or note.  He tried to call me by my first name instead of my formal "Ms. Petersen".

Anyway, in 2002 there was one of these boys.  He fit the bill and was sort of a shadow.  He struggled a bit, was sort of a Gothic wanna be without much of a crowd of his own.  Nice kid though.  Never one to assume that I was high school boy crush worthy, it was obvious by the way he'd look at me, the occasional inability to finish a sentence when talking to me, and the hand written notes in a book about slavery that this kid liked me.  The truth came out though at spring parent teacher conferences when he came with his mom and she looked at me, looked at him and said, "Oh, this is the teacher you think is hot!"  He turned purple.  His mom smiled.  I pretended not to hear.

Anyway, fast forward ELEVEN YEARS!  Monday night I was at the gym, working my way through the circuit my trainer had given me for the week.  Yes, I have a "trainer" now, but that's another post.  Anyway, over by the free weights I saw this kid staring at me.  Really staring at me.  It took me about two minutes to realize that, though he was bulkier than in high school, it was this kid.  The kid with the mom.  Now, because I'm an awkward social weirdo, and because I don't like to talk to people, and because he was a former student, once I'd realized I knew him, I made a beeline for the other end of the gym.  Complete avoidance was my goal.  But, out of the corner of my eye, it was obvious that not only was he still staring, but he was sort of following me around the gym.

There was no way to escape.

As I finished on one my last machine and headed to a treadmill, headphones blaring looking at the floor, I walked past him.  He jumped up behind me and grabbed me by the arm.  I could tell that he knew who I was and that playing dumb wasn't an option.

We had a conversation.  It was awkward and a little uncomfortable.  He looked at me, even with me being sweaty and zitty and no make-up on, just like he had in high school.  He asked, "Are you married?"  "Yes, very happily for ten years with three boys!" I replied.  He asked if I still taught, if I lived near the gym, ("Do you come here often?  I've never seen you before.", he said) what my husband does for a living....you know, small talk trying to sound grown-up.  He told me about his life - he's a police officer at the jail, lives alone with his dog, but that he has a girlfriend....

Who is 34. (about my age.) Then he said the kicker....."If my girlfriend knew I was at the gym talking to my old high school history teacher, she might come find you and beat you up."  Um...huh?  That either means that his girlfriend is a man,  that she's very protective of her boyfriend or that he has talked about me and that she knows who I am.

After about 10 minutes of awkward I bowed my way out of the conversation and ran a mile on the treadmill to clear my head.

I'm not sure I want to go back to the gym.

when hard things get better

 

Around 11:30 on Saturday night, my husband returned home.  Elliot had tried to stay up for his dad, but he didn't quite make it.  In fact, he missed it by hours.  My mom and brother picked Ross up at the airport and I was waiting in bed, watching a movie.  When he finally arrived home,  I heard the garage, then the ice machine in the fridge and the bang of his giant suitcase being pulled up the stairs.  He set it down, said "Hello" (I said, "Welcome home!") and got straight to work getting ready for bed.  I sat, watching my movie, while he hustled and bustled around, as quickly as a person who had been traveling for about 20 hours could move, until he felt settled enough that he was ready for bed.

Then he talked.  But not a lot.  He was tired.  I was tired too.

I was so happy to have him home.  In the morning, as the boys woke up for the day, their excitement was hard to contain.  Of course they hoped for, and received souvenirs, but dad being home was like Christmas.

He had been gone since the previous Saturday morning.  Eight days total.  Now, eight days is nothing, especially when thinking about a traveling husband on veteran's day, a day to commemorate those who dedicate years and months of their time away from families, and even their lives to serve and protect.  My husband wasn't serving and protecting in that sense, but he was teaching and taking care of some people in Wroclaw (pronounced Rot-slav), Poland.

Now, we survived, like we always do when he is away, and thankfully he doesn't have to go away that often.  I had a lot of help from mine and Ross' parents.  Thankfully, both boys were in school and our days were pretty uneventful.  We had a lot to do, places to go and people to see.  It was, to be completely honest, one of the harder (maybe hardest in the last year) weeks I've had.  Ross left the day after Elliott and I had been knocked out cold with a 24 hour stomach bug.   Wyatt threw up a couple of times.  Elliott and Quinn had inconveniently timed and messy bloody noses.  Quinn didn't sleep at night pretty much the entire time his dad was gone.  I'd saved a week's worth of errands and projects to do on Saturday, to keep us busy and not thinking about dad coming home and not only was it a long wait, it was maybe the longest day of the week.

But, as we always do, we survived.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and we got a lot done.  The house was a mess, the clean laundry piled in stacks all over the house, but the toys were put away, the island was moderately clean, and the floors were vacuumed and swiffered.  However, survival isn't the right word.  Of course we survived, why wouldn't we?  It's something different.  Carrying on your life every day, while missing a key piece of the puzzle is hard.  It's overwhelming.  Completely and utterly overwhelming.  That's it!   There is a hole in every single day, and it's a hole that no matter how hard I try, it cannot be filled.  My boys missed their dad terribly.  I missed my husband.  I missed having someone to talk to at night before I fall asleep.  I missed that man who takes care of that crazy baby every single night.  I missed all the help that I get from him - physically, emotionally and mentally.  Talking for 20 minutes a day through skype just isn't the same.

There is that old saying, something like "distance makes the heart grow fonder".  Or is it absence?  Doesn't matter, really.  Point is, I'm glad he's home.  And being home is a blessing.  There were a few things I was nervous about while he was gone.  Not hearing the baby.  Having low blood sugar and getting in trouble in the night with no one to help.  My feet not working when I have to jump out of bed and breaking my ankle or something dumb like that.  Well, none of it happened while he was gone.  I HEARD that baby.  All night long, every night.  But the minute Ross was home, I haven't heard him since.  I didn't have any low blood sugar episodes the whole week.  And my feet?  My feet that don't work, have sharp pains (like being stabbed with a knife) when I try to get out of bed in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning?  No pain the whole time Ross was gone.  But, the pain was back this morning.

My little family is blessed.  We are protected and watched over.  And for that, I am truly grateful.

Ten Years

Ten years ago today I married, as my mom would say, the only boy crazy enough and stubborn enough to marry me.  The two of us were (and are) a match made in strong willed, opinionated heaven.  It was a beautiful spring day, the Saturday before Easter, ten years ago.  All of our family and friends celebrated with us as far as I can remember it was a perfect day. 

So much has happened in 10 years that there is no way to even begin to try and summarize or wrap it all up into a cute package.  I do know though, that I love my husband very much.  As much as I did on April 19, 2003 and probably a little bit more.  Okay, a lot more.  When I think about where we started and where we are now, it gets me excited for where the future will lead.

I am a lucky girl to have married such a good guy.

Happy Anniversary to us.

Family Photos Griswald Style

Months ago, Haley, my Mom and I decided that we needed a new family photo.  The last one of all of us was done when Wyatt was 2 months old.  Well, that was almost 4 years ago and we've added three babies since then so yes, we were due.

Not really knowing where to go, Haley mentioned that a teacher at school (or someone in her neighborhood?  I cannot remember) had used FotoFly and really liked it so I checked out the website and booked us an appointment that wouldn't interfere with meals or naps or any of that crazy kid stuff because with 5 kiddos 6 and under, we knew the pictures would be a bit of a challenge.

Well, today was the day.  I'd been stressing over outfits and timing for more time than it was worth, but we were all 12 of us, going to be color coordinated in red, blue, and grey - my mom's color palette of choice.  At my house, we were frantically getting ready.  Ross got home from scout camp just in time to shower and get dressed, I showered last night but hadn't washed my hair or done any make-up, and we of course didn't want to get any of  the boys dressed until the very last minute to avoid any and all wardrobe malfunctions.

Just as we were literally heading out the door - late of course, my mom called Ross' phone.  My sister had been trying to get a hold of me.  On their way to the photo studio, Molly puked all over herself in the car.

Ug!  Poor little girl.  She'd been sort of sick but Haley thought she would be okay for the pictures.  She wasn't.  Not wanting to cancel the appointment, the five of us in our color coordinated outfits did the photo session anyway and the results were....well...not too shabby.  I dislike getting my picture taken, and feel like an oompa loopma in every single picture, but I'm happy to have a record of what my little family looks like right now.

And, fotofly was awesome.  They were prompt and our photographer was so cute and great with the kids.  An hour after our pictures were taken, they have them ready for us to view and buy.  They have a flat fee that includes your session and all your pictures on a CD (Or flash drive) and they'll sell you prints of your pictures right then and there.  The whole experience was really pretty great.  I will definitely be going back...no more Jacques Penne for our kiddo pictures.

So, want to see a few?  I'm partial, but my boys are really cute.  Even my husband.  Go figure.

Jubilee Tour

Last week, November 8th was my dad's birthday.  My husband reminded me that evening as I drifted off to sleep that November 8th is also the anniversary of us getting engaged.  We were engaged to be married 10 years ago.  He told me that he remembers what I was wearing that day.  I don't.  I remember getting engaged, and that I took the rest of the day off of school, and that evening, after letting my mom take our picture, we went off to look for a place to live.

Anyway, 10 years.

That feels like such a long time.

How do you celebrate 10 years?

Knowing us, when April 19 rolls around, we won't be doing much, that's for sure.  It's not easy to ditch three kiddos, one of them very little, to do anything.  We haven't done a single thing together sans kids since the week before Quinn was born.  We don't even really know how to talk to each other these days because I'm moody, and my sister wife always seems to be in the way.  Oh, and we have three kids demanding constant attention.  That might have something to do with the lack of communication, too.

Anyway, the Queen of England just celebrated her diamond jubilee - 60 years on the throne.  There is a  golden jubilee for 50 years and a silver jubilee for 25 years.  There is not unfortunately, a jubilee for 10 years and since 1) I'm not royalty and 2) no one is celebrating my years of marriage it doesnt' really matter but I think it should I'm going to come up with my own jubilee tour.  I think that since the 10th anniversary is Tin that I'm going to celebrate the....

wait for it.....

Tin Jubilee.

Awesome, yes?

So let the celebration planning begin.

Freudian Slip

Me:  I have the worst headache I've had in, like, 10 months.
Him:  I wonder why.  I wonder what triggered it.
Me:  I don't know.  I haven't had any orange juice. (side note:  orange juice is a migraine trigger for me)
Him:  I did.  I wonder if I put some sort of boobie doll curse on you by drinking it?
Me:  What?
Him:  You know, a boobie doll?
Me:  What?
Him:  Oh, I mean voodoo doll.  Maybe I put a voodoo curse on you.

Yes, there is a certain topic in our house these days that is apparently on everyones minds.

35 weeks

35 weeks.  That's where the official ticker gets us today.  Up to right now, I haven't written much about this experience...probably because it's very similar to the other two.  But I thought, for the sake of documentation I'd share a few things.

The good:
*I'm 4 weeks away from meeting my third son.  This thrills me to no end.

*This whole process, minus being so slow (did you know that it only takes 60 days from start to finish for a baby polar bear to show his face?  Why can't I be a polar bear?), has really been very bearable for round three.  I feel super lucky.

*I'm still sleeping okay.  Not tonight of course because I'm writing this at 2:00 am with an absolutely insane and killer cold and I'm up because I cannot breathe.  But, honestly, I go to bed at night and except for some bathroom breaks, and said cold, I sleep right on through until morning.

*Even though I'm exhausted and feel so heavy that I might tip over, I can still do my regular stuff, albeit slowly.  My husband fired me from mowing the lawn a few weeks ago but I can still do laundry, dinner, make the beds, vacuum, plant flowers, pull weeds....you get the idea.

*I'm starting to panic a bit about this kiddo like I've done with the other two about how well he'll be breathing when he's born.  I pray that he'll be okay, won't have an extended NICU stay and that we'll actually get to hold him, introduce ourselves to him, and love his squishy squeakiness the day he's born.  So far, things are going in the direction of healthy and I've got confidence that the grandma's in heaven are looking out for him (and me) and that everything will be okay.

The Bad:
Oh, where to begin?  Not wanting to use this forum as a complete complain session (I mean, I do get to keep the baby after all) I'll keep it brief.

*swollen ankles, worse than with the other two I think
*swollen feet
*numb toes (I've almost completely lost feeling in the three smallest toes on my left foot, ick!)
*nerve pain in my right butt cheek
*fat, fat, fat!  Did I mention fat?
*back pain
*using the bathroom like it's going out of style
*no longer able to get up from sitting on the floor
*constantly out of breath

You get the idea, right?  It's funny with this whole process how you go from feeling super icky, to feeling so "normal" that you forget there is a space invader living inside of you to quite literally all of a sudden feeling like you are so heavy and bloated and slow that you might tip over or that said space invader might fall out, like a paper grocery bag that is too full and starts to rip at the bottom.  Every day when I get down and feel a bit sorry for myself (which, lets face it, is happening more than I'd like to admit), I just remind myself that I get a baby.  That I get to pick his birthday.  That I get to hold him and love him forever and ever.

The Ugly:
Like I said, this third round of baby boy feels like in a lot of ways, it's been "easier" (knock on wood) than with the other two, but it's been so much harder, too.  Harder because there are already two of these little boys here to take care of.  Harder because this summer has been so insanely hot that I've got my thermos stat set permanently at 71 degrees.  Harder because quite literally, I'm losing my ability to walk.

But, the really worst part is all the appointments.  Finding someone to watch my kids while I go to two NST's (Non-stress tests at the hospital), my OB appointment, my diabetes appointment each week  is just overwhelming.  The amount of insulin I'm injecting into my arms and hips every day is astounding.  Weighing more right  now than ever in my entire life (or I ever will again) just makes me want to cry.

And, the two kids I've got already in front of me are driving me crazy.  You can cut their nervous energy with a knife and I'm not sure how much more yelling, screaming, hitting, bathroom talk (no, Wyatt, we are not naming our new baby diarrhea or port-o-potty) and general, "I'm being crazy but I don't know why" - ness I can handle.  Just wait until the baby gets here - then their really going to lose their minds!

But, the end is in sight.  I'm actually looking forward to the whole process.

And, I cannot wait to hold a sweet, squishy little boy, part of our clone army, in my arms and kiss his head as much as I want.

Elliott, 5 days old

Wyatt, one day old

Nine Years

Forgive the photo retrospective, but today is my wedding anniversary.  In February I got to look at an awesome book my sister-in-law put together of her relationship through wedding with Ross' brother.  They have so many pictures of the two of them together.  I told her that I didn't think that in 9 years of marriage and 10 years together that there are more than 50 pictures of my husband and me in the same photo.  She didn't believe me, but after looking through my archives, I'm pretty close to being right.

I love my husband dearly.  We balance each other out.  Our obnoxious compliments each other perfectly.  He see's the glass as half full when I see it as empty.  I can find the positive when he has nothing good to say.  He goes to work and I wash and fold and put away his underwear.  He takes shirts to the dry cleaner so I don't have to ruin them with the iron.  I cook dinner, he does the grocery shopping.  I vacuum, and he empties the dishwasher.  He is a hard worker and an excellent father.  Nothing makes me happier than seeing him load the boys into his truck on a Saturday morning for a grand adventure with their dad.  He puts up with me, and all the crapola (and hormones) I throw at him on a daily basis.  He tells me that I'm not fat, even though I know he knows I am.  He is level headed to my panic.  I am empathy to his apathy.  We are complete opposites and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Unlike in years past, we are actually celebrating our anniversary with a night on the town...just like the old days when we were the "couple that does things".  Dinner, a musical, a night away from the kids.  He is ecstatic about sleeping in, in a quiet hotel room.  I am terrified about not being within 10 feet of my kids when they are asleep.  

But, as with everything else in our lives together - everything will work out as it should.

My Three Sons

Last March, about two months after my grandma had passed away, life was of course moving on and we were all gathered at one of Elliott's indoor soccer games.  As we mingled at the end of the game and everyone started walking out of the gym, my mom pulled me aside, towards the two remaining folding chairs in the gym, and sat me down, knee to knee.

She looked me in the eye and told me that she'd had an inspiration to tell me something important.  She told me, as well as I can remember, that after a conversation with my grandpa a few days before, she'd felt a prompting to tell me that I needed to have a big family.  I was taken a bit off guard because two kids was pretty much all I could handle at the moment.  And, even though Ross and I had at one time discussed that when the Chick was three, we would have "the talk" about adding a third (seriously, I mean we'd just start talking about it.  No action, lots of scenario planning), I was pretty content.

I immediately asked my mom, wanting to keep things fair, if she had a prompting to tell my sister the same inspiration.  She said that this didn't have anything to do with my sister, just me.  My next question was, how many kids constitute a "big" family.  She said she didn't know, but that it was more than two.  She had a strong feeling that my grandma was in heaven lining up spirits to send down to earth and that at least one or more of those spirits were intended for me.

Gosh.  Thanks mom.  No pressure, right?

Well, I proceeded to do what I do best - put the idea out of my head and ignore my mom and her impression.  Another baby was not something I was ready to consider at the time and I wasn't really sure if ever.  Did I want another baby?  Sure.  Who doesn't want a cuddly, squishy ball of goo to love and dote over?  Unlike a lot of people, I absolutely love newborns.  I could hold a baby all day long.  Mobile squirts stress me out but little balls of squish?  They melt my heart.  But last March, a baby was the last thing on my mind.  Instead, it was full of thoughts of moving, my husbands overwhelming job, the upcoming trip to Disneyland and, well, laundry of course.

As with all things like this, I kept my conversation with my mom between me and Ross, and did my best to put it out of my head.  We probably had more preliminary conversations leading up to "the talk" than we would have otherwise, but by the beginning of the summer, the thought was completely out of our heads.

In August, I had a momentary lapse and thought - "Oh no!  I have to have a baby right now!"  There were a few weeks of panicked and calculated discussions but you don't see a baby in my arms right now so obviously, I backed myself off of that ledge.  Instead, I thought that if I were going to have another child, I needed to get healthy.  This was the spark that got me started on my exercise and healthier eating kick - 3-5 days of exercise a week, lots of sweat and sore muscles saw me drop 10 pounds and a bunch of inches really quickly.  I liked seeing results, even if I wasn't really losing any weight, and felt that this was the right track for me.

Both of my grandmother's celebrate birthdays in September, five days apart.  My Grandma Huber's birthday is September 13th.  The days leading up to her birthday saw me as a very emotional and totally depressed and distraught grand-daughter.  I was so sad that she was gone from the earth.  I visited her grave, taking some beautiful flowers from my yard.  I cried myself to sleep at night, just not sure where the overwhelming emotions were coming from.  It made sense to be sad, but it didn't make sense to me to be THIS sad.  Once her birthday passed, the emotions lingered, but were manageable.

September however marked the beginning of the holiday season, a time of year that was terribly important to my grandma because she loved to throw parties and every month in the fall and winter proved the perfect opportunity for all of us to get together to eat and hang out.  I completely avoided Halloween and all the potential emotions surrounding it, but could not get out of Thanksgiving.  This was to be a Thanksgiving were we were present.  It was at my grandpa's house.  Everyone was stressed out because we didn't know how to feel or act or be.  There was just such a hole where my grandma should have been.

I spent the week leading up to Thanksgiving with terrible insomnia.  I was sleeping a solid hour or two a night and the intense emotions of September were back.  I was exhausted and sad and just felt so overwhelmed.  There were long tear filled conversations with my husband at night but I just couldn't shake the sad.  Of course the holiday was great.  We had fun.  The food was good (as good as Thanksgiving food can be).  I brought crafts and projects and all of the grand kids hung out in the basement playing and laughing and beading bracelets and playing drawing games.

But, I just couldn't shake this lingering feeling.  There was a big gaping hole and without the knowledge of how to fill it, or how to make the feelings go away, I was really struggling.

As November creeped into December my nerves got the better of me and the anxiety hit strong.  There were a couple days that I popped 1/2 of an old xanex because I couldn't calm myself down.  As best as I could, I kept all these feelings to myself, but no matter what I did, I couldn't get my grandma out of my head.

Then one morning, a clear morning, I awoke calm.  After months of blocking it, the thoughts of my March conversation with my mom returned to my head and no matter what I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about babies.  Not just babies, but that my mom was right.  My grandma was lining up spirits in heaven and that my indecision, or ignorance, or both, was preventing a person from getting to this earth.  Then, as if an anvil had been dropped onto my head, my emotions of the last few months became clear.  It was my grandma trying to talk to me.  She was flooding my brain and my thoughts, helping me to find my path to the inevitable.

My mom has always told me that when you are thinking about someone who has passed away, that at that moment, they are with you.  They are holding your hand, in your presence.  That their spirit is with you.

Well, if that's true, and I believe it is, then my grandma was spending months of her valuable time in heaven trying to get through my thick skull something that had been so clear.  Once I figured it out I had to work up the courage to tell Ross that our plan to wait until Wyatt was 3 to have the discussion about having another baby was moot.  I had made my decision and it was time to get our act together.  In our ordered, organized lives, that was the most "throw caution to the wind" I had ever been.

The week after Christmas I didn't feel well.  We had been out returning Christmas gifts at some local stores and ended up at Wal-Mart.  While the boys were in the return line and then wandering to get a few items, I headed to the drug store section and bought myself a box of pregnancy tests.  If I remember, Ross wanted me to take one that night.  I didn't.  I did however wake up that morning to use the bathroom, probably around 5 am or so and decided to take one then.

It was positive.

I left it on the bathroom sink for Ross to find when he got up in the morning.

After the initial shock of the whole thing wore off, and I took a couple more tests I did what I've done two other times....I pretended it wasn't happening.  My husband was out of the country and I didn't have time to be sick or worry about the whole thing.

But, after Ross was gone a couple of days, as I was sitting alone at the computer waiting to skype with him, I went to babycenter.com and looked up a due-date calculator.  I entered all the numbers and dates the calculator asked for and when my due date appeared on the screen I burst into tears.

September 13, 2012.

My Grandma Huber's birthday.

This baby boy is a confirmation that blessings are sent straight from heaven - and in my case, as a direct message from my grandma that she loves me.

What's in a ring?

In a little less than a month, I'll celebrate my 9th wedding anniversary.  Nine years is a long time to be married, let alone that we've known each other for a decade.  When we decided to get married, though I had no idea when the actual proposal would hit, we did go ring shopping.

I pretty much fell in love with the first ring I saw.  It was platinum.  It was brushed.  It was really pretty.  When the actual ring was bestowed upon me, I was so excited at the significance of it, and what that ring meant that I pretty much didn't take it off.  I loved the ring and the boy who got it for me.

Flash forward a couple years and that ring started to cause me trouble.  It started to leave what I could only call a burn mark on my finger.  We weren't sure what the problem was and after having it cleaned a couple times, chalked it up to something wrong with my finger and I quit wearing it for a while.  Then I got pregnant with Monkey #1 and there was no way it would fit.

Shortly after Elliott was born, I got my ring re-sized and we were reunited.  And then of course, I didn't wear it at all with Monkey #2 and wore it for about a year off and on after Wyatt was born.

Now fast forward again.  I haven't worn my wedding ring for almost 2 years.  It's a little tight, and it's very heavy and maybe it's a silly reason, but the weight of the ring that I loved years ago now weighs too heavy on my arthritic finger.  The last time I tried to wear it was to church, and I didn't even make it through the first hour because I'm a dork.

My kind husband has since then given me a couple of rings to replace it, when I want to look official (as if wandering the world with two little monsters isn't official enough). One of the rings is pretty fancy, and I save it for church and special occasions.  The other was a nice, simple little ring that he got for me that I wore nearly every single day.

Well, on our way home from San Diego in February, while I was driving my short leg of the trip I took my cute little flower off because it was sort of in the way and hooked it onto the straw of my drink for safe keeping.  We stopped in Scipio, Utah, because Elliott and I had to go to the bathroom and then continued on our journey.  Not until we were almost home did I realize that my husband had cleared the "garbage" out of the car at that pit stop, including my drink that I was not finished with and that was a safe keeping for my ring.

The ring was now in a trash can in Scipio.

Oh bother!

When we got home it was decided (by me of course) that I needed a reasonable replacement because unlike my husband who does not wear his wedding band, I like to at least pretend that I'm married.

I found a beautiful fill-in on etsy.  It came yesterday.  I really like it.  Not too fancy, but fancy enough.  Makes me feel official, at least until the day we get around to getting me a new band (much lighter weight) for my "real" wedding ring.

Grateful

Sometimes, it's hard for me to remember how lucky I am in this life. That there is greatness surrounding me and it is a blessing in my life. That the decisions made by myself and together with my husband have truly enriched our lives and the lives of our children more than I ever really pay attention to.

Life has been a blur lately. I wake up in the morning, take a deep breath, and get ready for the day. The day is spent doing mom and kid things, housewife and maid things, Martha Stewart and Paula Dean things.

As patiently as I am capable of, I wait for 10:00 pm to roll around. At 10:00, the boys have been in bed for a while, I've done some reading, he's sent his work e-mails, and we finally get the chance to talk to each other.

For the first time all the day long!

He tells me about work and what makes him nervous. I tell him about the day the boys and I had, share my worries and stresses, and sometimes cry like a baby.

He tells me to relax. I tell him that I can't so much, but that I'll try.

We reminisce about the "good old days" before crazy monkeys and revel in the joy our lives feel because those monkeys chase each other around the house with boogers on their fingers and play the atomic fart game on our phones.

Lately, I live for 10:00 pm.

I should have been more obvious

I am often reminded that when it comes to letting my husband know that I love him, I am not outwardly affectionate enough.  Which, is true.  That's why I get reminded.  I don't really hug, I'm not too touchy and I keep a lot of my feelings to myself.  I do however, love my husband very much - why else would I do his laundry and fix him dinner every night?

Ross is currently camped out at a local hotel from now until Thanksgiving doing some international training for the last phase of his two year project at work.  He is speaking Spanish every day and hanging out with people from all over the world (Chile, Peru, Argentina, Mexico, Switzerland, Russia and Kazakhstan to be specific).

On Monday afternoon, the boys and I happened to be heading out to run some errands that would drive us right past Ross' hotel.  I thought that it would be funny to leave a little note on his windshield so I quickly grabbed a piece of paper, jotted a few words and jumped in the car.  While stopped at a red light I put on as much gloss as my lips could hold and laid a smooch right on the paper.

I thought, "He has to know this is me!  I laugh in the face of not being a "romantic'!"

The note was then folded in half and placed on the windshield and the boys and I went about our business.  About 45 minutes later he called to say that he was on his way home from work.  

The rest of the conversation went something like this:

Him:  So, when I got out to my car there was this note on my windshield.

Me: Really?  What did it say?

Him:  Yeah, it said call me and has a big kiss on it.  It doesn't say who it's from.  Is it from you?

Me:  Um...no!  Why would I leave a note on your car (trying to contain my laughter).

Him:  Really?  Well then someone got confused and put a note for someone else on my truck.

When we hung up I couldn't stop smiling.  

Apparently I am so far off the "affection" meter that a note left on my husband's car, obviously from me, doesn't even register in his brain as being from me - he thinks someone made a mistake and left the note on the wrong car.

Once he got home from work, Elliott clarified the note situation at dinner ("Dad, when we went to the Utah store, mom left a note on your car at the hotel!") and there were some blushing cheeks on the adults in the room.

Looks like I've got my work cut out for me in the future.

On being boys

Summer is officially over.  All our cousins are back in school, we've attended Elliott's preschool orientation and we've gone to the store to buy some new kicks.  There is no need for "back-to-school" clothes when school starts and the days are still in the 90's (and your kid is in preschool and there is no concept of fashion amongst the 4 year old boy set).  There is however a need for new shoes when the kicks of summer have holes in the sides and 4.5 year olds are way to cool for Velcro.

Our summer went by in a blur.  Summer sometimes feels like a sprint.  We wait all year longing for the lazy days to come.  We wait for the adventures, the warm, the swimming, the dirt, the sprinklers, the friends and then as soon as summer hits, it's like we're making a mad dash to win the race to fall and before we know it, those longed for three months have vanished.  We do our best to look into the stands and wave to our families as we cross the finish line, but summer is so fleeting.  It's never enough.  There is more to do than time to do it.

Especially I think, when you are a little boy.  We've been on so many adventures this summer.  The first week of June I typed up a list and posted it to the fridge of everything we could do this summer.  I'd say we did 75% of our list at least once, some stuff more than once.  These boys of mine cannot get enough grass and dirt and wind and animals and water fights.

 

In the last few weeks I've been reading a book titled, "Boys should be boys: 7 secrets to raising healthy sons" by Dr. Meg Meeker.  It's been a fascinating read for me, the mother of two such creatures.  Doctor Meeker says that boys need three things to grow into good men. 

1.  a healthy relationship with mom and dad

2.  faith in God.

3.  solid family life.

I've been thinking about these things in relation to my kids a lot as I reflect over the summer.  Dr. Meeker says boys need to be outside, without too many rules and play and imagine and adventure.  That they need time away from gadgets and gizmo's that alienate them from their families.  They need moms who dig in the dirt and dads who do laundry.  They need to spend more time with both parents than daughters do. 

There is a whole chapter devoted to how moms can mess up their sons and the pitfalls to avoid.  There is another chapter dedicated to helping dads understand how to let their sons know that they are proud of them, and give their blessings to their boys as children so that they grow up to be good adults.  I learned a lot from reading this book about my kids, their brains, and how to relax and let them be boys.

Dr. Meeker repeats over and over again that boys need time with their parents (both one on one and together) and with their families as much as possible.  As I reflect on this past summer, I have to admit that it's maybe going to go down on the records as one of the best.  We didn't go on any trips, do anything fancy or crazy, but we spent the summer as a family.

June was crazy with the move, an overworked dad and a stressed to the max mom.  When our dad left us for two weeks to go to Australia in July, saying that our lives were bordering on disaster is an understatement.  There was just too much!  You all know what I'm talking about right?

Well, the two weeks ended and for the next five, we had our dad.  We had our family.  Every single day felt like a Saturday because we were sleeping in, spending time together and having fun.  Our dad went on our weekly outings with the gang.  We worked on projects with the boys.  We went to the park, to shavy jones, swimming at great grandpas and so many other things together.  We spent more time together this summer as a family - in a five week period, than, honestly, we did in the previous 3 months.

Oh summer! This year, you truly blessed our family.

Blessed us with sun, and play, and family time.  Blessed us with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents.  Blessed us with hamburgers and parties, and swimming in the dark.  Blessed us with bug hunts, train adventures, weekly excursions, lazy mornings, learning to cross our eyes and lots of laughter.

I know my boys are little and that memories for them are pretty fleeting.  Things blur together and they probably won't remember the summer their dad was home too much once they get bigger.  But for me, being the goofy mom walking a few steps behind with her camera, this will go down as one of the best summers we'll ever have.



 

 

while "reading" the IKEA catalog

 

Me:  I'm trying to not eat any sugar today.  You know, like chocolate.

Him:  Good.  I don't eat any.

Me:  So.  I like chocolate.  You have a ham addiction.

Him:  Yes, a life threatening ham addiction!

Things are good

You know how sometimes, you feel like life is overwhelming?  Like it's just sucking your will to live and even though you're giving it all you've got you just cannot keep your head above water and you might drown in air because your just a ball of panic?

Today is not one of those days.

In fact, the last week or so has been pretty good.

Maybe it's because our dad is home with us all day long and even when he goes to work at 3:00 pm he's still home, just locked away in the office.   We've spent more time with our dad in the last two weeks than we did in the previous two months.  It's pretty cool.

Maybe it's because every day feels like a Saturday because we don't get up until 8:00 or 8:30 in the morning and like yesterday, all four of us don't even get dressed until, like 11:00.  Lunchtime, can you believe it?

Maybe it's because my long list of projects and errands has been divided and conquered because there are two grown-ups in the house to do the yard work and the laundry and take care of the monkeys.

Maybe it's because we can wake up in the morning and decide to go to a 10:25 movie, just the four of us, and be the only people in the movie theater.

Maybe I'm being sentimental because summer is almost over.

Maybe I just really like to barbecue dinner because there is virtually no clean-up.

Maybe it's because my two year old thinks he's a soccer player and got totally dressed up and ready for the mornings game and when he woke up from his nap this afternoon he let me hold him like a sweet little baby and we had a staring contest until he told me that I'm silly.

Maybe it's because my four year old has been nice and sweet and not so growly. He all of a sudden wants to kiss me on the cheek, rubs the back of my neck (like he sees his dad do) right before he asks me to help him with a craft project, and tells me that he loves me. That's kind of nice.

Maybe it's because that husband of mine, the one I never see, spent most of the day with me yesterday and took me to dinner last night to one of our favorite restaurants.

I'm not sure what it is...but things today are good and that makes me really happy.

Today is the day...well, one of the days...

Today is the day.

Today, I sign away my rights to the house I am sitting in right now....along with forking over a giant check for a decent sum of money.

Today, I sign my name on a bunch of papers for my new digs...along with forking over a giant check for an even larger sum of money.

Today, I am excited. So excited. I'm so excited that I just can't hide it. I love my cute little house dearly. She has been so good to us in the last 6.5 years of our residing within her walls. We have brought babies home to this house, repainted a handful of times, created the yard and truly made it our own. That's a big deal. We've taken really good care of her.

But, it's time to move on. Time for a new neighborhood and new scenery and a new place to go to church. It's time for new yard projects and new paint colors and a space big enough to host some parties.  We've worked hard to pay off debt and get ourselves in a position to make this move work.  I'm proud of that.  I'm proud of my husband for being such a good worker because being jobless as I am, the financial burden of life falls on his shoulders and he's doing a great job keeping us afloat.

I'm lucky that this has all worked out. Very lucky. Count my lucky stars lucky. I love my friends and am so thankful that I'm only moving a little over a mile from where I'm at right now. It's only five minutes to get back into the land of familiar so I can visit, drop off cookies, or just do a drive by when the mood feels right.

I'm excited.

We get the keys tomorrow. I might start pulling weeds tonight. I'll probably get dirt ready to transplant my peony tomorrow.

We move on Friday. We'll sleep in "THE NEW HOUSE!" Friday night....without window coverings.

Feel free to come by and stare.

The Decision to Sell

Sometimes in life there are miracles. Little things happen, subtle things that you don't really even pay attention to...maybe because they are created by a high power, to let you know that you have made a right decision.

We'd been discussing the possibility of selling our cute little house for the last 6 months or so. We had the carpets cleaned, the house professionally painted, a few minor problems fixed all in anticipation of putting the house for sale this spring. We've looked at so many homes online that the urge to move bug has just been swimming in all our minds.

I never would have imagined that when a sign went up in my front yard last week that eight (yes, only 8!) days later my house would have a buyer, be under contract for sale, and I'd be frantically venturing out with our realtor looking for the next house.

But like I said, sometimes miracles happen. The sale could still fall through. I could still live in my house for another year or two, but right now I'm really excited. I'm excited to give my boys a yard to run and play instead of an alley and find my husband his third car garage. I'm excited at the possibility of having a "gourmet" kitchen with an island, maybe even some granite.

I love my little house. The thought of moving has brought tears to my eyes. This is the home where we became a family - where we've hosted parties and where my babies came home. There is so much sentimental goo oozing through the walls. But, I'm ready to move on. Ready for a new neighborhood, a new floor plan and a fresh start.

And that miracle thing? Seriously. How can my cute little house sell so quickly is such a bad market? One, I think it's a sign (yes, I believe in signs) that we've probably made the right decision and two, I'm pretty certain that there are some folks up in heaven working some magic for me and my little family. And for that I will continue to live right, be good, and do the best job I can in all that I do.

This truly is a blessing from heaven.