Monday, February 24, 2014

I guess we're not done nursing...

So B weaned in early December.

It was a hormonal event for me. I was little sad at first. Then probably a bit over-elated. I celebrated by buying a real bra.

And then it happened.

I didn't even know it could happen, especially after 3 months.

A week ago he asked if he could nurse after I got out of the shower.

I'd heard of this. I was prepared for this.

It's common for toddlers who have weaned to ask to nurse to see what their mother will say. It's typically not a big deal. Many giggle and run away. That is that.

B latched on for a whole 5 seconds, laughed and kissed my boobs, and ran off.

And that was that.

Or so I thought.

The next day he asked to nurse again.

Again, I obliged him. I've always wanted breastfeeding to be a beautiful and happy thing. And although mentally I was never going to breastfeed again, I figured maybe he was just needing a little help realizing that he'd chosen to stop, and wanting confirmation in some way that that was okay.

He latched on again for 5 seconds, and then said, "Momma, lay down with me to nursie."

I know I hesitated, but then I hoisted him onto my hip and took him into my bedroom and we snuggled and he latched on. After maybe 20 seconds he squealed, "Milk!"

I looked down where he'd come unlatched and saw a thick, yellowish milk. In hindsight it looked similar to colostrum, but at that moment I wasn't sure if I should be concerned or allow him to keep breastfeeding. But there was no stopping him now. He'd struck gold!

I made him unlatch about a minute later, just so I could see, and sure enough, there was actual, white, normal-looking milk. And he filled his tummy to his hearts content.

I wasn't sure if it was going to be a fluke or not.

It's not.

Since then he's gone back to breastfeeding every morning and evening.

I'm cool with this. I can still wear my normal bra. Which is nice.

H wanted to try too, since B was. But she seems to have completely lost her ability to properly suck. Though she was awfully determined.

So I guess B isn't weaned. I guess he was just taking a break.

And surprisingly, this isn't as uncommon as I'd assumed after talking to a handful of mommas who'd had similar experiences.

Truthfully, I was completely at peace with the fact that I'd never breastfeed again.

But I guess now I will be at peace with the fact that I am in fact breastfeeding again. And I have no idea when I'll be done.

And next time I'll wait a solid year before declaring anyone has weaned. Because my children love to make a liar out of me, ha.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Deeply. Unconditionally. Eternally.

So, we had a scary moment this morning. Everyone is fine, but for a split second I had a million thoughts of what it would be like to lose J.

And let me tell you - it was devastating.

Because a lot of people who read this know us in real-life, I won't discuss the details of what happened because I know J wouldn't like that. Whereas I'm an open book, he likes his privacy, and I try really hard to respect that, though admittedly it is hard sometimes.

Anyway. For that split second, before I realized what was going on, I thought he might die. And that terrifying realization that J is in fact, not immortal, was a harsh blow to reality.

We joke about him growing old. Me changing his diapers and wiping drool from his face. He always says if he gets to that point to hand him the keys and enjoy the life insurance travelling the world.

I would never do that. I tell him that. I would never let him go that easily. Because he is my heart. He is my love. He is irreplaceable and far too precious to simply let go without a fight. Even to old age and death.

I know that there is always the possibility that he could be hit by a bus today, or even that smidgen of a chance that he could up and leave me one day. My whole life is based on being at home. Being his wife. Being a mom to H and B. I rarely let my mind wonder to the "what ifs" of life. Because the truth is, I don't have an answer to everything.

I do have a plan for if he died or left me. Quite frankly, that was something we discussed together. Obviously we were discussing it as if he died, but it works for if he up and left me, too.

I love J. That's not a secret. But sometimes in the mundane day-to-day life, it gets lost a little. Not the love, but the extent of my love. I always try not to take him for granted, but I do. I know I do.

The fact that no matter the issue, no matter the problem, he has a solution, I take for granted. The fact that nothing ever makes him angry or stressed out, I take for granted. The fact that he doesn't say a word of dispute when he walks in after a long day, and I'm spent so I head for a long hot shower or grab the keys to have a few minutes of quiet grabbing a coffee or browsing the bookstore, I take for granted. The fact that I have everything I need, and I never have to worry about not having the things I need, I take for granted.

Yes, I certainly take him for granted. And I don't mean to. Most of the time I don't even realize it. And yet it happens.

But today has rattled my bones. It's a good reminder that he, nor anyone else, is immortal. That we all come and go, according to no particular schedule, with no control over it ourselves.

I have an amazing, beautiful, loving husband. And together we've created a family that is joy and perfection to my heart.

And today I will hold on to that just a little tighter. I'll be a lot more thankful and say an extra prayer of gratitude to the big man upstairs for providing me with so much - so much happiness and love. And for reminding today not to take it all for granted. Because it could all be lost in the blink of an eye. I certainly won't forget that.

So hold onto your spouse or significant other today just a little tighter. Remind yourself of all the reasons they're so amazing and all the reasons you fell in love with them. And tell them. Tell them you love them.

I tell J and the kids I love them every single day. Multiple times a day.

I used to ask J if it bugged him that I said it so much. Randomly. He always said no. And he always said, "I love you" back.

But I don't say it because I need the affirmation of his love. I say it because I want to be sure he never doubts is. I say it because I love him so much I can't keep myself from blurting it out all the time. I say it because if something were to ever happen to him, I want to know that one of the last things I said was that I love him. Deeply. Unconditionally. Eternally.

Friday, February 21, 2014

The best doctor ever

We have an amazing pediatrician.

And yes, she is getting a whole blog post of me just expressing how much I adore her.

I feel like it is hard to find a good doctor. And nearly impossible to find a GREAT doctor.

And yet we scored the jackpot with Dr. F.

Because she's awesome.

She genuinely cares about her patients. Or if it's all an act, it's a really damn good one. Because I certainly cannot tell. And I'm pretty good at deciphering people.

From day one she's been amazing. Never concerned that my 99th% first child was "overeating" whilst I had friends being told to schedule their babies to keep them from being fat (for real!). And when she dropped down to the 10th% at 18 months she was never concerned or encouraging me to wean her so she'd eat more solid foods, or suggest I feed her more. She just smiled and said she was hitting all of her milestones and neither of her parents are large people. She just found her curve. Not to worry.

When my 1 year old, 2 year old, and then 3 year old (we'll see what she says at 4) still wasn't sleeping through the night, she never once recommended we let her cry it out. Instead she simply said, "Most kids sleep best with their parents." When I admitted she was all ready with us, she simply said, "All kids sleep through the night on their own time. And some kids will just be poor sleepers forever. You can't force her to sleep. You just get to choose how you handle it, and you are great parents, so I know you handle it well." And she left it at that. I was so relieved that she wasn't trying to "fix" my daughter and she felt confident in her sleeping when she was ready.

When a dumbass doctor in NM gave my daughter an outdated antibiotic that was only even ever allowed for adults, and at 3x the dose an adult would be given, she talked to me personally on the phone and then she immediately called in an appropriate antibiotic (the only time my kids have ever even been on an antibiotic!) and came in to work early the day we returned so that she could fit H into her schedule. Your typical doctor doesn't do that.

She stitched up Mr. B's chin last Friday while he screamed the whole time. Try stitching a moving target. I can't imagine it'd be easy but she made it seem like such a simple feat and even told the nurse, who was constantly saying, "Lio, stop crying, you're not helping." to "Please stop it. You're not helping him." And when Dr. F was all done B proclaimed, "I don't like you!" and the nurse said, "Oh, yes, you do love Dr. F."

And Dr. F immediately said, "I understand. I wouldn't like me very much either right now."

Today when we went to get B's stitches removed - a procedure you only see a nurse for - Dr. F made sure to stop in and ask how he was doing. She didn't have to check on him. She wasn't being paid for that. But she did it anyway.

When I brought both of my babies in for the first time after they were born, both times she commented on healthy they were and how I was made to have babies at home. And it was nice to see more babies being born at home. Um...WHAT!? Most doctors seem to be SO against homebirth.

When I stated we would not circumcise our son, her response was, "No need to fix something that isn't broken on a perfect baby." Yep, she has my heart.

She's always been so encouraging of my breastfeeding them past a year. She said, more than once, "The longer they get your milk, the better. Keep on going as long as you both want." A lot of doctors are not very knowledgeable on breastfeeding at all. I've had friends encouraged to wean after 6 months because their milk was "watery and had no nutrients." I've had friends told to give their kiddos whole cows milk instead of breast milk, or to supplement with it, in order to get their kids to gain, which is really terrible advice.

Dr. F has been amazing with our choice not to vaccinate. Not once has she ever asked us to reconsider, or try to give us more information or dissuade us from our choice. Instead, before H was even born and we interviewed her (yes, I am that anal!) she simply said, "This is what the APA recommends. I think a delayed schedule is a good idea, but the decision is yours. We have a book here about all the vaccines if you'd like to read it or would like me to go over it with you." And that was that. Nothing more.

Even when I took B in for stitches and the not-sweet nurse said, "Oh, he hasn't had a tetnus shot? Do you want to do that?" Dr. F stepped in and said, "This isn't really the appropriate time for that."

Have I mentioned how much I freaking adore Dr. F? Like simply adore her.

She follows all the rules and regulations, of course, but she goes above and beyond and truly cares about her patients and believes in the parents ability to make the right decisions for their kids.

H has sleep apnea and we've had a lot of talk about how to proceed. But H doesn't have big tonsils, which Dr. F said the children's hospital would likely remove as a first step. J and I don't want that, and Dr. F doesn't want that either. And so she's worked diligently with us to come up with better alternatives, to keep just waiting it out, and to also know when we need to stop waiting and do something.

She's not a candy doctor. She doesn't believe in throwing antibiotics at every illness. She has a "wait it out" approach. And it works awesome.

She isn't in and out quick for an appointment. She spends time with the kids. She's thorough on answering any and all questions. And no matter how ridiculously or worried-mom the question is, she always acts like it's totally valid.

It's so, so hard to find such an awesome doctor. But I am so glad that we did. I'm glad I was the crazy first-time-mom who had to interview doctors and then registered my kiddo before she was even born (because by the time she was born she was no longer taking new patients!).

I wish Dr. F took adults as patients, too, ha. Because I've never found a doctor I love for myself. But my kids are more important, so I'm glad we have her for them. And I'm so thrilled she's stellar.

And I think the rest of doctors out there could learn a thing or two from her. Because she's just freaking fantabulous.

That is all

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Flawless

I took H shopping yesterday. We were on a specific mission, which failed, and yet we still made it worth our while.

She pulled me into Express, which admittedly, I hadn't even been into since pre-kids.  But everything was 40% off, and she wanted me to try things on, so I let her pick out an array of clothes for me to try on since she is becoming quite the fashionista as of late, and dresses me most days at home as it is.

In the dressing room I tried on a few things that we both liked. Then I tried on a cute tee and she squealed, "Oh, I loooove it!"

I made a face, I'm sure. And I said, "Eh, it really emphasizes my round tummy."

H leaned forward from the little bench she was sitting on, placing her hands on my stomach and said, "But I love your round tummy, Mommy."

I smiled, kissed the top of her head, and simply said, "Me too."

There was so much I wanted to tell her in that moment. So much she is too young to know. She's so innocent and naïve, and I love that. She will be bombarded with the ideas of beauty and the woes that come with them soon enough.

I wanted to tell her that I'd been told my whole life not to love my round tummy.

That it had been a point of contention my entire life.

That even when I was a tiny girl her age, skinny all over, I still had a round, distended tummy.

That my older brother and sister had called me "beach ball" for years because of it. I'd cried myself to sleep so many nights, certain that my round tummy was why I'd never be beautiful.

And despite what fashion magazines told me a perfect body looked like, despite all the health and fitness magazines that had "a plan" to get rid of that round, distended tummy, I always secretly loved it.

Yes, the very thing that repulsed most people was a thing of love and beauty to me, long before it ever carried two babes, even.

I wanted in that moment to tell my dear H to love her flaws.

But at the same time, she is flawless. So what's not to love?

There will be things she doesn't love about herself. All ready she has moments where she doesn't love the raised birthmark on the inside of her wrist and tells me she wants it off. For now I just kiss it and tell her it's a beautiful part of what makes her her, and I love it so much.

It's crazy, how ordinary moments and simple little comments can illicit so many emotions and thoughts at once.

H told me she loved my round tummy. And in a split second I felt all the feelings of a little girl told it wasn't loveable, and the immense self-love and rebellion of loving it anyway.

And I truly hope my own girl only ever feels the self-love part. That she never believes any part of her person, physical or otherwise, is unlovable. Because she is perfect.

Flawless.

Like all other girls.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

I don't love Valentines Day

It's no secret I'm not a fan of Valentines Day.

I thought maybe once I was married, I'd get more into it. I'm just not.

Maybe even less so now than before.

I mean seriously, come on - one day out of 365 to show my love and affection for someone? What about the other 364 days? They don't matter???

Anyone can go all out on one day. Anyone can be sure to express their love to someone if it's written on the calendar as a reminder.

Personally, it is those other 364 days that matter.

Flowers, candy, romantic dinners, and fabulous sex means nada if it's done because it's "supposed" to be. I'm sorry, but I'll never be the kind of woman wooed by one day out of the year.

Yep, it's the surprise flowers and sweet late-night dinners after the kids are in bed, and talks in front of the TV or in bed with little rugrats squished between us, the quick kisses while making breakfast, etc., etc., that does it for me. Because none of that is forced. None of that is designated to occur because Hallmark officiated it. That stuff is what real love is made of anyway.

Don't get me wrong. I'm trying not to create anti-Valentines little people. So I made obligatory heart-shaped eggs and heart-shaped sandwiches. We made chocolate covered strawberries and Valentines for one another.

And then we rushed off to the pediatrician with a gaping chin wound to be stitched up while my sweet boy screamed, "Momma, I need you! Momma, I'm stuck! I need help. I love you! Save me! I need you, Momma!" And I had to stifle back my own tears and was thoroughly traumatized, much like holding him down when they drew blood intravenously 18 months ago.

Oh my gosh. If I wasn't all ready a fan of Valentines Day, you can be sure I'm really not now. Because I will always think of that moment. And my heart will break again.

So yeah. I don't love Valentines Day. Never have, never will.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

The Pick-Up Crisis

I'm fairly certain H's whole goal in life is to keep me on my toes.

Seriously.

Every time I start to believe that this whole peaceful and non-punitive parenting thing is all a hoax and isn't working; that it's time for me to change my name and move cross country so I can't be found; she throws me for a loop.

I think I've mentioned it before, but H has been testing boundaries religiously as of late. Especially with listening.

Omg.

You'd think I was a slave-driver and demanded a ton from this girl.

Though it's quite the opposite.

I started to think maybe I requested too little. To a fault.

And that was why suddenly things she'd always done without questioning, like helping to pick up, had suddenly become battles of epic proportions or moments where I just walked away, knowing I wasn't going to win anyway.

I mean, I can't force her to pick up her toys. And she knows that I can't. And that is power.

And that kind of power when you're not quite four is thrilling and liberating. And a headache for momma.

The past few weeks of life in this house have been officially come to be known as "The Pick-Up Crisis."

I won't lie. I totally engaged the battle a few times. There were times I threw up my hands and said, "Fine! If you won't pick it up, I will. And what I pick up is going in the closet."

Very mature of me. I know.

Mostly, I was pretty sure I was going to lose my mind over the mess of dress-up clothes and art supplies and too many blocks.

And then we talked. We talked and talked and talked and talked. And then we talked some more.

H was pretty sure she was done talking, but we talked a little bit more.

And we ate cupcakes. Because cupcakes make everything better.

And talked some more.

Mostly, she doesn't love picking up still. But she does most of the time.

I don't expect an immaculate house by any means. But an extreme mess just stresses me out.

Both kids know the rule is when you take one thing out, you put it back before something else comes out.

And they're both pretty good about it until about 4:30pm. Then the "witching hour" which lasts until bedtime starts up and it all goes out the window. So then either I pick everything up after they're asleep or in the morning.

But seriously, I was asking H something like, "Pick up those three dress-up outfits please, while B picks up that puzzle" and she was having none of that shit. And I was frazzled.

Now she's all, "Okay, Mommy!"

I don't know if it was just a phase. Or all the talking. Or what.

But I'm glad it's (mostly) over.

Right in time, I'm sure, for a new awesome phase.

Though hopefully there is nice break until then. ;-)

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Sophie

I've always been pretty open that I'm not entirely sure where I stand with religion.

I mean, I believe in God most of the time, but I have my days.

It was important for me to be married in the Church.

It was important to me that my babies be baptized. And I try my darndest to get them to mass. I want them to have that sense of belonging. And that sense that there is something bigger than them out there.

I'd be thrilled for them to take their first communion. For them to be confirmed.

But if they want something else - if they believe in something else - I'm okay with that too.

I just want them to believe.

In something.

For me, it's the little things. And the big things, that keep me on my religious toes, not quite willing to throw the towel in.

I've had a handful of moments over the years. Those "wow" moments that just aren't able to be explained in any other way other than by the existence of something else. Like God.

This evening while H and I were in the middle of a Momma/Daughter evening - we'd gone for cupcakes and were headed to the supermarket - she was chattering away in the backseat about everything and nothing. Suddenly she got quiet and then said, "Momma, before I was borned I lived in heaven with our Sophie. She loved me and gave me lots of hugs until I could be borned to you"

It takes a lot to send chills down my spine. To make my heart skip a beat or two.

But that did it.

When I was a little girl, my dad and family used to spend a week every summer at my Great Uncle Jim's lake. His wife was the sweetest, homiest, best-smelling, doting aunt a girl could ever want. She loved us all. Unconditionally.

Her name was Sophie.

I am certain that the day she died, my entire family lost a little piece of their own hearts. We were all so connected with that vivacious woman.

And according to my tiny H, my girl whom I've never even spoken to about my Great Aunt Sophie, our Sophie is the one who loved her while she waited to find her home on Earth right in my arms.

So yeah, sometimes I question God. And although there is the obvious that always makes me believe - my kids - because I know that J and I just are not spectacular enough to have created those extraordinary two people all by ourselves; there are those other moments, those "wow" moments. Those moments that send a chill up your spine and make your heart skip a beat.

And I had one of those today.

And I'm so glad our Sophie was there to take care of my beautiful girl before she found her Earthly body. I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to have done that job.


Friday, February 7, 2014

A week in LC

It feels like we were gone for so much longer than a week.

It seems travelling just becomes less fun as the kids' get older. And not because of the kids. They're like the worlds best travelers, and pretty much every other day H is asking for us to whisk her away for a holiday.

But we've got a groove and rhythm down. We have a whole day full of activities for each day of the week. And although I like the idea of living by the seat of my pants, we all have kind of found a great comfort in our weekly routines.

Okay, and truthfully, most travelling is a lot of fun.

There is just NOTHING fun about spending 24 hours one-way in a car. And quite frankly, LC is boring. There isn't really anything there to do.

The getting there is always a breeze. We leave at midnight and drive the 20 odd hours to the kiddos Godparents and crash there. It's probably the best part of the trip. Crashing there. We all have enough space to sleep and it's cozy and the kids love being there. They pretty much talk about their Godparents daily, as well their kids. But that may be because I've kind of talked to them about them a lot. I don't want them being like 12 and asking me, "Who are my Godparents?" Not that I have experienced having done that myself or anything...

Anyway, I digress.

So while we were in Albuquerque J cut all of his hair off.

I'm not sure who was the most affected. Him. Me. Or H.

Okay, yeah, probably H. She cried and broke the poor hair dressers heart. And J's. And mine.

I was the one who'd encouraged him to do it.

In the almost 9 years I've known J (omg, how can it be that long all ready!?), he's never had short hair. I've seen a few pictures of some extremely questionable hairstyles from his younger days, and those short hair dos always really turned me off. But I figured with a style that was a bit better, he could pull it off.

And I was right. He's still a sexy beast.


After his hair removal, we ventured the 4 hours south to his parental units' casa. The kids were tickled pink to see their abuelita.

J pretty much immediately got to work on our money pit house that we still own down there, doing landscaping.

While the kids and I spent the next few days playing at parks and Barnes and Noble, he worked his ass off and signed on with a rental agency so at least we're not paying for an empty house each month, and the little things that come up with a rental house aren't quite as big of an issue trying to manage them from home. Which was the whole point of this trip.

As J says, eventually we shall get out there just as a vacation to visit. Like we did when H was a baby.

B was absolutely heartbroken when we arrived in LC and he realized I'd forgotten his super hero cape. He's really into capes right now, and I'd totally meant to pack it, but it just got forgotten.

So I spent our first day venturing to wal-mart where the kiddos picked out material (H Tinkerbell, and B dolphins - really, it's whales, but he's set on dolphins), and some needle and thread. I managed to put together the semblances of a cape while the kids played at a playground and I went to work in the 40mph winds. I was pretty certain I'd lost my mind.


J celebrated his 43rd birthday while we were down there. Eek. 43!! I told him how lovely it was that some couples grow old together, but in our relationship, he gets to grow old and I just get to watch. Ha. I so genuinely love him that it still surprises me some days how much so.

While he worked more on the house the morning of his birthday, the kids and I ventured to the local heritage museum.

Yep, they're holding hands. Melt my freaking heart!
 
H and B were so excited that it happened to be the only day where they do pony rides at the Museum. They've been talking about riding ponies for a looooong time. Pretty much since the last time they rode one when we were in Pennsylvania last April.
 


B has really been into hand holding lately. I freaking love it. H has always been very much Little Miss Independent, and has never been into holding hands too much. She was always good about staying near and not running across the street, etc., so we never really pushed it either.

But B. B probably should hold hands anyway. And I love walking beside him and suddenly feeling his little hand find mine and fit just perfectly into my palm.


 

There is a great little park at the museum that the kids loved playing at. Though it started to get super cold and windy and we dodged inside to make some Valentine's crafts afterward.


 I love how that girl is always watching out for her baby brother.
Literally and figuratively.
 I have so many photos of her, always with her eye on him.

When we left the museum we picked up cupcakes for J at Albertson's. They were awesome at making us some dye-free cupcakes. Though they couldn't quite wrap their brains around why I wouldn't want sprinkles on them. So they put some race car rings on them instead.

I'm sure J was overjoyed.

The kids were thrilled to give him his cupcakes and sing happy birthday to him.


We watched the Super Bowl with one of J's good friends and his family. The kids loved having playmates and it was nice to catch up with friends.

Monday the babes and I met up with a B-Town momma who now resides in LC. That was a lot of fun and I'm glad for the awesome connections I've made through fellow mommas.

We spent that evening visiting with another friend.

I spent most of the trip irate with most of population of LC who thinks screaming at and hitting their children is even remotely appropriate or acceptable.

While at Barnes and Noble, after watching a little girl get smacked, more than once, for crying about not having the purple train, H requested we leave because it "made her tummy hurt watching so many mean mommies and daddies." And I hadn't said a single word.

There was some hope though, when we stopped one day at IHOP for a meal and B was really mad about something, so I took him to the bathroom so he could be mad, but not bother the other customers. He locked himself inside a stall for a few minutes while a lady was using another stall. Then he came out and tried to hit me and told me how mad he was. I blocked his hand, of course, and told him I was sorry he was mad. What could we do to help him feel better?

At that point, the lady who'd been using the restroom was out, and she just stood there, watching us, not even trying a little bit not to be obvious.

B yelled a little more, he swung a stall door, he laid at my feet yelling at me. I just kept nodding and telling him I was there when he needed me.

The lady then said to me, "Wow. You are just so calm and patient. That's so cool."

It made me happy to know that not everyone there believes in authoritative parenting. That they're open to kindness and love. There is hope, yet.

And Tuesday the kiddos collected pecans from their grandparents little grove. H thought it was awesome, and loved running them into her abuelita to crack so they could eat them. B loved eating them, but quickly got distracted with Mother Nature. And Papa.







By the time we left for home, both kids were asking to return home. "Let's go home. Our real home. Not Abuelita's," H would say. Pretty much every two minutes that last day. They were as beat as we were.

The drive home is always a million times harder than the drive going. I'm not really sure why, it just is.

So we listened to a lot of Frozen and watched the movie like 6 times on Day 1 until we reached Tulsa, where we'd promised the kids a hotel and pool. We did better than a regular pool, and I found them a hotel with an awesome kiddo pool. It had two water slides and floating lily pads with a net above it. The water was ridiculously warm, and they both could touch in pretty much every single place.

It was great to see them so happy. And B getting so used to and friendly with the water. He's not quite the same kind of water bug H is, but he's coming into it on his own.




Everyone slept so well that night in the hotel - the first time in a week that poor J even got to sleep in a bed - that we slept through our alarms and didn't even care. It was worth it. We all deserved a full nights sleep, which we didn't get while in LC.

The last 12 hours home were hard. The kids were done being in the car. I was done. J was working hard to keep everyone sane.

And we made it. Finally. At last.

Home sweet home.

Despite having my dryer and food processor crap out on me today, I'm glad to be home. Slowly getting back into the routine of things. Getting everything cleaned up and organized - or trying anyway.

I was tickled to have received two canvas prints I'd ordered. There is something really cool about seeing a photo I took on canvas. And because those photos are of the three people I love and cherish most in this world, it's just that much better.

Anyway, we're home. Hoorah.