Same Old, Same Old

Our lives have settled into somewhat of a routine and I'm thankful for that. We have things to do every week, we have our days where we go adventuring, we do laundry, we eat dinners at (somewhat) the same time each night, we see people we enjoy seeing -- it's just nice. I'm not someone who enjoys a life of total unpredictability and I like looking forward to some of our activities each week. We are still out there trying new and different things (today's attempt to take Jack to Spanish story hour at the library -- a big fat failure. I thought I was being fancy and he'd suddenly wake up tomorrow being bilingual... until I remembered that a) he doesn't sit really well for English story hour where he understands some of what is going on and b) he doesn't really speak much of anything yet) but we are also enjoying doing activities that we already know we like. Life is still plenty interesting but it's nice to be able to answer that we're just up to the same old, same old when people ask these days.

Here's what happens if you ask Jack where he is (that's him playing peekaboo)... 

except it's not always the best idea when his hands are covered in sauce... 

This was the outcome of our serious, serious snowstorm last week. Mikey the snowman did come out of it but alas, we've lost him to some sunshine. 

Return of the Cruise Directors

We are back to adventuring, which is one of my favorite things about moving to a new place (another one of my favorites is that other moms haven't caught on yet that my children will pillage anyone else's snack food that is brought to the playground or the beach or for a walk. Admittedly, I am one of those epically under-prepared moms who rarely remembers to bring all the right gear anywhere I go, but I do,  usually, bring some sort of food for my little ones because they are hounds and shameless beggars. Whatever I bring, though, never stacks up to whatever someone else brings. Thank you for all the feeding of my children that you did, Tricia and Jessie. You guys may be bankrupt now but my kids are fully fed. And I digress again...).

I think we've decided that the getting to wherever we are going is half the fun -- or at least that's the bill of goods we're trying to sell Molly and Jack. After fun and very-patient-with-her-mini-stalker Auntie Holly left this weekend (after a very enjoyable Saturday of sledding with the cousins and getting Katy and Emmy up on Molly's skis... which went over much better than when John dropped Molly because she clocked him in the knee cap with the skis), we took the ferry over to Bainbridge Island and wandered around, played at the playground, and scouted the beach for the best rocks out there to throw in the water. We found a snail with no shell that Molly very, very thoughtfully used her newly acquired "science finger" to gently touch (the nice staff at the aquarium taught Molly all about using her pointer finger to gently touch the sea creatures. The no manhandling rule went over much better from them than it would have from me) and just generally wandered around the beach. I could do that all day, every day. I love the beach during the shoulder seasons (or approaching the shoulder seasons). It's quiet, usually peaceful, and there's just lots of interesting things to discover. 

It's good to be back out doing new and fun stuff and to get to be tourists in our own backyard. I just hope the small ones are ready to experience whatever random event we cook up because really, that's our specialty and probably the type of trip planning we're best at. 

Note: I am really that unprepared... while it was a very mild day on Monday, I managed to bring two hats for Jack and none for Molly. Thankfully, Jack's giant head came to the rescue again since his hat fit her just fine. See, it all works out.

Jingle Bells

You know who helps set the world a little straighter when things are feeling a little bit stressful? Johnny Jingles (we keep calling him that despite it sounding like a creepy name... not that we go around calling him that all the time but when the shoe fits...). My musical talents, like my gift for foreign languages, is rather non-existent. I'm definitely more of an observer/appreciator than a participator in this arena (I get nervous whenever we have to sing the hello song at the library). Thankfully, because Molly and Jack both love to groove (and sing. Jack has just started to sing and it's very funny to hear him warble out a completely non-recognizable tune. His current favorite is "Stayin' Alive". I can only tell that it's that song because he sings very high notes and does his little finger pointing dance.), John can morph into Johnny Jingles and get the wiggles out with these most wiggly of creatures with just a few strums on the old guitar. Aside from the peace of mind knowing that they are happily entertained in a mostly non-dangerous or bruise inducing activity, it's also really fun to have them share something special with their dad. I'm not sure "Wheels on the Bus" was what he was anticipating being his claim to fame when he spent all those summer days practicing on his guitar in the bike shop, but it's where life has taken all of us now. There are lots of activities that I get to participate in with these monkeys but Johnny Jingles doesn't get the same opportunities since he's bringing home the bacon. It thrills me that this is something that I can keep my mitts out of and let these three at it. Having both kids at an age when they can laugh and dance and have fun with stuff like this is really neat. I love babies but I also love this stage where they can be wacky kids and are more engaged and starting to figure out what is interesting and fun and giggle-inducing. I also love to sit back and watch and not wrangle someone's finger out of a light socket. It's rare that we get to truly observe and not participate with our kids and it's a spectacular gift.

Thank you, finally, for all the calls and emails -- the support is incredible. 

Mea Culpa

It's funny... I haven't felt much like writing a lot lately, which is not like me. I am an external processor -- my inner dialogue is pretty lame and I need to say things out loud, even if it's just between me and the shower (although, let's be honest, the number of showers I've had by myself lately are about, hmmmm, none). I love to talk things out but I also really need to write. I use this blog, I use a *gasp* paper journal on and off, I use email, I use post-it notes, I use lists, I use the backs of envelopes... some of it is organized, most of it isn't, and a lot of it is making notes and lists that the mom-I-want-to-be would be very proud of because it means I have my stuff together, which I most certainly do not. It's all writing, though, and it's all ways for me to feel like I'm living my life productively.

But, lately, I haven't been writing. My receipts are very unsullied and kinda organized and I don't even have post-it notes anywhere that I can find them. I have been rolling this thought around in my head -- what does it mean that I haven't been writing -- and I finally came to a place tonight where I decided that while I've just been riding along with a natural ebb and flow, it's time to ebb back toward scribbling on my post-its. Part of me knows that because I don't have an everyday companion to talk about things with right now, I have been more internal, that the mundane things don't casually come up in chatty conversation and therefore the deeper things don't creep out either. On the positive side, however, it feels like our family has finally turned a corner in what has turned out to be a very difficult preceding couple of months. Our living situation in Penticton was stressful and the the move itself, while welcome, came at a difficult time and was a little busy to coordinate. I also missed being home in New England because my brother's family was going through their own difficult time and I couldn't do anything to help out. Now, though, for lots of different reasons the proverbial light is blinking away at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Our house is cozy and cute and homey  and doesn't have a dozen strangers trouping through it every week since it's not on the market. John's workload is lighter, we have family close by, we're finding stuff to do -- there is so much to do here, wow -- and I'm just that much closer to being able to get on a plane home should I need to. All of this indicates to me that there was too much going on to be able to process any of it. At the risk of sounding dramatic (there's already a little too much drama in my house these days), life had become a lot about getting up and getting through the day, more about existence, rather than really -- oh, I'm going to say it, get ready -- sucking the marrow out of life. I feel the marrow-sucking itch returning, though. I feel more ready to laugh and say "sure, go ahead if it makes you happy" to my wild and crazy daughter who is very hilariously cranky sometimes (but keeps hitting her brother, grrrr) yet still impossibly funny and clever (and cute, she reminds me). I feel more ready to hold and snuggle Mr. Beefcake rather than absent-mindedly pick him up and put him down a dozen times a day. I feel very ready to enjoy Jack's own Oscar-worthy performances when we throws himself on the floor because he really needed those grapes or to give Molly the undivided attention that she needs rather than being continually exasperated and getting my knickers in a twist about little things. My munchkins deserve a better mom than they've been getting, frankly. I was doing too much managing and not not enough examining where they were coming from. I didn't stop and stoop down to their level enough over the past few months and I really was looking at the world from five feet in the air rather than three feet, and three feet is where all the good stuff happens. It was a vicious cycle of not processing my stuff and unknowingly getting tangled up in it. It meant nothing good for anybody, but I hate the disservice that it does to my kids the most.

I don't know why I'm writing all of this, exactly, other than to say thanks (again) to all those who have been stuck reading kinda lame blog entries or who are wondering why I don't email back for two days. I haven't felt like thinking, or I couldn't really think because there was too much stuff bubbling right below the surface that I didn't want to look at. I wasn't sad or angry or pissy every day or anything, but I wasn't really present. Being present is what I strive for -- I know that I will continue to make a million mistakes a day with my little people but if I can at least be present for them, well, than I feel successful.

This blog is a little over three years old and it's a treasure trove for John and me. We love looking back at pictures and seeing what life has morphed into since we started recording it in this way. I'm not sure what I'll think about these past few months a year from now, but I needed some public cleansing for myself and to take this opportunity to scratch beneath the surface a little bit. I'll save you all from any more of my babbling, random thoughts but the act of putting fingers to keyboard here jump starts the whole process for me. This probably won't make sense to anyone else but thank you for bearing with me. I don't know if I'll post anything more interesting in the near future, but maybe you'll at least be interested in hearing about our cute neighborhood or, just to stick it to you easterners one more time, our lack of snow (there is snow in the forecast for the weekend so you can laugh at me then). I'm not a super writer, please don't think that I believe that about me-self, but I do like it and, apparently, need to do it. I also can actually stomach to re-read what I write here most of the time as opposed to some of my journal entries from high school -- those are just painfully awful.

This is what my climbing monkey likes to do all day long -- up, down, up, down, up, down.

And this was what my domestic diva fixed for herself for breakfast the other morning. I heard rustling in the kitchen sometime around 6:30 and came out to this scene. Proud as punch of herself to have rummaged up some carrots and hummus... I'm just glad that she has outgrown cracking eggs on the kitchen floor.

Color Me Beautiful

With those fun finger paints that the little people received for Christmas we were able to keep ourselves busy for a morning (maybe no the whole morning but I'll take whatever chunk of time I can get). 

"Hey ma, what's this stuff?"

"Mom, have you noticed that I like to get messy? Have you noticed that this is a sanctioned activity?"

And once again, it has turned into body paint.

This is serious business

"Is this what I do to get my myself maximum messy?"

Coming to a close on this activity. The gleam in her eye never leads to good things when paint is involved. 

Another Round of the Holly Jollies

We had another round of Christmas here this week. We hadn't caught up with my family for the holidays yet so my mom's sleigh brought goodies for all of us (and the moving van brought stuff for my everyone else). I started looking at the pictures today and realized that apparently it was cool to be semi-nudie for this portion of the holiday (when is it ever not okay?!). We don't usually do nekked Christmas but maybe it'll have to become some sort of annual tradition.

Molly's favorite present -- a berry bowl. Oh wait, I'm sorry, that was for my mom but Molly just helped everyone unwrap his or her presents. 

This one was for her and Jack -- think the paint can tame the wild mane?

Finish the statement: "I am cool because..." a) I can  look like a dude in my new jean jacket or b) because someone who shall remain nameless taught me to climb and stand on the table. 

I'm not sure if he's trying to pull off a wailing rocker look or just a wailing look because he was removed from his perch (see above). 

Thankfully, recoveries are fast around here. 

I Will Survive

It's been a completely nutso week and a half. Last Monday we had no stuff, Tuesday we had a lot of boxes, by Thursday we were seeing the floors and by Saturday, things actually felt somewhat organized. Add into the mix that John had a huge product release and` was working like a dog on and things have seemed, well, completely out of control. My mom swooped in, THANK GOODNESS, and pretty much saved my sanity (or whatever of it I have left). It was great to have the companionship, the extra eyes, extra hands, and just help. I knew she had been lifesaving but I didn't realize how much so until I dropped her off at the airport this morning and came home to begin life on my own again... and promptly "lost" my keys (see, I'm not sure I actually lost them. I will claim culpability, however, for putting them in a location where someone else could "find" them and then hide them in a box full of cables and surge protectors). No keys meant that we couldn't drive to tumbling and it's never advisable to stand between Molly and tumbling. Then, because I was totally distracted looking high and low for lost keys, I didn't stay with Jack while he climbed up the stairs, which he has done on his own at least 180 times with no problems... until today when he tumbled down (I don't even want to admit how many steps he went over) and ended up with perhaps the world's largest goose egg on his forehead. John assures me that an article he read about kids falling down stairs indicated that there are usually no long term implications and most kids suffer fractures not brain swelling or bleeding... great. 

I'm hopefully on track to recovery, now. Keys were found, bribery for some other treat seemed to be the salve needed to recover from no tumbling, and Jack was back to his cheerful self pretty quickly... still, maybe my mom shouldn't have left. It wasn't nice of her to do that to me.