How to Wrap a Present in 26 Easy Steps

Step 1: Assemble all the items you need.

Step 2: Start rolling out the wrapping paper.

Step 3: Realize you forgot the scissors. And the tape (repeat step 1 as needed).

Step 4: Wrestle the scissors away from toddler.

Step 5: Ignore the screaming.

Step 6: Choose a box from your assortment of Amazon boxes on the garage freezer. Don't worry about taking the shipping label off. Too much work.

Step 7: Eat an Oreo. It says 'limited edition' on the box so you really don't want to procrastinate on eating these. This is a time-sensitive endeavor.

Step 8: Use your amazing sense of measurement for the wrapping paper. You're a college educated individual - surely you can correctly eyeball how much wrapping paper you'll need.

Step 9: Struggle with folding the paper on the ends. Realize that this is fancy wrapping paper (which was given to you by your mom). Cheap wrapping paper folds easily and tears if you use too strong of a grip folding it. This stuff doesn't - it's real wrapping paper, the type sold at fancy department stores where people buy silver baby rattles. Not the sort of stores where your wrapping paper usually comes from - the sort of stores where people buy Slim Jims and Charmin along with their wrapping paper.

Step 10: Ok, so maybe you didn't eyeball the wrapping paper that well. You're just a simple person, for goodness' sakes!

Step 11: Eat an Oreo. 

Step 12: Cut off the excess paper from both ends. You should've moved the box over so you only had one end to cut but you didn't think of that at the time. This has only happened every single time you've wrapped a present in your life, how is a person to know these things? You're not a flippin' magician.

Step 13: Sides trimmed, you now fold up the paper around the main part of the box.

Step 14: Apparently there's not enough paper width-wise.

                                    

Step 15: Stare at the box, wondering how you could have made such colossal errors of measurement with the wrapping paper.

Step 16: Ponder not only measurement skills, but also powers of reasoning and logic and possibly existence.

Step 17: Put "The Office" on for background noise. Drink milk.

Step 18: Take one of the strips of paper trimmed off the ends (Strips of Shame) and tape it to the side of the box to cover your other mistake.

Step 19: Realize you forgot to buy present labels. For the 3rd year in a row. Write the name inside one of the reindeer with Sharpie so it almost looks like you completely planned on the Sharpie route. 

Step 20: Slap a bow on the box. Now tape the bow to the box because the bows are, like, 4 years old and the adhesive has dried up.

Step 21: Repeat for every present. 

Step 22: Enjoy a job well done! 

Step 23: Reward self with Oreos.

Step 24: Feel bad about self, drink lots of water to compensate.

Step 25: Clutch stomach, which now hurts from too much water and too many Oreos.

Step 26: Lay on couch. Watch Netflix.

Haircuts and Fairy Tales

Take the Mirror!

Every time I get my hair cut, the stylist insists that I take a tiny mirror and swivels me around in the chair so I can look into the mirror at the back of my head's reflection in the big mirror. I always dutifully glance even though I don't care a bit what the back of my head looks like. With very few exceptions, my haircut in the back looks identical to what's happening on my sides and I've already seen those by the end of the cut.  Often I'll just give the stylist a vague idea of what I want (not to look like a mushroom) and then tell him or her that I trust them to figure the rest out as they go.

Last week I got my hair cut and the stylist again handed me a mirror to see the back.

"It's ok," I said, "I'm sure the back looks fine. I don't need to see it."

"No, I want you to see it."

And here she swivels me around.

(Wow, this mirror really magnifies my poor, untweezed eyebrows. Is it normal to have eyebrow hair grow this fast? Maybe it's my gummy vitamins...)

"So, how does it look?'

"What? Oh, it looks great. Really lovely."

(I really should try eyebrow waxing. It could change my life.)

The stylist nods contentedly with the knowledge that I am indeed deeply satisfied with how the back of my head looks.

This leads me to believe that stylists must be constantly plagued by customers who come back after a cut, pointing angrily to the back of their heads and yelling "What's the matter with you? The sides of my hair are amazing but the back is an absolute nightmare. People have been laughing at me, literally behind my back, the entire day."

The Brothers Very Grim

My kids will probably tell you I'm mean. Which is true much of the time.  I'm constantly harping on them to clean up, do their math, put their shoes away, and actually use shampoo in the shower and not just wet your hair because I can totally tell. I've heard that being a grandparent is the reward you get for raising your kids and I believe it. My mom tells me she enjoys being able to do fun things and spoil them because she isn't responsible for how they turn out, unlike her own children. Therefore, it's oatmeal at home and 6 bowls of Lucky Charms at my parents.

 In fact, we stayed the night at their house over this past Thanksgiving and my mom bought three different sugary cereals just for their arrival. One was open so I took it out to give to everyone.

 My dad: "No, no, take them all out. They can have whatever they want."

"But this one is open," I sputter.

"It's fine, open them all."

And I'll be darned if my big kids didn't have like 6 bowls apiece, 2 of each kind of cereal.  Seeing how different my own parents are as grandparents, happy and smiling and generally enjoying it, makes me look forward to when I have my own grandkids and I won't have to worry everyday that I'm disciplining too much or too little or that I won't have enough money for therapy someday.

So whenever I can get away with not directly sucking the happiness out of their lives I do. Which means that whenever I read a book aloud or tell a story, I will often sneak in my own sentences so it sounds like it's coming from the author and not me.  For instance:

"Once upon a time there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She was walking through the woods and spotted the house of the three bears. She decided to go in, even though her mom had told her not to but Goldilocks didn't listen to her mom at all which resulted in her almost being eaten by bears, which we'll see later on in the story."

And then later...

"Goldilocks woke up and saw the bears, screamed, and ran way. She vowed from that day forward to be an obedient kid and to always do what her mom says. The end."

Of course, this really only works for Noah. With the older kids I have to be sneakier. Like if I'm reading Harry Potter and come across a section about the trouble the twins get into and how stressed it makes their mother, I might add:

"George and Fred were worried that their mother might be disappointed in them and so they decided to do their best to make good decisions because they realized life would be more enjoyable if they weren't in trouble so much."

Stuff like that.

Of course, there is a risk that someday they'll realize that Hansel and Gretel weren't actually sent out to the woods for punishment for not clearing their dishes and also for arguing over whose cookie was bigger, but it's a chance I'm willing to take.

Adventures in Mediocrity: The St. Augustine 10k

Whenever I run a race (which really isn't often, maybe 4 races so far), I'm always confident. Confident with no reason to be so. For instance, before I showed up to the Outrun Hunger 5k a week and a half ago, I really felt good about my prospects. I've run farther than a 5k so I knew I could finish. Heck, maybe even win. All those other chumps would be left in my dust. Maybe a picture in the local paper the next day, me running through a finish line tape, my arms raised in triumph, headline reads "LOCAL WOMAN ENDS HUNGER."

Something like that.

Of course, it ended up that I was the chump left in the dust, my fat cells begging my brain for a Milky Way. My 7 year old even beat me. Which is to be expected, as she's built like a little Lolo Jones. I knew the race was going to be a bit more difficult than I imagined when I showed up at the 5k and half of the maybe 40 or so runners were serious runners. They wore actual running clothes, not the cheap Walmart stuff I sport.

Me being the dull crayon that I am I approached the St. Augustine 10k with the same overinflated sense of ability. Because the race was a fair bit away from our house, Matt and I decided to take the family camping over the weekend at a state park in St. Augustine.

The night before the race, I got all my gear ready and set my alarm for 5:30am. That night I had two nightmares, one that my key fell out of my Flipbelt and the other that I woke up at 8 am in my parents' old house and had missed the race completely. I woke up tingling with sweat at 3 am and struggled to get back to sleep.

I did wake up on time and got to the race at 6am. Since it didn't start until 7 am, I had some time to kill. Everyone seemed to be walking around purposefully so I busied myself walking from the portapotties to my Powerade in my car and back again. Columbia, a great Spanish restaurant in the historic district, sponsored the race so they had cookies and bananas and coffee for the runners before the race. It was 48 degrees at 6am and all those poor Floridians were shivering in parkas and gloves, huddled under huge heaters under the tents.

Eventually we all lined up (a sunny 59 degrees at 7) and I became quick friends with the person next to me, both of us joking about our lack of speed. The horn sounded and we were off.

Right away, it was clear that I was surrounded by elite runners. Or maybe they were simply average runners but seemed elite compared to how I was running. Almost immediately, people passed me in astonishing numbers. It was like I was a boulder in a stream and people were just rushing around me. It would have been almost peaceful had it not been so demoralizing.

About 1/2 mile into it, a runner came up behind me, held up a car key and asked "Is this yours?"

That's right. My nightmare came true.

The problem is the Flipbelt is not made for people with muffin tops. It's a flexible belt wore tight around the hips that has slits to hold your cell phone or keys or whatever. Note the difference:


       


Look closely. One of these women has a muffin top (hint: it's me). So instead of staying nice and flat on boyish hips, my Flipbelt slides above my childbearing hips and gets folded by abdominal fat. Hence, the car key fell out. Thank goodness someone found it. I would still be searching the pavement over that bridge.

Then I had to figure out what to do with the key. I couldn't put it back in the Flipbelt (which works great for my phone). I put it in the only place I could think of - my sports bra. Let me tell you, if running 6 miles with a metal key under your left boob doesn't earn you a medal, I don't know what does. Plus I was paranoid to lose it again so I kept checking to make sure it was there.

That's right. Every couple minutes I would thrust my hand down the front of my shirt and feel around in my bra. Needless to say, my dignity meter was really low that morning.

On top of that, I was so caught up in the beauty of the day and the key and the excitement of the race (people waving and clapping and cheering alongside the road - for me!) that I forgot to breathe very well. So for miles 2-4, I had to jog slowly/walk with my right arm raised over my head in a strange attempt to relieve the stitch in my side. My right arm alternated between being raised up while I shuffled along and feeling around down my shirt.

The last two miles were actually great. I jokingly asked one of the police officers directing race traffic for a ride to the finish. He high-fived me and assured me that he could drive me there and be sneaky about it. We laughed and I continued on.

After the race, Columbia's served up Cuban black beans and rice, a shrimp and scallop dish, their famous 1905 salad, and Cuban bread. There were cookies, water, bananas, cans of Coke, and free beer. All that food and a medal made up for the key fiasco and my laughable pace.

There were a couple kids running with their parents, all boys around 10-12. I went home and told Kate that she should run with me next year and she was all for it, once she found out about the amazing food and the medals. That's my girl.

I'm going to end this post with a little anecdote that has nothing to do with running or races. You can give a sigh of relief if you're sick of hearing about the race now.

Over the weekend at the campsite, I took Noah to the bathroom. Here is a write-up of our conversation in the bathroom stall, keeping in mind that there are other women in the bathroom and he is talking very loudly:

Noah: Do you have boobs? (he talks about them almost every day)

Me: Yes

Noah: Do you like your boobs?

Me: Yes (actually, not especially. Not fun to run with them)

Noah: I like your boobs.

Me: That's nice.

(Here he has a loud bowel movement)

Noah: You hear dat?

Me: Yup.

Noah: Dat's you

Me: No, it's you.

Noah: Yeah, it's me.


Good talking to you, buddy.

Chore Charts and 5ks

Bad Behavior is Actually Quite Rewarding

In the ongoing fight of disciplining children, Matt and I recently made a punishment chore chart for each of the older kids. Things that are above and beyond their daily chores - stuff like cleaning out the car, washing the windows, pulling weeds, etc. Before writing the chores down, we'd have to quickly think of a punishment. It would go something like this:

"You're not allowed to argue with me. Because you argued, you now have to...hold on, let me think. Geez, there was a chore I was just thinking of the other day. What was it? Wait here, let me call Dad. Maybe he can think of a chore."

Not very effective. The kids would try to be helpful and offer suggestions:

"Should I help organize the Halloween candy? Maybe sort through all the old stuff, you know, candy the other kids don't want..."

We've had the charts in operation for a week or two now and it's working pretty well. Takes the thinking out of it - which works out really well for me. There is precious little space in my brain for new information and I'm not about to waste it on things like this. Not when I could be trying to remember the words to "Hit Me Baby, One More Time."

It's been really nice having some of these chores done. Chores that would normally fall to me. This puts a parent in the strange position of almost wanting the child to disobey so that something will get cleaned. Pretty soon I'll resort to desperate measures when the kitchen needs to be mopped:

"Are you arguing with me?"

"No, ma'am. I'm really sorry."

(Internally: "Darn!")  "Ok, thank you for your apology. Wait, did you just blink at me? Don't you blink at me - That's it! Get the mop! I will not tolerate rebellious blinking."

Running with Children 

This morning I took Jack and Kate to a local 5k. It was a really great cause - a couple of area churches worked together to organize the run that raised money for needy families and Thanksgiving meals.

My in-laws stopped by to watch the race and my father-in-law decided spur of the moment to run with us. He and I ran together for awhile, along with Jack, Kate, and a friend's daughter. After a bit, Matt's dad ran ahead with Katie. I stayed with Jack and Kaylin, which was perfect for me. Stupidly, I had decided to run 4 miles this morning before the 5k so by the second run, the plantar fasciitis in my left foot was really flaring up.

It was a good combination, me with my planter fasciitis and two kids who alternated between asking to walk and wondering what flavors of Gatorade awaited us at the halfway point.

There was a little excitement when a neighborhood dog excitedly jumped on the kids for 10 minutes before his owners came to get him. That certainly quelled the running for a bit. And then a motorcycle passed us on the road and Kaylin, thinking he was part of the race, called indignantly "Hey! That's not fair - he has a motorcycle! He's cheating!"

It was strange not to have my music during a run, just the melodious sounds of my own voice calling out "Guys - get over to the left!" on repeat.

In the end, it was a really nice morning. Kate beat Grandpa, despite his trash talk before the race began on how she was going to eat his dust. She told me that it was in fact Grandpa who did the dust eating. Jack decided that his mom ran ok, despite the fact that she was by all accounts much, much, much older than him and with far less energy.

My next solitary run? Can't come soon enough.

To Pee or Not to Pee?

Last week my bestie and I took our kids to a local corn maze. We quickly ushered the kids to the hayride as we watched the school buses descend on the parking lot like a horde of bees. After the hayride we decided to eat our packed lunch before said school groups took over the picnic area. The eating area at this farm is a long, covered but open on the sides building filled with picnic tables and plastic swimming pools of raw corn kernels for the kids to swim in, throw at each other, and shove up their noses before eating lunch. The floor is covered with hay, which is really where this story begins.

Rosie took the older boys to the car to get our food while I stayed behind with the younger kids. The trip to the car takes maybe 4 minutes so I didn't see a problem with 6 young kids and pools of corn. Surely that would keep them occupied for 4 minutes. 20 seconds after Rosie and the boys left, the little kids got bored. Suddenly I had 4 toddlers to keep an eye on, making sure no one ran out to the adjacent playground or grabbed one of the chickens pecking around in the hay.

I hear an innocent little voice behind me - "Mama, I can pee here?"

As I turn to answer, I see that Noah has pulled down his shorts and underwear and is already peeing onto the hay/floor, right by a picnic table.

"No!" I tell him but he's not at an age where he can stop once started. He stares at me with crystal blue eyes and continues to soak the floor around us. Really, I can hardly blame the little guy. If there's one thing he loves, it's peeing outside. Anywhere he can make his mark on the earth while feeling the cool breeze on his behind is a happy place. Also, there are chickens. And as the saying goes "Where there are chickens, there is chicken pee." Once you realize the chickens are peeing, you begin to think to yourself "Am I all that different from a chicken? They're allowed to pee here, I should be too. What makes them so special?"

I feel myself prickle with sweat as voices of school group move closer, the excited din that accompanies children about to dine on lunchables and juice boxes. Noah is not stopping no matter how much I order him to stop, nor does he seem fazed - indeed, he has the slack look of relief that accompanies emptying one's bladder.

I pick him up and try to figure out which direction I could go where we won't draw attention to ourselves but still allows me to keep an eye on the 5 other children. I'm turning in different directions, slightly panicked while he pees on -  like a ghastly helicopter of pee. Finally I set him down next to the building, facing the playground. He is still peeing (Moons of Jupiter - how much liquid has this kid consumed today?), the front of his shorts now damp from our relocation. I stand in front of him, trying desperately to mop my glistening brow and look as nonchalant as I can. Trying not to look like I'm shielding a person urinating by the picnic tables.

It seems to be more of a boy thing (although Tali tries her darnedest to pee outside with Noah), this desire to pee outside. I have friends who nod their heads when I tell them about these incidences - their sons love nothing more than a good tree, waiting to be christened.

With trick-or-treat approaching, I just want to conclude by asking parents to be extra vigilant. Kids, especially boys, will be bombarded with nicely trimmed hedges and inviting lawns. Tomorrow night, ask yourself - It's Halloween, do I know where my toddler is peeing?

Free Vacations are the Best Vacations

Matt's in St. Louis now on business but I'm sure whenever he reads this post he will mutter under his breath - "It's not free." Which is technically true because the trip is considered a gift in the eyes of the government and is taxed as such.

Matt works for Edward Jones and one of the pros of the company is the diversification trips. It's a really big pro. Diversification trips are like a bonus - do a good job, win a trip. We have friends in the insurance business and they take similar trips. It usually takes a long time to qualify for these trips, like years. Matt has been back at Edward Jones for about a year and just won a trip. I'm really proud of him because he does work very hard and is always chock-full of integrity and honesty and stuff.

It's here that Matt would be all truly humble and try to downplay winning the trip: "It's an office where most of the clients already knew and trusted me...the company gives a lot of points towards the trip during the first year...it's hardly my doing at all..."

I really don't understand people with no ego. If I was talented like Matt (understanding investment stuff, building furniture, driving planes, playing instruments, racing bicycles, etc), I would be simply unbearable. You'd never hear of the end of me gloating and I would eventually be like the Kanye West of my town.

Anyway, Matt won a trip!

In case you couldn't tell from either knowing me in person or only on the blog, we are fairly thrifty people:

1. We eat oatmeal 6 out of 7 mornings. Not the expensive packet kind, either. Scooping generic oats out of a canister type oatmeal. The one cereal morning is usually off-brand low sugar cereal but it thrills my kids immensely.

2. The only time we eat out is when we have a giftcard or it's a super special occasion or someone else is paying.

3. We haven't seen a movie in a theater since before we had children. Even anniversaries are brought to us by Netflix.

In fact, the other day I showed Noah the Buzz Lightyear costume I got him for Halloween. He asked "Did you get this at a garage sale? Or from Walmart? Or from Mamaw?"

The kid knows what's up at our house. Those are really the only three options for new stuff.  (If you're curious, the costume did indeed come from a garage sale - $5!)

Needless to say, we don't go on fancy vacations. We're not fancy people (in case you couldn't tell from the myriad of blog posts that mention bodily fluids or dried animal genitals or me falling into a puddle for no apparent reason). And here we are, going to Maui.

The diversification trips are pretty amazing. You get to pick from, like, 40 places. Places like Rome, Japan, Aruba, New Zealand. You can win two trips a year. And if you win them both, you can combine them into one long supertrip. A Supertrip! Trips like 11 days at the Hilton in Bora Bora. Bora Bora! Or you can cash out your trips and have a pile of money instead!

Are you getting sick of the exclamation points yet?

Matt told me when he first started at Jones (9 years ago) that I would get to choose the first trip and that we would go without the kids, although many of the trips are family-friendly. Even though he would happily cash out the trip and do something exciting, like invest it in a high yield bond or something, he's content to pay the taxes and enjoy wherever it is I chose to go.  I've always wanted to go somewhere tropical and some of the tropical trips included places like Aruba, Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, Caribbean cruises, Anguilla, Costa Rica, several of the Virgin Islands and Hawaii. We could choose either Kona or Maui. Maui just sounds better, you know? The spots for the trips fill up quickly and some of our first picks were taken. My best friend told me she's always going to make fun of me for telling her "We settled for Maui."

The trip includes airfare, a week at the Fairmont Kea Lani (Rooms - all suites - start at $529/night! Can you believe that - we bid for rooms on Priceline. We're like $60/night people), breakfasts, dinners (including a luau!), and a rental car. I hope we can try to pretend we're classy but we'll probably give it away when we show up in Goodwill clothes and gawk at the lobby.

We're going in March so I have like 5 months to get something resembling a decent body shape and to train myself not to squeal in classless wonder when there is (I'm sure) bottled water in our room.

"Name brand bottled water! I'll bet they even have flavored oatmeal for breakfast..."

Toddlers, Preschoolers, and Kids - Oh, My!

It seems to be a magical threshold when children turn from 2 to 3 - they cross over into preschoolerhood and leave their toddler years behind.

No. No, not really.

Take, for instance, going to church with a three year old:

If I am wearing a skirt, he will absentmindedly run his hand up my leg while standing next to me, taking the skirt up with him.

♪Come thou fount of every blessing...♪

(mutters under breath) "Stop putting your hand up my skirt!"

♪tune my heart to sing thy grace.♪

Then there is the awkward apologizing to the people behind you - "Oops, sorry about that, what with the skirt and the leg and the hand and all. Nice to meet you, by the way."

If I'm wearing jeans, he'll quietly sit behind me while I stand to sing and trace the rhinestones on my back pockets (that's right, I said rhinestones. Glamorous.) Having someone trace designs on your behind while you sing hymns is really as odd as it sounds.

And the biting. Oh, the biting.

My older two kids never bit anyone, as far as I can remember. Which really doesn't mean much. My own mother, when asked how she handled certain situations with us as young kids, will say she honestly doesn't remember much. I got enough spankings to realize that raising me was so traumatic that my mother blocked out memories of my childhood as a self-preservation technique. And really, I can't blame her. I have fuzzy memories of my older two as babies. Some stand out because they were so very sweet or so very horrific but most of it fades into a pleasant, buttery blur in my mind.

Anyway, it came as quite a shock to me that Noah uses his teeth more than his words. Or, alongside his words: "No, Tali!" *bite* "That's my car!" *nibble*

She, of course, does the same to him. Having children who bite really puts a damper on my feeling like a good parent, or even an adequate one. If there's anything that consoles me, it's the thought that someday, years and years from now, one of my children will say to me "Mom, how did you handle it when we fought?" And I will put down the book I will be reading, wrinkle my brow in concentration, take a sip of my frozen drink, and say "You know, I really don't remember you guys fighting much at all."

Home Projects and Other Marriage Counseling Topics

Projects

As any normal wife does, I often peruse Pinterest in search of home remodeling projects for my husband to do - don't want him being too relaxed or anything.

The kids' bathroom mirror has always bothered me - it's one of those boring builder-grade mirrors whose holders have gone rusty from time and depression.

See how sad and boring this is? Unfortunately, I didn't get a shot before we painted the walls. They went from off-white to gray.

See how much nicer it is with the frame? Listen, I know that people are supposed to take pictures with natural light and not that glaring artificial light. But this is really all I have - no one promised you a high quality blog.

When I saw the ideas on Pinterest, it was full of pictures of easy projects and happy couples. Get a couple pre-cut pieces of molding and throw it on the mirror with a squirt of liquid nails and be done before your blushing bride can cut the freshly baked coffee cake.

Matt, however, looked at those projects and decided against a fast, cheap fix that won't look as nice and may indeed fall off the mirror and conk unsuspecting guests in the head. Of course, it's fairly safe to assume that when people come to our house, they may indeed suspect that something terrible could happen, especially if they've come over before.

Regardless, Matt kicked it up a notch and began getting all sorts of material - see the top piece? It's actually three pieces of wood, with the top piece nailed at an angle like a mantle. Both the top and bottom pieces also wrap around to the wall so there's no gap. My husband? Is pretty amazing.

Because it was somewhat more complicated than the easy tape-or-glue to the mirror projects, it caused Matt some anxiety, figuring out how to affix it to the studs at the appropriate spaces and calculating the angles of the saw and whatnot.

We were somewhat snappish with each other over that terrible weekend and every time I walk past the bathroom and see the frame, I feel a twinge guilty. Not enough to stop suggesting projects from Pinterest, though. Just a tad.

Speaking of things that are good for marriage...

Romantic Texting

I really hate to begin yet another subject with me looking things up on Pinterest...but here we are again. I saw this little bit about '50 Love Bombs to Send to Your Spouse' or something. Normally those sorts of titles induce my gag reflex but I thought "You know, I really should do stuff like that." The suggestions were things like:

"You're so strong."
"Need your cuddles."
"You are one good looking guy."

Immediately I knew that if I texted him something like that, he would realize something was terribly, terribly wrong. This sort of stuff is really sweet in other couples but it's just fake and cheesy with us. So in the end I texted something like "Hey, what's up?" Which is silly, because I knew what he was doing - talking to people about their investments. Obviously I didn't want to hear the details about that because OH MY GOSH, SO BORING, PLEASE STOP TALKING. And it was silly for him to ask me what I was doing because it's always the same as well - "Breaking up fights among offspring, please send wine."


Cutting off the Dead

Hair, that is. Kate convinced me months ago that we should both grow our hair like Rapunzel in Tangled. Science notwithstanding, I agreed. She's only young once. I know the style is long with beachy waves and curls nowadays but I simply cannot bring myself to care about hair enough to put the time in. Especially if the only outing most days was to Walmart, where even in yoga pants and a greasy ponytail I felt ok about myself. I had finally convinced Kate to at least cut some layers into her long hair so we went to the (where else?) salon at Walmart. The hairdresser told Kate that she had similarly thin hair and kept her hair short so it looked more styled. Katie suddenly said "Cut it all off."

So we did. And then, freed from the bondage of hair care, I cut mine off the next morning. The hairdresser kept telling me as she cut "You're going to have so much fun with this haircut" "My goodness, SO much fun."

I appreciate your enthusiasm but let's be honest - this is a haircut you're giving me, not a bounce house. Let's tone it down to appropriate levels.

Then as she teased it a little as it dried, she said "Oh my, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give it so much body..."

Not to worry, my friend. It's going to look like a wavy mushroom unless I slather it with serum and straighten it repeatedly.

Needless to say, we've been having fun. SO much fun.

365

Yesterday we celebrated Talitha's Gotcha Day - the day we got her in China.

It's been quite the year. Tali went from a very small, quiet child who could not stand on her own to a not quite as small, very vocal child who chases her older siblings around the house.


Talitha's referral picture (when she was named Wu Rubei, or Peggy):

One of the first pictures the orphanage had of her - 4 months old.

The day we got Tali:

She was laughing at Jack, naturally.

On the way to officially adopting her in China

 She was very quiet in China - so many changes for her. Once we got home, the real Talitha began to emerge. Slowly but surely - the meek, subdued, weak baby transformed into a strong and mighty little girl.

Walking! 22 months old - 6 weeks home.

This was a common occurrence - still is but now they're older, so there's more screaming and pushing.

She came to us at a mere 15 lb - the size of a 9 month old when she was almost 2. She gained 1 pound the first week we had her in China, most of that was probably all noodles. She gained another 4 in the first few months and is now holding steady at a little over 20 lbs.

The day after we came home - Noah was flummoxed, Tali was such a baby in this picture!

6 months home - swinging their legs and laughing

One year home - could not get them to keep still for anything.

Last night we had a small celebration for Talitha's one year home-aversary. I made Chinese food and had the parents over. Tali, being the guest of honor, didn't eat dinner with us. Instead she walked around the house and didn't mosey over to the table until the fortune cookies were brought out.

Fine, we'll just take a picture without you.

She picked at her food and kept gesturing towards the fortune cookies.

She has changed so much over the past year - our whole family has. She has learned to stand, to walk, to run. She has learned to understand us and is growing in her language skills everyday. She is a mighty one to behold sometimes - Shakespeare surely had Tali in mind when he penned 'Though she be but little, she is fierce.' She can raise a storm over your head if she is upset. She gets in Noah's face (though a head taller than her), points her tiny finger and lets him have it in her high-pitched Chingrish. Her tantrums have eased over the past year, which is good news for everyone. She loves noodles, scrambled eggs, and Pooh Bear, dislikes plain water and being crowded out by a very huge Noah. When she gets upset, her nose bleeds - she throws all she has into letting someone know she is displeased.

There have definitely been some trying times for all of us but so many moments of sweetness and grace, having her in our lives and filling an emptiness in our family we didn't know was there. Jack and Tali have found kindred spirits in each other, Kate has a long-awaited and treasured little sister, Noah has lifelong friend, Matt and I have a cherished daughter.

365 days of Talitha Ruby.

365 days of learning to walk, learning to talk, learning to trust.

365 days of being a family.

365 days of forever.

A Relaxing Trip to New York...of course, I am Kidding.

If you asked me to list enjoyable activities, traveling in a car for long periods with four children under 10, including two toddlers, would not even make the top 10,000. Nevertheless, that's what we did. The first day we it took us around 18 hours (but who's counting?) to drive from our house in FL to Philadelphia. Ah the City of Jacked up Hotel Rates and No Parking Brotherly Love. We relaxed in a lovely Best Western and ate (what I can only imagine) scrambled eggs rejected from local prisons and public schools. Then we jetted off to The Franklin Institute. We would have been there when it opened but instead we drove circles up and down a dimly lit parking garage while (and I am not making this up) macabre circus music played on loudspeakers in every corner. We finally arrived at the museum only to realize that we had nary a stroller. There are, of course, no stores in the city, only overpriced fruit stands.

I did what any parent in such a situation would do.

I played my daughter's heart condition card and got us a wheelchair to cart them around ("Tali, cough a little. Stop looking so perky" I'd whisper at the counter...)

(Here's where I would insert pictures of us at the museum. But the camera had gotten stashed somewhere among the Cheez-Its and the Melatonin).

After that we spent a night with some friends and headed off to NY (another 8 or so hours in the ever-shrinking vehicle).

Yes, I chose the picture of the children reading. The majority of the time was actually spent either watching movies on the laptop or eating snacks.

Bonus - we got to use the High Occupancy Vehicle lane - yay!

Despite all the driving and the staying at two hotels and three different houses, the kids did pretty well. One of our hosts told us she even bragged to someone about our kids behavior and how they quickly cleared the table after dinner. I nodded serenely, acknowledging the product of consistent parenting. I did not tell her how after dinner I quietly threatened the older two through gritted teeth:

"I swear, if you two do not clear this table politely and quickly you will get unfrosted Poptarts for Christmas this year. And possibly for the rest of your lives."

We had a great couple days with Matt's family. His Aunt and Uncle have an amazing house, like a spread in a Country Pottery Barn magazine. We ate great food, including a corn roast which Matt grew up enjoying, and just spent time together. One of the main reasons we all went up was to see Matt's Grandma Dot (as she's affectionately called by our kids).

We stayed the last couple days in NY at Matt's best friend from high school and his family. His wife and I were treated to many tales of near-death experiences from their late teen driving escapades.

We took a quick jaunt to Niagara Falls, which was exciting for the first ten minutes or so.

Matt and his best friend (also Matt, same birthday). No one who knew them as teens would've guessed they would both end up professionals in suits.

On the way home we decided to break up the trip into two days. We treated the kids to a particularly horrific Golden Corral (after which Matt and I made a solemn vow to never, ever go to that restaurant again. Unless we are dying. And even then maybe not.)

We started off the trip passing out books and planning to show movies on a maybe four hour schedule. By the end, the movies were on continuous play. I've never felt such strong feelings of love for a computer as I do that old laptop. When it finally goes to the Radio Shack in the sky, we may lovingly bury in the backyard under a tree and lay DVDs on the site once a year in remembrance.

Glassy eyes, watching Pixar and waiting for the next round of Goldfish in a Dixie cup.

Overall, it was a good trip and everyone who hosted us was so welcoming and gracious (if you were one of them, you were of course our favorite. No question.) We tried to stay only 2-3 days at each house, much like the stomach flu. With four kids, it's a similar experience. We leave you exhausted and wondering what hit you.

We will probably make it a yearly trip. We even may go up with Matt's parents. Maybe they'll ride with us, maybe Matt and I will fly and they'll drive with the kids and we'll just meet up. Haven't worked out the details yet.