Home Sick

I won't lie, the adjustment to our new (to us) house has been hard. We're close enough to our old house that Tommy stayed in the same preschool and we are in the old neighborhood fairly often. Plus every time he sees "our" G on the mountain he asks if we're almost home. (Because it used to mean exactly that.)

But this week, the home sickness had us both in tears.

Because we moved under less-than-desirable circumstances (read: I was crazy mad at our landlord and NOBODY wanted to move) I tried to explain it to a concerned Tommy.

Me: Well, our Landlord gave us a letter that says he wants to live here, so we have to move to a new house.
T: What's a Landlord?
M: He's the guy who is the boss of this house.
T: Our house-boss?
M: Sure. Close enough.

Fast forward to this week on our way home from work
T: "mom, I just want to go to our real home. From our house-boss. Did he said he's all done there now?"
M: "No babe, we can't live there anymore, we have our new house instead."
T: "I really really miss our real house, I don't want to go to our new house anymore."
M: "I miss our old house too, what do you miss about it?"
T: "Riding bikes, playing in the yard, walkin' to school, and 'member those nice guys that lived by us?" (sniffling and crying while he talks)
M: (Sniffling my own self) "So SO many nice guys that lived by us. I miss them too."
T: "Maybe we could visit our old house if we want to."
M: We can't go inside, but we can go drive by and wave to it from the car if you'd like.

So we did. We drove by slowly, waved and wept. We waved to the Carlson's and Ruby's house. We waved to our sledding hill and Maggie Dog. We remembered walking to church and then.....we saw a for sale sign in the front yard.

Tommy asked what the sign said. I told him it was for sale, so someone new can buy our old house. He wants us to buy it. And he nearly had me convinced with his emotional attachment to that neighborhood.

But the flooding in the massage room, the cracks in the foundation, the weird weird weird layout and bedrooms with no closets, the shoddy workmanship on any of the "remodel" work, the yard (oh that yard....) We don't REALLY want to put that kind of money - and labor - into it. But my goodness, that little boy preyed on my emotions and nearly had me convinced we wanted to buy that house today. (future Realtor? He can be very persuasive.) Enough that I got to a computer and looked up the listing. I will say, if I had the money, I would buy the empty lot for the current list price on that house. Because really it's an incredible location.

Here's hoping we buy a place soonish and we can enjoy saying "this is our real home" for the last time. At least until he's too old to care. (Does that ever happen?)

Workiversary

1 year ago I went to the wrong place for my first day of work. It wasn't my fault, but I felt foolish anyway. When I showed up at the right place, my new boss and I talked through some strategies and business ideas. We immediately got along very well.

During the last year we've done a lot of adjusting. 

• Josh took on more household responsibility and I gave some up. 
• My boys have adjusted (or are trying to adjust) to seeing less of me. 
• I spend more time talking to adults than little ones.
• I cook and clean less.
• Josh knows more about kids than he ever dreamed he didn't know.
• We spend much less time with our entire family. 
• We pay all our bills with significantly fewer financial-emotional breakdowns.
• We discovered that cereal is a viable dinner option. 
• I learned how to answer my cell phone without knowing who it is.
• I got a grown up wardrobe.
• Josh has new respect for all the stay at home parents in the world.
• The boys cry to Josh before me when they're injured.
• I became the pushover.
• I listen to talk radio.
• The boys have awesome relationships with their cousins (minus Little John and Ian who are still deciding if they like each other or not...) and the love-fest is continuously melting my heart.
• I regained confidence in my ability to do things. Like answer my phone and talk to adults. 
• I'm leaning all kinds of new skills and abilities. Securities laws and limitations, business design and (begrudgingly) Quickbooks. Again. 

To be totally honest, I'm still deciding if it's worth those adjustments. We make a lot of sacrifices, we enjoy a lot of benefits. (Like not losing our house, and being able to pay our bills.) It's hard. Really hard. My kids miss me. I miss them. We want the park instead of the carseat. I want to cook dinner before bedtime. I want to have a pajama day just because I feel like it. I want Tommy to KNOW that I will always be the one to pick him up from school. I want to play with word families with him while Josh plays wrestle-mania with the Little "The Maniac" John. I want Josh's days off to mean family fun days.

But staying home was hard - really hard - too and I wanted a lot of changes then. (like wearing real clothes, being asked a question harder than "what's for lunch", the boys to see Josh more often, a break from them long enough to miss them, and the ability to buy stuff they need.)

I recently read a blog post by someone I truly love and respect, and she took a very firm stand that choosing to be a working mom is not a good choice. I read that post and cried. It hurt, because I'm still deciding what is best for me, and this stance left no room for personal choice. Blanket statements and generalizations implying that it's selfish or irresponsible or harmful to my children, made my heart ache. I retreated to my very favorite (and safest) corner of the internet with the women I trust more than any other women - to both have my back, and tell me when I'm being unreasonable - and I cried to them. They backed me up. Because they love me. The pain of reading those words in that post made me do some soul searching and decide if I really thought I was doing the right thing by working out of the home again. And today, right now, I am sure this is what I needed for 2013. 

I'm honestly thankful for my experiences at work during this last year. I've had some life changing conversations with my boss that had nothing to do with my job. I've gained a new respect and appreciation for not doing it all and slowing down. I've learned to let go of stuff that simply doesn't matter. I'm working on better managing my time. And oddly, my kids have become a higher priority to me. I spend many more quality hours with them and I think about them when I'm gone. Something about absence making the heart grow fonder..... Mostly I appreciate my time with them more. I'm far more willing to snuggle a little longer, sing one more song, read one more story, and watch the ants for one more minute. I'm learning valuable life skills, gaining confidence in what I already knew and rediscovering my priorities in life. I get an enormous amount of satisfaction from doing something that makes me think.

My kids? They know I love them. They are building social relationships with kids their age and learning to interact with adults that aren't me. They get opportunities that they wouldn't get if I was their sole caregiver and the opportunities I normally give them. They are with a person who does love them. Whether she's paid to or not, she is an extraordinary soul who has the ability to love people she didn't give birth to. She also happens to be family, and for that I am extremely grateful.

For me, right now, this is the right choice. An excellent balance of office work and mother work.

So, happy anniversary to me and my job. Who knows if we'll celebrate a 2nd anniversary or not, my time here might be done and I'll be a full time mom again, or I may stay at this office until I retire; but either way, I'll know that I'm making the right choice for me. Because I truly believe that choices which so intimately impact an individual family are choices that can be made only by that family.

On Feeling Beauty

I've never been one of those universally beautiful people. I don't mean that in a "tell me I'm pretty" way, but in a matter-of-fact some people look like supermodels and I'm not one of them way.

But every now and then I feel beautiful.

This started when someone I love started doing Dressing Your Truth.

But most recently, I got a haircut. And apparently the world ended. I posted this photo on facebook

and had (I'm not exaggerating) 145 likes and 45 extremely generous comments about it. I think that's more than when Thomas was born.

It's kindof a weird feeling because while I seriously love the new do, and these generous comments reinforced that feeling of beauty, it sortof freaked me out. It's a lot of pressure to be attractive! What if I look totally average the next time I see one of those 145 people? (I did.) What if I never learn to do my hair like that any everybody I meet is like "you should consider going back to that one really awesome hair day you had that one time..."? What if I let my hair grow all long and nasty again?

*sigh*

Knowing your potential is stressful. So please, join me in the lowering of expectations so I dare come out in public again?

I Think I'm So Cool....

I sometimes feel like I get stuff. Tech stuff I mean. I'm totally clueless about life stuff, and people stuff, and other stuff. But tech stuff - I've got that.

Until I bust out Josh's old fitbit, wear it for 3 weeks and CANNOT get the dang thing to sync to my computer. Then I beg my little brother for help, and remember how old I am. Older than current tech, which lands me squarely out of the loop.

I won't lie, I feel this feeling (out of the loop) a lot. I start thinking I understand something, then someone say something that rocks my world and reminds me that I am clueless. Always and forever.

*sigh*

Maybe next year I'll get it better.

Ants

Wanna know what's cool about an ant farm?

You have a container full of space gel, and you dump some icky bugs in it, and then before you know it....you see a city. And you're sucked into their lives. You see them do abominable things (playing with dead bodies? Ew!) and watching their little feelers move around their big beady eyes gives you the chills; but you still watch. Fascinated by the whole thing.

So here's the abbreviated version of #amysantfarm

My boss gave me an ant farm for Christmas. I thought it was totally weird, but he was couldn't have been more excited if he was 7 years old and lighting them on fire with a magnifying glass. So...I went with it.

The solid block of space glue

Just add ants
But wait - that ant 2nd from the left is missing his abdomen! World, meet NoBody.

Oooh hard-working ants. Good job little insects. And good morning NoBody (on the Right)

NoBody, you're a party animal, all hanging from the ceiling and stuff.

ants busy doing ant things.
4. NoBody has to have set a record for ant survival with half his being missing.

Enter Buster. (the bully.)

The day NoBody went missing. 

No more pictures from here on out because the star of our show died a horrible death and was torn apart by Buster. His body parts all strewn about the ant farm. It's disgusting and sad. 

The Extras (all the other ants who are unrecognizable) are still just hanging out, doing their ant thing. But ever since NoBody died, they're significantly less interesting. 

But they're still the only thing in this house that improves when left alone. So......

1, 2, 3, many many many

Little John is at that phase of speech development where every day he says something I didn't know he could say the day before.

Today we looked at a book and started to count the elephants on the page. "wan......toooooo.......freeeee.......manymanymanymanymany" he counted.

He's growing unreasonably quickly. Last week I came home and Josh informed me that Tommy spent a good 30 minutes teaching John how to climb out of his crib. Josh put John back in bed at least 30 times that night.

So the next day, I took the front of the crib off to make it just a regular old bed. John saw what I'd done and cried immediately climbing in and out over the side over and over again. He was pretty mad that I ruined his new trick.

That's the reason one of the grownups stands outside their bedroom door for at least an hour every night. So when they escape we can scare put them back in bed. Bedtime is significantly less fun than it was 2 weeks ago. But even when we try really hard, it's impossible not to laugh when Little John peeks out the door, sees us standing there, and runs fast back to bed giggling like a maniac the whole way. He thinks it's a game, and a dang fun game too. He's sure lucky he's adorable.

Nap time is....well....virtually non-existent. Which I should probably be mourning over, but since I started working a year ago, I haven't experienced one of his nap times in at least that long. So I'm not nearly as sad as Josh and Katy are. Until about 6:59 when he is totally exhausted and completely unreasonable.

Meh, we'll have at least "many many many many many" more nights to work on it.

Where I've been

Years from now I'll look back at my blog books (yet to be printed...) and find a giant hole during the end of 2013. And then I'll wonder what on earth happened that made me so incapable of writing during the holidays.

The truth is that while it's been an emotional, tiring, stressful and often frustrating few months for us, it certainly hasn't been the hardest months of our lives or the busiest or the least blog-worthy.

So there's really no good reason not to have written. Except that I'm trying hard to live my life. Instead of spending so much time re-living and pre-living.

November was largely spent packing, moving, rental-house hunting and worrying.
At the same time we lost our incredible tenants at the house we still own. So we also spent many hours driving back and forth between here and NSL for showings, repairs, frozen pipes, and other concerns.
Then of course there was the usual holiday shuffle.
Beyond that my ever-present anxiety decided that this was all far too much for a person of my caliber to handle. So things here have left much to be desired in terms of happiness and stability.

The good news is that with the regularity of the new year, the routine, the lack of obligations and the joy of an empty calendar, all of this is becoming easier every day.

So to my future self who can't remember what was going on? Plenty. All of it worth writing about. None of it compelling enough to drag me out of my own brain and onto my computer.

Christmas 2013

The thing about having an awesome job in nursing is that you get a lot of regular old weekdays off. Which is thoroughly enjoyable for a person like me who would rather go to the zoo in the bitter cold of January on a Wednesday and have the whole place to myself with no special programs, shows, or animals than go in July with all the cool stuff and all the people too.

Anyway, this year Josh had to work a full day on Christmas Day, so back in November he asked the person who was working Christmas Eve if she wanted to do half days of both with him so they could be be around for stuff with their families on both days and she was all for it.

But then just before Thanksgiving another lady he works with asked him if he could cover for her Christmas Eve afternoon so she could leave earlier in the day to drive to CA to see her kids. She's a single mom, and her working in the afternoon would mean she'd leave Utah at 7pm and drive all night to be there for Christmas morning - or miss it. Of course he said yes.

So he wound up working most of Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. Which is why our Christmas Day pictures (which number a grand total of 30) were taken at 2pm and they have pictures of a progressively drooping (and eventually sleeping) dad in the background.

He was totally exhausted, but the boys were happy to slowly open their presents and lick a bit of every dang piece of candy the dumbest (and most panicked) Santa in the world gave them.

They both got new colored pencils and notebooks for the car. Tommy has finally taken up coloring (thank you Preschool!) and John is following because if there's one thing these boys love, it's doing the same thing.

Tommy got Magnetix. Santa is stupid. It boasts on the box "108 pieces!" and Santa thought "he'll think it's so cool to build stuff with these tiny magnetic pieces!" But that was false. What is fun is taking all of these pieces out of the box and making the "longest pewer (gun. cuz guns say "pew!") ever." And then stringing that pewer out in the middle of the floor. On the other hand, Tommy is happy. So Santa is a little smart.

They were just so happy to *finally* open their presents, and Josh was so excited, and every new present was exciting and fun and very very interesting.

After slowly opening presents and John taking a nap while Tommy touched EVERYthing, we left the mess in the living room and went to visit the grandmas. Which was (as always) a lovely time. 

We stopped at Grandma Egbert's and exchanged gifts and did puzzles and looked at her amazing Christmas village. The boys had a blast. 

Then we went to Grandma Reilley's and exchanged gifts and ate food and sat around talking and playing withe gifts until well past bedtime. We all had a beautiful time. 

The boys were especially excited about the marble run that Grandma Reilley gave them. 

We set it up and ran it over and over again. Now it's part of our morning routine, wake up, dump out the marble run pieces and start whacking each other with "the longest pewer ever" then run as many marbles as we can find (2 or 3 usually...we need more marbles) down it until "pewering" sounds more fun again.

Oddly, Josh working made our holiday even better than normal. It was mellow, and slow and calm and relaxed. We were excited longer than normal, and we had a beautiful time.

I got family pictures from the fabulous Tracy Layne and Josh got a Kindle Fire. Both things we've wanted for a long time and have been saving for, and it just so happened that we found great deals in time for Christmas that lined up with our saved cash.

Josh's only surprise was a cooshy (but wildly unattractive) bath mat because we'd been using an old towel on the floor since we moved in. Though it sounds like a super lame gift, this was my embracing his cooshiness. Letting him be him.

By far the best part of Christmas for me was opening a gift from Josh. He wrote a letter that I'll save for the rest of my life and read often.

And of course, because I know you're dying to know, the boys both got flashlights. And spare batteries. But not too many spare batteries because batteries are stupid-expensive. I think next year they'll get crank flashlights and can fuel them with their own power.

Being A Mom

I've been struggling with balancing work and home life. I'm torn between wanting to quit to stay home with my babes, and really loving my job and never wanting to give it up.

There are plenty of days that I hate my job, and I hate going to work, and I just want to stay home and read stories with my kids, and sit with them to build marble runs, and eat cereal out of the box for lunch. But that's what weekends are for, right?

There are also plenty of days that I wipe my brow dramatically as I drive off to talk to grown ups, thanking my lucky stars that I don't have to sit and build marble runs, or read the Cat In The Hat one more time, and I can eat a whole meal (a real one even!) all by myself without sharing.

So you see, I'm torn. Just like every other mom I know. 

Of course none of that has anything to do with our finances which mostly require my employment. But I sometimes wonder, if I wasn't working, would we be able to adjust to life without my income? Are we within the adjustable range? Or is it really really necessary for me to work? As stupid as it sounds, this is the least of my worries. I'm far more concerned about whether or not my kids are happy (they are) and I am happy (often) and Josh is happy (usually).

For now I am happy to keep working. Though I have bad days during which I text Josh saying "tell me I love me job? Because I can't remember right now." And he does.

Being happy with working also means making extra effort to thoroughly enjoy the time I am not working.

On Wednesday afternoons I leave work a couple of hours early, and I come home determined to be a fun mom. The kind on pinterest. The kind my boys get to boss around. The kind I wish I could be all the time, but simply lack the patience to be.

So this Wednesday, when I walked in the door and the babies came running for me (there's nothing quite like someone being SO happy to see you, is there?) they immediately told me they wanted to go outside. So I dropped my bag on the kitchen table and we got on our snow clothes. All of us. But especially Little John. Who couldn't put his arms down if he tried.

I thought we'd just play in the backyard for while, which we did. Even built a snowman (while singing about building a snowman - thank you Frozen) and "threw a snowball fight" (thank you Tommy) but before long John started walking down the street.

For every ounce of Tommy never wanting to leave my side, John has a pound of explorer in him. He can't stand to be in the backyard when there's a perfectly good sidewalk leading somewhere RIGHT THERE! So I followed him, and Tommy followed me, and we decided to go to the park. Once Tommy realized we had a destination, he took the lead and insisted that we "follow my froot-pints!" and we did.

In case you're a idiot  first time mom, let me help you with one concept. Wet slides are water slides. And water slides are slippery. And if you're trying to take an adorable picture of your child going down the slide, you're likely to catch one of these.

And at the end of that, is a baby on his bum who has just launched 2 feet from the end of the slide. Of course this means he doesn't want to go down again without you, so of course you go up to slide down and show him how it's done. Which is a nice idea, but when you wind up on your butt 2 feet from the end of the slide you sortof feel foolish.

So, the equation is: snow + plastic slide + snowpants = shooting down the slide like a bobsled. You're welcome.

Of course eventually we learned that it was more fun for me to stay on the ground and catch the babes as they shot out off the end of the slide. 

Those are the kinds of days that leave me loving motherhood. Playing in the snow, hot chocolate, bubbles baths, and home in time to make dinner? Lovely. 

The Great Joys of My Life

One of the greatest joys of my mom life is looking at my babies while they sleep. In a "sweet mom" way, not a "creepy stalker" way.

I've never really done much of that because Tommy was a very light sleeper, and I was too tired to do anything but sleep when Little John slept. But when we moved into our new house last month, the kids had a flashlight for the first few nights we lived there. And replacing C batteries every other night because they left it on was too expensive, so I made Josh give Tommy the reading lamp we've been meaning to give him for a long time. And now the boys really love that lamp. I mean really love it. They turn it on and read books after bedtime for heaven only knows how many hours, and that's why when I go to bed, I detour through their room to turn off their lights and make sure they're tucked in and warm.

A few nights ago, I was walking past their room and heard Little John still awake long past bedtime. I peeked in and he had emptied his crib of all pillows, blankets, lovies and books and somehow removed his footie jammies and diaper and was laying stark naked in the middle of the mattress probably trying to get warm. I snuck in and snuggled him warm, got him dressed and tucked him in again. He gratefully accepted the blanket offering and rolled right over to go to sleep. Meanwhile Tommy slept soundly as I looked at his adorable face.

Remember when I was all pregnant and wrote about the day that Tommy would outgrow my lap and have to sleep under the bench at church? 1pm church just might be making that a reality. Yesterday, Josh and I sat on opposite ends of the bench and the boys each took a lap to lay their heads in and kicked each other's feet while they faked sleep. I immediately remembered the words "Someday my baby might outgrow my lap and have to lie down under the bench instead" and teared up.

I thought that watching my babies grow would break my heart in a sad "I wish I still had a tiny one" way, but it hasn't. Though I often wish I still had a tiny one. It has broken my heart wide open because every time I think I can't love them more, I do it anyway. (And then they try to kill each other and the moment is gone...but this is not a post about those moments.) They keep getting cooler and smarter and funnier and lovely and sweet and kind and thoughtful and adorable. It is such a pleasure to watch them grow, but my greatest pleasure is watching them rest.

So each night, as I walk past their bedroom, move some books, arrange some lovies, re-blanket the cold ones, and unkink their awkward necks, I turn out their lights, kiss their noses and remember that those moments - those peaceful watching-over-them moments are all I ever wanted.

The Things I Do For My Kids: A morning at the dentist

Before we moved Josh and I saw his Aunt for dental cleanings. So when Tommy finally had teeth, he just came with us to the dentist and Aunt Lisa smiled at him and he opened his mouth to have his teeth counted and we called that a visit.

But then (a year ago) we moved here and didn't want to drive to Salt Lake for a dentist, so we have been "going to get a new dentist" for 13 months.

Finally I made an appointment for both boys and worried about how well they'd do all week before we went.

But as it turns out, pediatric dentists are awesome. And Tommy is brave. And John likes enormous stuffed animals.

It all went surprisingly well. But you know that feeling when you leave the dentist like you're going to throw up? Now Tommy knows it too.

That's why if you drove past our dentist's office on Monday morning around 10, you saw me crouched down  (no coat, yes flip flops, yes 12 degrees outside) by Tommy clearing a space in the snow on the grass outside with my bare hands . Because he really didn't want to barf on the snow.

Poor boy.

Sunday Sunday

I miss my ward. And the old neighborhood.

Tommy misses his Primary class (and especially his teachers) like you wouldn't believe. And he wants to ride bikes. Which he thinks he can only do at our old house because as soon as we moved it turned into Utah and it's been bitter cold and covered in snow outside. I'm not really sure when he'll realize we're not going back there.

Little John doesn't talk enough to express missing home. But I'm sure he does. Because how could he not?

During the move Josh's work schedule changed. He asked for Sundays off and by some small miracle he got it. Josh has been working at least every other Sunday for....I don't know, longer than I care to think about. And honestly, if I didn't have the calling I had, I might have stopped going to church without him. The boys and I had some good really good weeks when I convinced myself I could handle it, and some really horrible weeks when I swore I'd never leave my house again, but most of the weeks were just hard and over time it all felt so.....pointless. I was getting nothing but mad at my kids, and my kids were crazy and ornery and so so tired and wiggly and ... children.

Here's the thing, I have a testimony and I love church. And I even love The Church. And I love The Gospel. But I felt worn down and alone. So this schedule change which gave me an extra set of hands felt like a gift from God, just for me. Like "I can see you need it, so let me boost you just a bit."

So a month ago my Sundays were very full and structured days. The alarm went off just as early as any other day and the Sunday clothes lasted at least 6 hours for all of us. They were busy days during which I wasn't as available to them as I wanted to be.

And right now, I have this sweet grace period right after you move where they don't call you to anything, and when/if they do it isn't likely to be too demanding - because what if we turn out to be unreliable? - and I get Sunday mornings to spend with my sweet family doing exactly what I want to and avoiding everything else. At least that's what it felt like this morning.

So we made breakfast. The good kinds. Eggs, muffins, fruit. Delicious.

I didn't make the kids get dressed, because late church = late jammies.

So we sat around the Christmas Tree talking and playing. The boys took turns playing the piano, I read a book, and Josh slept.

It was a beautiful morning. And I'm looking forward to a few more like it before we switch to 9:00 church and I start enjoying beautiful afternoons.

Magic of Christmas

This Christmas has mostly seemed significantly less than magical.

We've been blessed and are (as always) thankful for so many good people in our lives. Though our circumstances have left plenty to be desired we've been well cared for. And that is important. Perhaps even most important. 

But I was still feeling a little grinchy. 

Our house was (is if we're being honest....) buried in boxes. The thought of getting out Christmas decorations made me want to curl up in a ball and cry until the new year. 

But then one night I took both boys to the grocery store shortly before 5. We went to the bank to deposit their birthday savings, then grab a few necessary groceries. There was a group of carolers dressed up singing songs and wandering around the store. Quite a lovely addition to the lame-sauce process of buying milk.

Christmas cheer started to spread and I stopped hating everything. I was in a long line waiting to check out when I remembered I needed to go get candy for the gingerbread house decorating thing on Sunday. So I turned around, but because of grocery traffic I went the long way around the store, we turned a corner and when I started to pass, I heard Tommy gasp and start pointing just one tiny finger under his chin. 

I stopped and looked where he was pointing, and there was Santa. Just sitting there waiting just for us. No line. No elves. No hustle. Just waiting. 

I boosted Little John out of the cart and he clung to me like I was trying to hand him over to the devil himself. (typical John behavior these days...) Then I boosted Tommy out of the cart and he stood right next to me trying so hard to be brave. (He typically stands behind my legs around new people. Next to me is a big big sign of bravery) I asked Santa if we could come over and say hi, and of course he said yes. We abandoned our cart and inched closer slowly. Tommy went over to him and gave him a high five, and knuckles, then I thought to reach for my phone to take a picture. 

Santa (the old pro) asked Tommy if he wanted to sit on his lap and talk with him for a minute. Tommy was so brave, and did exactly that. They talked about school and how old they were and Little John. They talked like old friends. Because apparently Santa in a grocery store at 5 o'clock is not in high demand and has all the time in the world to talk to Tommy. 

Eventually he asked Tommy what he wanted for Christmas, and Tommy told him the same thing he's been telling us for a couple of weeks. He wants a flashlight. But not just any flashlight - one that works.

It's going to be a really exciting Christmas morning around here. Because it's possible that we can make all his Christmas Wishes come true.

That's because Christmas really is magic. And Santa sometimes fixes everything.

The New House

This month has been insane for me. A lot of back and forth and trying to decide things and wondering if it's the right thing and trying to make good decisions quickly.

As soon as we got notice that we had to move, we started looking for a place. I scoured ksl and found a lot of workable places. We could live anywhere between Provo and Lehi, we were looking for a home with enough room to bring Cami with us (ideally) but we couldn't swing that it would be ok too. We had a wide price range and not a lot of solid specifications.

But finally we narrowed down the search and I thought I had found a couple of places that would work. Then I mentioned to a friend that we were looking, and she said she was moving out of the house she was renting and they were looking to replace themselves as tenants.

So I went over to see Katie's house in American Fork not really knowing what to expect. I walked through and noticed some oddities (a playroom downstairs with a totally tiled floor...weird? or cool? useful?) but mostly it was just a nice normal house. So I told Josh about it, and since the weird things were still puzzling me (laundry hookups in the downstairs bathroom?) I think overplayed the weirdness. But I still really liked the place. And asked Katie if she'd let us intrude one more time so I could just show it to Josh instead of trying to explain it.

We went over and our boys played in the yard with her kids while Josh and I wandered through the house. This time through I looked more at the things I remembered liking.
Room for my piano! - the only thing we own that I am unwilling to sell
Master bathroom!
Walk in closet!
Food storage room!
Covered back patio!
Big dining room!
Covered sandbox!
Dead end street!
Close to the freeway!

And as we pulled away Josh said "I don't understand why we wouldn't want to live there..." so I called the landlord.

3 days later we met George and he told us we could have it, so we turned down the others and started our plans to move there.

We continued filling up boxes, but stopped with the generic box labels "play room?" and got specific "tile room!" The garage is so full of packed boxes that we'll have to boot both cars from their warm homes and get them used to the cold of the driveway.

Cami will come with us, we'll enjoy our master bathroom (yay!!!) and figure out some way to soften up that tile floor for the play room. I'm looking forward to the change, a fresh start and new (and old) friends.

So, Tuesday is the big day, we'll load up the truck with the majority of our stuff after work and haul it to the new place and never look back. (Until Wednesday, when I'll spend the day cleaning at the old house in a pathetic attempt to get our security deposit back - which I simply don't believe will happen.)

The boys have been in heaven with the ridiculous stash of boxes we've accumulated. Everyday is fort day and when Tommy sits in a box, he's allowed to color on the walls (heaven!)

The First Fist Fight I Ever Saw

You think this is a flashback post going back to my Jr. High days when everyone crowded around the intersection of D and E hall and watched while Tyler the cool kid beat Eugene the nerd boy into oblivion over Lauren the cool girl.

But it isn't. Because when that happened I was in the band room - where nerd girls hang out between classes.

Well if I didn't see a real live fist fight in Jr. High, surely I caught one out by the track in high school right?
No. No I did not. I stuck with nerdiness well into my....oh wait. I'm still a nerd.

But tonight. Well, wow.

Wednesdays are Josh's favorite day because he leaves well before anybody who wants anything of him (me, the boys) is awake. and comes home after the boys are fast asleep peacefully in their beds.

On Wednesdays he has the perfect (sleeping) family. (lucky man.)

That's why I was wrangling the 2 Wild Ones on my own.

I was OK with the demand of sandwiches for dinner.
It was a relief that they wanted a show instead of a dance party.
And when they begged to go straight to jammies instead of baths I wiped my brow and audibly said "whew".
I sat in my usual place on the bed - with room for each boy to get to sit by climb on me, I naively thought we'd just choose some stories and say a few prayers and go to sleep.

Which was apparently WAY too much to ask. Because when Little John started hoarding all the new library books Tommy "The Banshee" Egbert wailed like he'd been shot in the eyeball with an arrow.
Which was fine, until Little John "The Whacker" Egbert decided he'd heard enough of that and took it upon himself to grab a big board book and play whack a mole with The Banshee's head.
The Banshee wasn't going down without a fight, and full on sucker punched The Whacker who crumbled on the spot, but army crawled over to get his revenge....with his teeth.

That's when I finally grew my go go gadget stretch mom arms and managed to keep them in separate corners of the ring room long enough to yell "ENOUGH! You're going to have to put yourselves to bed!" Then using my herculean strength I launched them both into their respective beds, turned out the light, closed the door and told them I hoped they'd make happier choices tomorrow.

Currently Tommy is brushing his teeth (which I gratefully count as putting himself to bed) and John is wailing in his crib because he wants to be allowed to brush his teeth too. He's alternating between requests for "teee teee" (teeth) and "uuuuug uuuuug" (hugs) both of which I typically get him out of bed for.

Hard to believe these boys

just showed me the first real live knock down drag out fist fight I've ever seen live.

This article is much less funny now that I suspect it's true.

Worst Breakup Ever

I've complained in a lot of venues about our landlord because living here has been....slightly less than thrilling in the landlord/tenant relationship.

We've had strangers show up to the door asking to see our home because it was listed as a short sale on the MLS. We've had notices of default on the mortgage posted on the front door. We've been to trustee's sale twice only to learn that Gabriel had filed for personal bankruptcy in order to stay the sale. But he never completed the bankruptcy, so it was dismissed, restarting the trustee's sale process.

We've had floods and water problems which he ignored (or took 3 days to respond to). We've worked hard to make the yard a little better, and show this house a little love and our efforts are typically....well unappreciated is the generous way to say it.

We've sortof known that this house could be foreclosed on at any moment and we'd have 90 days to find a new place. But moving is expensive (and such a pain) that we figured we'd just wait for that to happen. Or until we were ready to buy, then we'd give Gabriel our 30 days' notice and bolt.

On Halloween night while we were at my mom's with the whole family that HE was giving US 30 days and we had to be out so he could "move in" in order to qualify for a loan modification.
I saw the text and immediately started sobbing. Because I'm a sissy and I felt totally rejected.

It's like when you're in a crappy relationship, but you put up with the guy even though he's a jerk and then he breaks up with you before you can beat him to the punch, which leaves you feeling like even a jerk doesn't want you.

I cried for at least 3 days, and I keep getting weepy when I see the things I love about here.

I'll miss our ward. I'll miss our house. I'll miss the stability I was finally starting to feel here. I'll miss the neighbors and the mountains out my front door and I'll really really miss the sight of Tommy crouched under the apple tree stirring the dirt and being a little boy.

But I won't miss the floods, the broken water pipes, the bees (oh the bees!) or the crazy tree stump that looks like a person in the front yard. I won't miss the sumac shoots that will. not. quit. or the weeds which will likely take over the lavender bushes in front. I won't miss the insane utility bills or the constant draft in the winter. I won't miss wondering if we can keep living here or if we're going to get notice that we're out. I won't miss the front of Provo Courthouse waiting for a trustee's sale that won't happen. And I won't miss the landlord.

So I suppose as is usual, change is good. And as soon as we find a place to live, I'll be looking forward to that change.

Now I have to try to find my living room which is currently buried in boxes and attempt to get some packing done. If I don't leave my house for the next 3 weeks, just forgive me. OK?

Oh Little John

When I learned I was pregnant with Tommy I immediately screamed and insisted that Josh get out of bed to properly celebrate with me at 5am. It took everything I had not to announce it to the world (via blog of course) that I was pregnant at 5:02. I not so patiently waited until 7:30 when Josh was driving me to work so we could call our moms. Then I posted it on the blog at 7:34 from my office and thoroughly enjoyed a day (or 3) of congratulations POURING in.

Tommy was an answer to everybody's prayers. Not just mine.

But Little John? Little John was just mine. All mine. I took a pregnancy test by myself in the middle of the day while Tommy was napping. And then I hid the positive pregnancy test and didn't tell Josh for a few days. I wanted to enjoy him (though I didn't know he was him) all by myself. I didn't want to share. He was MY baby and I wasn't ready to announce it yet.

After a while I told Josh.

Then everybody else.

Then I proceeded to grow a beautiful beautiful baby.

Who Tommy named Little John. Oh my gosh, remember that? When Tommy was too little to say Little John and he called him 'iddow yawn? My heart just re-melted.

Lately Little John has become kindof a pain the butt. He still only has a few teeth, and all of the ones under the gums are making him a little devilish. But last week a few more of those teeth popped right through and (in the words of my friend Aundrea) scared the devil right out of him.

Those teeth coming through are just a thing of beauty. John has gotten back to being a loving and snuggly and sweet sweet boy. Apparently teeth make him happy. And teethING makes him....not.

At his Dr. appointment a couple weeks ago we learned that he is staying right on his middle-of-the-road growth curve. He hates Dr.'s, nurses, scales, measurement tools and especially needles. And he only loves suckers. One in each hand and one in my hair. thankyouverymuch And he can get pretty much anything he wants from his mother when he's in pain.

One thing I love about Little John is that he gets deliriously happy. He laughs and giggles and his eyes literally twinkle. just like the movies He is magic. And oh so wonderful! I love this boy.

Memories: Primary Program

As a child, the Primary Program was a big deal to me. A chance to show off and be praised.

I'd memorize my part no matter how long it was and be unreasonably proud when people were (properly) impressed by my mad skills.

One year I did that embarrassing thing where you talk too loud into a mic and everybody laughs, which makes you feel stupid, so then you're all stupid and jittery. At 9 years old I was properly embarrassed to speak in public.

But mostly I just remember my parents being proud of me when I was done. Such a lovely feeling. I'm sure I milked it for all it was worth. And maybe a little more.

***************************************************
The week they handed out parts for the primary program we were on vacation in St. George. So the next week when Tommy got his part, I was worried a week wasn't long enough to learn it.

When you think of others before yourself, you make a forever family.

But then I remembered how Tommy has a freaky awesome memory and it would be easy.

We said it together a few times on Sunday afternoon and by Monday he had it down. But he got bored of saying it right and thought it would be better if it had potty words in it.

When you think of tooting before your toot, you make a forever bum toilet. 

Aww young humor.

So we made up a song so he'd stop with the potty words. Which miraculously worked. Most of the time. I was still a little concerned that he'd bust out the toilet line while on the stand, but I think he was just the right amount of terrified.

Grandma Fugal came and sat with me and Little John during the program which makes this officially the easiest sacrament meeting I have attended in 4 years.

The put the sunbeams on the ground level just in front of the rostrum, which I'm sure was a wise choice given the ants which clearly occupied their pants. But I was bummed not to be able to see Tommy most of the time. His class of sunbeams has like 15 little boys in it. And as far as I know zero girls. They have 4 teachers, 2 sets of 2 which alternate teaching weeks. And all 4 teachers were there to help with the program.
One stood at the microphone feeding them lines and boosting them up.
One stood on the left side of the stand to wave them up in a line.
One stood on the right side of the stand to wave them from the mic back down to their seats.
And one stayed at their seats to welcome them and get them to fold their arms again.

When it was Tommy's turn, he did great. No toilet. No toots. No potty jokes. And especially no shouting. Just his "mediumest" voice saying the assigned words. I've never been so relieved in my life. Except that one time when after he didn't exist in the ultrasound we made a deal and he properly posed for the camera and we knew he was a real baby with a beating heart in there.

I was so proud, it was all I could do to stay in my seat and not run over to him to tell him how proud I was of him for being so brave. Which I knew I'd do immediately after the meeting. But then those 4 awesome sunbeam teachers took him straight to class and I didn't even get to see him for 2 more hours!

Anyway, the point is that Tommy is amazing. And brave. And kind and smart and important. And I love him. Because really, what's not to love?

History: Music

I don't remember not taking piano lessons - though it was the case at some point in my babydom.

Me. Babydom. "Playing" the piano.

But I do remember my mom teaching me lessons, and hating it.

I also remember taking lessons with Sarah & Katy from some guy who lived over by Vittles which is now Arctic Circle in Pleasant Grove. But Vittles was famous for its grasshopper shake, which my sisters had me convinced contained real grasshoppers. His piano (and lessons) were in his basement and his house and all my memories of there make me squirm. He must have been a bit creepy to me.

But mostly when I think of piano lessons I think of Karla.

Karla taught lessons out of her home in her non-creepy basement and she. was. awesome.

I didn't realize it then, but it must have been a significant sacrifice for my mom to drive us over to Karla's house WAAAAAY over in Orem (whatever...that's far) then sit and wait through all our lessons before getting us all home. It took a lot of time. And that was just the lessons. The practice must have been torture - none of us were extraordinary pianists. Good - just not extraordinary.

The memories of my mom shouting over the piano noise from the kitchen "flaaat!" or "shaarp" will be with me forever.

We'd sit in Karla's basement and while one person was having a lesson, the other would do technical games on the computer or read music history worksheets.

From Karla I learned about playing hymns (something I still struggle with) and reverence for music. I wasn't a very emotionally expressive person but Karla would not give up on me. "moooove your body while you play" she'd say - while exaggerating her body movement while she played. "Feel the piece. What is it about? Where is the emotion?" I never really got that. Though I like to think that if I played today it would be different.

Karla also arranged for some pretty awesome musical opportunities. I got to compete in stuff, do the regular recitals, group lessons, collect trophies and even record a song in a real live recording studio.

At one recital when I was 12 years old, I was playing a piece which was fast. Fingers flying all over the keyboard which was the only way I felt even a little accomplished as a pianist. Speed. Speed and memorization.

I practiced that song until I could play it in my sleep and my fingers KNEW it even if my brain didn't. In fact, it's still my go to song if I sit down without music.

Recital day came and I was nervous (as always) but dressed to the 9's. (Shoulder pads people. I was mature enough to wear shoulder pads.) and when I sat down to the beautiful piano on stage I was intimidated and shaky and terrified. I had the music, but I didn't need it. I played and played and played, and suddenly it was over. Too soon. I thought. The piece is longer than that....I must have played it faster than I ever have. 

And as I stood up to take my bow, I realized I had skipped the entire middle section.

My face immediately turned red and I was mortified. Nothing worse had ever happened to any musician ever. Not ever.

Somehow I survived that day, and took lessons a bit longer. But I quit before I got really good. I decided I wasn't really talented anyway, and I couldn't/didn't want to "waste my time" trying anymore. What a fool I was. But that was only one of the foolish things I did. 

*************************************************************
I really love the piano. I love to play and I really love to listen.

Josh loves to play - but he doesn't read music, he just plays out of his head. And it's beautiful. I love to hear him play. I want our kids to play. I want to have accompaniment when we sing primary songs during FHE.

I've been begging for a piano since the day we got married. We've bought a lot of stupid stuff, but a piano wasn't ever on the list.

I've found a few on ksl lately that I'd like to own. But by the time Josh is available to go get it for me, it's gone. Plus he really hates the idea of moving a piano.

So tonight while he was at scout camp I got on ksl just in case my piano was there. And I saw one I kinda liked, and the guy selling it could deliver it. And I had the cash to buy it. So I loaded my pajama clad babies in the car to go look at it at 7:30.

When Kevin answered the door and I realized he was blind I was surprised. But he knew exactly who I was, what I wanted and which piano I was talking about directing me around the 14 others in his living room to the one I came to see. Shouldn't I have been directing him?

So I bought it and asked if he could deliver it. Yes he could.

He asked how late was too late, I stammered when I said "you mean tonight?" and let him know that anytime before 10 was fine with me but that I was no rush.

He called at 8:45.
He came at 9:45.

And that's the story of when I bought a piano from a blind guy (a blind guy who delivers pianos!) while Josh was at scouts.

History: Donations

Tithing was a law in my house growing up, and it was never a hard principle for me to get on board with. Get money, pay your tithing. Easy. I was raised that way and I was promised that if I did I would be blessed both spiritually and financially.

The financial blessing really sunk in for me. I was probably 8 or 9 years old, for the first tithing settlement I vividly remember. Tithing settlement happens at the end of the year when you meet with your religious leader to declare if you paid a full tithe or not. The clerk gave me a piece of paper with the report of the money I had paid that year. It couldn't have been more than $6 or $7. But at the very bottom of that little paper is the math. $6 is 10% of $60. So it showed "total income = $60".

I waited anxiously outside the bishop's office for our turn.

When it seemed that things were wrapping up, I asked my sister (or mom?) when we'd get all that money. Fully expecting a check for $60 at the end of the night, I was a bit disappointed to learn that was how much money I had "earned" that year and I wouldn't see another penny of it.

Though the financial blessings of paying tithing haven't come in the way I once thought they would, they have always come. We've been blessed with the ability to provide for ourselves and when that ability ran out, we've always been given exactly what we needed.

******************************************************
A few years ago when we lived in Foxboro someone approached us about Friends of Scouting. They had announced in church that "every little bit helps" but when they asked us for money we (I) sortof cringed. Josh is definitely the generous one in this relationship. I think we gave them $5. (We were stingy stingy students!)

Fast forward to this year, Josh is collecting donations for Friends of Scouting. I asked him how it was going and my eyes nearly popped out of my head when he said someone gave him $150. One. Hundred. Fifty. Dollars. Cash money. To Friends of Scouting!!!! So I immediately flashed back to the cheapskates we were that year. I'm not sure who to apologize to for our insulting donation....so I'm apologizing to The Internet.

Dear Internet,
I'm sorry for coughing up 5 lousy dollars for the scouts. It's not that I don't believe in scouts, it's that I am cheap by nature and I had/have no concept of an appropriate donation size. Please forgive me and I'll do better next time.
Love,
Generous Me

Dear Scouting,
Stop being so dang expensive OK?
Love,
Poor Me