Mombie & The Force

This little flashback circa 1996 always makes me smile. 

So, let's start with something mindless before getting to the nitty gritty.

As I type this there is a Boppy pillow in my lap containing my sleeping baby, because these days nearly everywhere I go he can be found.  He's a sweet little sidekick to have around, but he has turned my world (& my older kids' world) upside down.

He's on a definite schedule now, so the stress that comes with a newborn has been slightly alleviated.  He likes to do the following things in a repetitive cycle:  Poop, eat, and sleep.  This pattern repeats itself roughly every three hours, although sometimes the poop part is multiplied, usually just after a fresh diaper has been secured on his bum...

My day revolves around maintaining his schedule while entertaining, caring for, and giving undivided attention to a needy four and a busy six-year-old, caring for an elderly dog, cleaning a neglected home, providing meals for my family, somehow caring for myself & supposedly taking time to recover from childbirth which ain't fun, entertaining visitors, smiling at my husband yet rarely getting the chance to really speak to him as sleep is more important to both of us right now, juggling everything, grinning and bearing it, missing the order that was once my life as a "homemaker," and just being "rosy."  According to Merriam-Webster, as a rosy homemaker I should be "promoting optimism."  Right...

People always say, "Be sure to sleep when the baby sleeps."  Right.  I try, but it's not that easy.  There's too much for a mom to do in one day.  If my baby is sleeping during the day, most likely I'm trying to maintain some sort of order around here, because if I don't we'll end up starring on TLC's Hoarders: Buried Alive. 

Thankfully thoughtful friends and neighbors spoiled us rotten by feeding us well for several nights when we arrived home with our new addition.  I would have definitely burnt the house down in a tired stupor if I had tried to cook, especially during the first LONG week.  The frozen pizzas and hot dogs I will now serve are like a Ford Pinto compared to the generous four-course Mercedes meals we received.  Friends also generously chauffeured our kids to camps, Vacation Bible School, the neighborhood pool, etc., and thus, my kids have thankfully endured some sort of normalcy in their little upside down worlds.  I can't even begin to explain how truly blessed we've been in the friends' department.  We'd do the same for anyone we know...time and butt wiping permitting, of course...

I am not complaining about having this little guy in tow or my new role as a Mom Zombie -- a Mombie, if you will.  He's awesome, absolutely amazing, in fact, and now that he's here I wouldn't have it any other way.  I am fully aware that  I have zero room to complain  as my girlfriend (mentioned in a previous blog post) had triplets the same day that this bundle arrived.  I feel like bowing Wayne's World style when I am in her presence, because "I'm not worthy..."  I don't know how she functions. 

Giving up my undiagnosed OCD tendencies has been one of the biggest challenges since departing the labor and delivery room.  I don't have time for them anymore.  I'm the kind of person who prefers her sandwich on the right side of her plate, side item on the left, and drink to the top right.  I also have an order in which I prefer to ingest Peanut M&M's:  Green, Yellow, Orange, Brown, Blue, and lastly Red as myths once claimed those cause cancer.  Dishes aren't allowed to sit in the kitchen sink.  That's why we have a dishwasher.  It's a place to hide the grime until it can be cleaned.  Everything has a place, and I know where that place is.  Beds must be made every day.  Mine is typically made with me partially still in it.  This is a faster method - trust me.  There was once a method to my madness in this house.

If you came to my house today, then you may find a dish - or seven - piled in the sink and a trash heap worthy of Fraggle Rock (as long as it doesn't don glasses it's okay, right?), floors that need to be vacuumed, and kids with crusty faces.  You may see me eat on the fly, not even use a plate or place a napkin over the baby in my lap so I don't dribble crumbs on him.  My kids are allowed to occasionally eat in front of the television, and yes, they've eaten bacon on the couch.  I'm lucky if I even remember to eat something resembling lunch.  Bed making has  most certainly moved down the priority totem pole, but laundry has risen to the top of the pole. 

I now find myself doing laundry everyday, because I don't want to find myself with a laundry Everest that takes hours to fold.  Forget ironing; I've always detested it anyway.  The reality is that it took me years to perfect those silly OCD tendencies and seconds to cast them aside for something much, much more important.  Life's such a mind boggling miracle and indeed, way too short, and I'm going to do the best that I can to enjoy every second of my life and my kids' from here on out.  Kids, that doesn't mean that you shouldn't keep your toys in the proper receptacles...

So, this is the new me; I'm a Mombie.  I'll smile at you, but beware, I may appear mute, listless, automated, and will-less as if I'm controlled by a supernatural force (a.k.a. a baby).  As Darth Vader would say:  "The force is strong with this one."  Perhaps I'll nickname him Young Skywalker.

The Good, The Bad, & The Preggo

As I reflect on the last thirty-eight weeks of this pregnancy, there's a poem ringing in my ears. Written by Langston Hughes, Mother to Son, begins like this:

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor --

Bare.

But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners...

While my life hasn't been as full of strife as this poem conveys, I wouldn't call pregnancy a "crystal stair" & it certainly is full of corners that we preggos have no choice but to turn.

In the beginning the kids weren't too thrilled with the news of our family's new addition.  Our son even whined saying, "Ew, babies stink.  I don't want a baby at our house."  Then, as the weeks passed the acceptance stage slowly crept in, and once the kids found out that the bun in the oven is in fact a  Little Brother, they were on board.   

Of course a baby on the way meant our family needed to upgrade our gas guzzling boat of an SUV to a sensible, safe, practical ride...While some have accused me of now "living the mini-van dream" I do not drive a VAN (I'm not in denial); I drive a BUS & it's freaking awesome.  So awesome I, in fact, may never own another type of vehicle again.  Yes, they say that happens to van owners:

Thankfully I have a dear friend who is a fellow preggo that is expecting triplets, and when I feel down about my ill-fitting wardrobe, my cankles, my restless nights, and my overactive bladder I think of her & the three amazing blessings filling her uterus & riding around town in her van.  Thoughts of her quickly humble me and lead me to realize that I have no room to complain about my state.  She is truly incredible...maybe even legen {wait for it} dary. 

The two of us have treated ourselves to a handful of pedicures for our weary, widening feet followed by lunches where all judgment was cast aside as we ordered and ate whatever we wished that day & occasionally topped it with yum-yum sauce.  We have been spoiled by caring girlfriends (some of whom just may catch the contagion that is baby fever - MU-WHA-HA-HA-HA). We were blown away by the outpouring of love and gifts from friends, family, and neighbors at joint baby shower worthy of Martha Stewart Living.

My #1 Craving - so sinful they
 must be hand rolled by the devil.

 It has been awesome to commiserate with her about unstoppable body changes, diapers, willy nilly doctors, our poor husbands, numerous cravings, and the harsh things strangers utter to us preggos without thinking. Yes, cashier at Food Lion, I am "ready to pop," and thanks for noting that when I still had two+ months remaining until the pop - grrr...and to the stranger who one month ago asked when I was due and then idiotically stated, "Well, at least you won't be pregnant during the hottest part of the summer" -- please know you should never consider being a meteorologist and this pic's for you:



Dang, my bus is dusty...

It's been hot, too hot to really enjoy trekking to the neighborhood pool with small, water gun armed children, laying around on a chaise feeling like a beached Shamu while onlookers gawk at my chips and I, and sitting in the torrid, stagnant water is far from appealing.   I've given up trying to win the friendly monthly electric bill competition with neighbors. I prefer to dwell in an icebox, and I guess I should count my lucky stars that our a/c units haven't crapped out. And as for the sheets and comforter - "Uh, buh-bye."

A few weeks ago I was stuck indoors beating the heat & fighting a nasty virus (the "everybody poops" kind), and I had to send my poor hubby on a dignity-aside-store-run for meds and Gatorade, per the doctor's suggestion. He returned from the store, set his purchases on the kitchen counter, knocked on the bathroom door to tell me where to find the goods, and politely gave the kids a bath & put them to bed.   Here's what I found on the kitchen counter:

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? 
I'd take on a virus.

He's a keeper, and his sweet gestures didn't go unnoticed by the teen male Food Lion cashier who said, "You must be in trouble" as he scanned the roses, chocolate, etc. (guess he didn't notice the anti-diarrheal tablets).  My husband explained that in fact he wasn't "in trouble" but that he had a sick, pregnant wife at home that he was trying to cheer up. A meddlesome granny behind him in line piped up with "Oh, hon, you better make sure your wife can have that medicine." Poor hubby got a sampling of a judgmental, nincompoop stranger (they seem to lurk around every corner that a preggo goes).

All complaints aside, this pregnancy hasn't been horrible.  Sure, it was an adjustment at first as the news of our family growing was quite a surprise.  Yes, it's been bad to be preggo at times (like when I try to sleep, eat without dropping bits onto my beach ball, etc.), but a lot of good has come along for the ride, too. 

I've been blessed with zero morning sickness, minimal nausea, an acceptable weight gain [SIGH], my sweet children who now know my belly cannot be safely used as a slide, friends keeping me emotionally in check when my hormones spiral to the Kleenex box, friends fighting for Godmother status & offering to get baby fixes via free babysitting services, grandmothers stockpiling our arsenal of diapers, our Church congregation & neighbors already planning post-delivery meals, a closet full of sweet, tiny clothes and much needed items for the little man, a thoughtful husband who tolerates my mood swings and will go to the grocery store for me and return with chocolate, flowers, and medication, a geriatric dog that hasn't tripped me once and that we all think is clinging to life just to meet this baby, and a faith that's grown stronger by the day as I plainly see that life is indeed good.  I'm thankful.  Our family is so very blessed, and this baby has no clue what he's being born into - it's going to be great.

And when I hold him for the first time, I know that my heart will grow 'three sizes that day'.

...whenever that day will be...

As Tom Petty sings, "The wai-ai-ting is the hardest part..."

Adrenaline Seekers Stop Here

Parenting is not for all, but it may be for you.  As a parent you are usually faced with a daily dichotomy that is easily likened to the fight-or-flight response.  On a day that you as a parent are not faced with this (a day when your air passages are not dilated, blood vessels are not constricted, and your heart rate remains safely steady), you can honestly say that you've had a good day (or a boring day depending upon your thrill seeking needs).  When your central nervous system isn't working overtime to fire neurons, when your anxiety level is at the smiley face standard, when your head doesn't feel like it belongs to a bludgeoned Rocky Balboa, when you don't find yourself hiding out in your phone booth (a.k.a. closet), and when you don't mutter "Calgon, take me away", then you, my friend, deserve a cardboard cookie and some ice cream (or a glass of wine - or two).  You can have those goodies once the kids have completed homework, been fed, been bathed, their teeth have been brushed, stories have been read, and they've drifted off to dream land; that is, if you're not catching Zzz's in dream land, too.  Parenting is, as my wise Dad would say, like eating a ketchup popsicle while wearing white gloves.  It's a job like non other and a job that must be done by only brave beings for it is next to impossible, yet more rewarding than any other job when done right. 

It's a miracle that I survived the sneaking out, crowd surfing, bruised mosh pitting, sky diving days of my youth, the time & place for everything called COLLEGE, and my relatively care-free twenties.  Today when I compare that blissful me to the me that now holds a stay-at-home-mom status, I still see the same person at the core, and it's still a miracle that she survives each day.  She really looks haggard sometimes, and sure, she's not as cool as she once *knew* she was, but she tries in her own spazzy way.  She no longer dons her bulky, rebellious Doc Marten's, but she does wear sensible shoes and keeps a freezer stocked with Pop-Ice, an abundance of Capri Suns in the fridge, and microwave popcorn is a staple in her pantry as one never knows when an impromptu play date may arise...and those are just as cool and welcome to her kids as they are to her. 

I've traded in what seems like a chill past life for years of surreal, heart palpitating adventures including tantrums, potential broken bones, ambulance ride(s), allergic reactions, weekly grocery shopping with tots in tow, sleepless nights, The Wiggles, hospital stays, unwanted advice, finger pricks, immunizations, tantrums, falls, face plants, scrapes, criticism, festering wounds, wrinkles, bug bites, bounce houses, tantrums, judgement, projectile Exorcist-ish vomit, seeping blow outs, diapers, sheer perplexity, public humiliation, birthday parties, tantrums, piercing words, more diapers, overwhelmed thoughts, body aches, heart aches, frustration, fear, doubt, stress, endless worry (did I mention tantrums?)...Yet I have been granted the title of "Mom," a lifetime of free hugs, complimentary kisses, endless love, giggles galore, and innumerable proud memories including so many joyful triumphs and firsts:  first smiles, coos, rolls, babbles, crawls, words, steps, friends, bus rides, school days, sports teams, goals, trophies, stories, dances, dates, etc. (the thoughts of which still - and forever will- lead me to tears).

I have also gained daily doses of pure goodness, and I am so fortunate to have nearly three little beings  that are true blessings in my life.  Some days I feel as if I don't deserve them.  They're so impressionable, so innocent, so genuine, so very sweet, too perfect to be from me, and simply angelic when they're sleeping.  Best of all  --  they're my whole world.  So when petty things pass my way or I am feeling beaten and beyond weary, I must remind myself of these blessings, be thankful for my role as a parent, ask for patience, and thank God for my babies and for the gratuitous steady doses of the free drug that is adrenaline.  It keeps me going, and going, and going....

Mommies' Magic Secrets Revealed

Some words that come to mind when I think of a magician are entertainer, illusionist, performer, charmer, escape artist, wizard, and occasionally genius.  After pondering all the things we mommies do to survive just one day, I firmly believe those words describe us, too. 

Mommies are most certainly entertainers.  In fact we spend roughly 90% of our day entertaining our children, significant others, our neighbors, co-workers, the general public, etc.  Face it - we're funny, unpaid comedians.  We are diversified actors that can take on any genre from drama to suspense to action.  We consistently play the role of alien in our own sci-fi show and sometimes venture to the horror realm as zombies.

We just may be the best illusionists to have walked the planet.  We are walking, talking optical illusions.  We spend the brunt of our day in an exhausted haze while attempting to take care of our own needs when those of others naturally come first, multi-tasking between chores, errands, parenting, discipline, and yes, indeedy - entertaining.  We amaze all with the visual phenomena that we epitomize.  Some of the secrets to our illusions include:

• Eyes in the Backs of Our Heads:  It's actually a sixth sense.  We just know when something bad is about to occur.  We sense it when Bobby is about to get out of time-out to push his sister...again...we simply visualize who stole the cookies from the cookie jar (we are experts at determining guilt & innocence).
• The Extending Arm:  While listening to screams with a smile, we can extend one arm at least 6 inches to reach the fallen paci stuck in a car seat, catch a cup before it spills, and we may nearly tear our rotator cuff, but we can wrangle the legs and arms that are flailing at our driver seat because we refused to buy the Fruity O's.  Standing our ground is imperative, & it's something moms do best.
• The Button:  We manage to hold things together.  Where there's a hole we promptly patch it up.  We do this by casting all of our other tasks aside and handling the matter at hand immediately.
• Departing Fake-out:  "Goodbye, Bobby!  I'm going home!"  We use said phrases when a kid has gotten out of control or is refusing to listen & leave when we say it's time to go, but we don't really mean this.  Unless...the kid is uber head strong...which was the case when my brother demanded a pretzel at Richway at the age of 10.  My mother pulled the Departing Fake-out and he absolutely refused to follow.  She left the store, calmly directed her two scared yet obeying daughters into the back of the station wagon, and circled the parking lot until he ran out of the store crying for her.  Sometimes this illusion must be grandiose to be effective.

Combine a stay-at-home mom's roles on a salary calculator, and she'd be worth more than some of the highest paid CEO's and should certainly be considered worth more than Oprah.  Working moms are champs, too, and I'm amazed at the order in their homes.  Moms are performers.  We perform numerous roles all day long from nurturer to enforcer, cop to attorney, cook to janitor, facilities manager to teacher, chauffeur to psychologist...the role play is dauntingly never ending.  As wives we also role play, but those secrets are only shared in the inner sanctum of book clubs, play groups, and other places where men are absent. 

While performing, we moms must also be charming.  We are expected to rarely let the public see that we are coming apart at the seams.  When our child throws itself down in the cereal aisle demanding the box with the toy & most sugary contents inside, we are to smile at any and all passersby that ignorantly make snide remarks.  The one remark that leads me to envision knocking said passerby's teeth out:  "Looks like you've got your hands full."  Don't say that.  Don't ever say that to a mom.  She may be on the edge, and you may find yourself needing dentures.

Hence, we are escape artists.  Given situations like the latter moms must escape and be creative in planning  routes.  Sometimes this means a full grocery cart is left behind for some poor store clerk to discover, grumble over, and restock, but there's always an escape route.  Most moms seek it as they enter any retail store and know it like the back of their hand.  Even in the confines of our homes we are escape artists.  My cherished, secret hideout is my closet.  It triples as my phone booth, occasional safe house where my tension breakers can  be safely unleashed, and sadly it's become sanctuary.  It's where the tiger disappears to after "Abra Cadabra" (or some other choice words) has been exclaimed (muttered...).

Our wizardry is unparalleled.  We have amazing skills.  We are excellent jugglers.  We consistently astonish crowds with our clever feats.  On occasion skeptics may even refer to us as witches (or worse), but once again we simply smile and disregard their blatant disrespect and idiocy.  We can gracefully emulate the octopus.  It's too bad that evolution hasn't yielded more arms to moms over time.  They invisibly seem to grow as our families do though.  History has shown that moms can silently treat just about any bad behavior, and they don't need a wand to do it.  The Silent Treatment has proven to be more effective than displaying anger by yelling, etc.  At times, our children observe us and must imagine us wearing dark, sparkly cloaks and pointy hats (our husbands probably do, too). 

Lastly, we wizards can cast a spell sure to change any child's future.  It consists of ten little words:  "Someday, I hope you have a kid just like you." 

This powerful curse has been time tested & handed down from mother to child for generations.  It works.  My kids suddenly become nudists after bath time just as I was as a child.  They are neurotic about their territory and overly protective of their things.  They fearlessly seek adventure and enjoy jumping from furniture and other heights.  Their shins are covered in bruises as they've inherited my klutzy propensity.  They have the ability to be deaf to my demands just as I did to my poor mom.  It's the magically perplexing circle of life...

Now that I've revealed some of this mommy's magic, I hope fellow mommies will share their tricks, too.  Pass them along to other mommies, and when your daughters are married and old enough to have their own children (say around 25+), share your magic with them, but share in a way that isn't overbearing.  Momzillas are real.  Don't be one.  Indeed some of mommy's magic is innate, ingrained in a female's peculiar DNA, but some of it comes from a mommy's tremendous experience.  At times a mommy's experiences are overwhelming, but for the most part experiencing motherhood is purely magical.

Calming Moving Madness

After brief consideration, some lost sleep, lots of talking in circles, and clearly seeing that the cons immensely outweighed the pros, dear hubby turned down a job offer thirty minutes outside of NYC this week.  I fully supported his decision for a number of reasons - mainly:

 #1.  We are happy where we are - happier than any place we've ever lived. 

 #2.  I'm preggers, and a move & uprooting our kids is not something I crave at the moment. 

 #3.  The cost of living is astronomical and way beyond NOT worth it. 

From a career standpoint it would have been great for him, but we've reached a point where there's so much more to life.

All of this moving chatter led me to reflect on all the moves I've made in my life and how many dear hubby and I have made together.  As a kid  my family moved when I was two (don't remember it), nine (not easy), sixteen (utterly devastating - but I never would have met dear hubby had that move not taken place), and eighteen (then, I was carefree and off to college). 

Dear hubby and I were married in 2000, and even though "the time and place for everything is college" the real adventures really began upon graduation (well, the legal adventures...just kidding, of course..).  It's always fun to watch people's faces contort and hear their response to this sentence:  "We moved seven times in the first eight years of marriage."  It's true (trust me...I've got unpacking down to a science), and no, dear hubby is not in the military.

Through all of these moves we've had one constant companion, our pound puppy that we adopted in '98:

Mickey is the best damn dog on the planet.  There I said it.  He is.  He's a well travelled dog that came to live with us in Clemson, SC (and a brief stint in Central, SC) before embarking on our first move to Asheville, NC.  Where we left our hearts when we moved a year later to Americus, GA.

The movers who packed us were like none I had ever encountered (well, until we moved a year later...).  One tall, scrawny mover in particular drove me nuts with his lengthy smoke breaks with barn doors agape, slow wrapping of single utensils, snacking on food from my pantry, and commentary on my collection of dish soap under the kitchen sink.  He said it would make for a great bubble bath, and I gave him the biggest bottle (even after he snatched some mini Reese's Cups).  It took them more than a day to pack our 1,008 sq. ft. apartment!

We diligently cleaned the apartment and drove all night only to arrive in Americus in the wee hours of the next day.  Desperately wanting showers before sleeping on the floor of our new apartment, we realized we had no towels and made a dreaded 1:00 a.m. trip to Wally World.  What an introduction to our new home town that was...whew, we were lucky to have survived that...remember that novel turned movie Where the Heart Is that stars Natalie Portman who lives in a Walmart, becomes a teen mother, and names her baby Americus?  Well...

Americus, GA was an interesting place surrounded by armadillo road kills and those odd walking stick bugs - a home to some real, ridiculous good ol' boys flying their hate (err, uh - "pride") flags, tense racial controversy & actual ignorant men in sheets, the drama of southern belles abounding, and a serious haves/have nots dichotomy...but it was also home to some of the best eats we'd ever had - real soul food.  Glady's Kitchen - when I die I hope to have endless  Glady's fried green tomatoes and butter rolls in heaven.  Dear hubby's barber also cut Jimmy Carter's hair regularly.  In fact, we visited Maranatha Baptist Church where President Carter teaches two Sundays/month.  It was awesome to be in a room with him and an honor to hear him speak.  I had my favorite, most challenging job of them all with Big Brothers Big Sisters of America in Cordele, GA, the Watermelon Capitol of the World.  Stories from that job of the things and people I encountered could easily take over this blog...

After a year it was time to leave Americus, and we most certainly wouldn't miss our neighbors on one side who fought all night and on the other side who blasted the stereo until 4:00 a.m. and constantly took our chairs off our porch for their parties without asking.  You would have thought our movers found a pot of gold when they grabbed a box off the moving truck and used it to catch a big turtle hanging out by the pond in front of our building.  They were hollering and jumping around and telling us about the stew they would make at their motel that night.  Now, I don't know where they were staying that would allow for the proper set up to stew a turtle the size of a basketball, but I sure was glad that we were hitting the road and heading back to Asheville, NC for another year!

Dear hubby was summoned back to Asheville to be the "axe-man" at the first plant that he ever worked at as it was sadly laying off workers left and right and moving product lines to Mexico.  This year went by in a blink.  It was great to be back in the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains and once again living in Bohemian bliss only three miles from the Biltmore Estate.  We had it made and didn't know it.  As the year ended we found out we were moving to the armpit of New York state...Olean...smack dab in the center of the snow belt.  There we bought our first house, a charming Cape Cod built in 1940 that I really put some TLC into over the next 18 months, and there we also bought our first and hopefully last snow blower.

We drove all night to get there, so excited to have keys in hand to our first house ever.  It was March 16th, and the temperature was below freezing.  We went outside on our new deck just before going to bed to let our dog out (& smoke a cigarette - a bad habit we quit a year later and have remained cig-free since).  I was wearing pj's and flip flops and Josh was in a t-shirt and shorts.  The dog quickly did his business and went back in.  We stayed on the porch and shut the door behind him only to quickly realized the knob was locked.  NO!  It was 11:00 p.m., we had no way in, were dressed inappropriately (I should add that I was blind without my glasses and bra-less - lovely).  THIS is how we introduced ourselves to our neighbor, Bob, a professor at St. Bonaventure University.  URGH! 

He was kind enough to let us into the warmth of his house while we used his phonebook and phone to find a locksmith.  What a bad first impression and what dumb southerners he must have pegged us as.  We had exactly $50 in cash courtesy of dear hubby's parents for incidental travelling funds.  The locksmith's fee = exactly $50.  The movers arrived the next day, St. Patrick's Day, and so did EIGHTEEN INCHES OF SNOW!  Welcome to Western NY.  What a mess, but what stories we have from the blustery stint on our Village street.  It was there where we met some of the best friends we've ever had and became godparents.

After that we were off to Hartland, a town just outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin - less snow, but even colder temps.  It was there that after two+ years of trying and two rounds of fertility drugs, our first child was born and there that I began my current profession as a stay-at-home-mom.  Dear hubby travelled bi-weekly to New York for a year.  It was a little rough, but I had great friends to rely on.  It was also there that we moved in at the height of the bubble where we bought a very Brady '70's house for nearly twice the price of our last house  and there that we moved away just as the bubble burst and our Brady house declined substantially in value.  Thank goodness for good corporate relocation programs that once upon a time offered buy-outs and a handy man who took a snow blower as pay!

Back to the Carolinas we happily trekked with our old buddy dawg, Mickey, and our four month old bubbly boy.  Greenwood, SC was a convenient place for us as Clemson football fans, and thus, season tickets became a necessity.  It was also only a 1.5 hour jaunt to our parents' houses.  Dear hubby was still travelling a lot, but this time he was off to more exotic locales, like Mexico and China for weeks at a time.  It was rough, but I somehow survived it, and even managed to become preggers again...shortly after our sweet daughter was born dear hubby's company was pushing to move us to TX.

We were so happy to be back in the Carolinas that we just didn't want to start moving all over the U.S. again, and forget Houston and it's ranking as the #1 crime city at the time.  No way.  It became apparent that this wasn't really up for debates, so dear hubby sent his resume in for one job of interest near Raleigh, NC.  Lo and behold, that one step landed us where we are now nearly 3.5 year ago.  We once again moved with a four month old, our aging dog, and our curious toddler boy.  It wasn't fun as we lived in corporate housing for a few months until the transition from house to house took place. 

THIS is the longest we've lived anywhere.  THIS has been our favorite house and our first new house, so it really feels like it's ours.  The pathetic yard was a blank slate and is still a work in progress.  Our kids have oodles of little friends that have come to be like our own in some ways (after all, it takes a village).  THIS is our favorite neighborhood, and we are fortunately surrounded by an Angel Network of favorite neighbors that we'll just have to pack up and take with us some day, but not today and not tomorrow.  We are indefinitely opting to put an end to the moving madness and simply choosing to love life here...for now...

In a Preggo State of Mind

As Billy Joel sang:

"Some folks like to get away

Take a holiday from the neighborhood

Hop a flight to Miami Beach

Or to Hollywood...”

But I'm taking a breather

On the Baby Brain Line

I'm in a Preggo state of mind...