The Good, the Bad, the Extremely Hard

Every morning when I wake up, I ask myself "What would YOU like to do today?" and then ...I do it. It's usually something simple: read a chapter of a book with a cup of hot coffee...one with real cream in it. Take a bubble bath in the middle of the morning without someone peeing in it. Bake something that makes my house smell good without recreating the sack of Rome in my kitchen.

It's bliss. The last time I was this happy, we lived in Jacksonville, FL for a few brief months of ocean and sand and sunsets that left me as boneless and content as a pup on a warm porch. I have missed that place, and mostly, that person, ever since we left.

 So many things have happened in our lives over the last 18 months that it is a little bit overwhelming. I wish I would have blogged faithfully every single week, but I just wasn't there, and frankly, am still not there, but I wanted to try to capture a little bit of the emotional journey we've been on for roughly a year and a half.

If you want the short version: Good, but incredibly hard. OK, see you next month!

For those that want the longer version, keep going. Fair warning, a lot of this may not make sense to anyone but a Generation Y-er, but alas, I am a product of my time.

Seemingly random aside: you never know what you're going to get with the AFN (Armed Forces Network). It's a true audio grab bag. Sometimes its sports news, sometimes it's Rush Limbaugh (quickly followed by a retching noise and a scramble for anything else), sometimes it's the latest Taylor Swift, and sometimes it's a blast from the past. 

Tonight as I drove down the sakura (cherry tree) tunnel headed toward the south overrun, I heard Puddle of Mudd's "Blurry", which was very popular in late 2001, early 2002. Chances are that if you're my age, you're totally thinking "Everything's so blurrrryyyy, and everyone's so faaaaaaake" in that signature early 2000's alt raspy wail. OK, yes, now that THAT is stuck in all our heads...

All of a sudden, I wasn't here, I was there, Christmas 2001, nervously waiting to pick (future) Hubs up from the airport.  I didn't know him all that well because we'd only meet in October of that year, but we'd sort of cautiously begun dating with the understanding that neither of us wanted anything serious for the myriad reasons that young people don't want serious relationships: distance, previous relationship drama trauma, not wanting to be tied down, yada yada yada. But he wanted me to pick him up after break, and I was willing, which was a first small hurdle cleared. At least being home hadn't totally erased our interest in each other, at a time when two weeks was a seriously long time. 

I remember exactly what I was wearing : a tight red sweater and low rise jeans that laced up with leather ties. In my defense, this was decidedly not a time of understated elegance. For instance, "pimp coats" were all the rage, preferably paired with a short skirt. Subtle, it was not. Fortunately, I was 21, so I was at least the right age to pull that look off. Small blessings, folks. I also remember exactly the nervousness I was feeling from being alone (it was right after Christmas and my seven (!) roommates were still home), and from picking up this guy whom I thought I might actually really like, and yes, the song that was playing, along with the sound of doors opening and closing from Instant Messenger as people signed on and off.

Anyway, it's not my favorite song, but I do love that memory for a dozen and one reasons. Not least because if you had told me then that I'd be driving the world's dorkiest minivan, on the left, on an Air Force Base, in Japan, with three of that man's small children in the backseat, nervously waiting for yet another plane to bring him home, I would have laughed in disbelief.

It was just so far away from where we were, and yet somehow here we are. One step at a time, one application at a time, one exam at a time, one move at a time, we have somehow racked up a lot of degrees and cities and friends and memories. Some of it has been lovely and simple and easy, and some of it has been hard. For the last five years, most of it has been hard. And the last year and a half, in particular, was grueling.

I don't want to write a book about being the spouse of a surgical resident. Wait, check that, I would actually like to do that. But I don't want to write one here and now. Suffice it to say that if you've been there, you know. IT EFFING SUCKS.  Let's just say it's challenging.

Of course it is, right? Your spouse is being asked to do a high pressure job NONSTOP for 80 hours a week.  They're constantly being pushed at work. Do more, come in earlier, stay later, work on this, perfect that. If they're not directly involved in patient care, they're studying for upcoming cases. Or attending a mandatory lab. Or getting extra practice on the cadavers. Or doing the extra research they're gently "encouraged" to do. Or preparing a presentation. Or going to journal club (that one killed me).

When they do make it home, they're completely and totally spent. And there you are, hoping for some adult conversation, some help with the ever increasing "honey do" list, maybe even a chance to escape for some precious alone time without another human being physically attached to your body.Who can blame them if sometimes they fall short? Who can blame you if you're frustrated by doing more than your "fair share" of the work?

It's hard.

There are good things too, of course. We created our family, we made amazing lifelong friendships, I watched Hubs grow as a physician and a surgeon and a father, and I grew up a lot myself. I don't regret much at all.

But the last year of residency? That was another level, and probably a bridge too far, at least as far as I'm concerned.

I went home in August of 2013 to visit with my family. I took Belle and Biggie and had just found out I was pregnant with the person that would become Flora. I met my sisters and brother in NC and then everything went to hell in a handbasket. My parents were separated and living in two separate cities. I'd known this for a while of course, and had been home before during the situation, but never with all of siblings at once. It was awful. It was like someone had died. We were all in different places in the cycle of grief, my dad wasn't doing well at the time (he's much better now), and it was just...hell. During all this family fun, I started bleeding and thought I was having another miscarriage.

I trekked back to MN in a black cloud of grief and anger which was exacerbated by first trimester nausea and fatigue. Obviously Flora was going to be just fine, but at the time, I refused to be happy about anything, sure that more loss was heading our way, and that all my physical misery was going to be useless. I felt like I was mourning the collapse of my parents and the loss of my children and it took me a long time to let go of the anger and pain associated with those things. In the short term, I was just angry about everything and at everyone. I remember my best friend Jen asking if she had made me mad in some way and I think I told her, and I quote, "I hate everyone and everything right now, it's not you personally". I was sort of joking, but only sort of, and I think I was pretty insufferable during this time. Just a guess.

Oh, and did I mention Hubs was doing six straight months of trauma surgery? Yes, yes he was. On call every fourth night and basically comatose during the brief hours he was at home for six months. I clearly remember one night him wearily arriving home at 9 PM...after leaving the house at 4:45 AM... to find me crying on the couch because I had fed the kids granola bars for dinner because opening the door to the fridge had sent me dry heaving into the sink. I begged him to wash off the vomity dishes because I couldn't get near it...which he did...while dealing with two hungry and overtired children clamoring for more food, more drink, more attention, more of everything. I think he said, and I quote again, "God, I hate the first trimester." A good time was had by all.

Fortunately, we didn't have to do much during this time. Just get our house ready to sell. And then show it. And then pack it up. And then move. Across the globe. But only after a six week break where we were homeless. But it could have been worse.

Because at least Hubs wasn't finishing his residency and defending four years of research and a thesis during all of this. Except that he was, of course. So he wasn't really around much. It was cool, I could totally handle it.

Except that we had a baby in there, which was amazing, save only for the fact that the sweet little muffin had colic and cried almost all the time and did not sleep apart from me until she was four months old. Fortunately I was able to get in a shower most days when Tim would strap a crying, wailing Flora into a baby carrier and walk around the house so I could get a 30 minute break.

See what I mean? A lot of it was good, but it was ALL hard. 

When we got here, Hubs and I were both so tired that we basically collapsed. Yes, we wanted to see and experience Japan. But mostly we wanted to just not feel like we were dying. Our main goal was simply to get to a place where we were actually happy again.

We had five years of sleep deprivation to deal with, for starters. If anything, mine might have been worse, considering that I've had five pregnancies in six years, three children carried to term, and three children that have been/are breastfeeding for a year and a half apiece, and I don't think I've slept an entire night through for about five years. Just writing that made me tired. In fact, I was so physically drained that I had the hemoglobin of an anorexic teenager and then I forgot that I was anemic because when, exactly, did I have time to think about my own health...and yeah. We were tired.

The good news is that our mission has been accomplished. We've slept a lot. We've stuffed ourselves on noodles  and dumplings and worked on perfecting a cup of coffee. I bake. I cook. I'm working on the perfect pizza crust. Because of the aforementioned activities, I run. We're slowly making friends, helped along by the fact that our neighbors are frickin' fantastic. I'm working on speaking, reading, and writing Japanese. I ignore piles of laundry in favor of piles of babies. I drink wine, and shag my husband, and watch TV. Not always in that order. It's glorious.

It doesn't take much to recharge my batteries these days. A little bit of silence, a few indulgences, and then I want my family, with all the clamor and chaos that three little ones trail in their wake. But I'm better able to be the mother I want to be for taking an hour for myself every few days. It's taken me about five years to realize that it is both OK to do what I want at times and in fact, its' necessary. I like serving my family. Service feels like love. But if I never recharge my own batteries, I can't fill anyone's needs and then we're all stark raving lunatics shouting at each other.

Along those lines, I made goals for myself for the next two years. Not for me as a mother or a wife or a sister or a friend, but just for me as a person. They're pretty simple.

I want to be able to touch my toes. 

I want to make curry, ramen, pizza, bread, and pies like a boss. 

I want to run three miles and actually enjoy it. 

I want to write more. 

I want to read more. 

I want to keep up my fluids: coffee, wine, tea in particular. Oh, and water. 

I want to understand basic Japanese conversation.

I want to find an Anglican/Episcopal church. And go to it.

I want to photograph my kids at least once a day because their little faces are my heart.  


So. Last year: lots of good, but all of it was hard. I'm hoping to switch the next year to "Lots of good. All of it was good." I don't know if anyone gets that lucky in life, to go through an entire year with nothing hard, but I am willing to be the first!

 In that spirit, I have just asked myself what I want to do, and the answer is "Go to bed", so that's what I plan to do. First, of course, I have to make the bed since Biggie Smalls crept into bed last night with an unfortunate stomach bug, but hey, you'll notice I wasn't delusional enough to ask for a year with no messes.

Fuji Kids: Part 1

I have decided to change the title of the blog to "I wish I wrote more, but..."

Ha. Just kidding. That title would be so appropriate, but alas, it is a trifle unwieldy. I do love a good ellipsis though "..." but for now, we'll keep the title as it is.

I feel like the fates are against me ever blogging again, because even as I write this, the screen is literally jumping up and down and right and left with no warning. It's like my blog is having a seizure. Maybe the shock of being updated is just too much for it. If it looks weird to you, be patient with us, we're epileptic tonight.  (Another possible title: the Epileptic Ellipsis).

The storied mountain itself at sunset. Taken from base by my fave photographer, Tim.

		Speaking of Fuji-san, our daily lives have changed a bit, as both Adelaide and Graydon are now enrolled in Fuji Kids Montessori youchien. Fuji means wisteria in Japanese and I don't know if there actually is any wisteria at their school, or if it's called Fuji because there is a wonderful view of Mt. Fuji as you approach the school. Either way, it's easy to say and remember, and I'll take what I can get. My Fuji Kids One of the annoying things that happens when a person starts to learn a foreign language is that they then pepper their native tongue with tidbits of their newly acquired language.  I know it's annoying, but here I am doing it anyway. In part, because I'm trying to think in Japanese instead of mentally translating and in part because we don't really have an American equivalent to youchien. It translates to kindergarten, but that isn't an exactly equivalent term. In America that means a grade that is part of the educational system, meaning everyone attends, and it's one year. Here, youchien is not required, though most children do attend one, and they last for three years. Most Japanese children begin their formal education at age 3, five days (sometimes six!) a week for roughly five hours a day. The school year begins in April and you are placed in classes by your age at that time. So if you're five in April, you're in the 5 year old class. In our case, Addie attends five days a week. She gets the bus at 9:15 and comes home at 3:30. Graydon attends somewhere between once and four times a week, and the oddest thing for me is that I have no say in his schedule. The school sends out a calendar for the entire year that lets you know what days the preschool meets for the two year class. This past week he went once. Next week he goes four days. (Note: I think that is God's gift to me for my birthday week, as Graydon is firmly entrenched in what I oh-so-fondly refer to as "the jackass years".)  Yes, I'm referring to this guy. Super cute. Super difficult. Japanese women have the highest rates of working after becoming mothers out of all the first world nations, and it is easy for me to see why. The schools are incredibly accommodating. You can drop your child off as early as 7:30 AM and pick them up as late as 6 PM. School care is also available on Saturdays. For an additional fee you can have the bus pick your child up and drop them off beginning at age three. Lunch is provided every day, and it is invariably nutritious and  delicious. Tea and snacks are provided for children who stay for later care. You can also sign your child up for lessons after school, including foreign languages, dance, and sports. This all begins at age three, remember. This week's lunch menu. Pardon the shadow of my head. It's getting late and the niceties are going out the window. And it is surprisingly affordable...that is, after the initial mammoth payout to get started. There is definitely some sticker shock involved with the registration fees, uniform costs, school supply costs, and so on. It adds up to a few thousand dollars, which is done in part to discourage parents from bouncing around from school to school. It's an investment in the truest sense of the word. But after that? About $300 per month for full time youchien. I believe we paid $200 for Addie's two afternoons a week preschool last year, for comparison.That could be more or less depending on how often you order school lunch and do extra care, but still...very affordable considering the level of care you're getting. Never in life did I think I would send my child to school looking like an extra in the Sound of Music, but it is pretty cute. I say "formal education" but at least at Fuji, the emphasis is really on play and developing independence. This fits right in with the Montessori philosophy, which Tim and I both love. Their motto is "Help me to do it myself", which is basically parenting in a nutshell, at least in my view.

The school itself has won awards for its design and I was instantly smitten when we toured. The entire building is designed to be on a child's scale and to encourage play and exploration. The roof is a large flat circle with slides down to the ground that encourages the children to climb and run in circles until they drop.

The school! That large surface with all the kids on it is actually the roof.

Montessori also puts a lot of emphasis on exploring the natural world and using natural materials in play and learning. This meshes seamlessly with the Japanese aesthetic, and it's very, very well done at the school. There are no walls between the classrooms, only the type of accordion partitions you sometimes see in church basements, so it feels very open and free flowing. The buildings were all constructed around any existing trees.



 For safety, the openings in the roof are surrounded by nets. The nets are hand woven by Japanese fishermen using their traditional weaving methods.

A good view of the roof and the nets. The inclined glass structures are skylights.

The kids are allowed to climb the trees and jump down into the nets. They warned us on our school visit that sometimes children do get hurt and that we would need to be basically OK with that. Their attitude is that little mistakes with little consequences are the best way for children to learn. We completely agree. Besides, it looks like so much fun!


 


They also grow food on site, including rice, sweet potatoes, and eggplants and the kids are involved in each step of the food production process, from planting all the way to harvesting, washing, and eating the produce. As if that wasn't enough, they also have ponies and ducks at the school and the children get to ride the ponies on their birthdays.

It's basically the coolest school ever, and I wish I was five again, which is an envy I usually reserve for naptime.

So Tim and I love it, and I think the kids are liking it, especially Addie. Graydon...well he takes off running when he sees the bus and I usually have to drag him out of a pine tree kicking and screaming, but he'll come around. I hope. 

The computer is still seizing, so I'm going to break this into two parts. Part Two will contain all of my funny stories thus far. That's what we call a teaser in the biz. ;-) 

Our precious eldest girl. We're so proud of her! Even better, she's proud of herself.

But before I share the funny stuff, it would be remiss of me not to mention something very serious.

I'm so appreciative of this opportunity for a thousand and one reasons, but the one that sticks out to me the most is that we're very fortunate indeed to be based in a country where educating women is both allowed and encouraged. It could so easily be otherwise.

For so many bright young girls, school is a financial impossibility, or worse, downright dangerous. Every day when I watch Adelaide board the bus with her friends, I am grateful that I don't fear her being shot like Malala Yousafzai or kidnapped like the young woman taken by Boko Haram in Africa. The tears in my eyes are not from fear, but pride. Someday, she might be the President, or a surgeon, or a librarian, or stay at home parent. She could be anything and probably will be many things. Opportunities await. I never want to take that for granted.

Martin Luther King Jr., speaking on the steps of the State Capitol in Alabama, said "...the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." Tonight, I am thankful to be living on the far side of that arc as well as the globe. And if her school is a series of arcs, well...that's just perfect.

Shinjuku

Today we finally, finally, finally made it into downtown Tokyo. We've only been here for four weeks or so, but I've wanted to visit Tokyo for about 3 weeks and 5 days of that time, so I was pleased.

We decided to take the train from Fussa into Shinjuku. Shinjuku is a huge commercial district, the kind of place that guide books love to call "bustling". It boasts the world's busiest railway station (two million passengers a day!), the Tokyo Metropolitan government (housed in weirdly Gotham City-esque skyscrapers) and a huge red light district (we didn't visit that, natch), along with no less than four or five department stores with ten to twelve stories each. It's ...bustling.

In the midst of all of this, is the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, which has been a part of Tokyo since the Edo era, in one capacity or another. And this is why I love Japan. The world's largest city, where space of any sort is incredibly expensive, and yet there are green spaces everywhere. And not just little pocket parks, but enormous, sprawling, lavish amounts of green space. The Japanese get so many things right.

It reminds me of Central Park a bit, with its juxtaposition of modern buildings and venerable old trees.

 Anyway, before Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden was a public park, it served as a private garden for the Imperial family, where presumably they entertained themselves by creating various types of landscapes to stroll through. We wanted to see the traditional Japanese garden portion of things, so off we went.

At first, I was highly unimpressed, though it was not the garden's fault. Our large shipment of furniture hasn't arrived yet (it's coming in two days!) so we don't have a stroller suitable for Tokyo yet. The Double BOB jogger is definitely built on American lines, let's put it like that. I was packing Emilia and girlfriend puts off a lot of heat. It was basically like carrying around a small portable furnace in the 90 degree weather. So there was sweat. And there were mosquitoes. Lots of them. We were pursued through the forest portion of the park by blood sucking insects whilst carrying screaming children. I think that might have been one of Dante's levels of hell, but I can't be sure. 

Then all of a sudden we popped out onto a lawn and we were in historical Japan. 



 



There were dragonflies everywhere. I have never, ever seen so many dragonflies, nor been so excited to see dragonflies because it was mosquito free territory. We lolled under some trees and then lolled some more because we were totally defeated by the heat and blood loss.

Staring up into the trees

Perfect patches of shade under each tree

We didn't move an inch, but we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a flock of ladies that surrounded my children, cooing and snapping pictures and pinching their cheeks and declaring things like "I love you, little babies, you are super kawaii" (rhymes with Hawaii and means cute). Tim and I were slightly bemused because we suddenly experienced what it was like to parent Suri Cruise, minus only the wealth and the looks and the strange alien religion.

We were happy to let the ladies take pictures with the kids, as they (the women) were radiating goodwill and happiness and also because we were slightly stunned. Our kids were filthy. I mean, dirty in the way that only small children can manage. Graydon had grime in the folds of his neck. Addie's feet were smell-able at ten paces due to her refusal to wear socks with her sneakers. Her face is sporting several scratches thanks to an attack by Graydon and more bug bites. We had been walking around Tokyo in 90 degree heat for several hours and no one was at their best. Some of us (ok, me) were decidedly at their worst, sporting streams of sweat, lank hair, approximately 86 mosquito bites and a broken foot. (Note: Yes, I have broken my foot. I wish I could say it was doing something coolly Japanese, like sumo wrestling or one of those game show obstacle courses, but alas, I simply walked into a chair.) No one wanted my picture, that's for sure, and the kids were not in much better condition.

In addition to THAT, the women taking pictures with them? They were in full kimono. Brilliant cloth bright with embroidery, flowers in their hair, those divided socks with the high wooden flip flops, fans in their hands, the whole stunning, glittering array of traditional Japanese attire, and all they wanted to do was take pictures with my dirty, cranky, corn-fed American kids. "Exotic" is very much a matter of perspective, it seems.

Sweaty. Bug bitten. Dirty. But those eyelashes...

And the dimples...

I guess they still are pretty cute.

Strangers in a Strange Land

Tim told me that I needed to blog tonight and that he did not care for the little tidbit posts. Humph. So here I sit, trying to manufacture some coherence out of a brain that is still hovering somewhere around Alaska.

We are here. Boggling, my mind is. Yoda, channeling I am. Because the name Yoda sounds like it could be Japanese.That's funny to me right now, which gives you a clue to my enfeebled mental state. God, jet lag sucks. More about THAT later.

First, Japan. Introductions are in order.

According to Wikipedia, Japan is an island nation and a nation of islands, composed of over 6,852 islands in total, though I think the actual number is subject to debate and climate change.

We are on the largest island of them all, called Honshu, seen in that fetching shade of mauve below.

And on Honshu, we are located in Tokyo prefecture, in a small town called Fussa, highlighted here. We are about 1.5 hours from central Tokyo, heading generally northwest, but we are still considered to be in Tokyo, because it's huge. That's a bit confusing to me, and it feels as though North Carolina suddenly decided that the entire middle portion of the state was just "Raleigh". But hey, this is the world's largest city, so I guess they can make their own rules.



About a third of Fussa is taken up by Yokota Air Base, which is where we are living.

 As you can see, everything centers around the airfield. I have already gotten used to feeling the hum of jet engines deep in my bones and to seeing large aircraft flying around at low altitudes. This is basically THE hub for all Pacific operations, as I understand it. There is apparently a typhoon heading into the area this week, so aircraft from Okinawa have been coming in to ride out the storm in the safety of the enormous hangars here.

We picked out our house this week and we will be living in the East Housing area, which is the area closest to the hospital. There are parks everywhere, two elementary schools, swimming pools, a library, and even a Chili's, among other American restaurants.Right now we are living in the TLF*, or temporary living facilities, which is basically a three bedroom apartment.

*So far I have gathered that if the military can create an acronym for something, it's going to do it, even if it would be easier to just say the words. Example: We live in the TLF and shop in the BX at the YCC which is located beside the AFRC where people might ask you "Did you just PCS? What's your MOS?" among other things. 

We haven't set foot off the base yet, mostly because there has been so much in-processing to do and it seems like everything has to be done in triplicate. The strange land I'm referring to in my title is not Japan at all. Technically, I haven't even touched Japanese soil yet. That's fine because we have the minor culture shock of military life to adjust to first.

Things are different here. Uniforms are more common than civilian clothes. Everyone needs military I.D. to do anything, even buy groceries. Tire shredders, vehicle barriers, and heavy machinery are much in evidence. It's all quite intimidating and vaguely menacing to my civilian eyes.

This is to say nothing of the many rituals and customs of the military that we barely comprehend. I don't know a sergeant from a colonel or what to do when music comes over the loudspeakers. Every day has us furiously Googling something to figure it all out. And poor Tim is of course coming in as a Captain and is nominally "commanding" people that have served their entire lives. In reality, of course, they are showing him the ropes, at least until they scrub in the OR, which won't happen for another week or so.

Fortunately, the people are enormously kind. Tim's fellow orthopedic staff met us at the airport here at Yokota by waving a model of a hand in the air, which was a great foreshadowing of the role they've played in our lives. They have lent us their hands, and vehicles, and time to help us settle in. They've cheerfully ferried us around to buy groceries, look at cars, and attend classes.

We've tried not to drive them TOO crazy and we do try to catch the free shuttle that runs around base. We're not always successful at that, as I noted in an earlier post. Sadly, that wasn't the only time we missed the shuttle, but it led to us meeting a great woman named Marla  who took us home from the grocery store in her van. All five of us, and our bags. And then she babysat my kids during my driver's education class, for five hours, and refused to let us pay her. These are the kind of neighbors we've inherited and I'm already incredibly grateful. We know from our time in Rochester than having a family-away-from-family changes everything for the better.

There is SO much to write about, but my brain feels like goo right about now. It's only been a week since we got here, which makes my mind/goo slosh around alarmingly. I think this has been one of the longest weeks of my life, despite actually being the shortest, due to losing a day to time travel  the odd effect of traveling westward.

As you have probably gathered, jet lag is real and it is not kind. Tim is perfectly fine and thinks his years of torture training as a resident have enabled him to fall asleep on command, anywhere, and at any time. He is only slightly smug about this, the lucky bass...et hound.

Adelaide is approaching fine, waking up at 6 or 630 AM. Graydon wakes up at 530 AM, and Emilia is waking at 430. Poor Emilia is like a baby in a cruel science experiment right now. "Hey, I know, let's see what happens when we take a baby and move her every few days for the entirety of here life!" Well, after much testing, I can confirm that what happens is that Baby gets her security from being with Mom, preferably with a breast in her mouth at all times, the better to ensure that Mom doesn't slip away in the night. I can't blame that little punkin a bit, although I am very much looking forward to some stability, for her sake.

For now, we are here, we are adjusting, and we are happy if slightly confused at all times. Kind of like puppies tumbling out of their kennel for the first time, but with better control of our bladders*.

*Well, most of us anyway. Graydon did announce his presence at 5:30 this morning by climbing into bed with me and saying "Hey, Mom, I need  you to change my diaper." Good morning, son. Good morning.

SuperMan?

The day before we left for Japan, I excitedly informed my kids "OK, guys, tomorrow we are going to fly to Japan!" Addie cheered, but Graydon said "NO, Mom, we not flying!". I said "Why not, buddy? It's going to be so fun!" To which he replied "Because. I no have my cape."

Pebble Post

*My entire last year of blogging was filled with lots of posts about not blogging. And that's understandable, given what was happening at the time, but I'd like to post more this year, without always feeling like I need to give a narrative structure to the post. I'm going to call these posts "Pebbles" because ultimately all mountains are made of lots of small rocks. I actually just made that up and have no idea if is factually true, but if feels poetically true, so there it shall stay.

We missed the shuttle the other day and that was bad. There is a small bus that goes around the base and stops at the most important places, including the temporary living facilities where we are staying at the moment. It usually comes by every half hour or so, but this was the last shuttle of the day. And we missed it. So we had to walk home with our three exhausted children and bags and it was a few miles and it was hot. We were streaming sweat and berating ourselves and feeling generally cross and inconvenienced.

But it was also evening and the sun was setting and as we walked around and across the airfield, we stopped for a moment of rest and noticed that the sun was piercing through the clouds in a series of long shafts of light that colored the sky gold and rose and pearl. Clouds were breaking like waves over the mountains that cradle the base like an egg in a nest and lo and behold, we could see Mt. Fuji in the distance, massive and majestic and unmistakable.

We missed the shuttle and that was actually quite good.

Hiatus Part 2: The Revenge

Tomorrow at 7 AM the packers arrive to take some of our things to storage. And then on Weds our second shipment of stuff  heads to Japan. This is the smaller-but-still large shipment of things that go by plane. Our enormous shipment that goes by ship has already been taken.

And then we leave on Thursday for what is sure to be a fun filled trip full of laughter and peace and deep thoughts and conversation ....oh no, wait, we're driving for 18 hours with three children under five. One of which will eat every half hour or so it seems. Dear God, let us all survive with sanity more or less intact.

I have thoughts,oh so many thoughts, about leaving Rochester and the end of Tim's residency and leaving my alternate residency family and leaving Tim's actual family, and Emilia's first two months of life and what it's like to see Addie with her sister and Graydon as an older brother, and oh my heavens, I want to blog so so badly. I'm so afraid that I'm going to forget how this feels and that if I don't pin it down, I'll lose it, and THAT makes me want to burst into tears for roughly the 875th time in the past four months.

Still, I'm going on hiatus due to technical difficulties. Really, I have two main problems. The first and most insurmountable is that we will be in North Carolina for roughly a month, and we will have internet access but only via Kindles and the iPad and have you ever tried to blog on a touch screen? It's awful. Seriously. The only thing that could be slower and more excruciating than "hunt and peck" is actually setting the type on a big ass printing press and cranking out a physical copy a la the 18 century. I would rather write it out longhand and kick it medieval style with illuminated capitals and awesome calligraphy than hunt and peck because at least then I could wear my robe all day and listen to Gregorian chants and get high on incense.

The second is that none of the devices mentioned above have my camera program on them and I don't like doing multiple entries without photos. A few here and there are fine but I like pictures and blogging actually spurs me to work on my (admittedly poor) photography skills.

Therefore I probably won't blog again until August. Ugh. Wretched but unfortunately necessary. So, until August, dear blog.

Emilia's Birth Story: Part 2

If you missed Part 1, start here

When we last left our heroine, she had just had her water broken...and we now re-join the scene...(I find this works really well if you imagine it in a Spanish accent, but that's just me)

The contractions went from a whisper to a scream much faster than I could process.

I actually think full-on unmedicated hard labor is something every woman should try to experience at least once. Even if you don't stick with it (as I didn't, this time around), the sheer force of what's happening in your body has to be experienced to be believed.

Time stops flowing normally. Minutes last for ages and yet somehow hours go by quickly. You're not moving much, yet you break a sweat and feel unbearably hot in your own skin.. You want to speak, to ask for help, to explain what's happening, but you can't form words. It's incredibly primal and all you want is for the pain to end and yet you want it to continue because each surge is bringing you closer and closer to your child. . You are surrounded by people but somehow the pain is entirely personal and private. It's simultaneously humbling and empowering as you cry and groan and breathe through each pain and work to channel the energy coursing through you. It both breaks you and strengthens you every time you ride the contractions through from crest to peak to ebb. It is a force of nature, immense and difficult to contain. Working through it, for any length of time, is a source of pride and strength for the rest of your life.

I labored for roughly an hour, trying to let my right side catch up to my left, and trying to maintain control of the process. Each time a contraction hit, my mind was saying "no, no, NO, NO!" which is not really the way you want to go into a contraction if you're going to labor naturally. You HAVE to accept the pain and work with it, and it really helps to have a good meditative practice. Needless to say, I didn't practice my hypnobirthing this time around...out of lack of opportunity, not desire...and it really showed. I just didn't have the mental reserves I needed to surrender to the labor.

I asked for an epidural. Tracy said "You're at full dilation and if I just push this little piece of cervix back while you push, we can have a baby" which I immediately vetoed. I was terrified to push, afraid that the baby wouldn't come quickly and I would be suffering for hours. Everyone had assured me that the second vaginal birth is worlds easier than the first, but I was afraid to believe that. As it turned out, since I did end up pushing for a little over two hours, so I'm very thankful I got the epidural. 

Anesthesia was amazing and got in the epidural super fast, along with a spinal which took immediate effect. In a funny turn of events, the anesthesia doc was the husband of a friend, and his resident was our neighbor. Did I recognize either gentleman? No. no I did not. It could have been Barack and Michelle Obama for all I noticed.

As soon as the spinal hit, I looked at Tim and said "Epidural. Number Two." No one knew what I was talking about until I said "Vaccination, Number One, but epidurals are the second best achievement of modern medicine". True to his calling, Tim said "What about joint replacement?" to which I replied "Not even close".

The midwife and nurse left for a bit to allow the spinal to wear off and the epidural to kick in and I recall absolutely nothing about that time except for the blissful absence of pain. When they came back, Tracy said "OK, let's have a baby!" and I started pushing.

And kept pushing. And kept pushing. For hours. The goal was to get in three pushes (or more) to each contraction and to keep moving the baby further with each push. The baby was moving down the canal, but she just was NOT coming out. They brought me a mirror and I kept watching her head advance and retreat and I could see that I was making progress, but not quite enough. I was getting upset because I was totally confused as to why I sucked so much at birthing babies. Shouldn't pushing be easier than this by now?

And then the baby's heart rhythm started to show signs of stress during each contraction and Tracy told me very seriously that I needed to be done, that I needed to deliver the baby now. I was terrified, of course, because this is a road I've been down twice and it's not very pleasant for anyone.

The rest of the labor I only remember in fragments of conversation and flashes of images.

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. "Tara, you have to be done. You have to get the baby out now."

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. Asking: "Is the baby OK?" Hearing: "You need to have the baby. We need the baby here now. Give it everything you've got."

Push. Push. Push. Nothing. Asking through tears: "Is the baby OK?"  Hearing: "Yes, but you need to be done." Saying: "I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, I just can't do it." Hearing: "Yes, you can, you are doing this, I'm going to help you, ok? I'm going to give you an episiotomy so we can get this baby out. Don't look".

I close my eyes, in order to avoid the mirror and the sight of my flesh being cut.  I push with all my might. I see stars flaring on my eyelids, suns wheeling across the darkness, and my whole being is pleading "Please, please..." my whole body feels like a prayer, both lament and praise, and most of all, supplication, and then...

I hear Tim say "Oh my, it's a big one."

I look down and there is my baby's face, gray and chalky and huge cheeked and facing my left thigh. (Children are normally born face down, and not sideways!) Only the baby's head is free, but as I push, I watch, and my child slides into the world, whole and perfect and suddenly free of me and belonging only to itself.






They bring the baby right to my chest, so fast that I can't see if I have a girl or a boy, all I see is cord and baby, and Tim says "It's a little girl" and my heart breaks and my face crumples and I am sobbing as I kiss my daughter's hot, wet head.





She is slimy with blood and vernix and she is howling, but she is just about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I can't stop sobbing and I keep saying to her "Oh, baby, that was so hard. That was so hard. Are you OK? I'm so glad you're here. Mama loves you" over and over again.

At some point, I realize that Tim might want to see his child as well, and I look up at him and say "Can you see her?"I see him wipe his tears away and lean in to examine our newest addition, our precious daughter. It's one of the best moments of my life.

Our first photo with our precious youngest daughter

The rest of the morning is a blur. Emilia is weighed, cleaned, named, and nursed, in some order I can't remember. I'm stitched up from episiotomy #2, and I also manage to lose a lot of blood after the birth, requiring the administration of a  medicine that is given rectally. At this point, I'm just like "Sure, WHY NOT and let's try to find something to stick in my ear as well. Let's leave no orifice out!"" As it turns out, when babies are delivered "Sunny Side Up" as Emi was, mothers have a greater risk of postpartum hemorrhage. I don't know how delivering sideways contributes to all that, but it's probably not good.

Our big girl getting her vital statistics taken!

All things considered, I was physically battered and bruised and bloodied, but I was also over the moon happy about Emilia. I'm also pretty relieved that I am not a physical weakling, just oddly shaped: the midwife and I decided that I must have a weird pelvis because all of our children have presented in a decidedly difficult-to-deliver fashion.

But she is here, she is healthy, she is so worth it.

We have the exact same picture of Addie and Tim. Daddy loves his girls.

This is obviously a very personal experience, and it sometimes does make me nervous to share a moment like this on a public blog.  The reasons to write a birth story are obvious: so you don't forget anything and so you can process the whole crazy glorious mess of birth. The reason to share it is less so, but truthfully, I've learned something from every birth story that I've ever read. So I suppose this is my small contribution to the communal process by which women become mothers. 

And it's also the beginning of our family's journey with Emilia and if that's not worth sharing, nothing is! Welcome to the world, precious and beloved baby girl. Beautiful and terrible things await, but don't be afraid. We are right here with you.

Emilia's Birth Story: Part 1

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” 

---Frederick Buechner

Emilia Mae Ewald was born at 10:54 AM on Thursday, April 10th 2014. She weighed in at 9 lbs 1 oz and was 20.75 inches long. Like her siblings, she came out sporting a head full of black hair. Unlike her siblings, she has a tiny little head and absolutely enormous cheeks that were made to be kissed.

Five, almost six, weeks later, and I still can't believe I finally have this little love in my arms and off my bladder. She is healthy, she is strong, she is beautiful, and we adore her. Here's how she came into our lives.

Sweet Emi entered the world via a very odd labor and delivery, and it was both lovely and awful and I was so so happy when it was over and also incredibly sad, lest I never do this again. I think birth is inherently crazy and terrifying and exalting and life changing and it can be really hard to tell the story of it afterwards because nothing happens for long stretches and then all of a sudden everything happens so quickly that you can't really recall it properly.

Emilia's labor really started about three weeks before it actually started. Confusing, but I"ll explain.

I know, I can't ever really do a short post. Words. I like them.

Three weeks earlier...no, just kidding,, this is the birthing tub in the labor suite.  It only felt like three weeks.

At 37 weeks, I went into my regularly scheduled appointment hoping that I might be in early labor. I was spotting, sick to my stomach, and contracting every six or seven minutes. That was not the case, but I was "3 to 4" cm dilated and about 80% effaced at that point. This same pattern of labor-like symptoms continued every two to three days for the next three weeks and I was, of course, the picture of grace and serenity as I waited for my baby to choose its own time to be born.

Or not.

People, I was done. Just...done. I'm a fan of letting the baby gestate for as long as he/she needs, in theory, but in practice,  I was ready to evict this child. At 39 weeks they stripped my membranes. Consequently, I was up until 2 AM with painful contractions about 6 to 8 minutes apart, lots of spotting, chills alternating with hot flashes, and puking/upset stomach. But no baby resulted from all that discomfort. Just a very long day today and a touch of irritability on my part. A mere soupcon.

I was trying to explain my state of depression to my husband and I made the admittedly foolish mistake of saying "I don't know, my nerves are shredded right now, I feel like a shell of myself" and he made the admittedly much more foolish mistake of saying "Well, I wouldn't say THAT" as he laughed fondly.

Note to everyone not uber pregnant: things like "logic" and "humor" have no place in conversations with those great with child.

By 40 weeks, I was a wreck, frankly. Late pregnancy is truly awful in a way you can only appreciate if you've been there. You're tired of not being able to sleep for more than two hours straight, tired of peeing approximately 114 times a day, tired of lumbering around with all the speed and grace of a Panzer division, tired of your aching pelvis, your aching back., your aching feet. tired of the heartburn, tired of the nausea when your child shifts its weight to your stomach, tired of the various substances welling out of  your body, and you sort of know in theory that you're going to produce a child at some point, but it feels like that is a big fat cosmic joke and that you may be the first person in history to never ever EVER stop being pregnant. 

And that's why God is smart, because the last few weeks of pregnancy are so miserable that you actually look forward to labor. Now, that's ingenuity.

I know this is the end. I know it might possibly be THE END of my childbearing days for the rest of time, and given that, I wish I was appreciative of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was not.  I did jumping jacks. I ran (lumbered) up and down our stairs. I ate spicy food. I tried to bribe the baby into appearing by promising it milk and cuddles and cute outfits. I prayed. I cursed. I tried to cry. I tried to meditate.

Which brings me to April 9th and my state of mind was admittedly poor. My state of body was large. The same ole pattern of symptoms started up and I thought "oh yes, good, let's do THIS again" but this time the symptoms persisted from roughly 4 PM until about 11 PM and things seemed to be getting more intense and more rhythmic as time went on. I dithered a bit about what to do, and then decided I was going to lie down. Tim immediately vetoed this idea and said we were walking around the block for as long as it took. This tiny factoid should tell you that I was totally awesome to live with during this time period, because Tim is not normally one to veto a nap in favor of a walk, particularly at 11 PM. One lap around our block later and I was ready to head in to the hospital.

We got the kiddos out of bed and loaded them into our (extremely sexy) minivan for their last ride as the the only two Ewald kids. I was mentally willing my contractions to continue the entire time. We'd called my in-laws down from the Cities, we dropped the kids off at Kristen Yuan's at midnight (now THERE is a friend) and I was really upset that it was all going to be for naught, as we could very easily be sent home yet again. Tim offered to drop me off at the hospital but I insisted on parking the car with him and walking from the employee lot to the hospital to magically open up my cervix in the last 500 yards.

I got checked in and the midwife examined me and said "OK, you're 7 cm dilated, we'll get a suite set up for you".

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. Seven centimeters? I wasn't even in pain. I could have eaten a BLT and watched the Real Housewives, which does not square with my previous experience of "seven centimeters" at all.  I was not about to complain about this, mind you.

We got checked in and I got super excited and nervous because we were finally going to meet our little one. I confidently predicted a baby by 4:30 AM.

Waiting for Baby E3

At about 6:30 AM I woke up from my nap in a labor that had basically halted. They checked me out and I was 9 cm dilated on one side and 7 on the other, which was more than a little bit odd. No big deal though, they would break my water and deliver this kiddo before the shift change at 7. Except that I balked at that, because I did not want to get caught in the shift change in the midst of pushing out an Ewald baby (read: huge).



So Tim and I wandered around for a while, then met the new nurses and the midwife, Tracy (who was amazing!) and we talked about our options. We could either 1) continue to wait 2) start some Pitocin or 3) break my water. Tracy explained that I was going to get uncomfortable at some point to have this baby and while it was fine to wait, it was basically delaying the inevitable. I had mixed feelings about intervening in the process, but finally agreed to let them break my water since I was already 9 cm dilated anyway and just wanted to meet my little person.

So they broke my water. 

And now I have to break my birth story into two pieces because Emilia is up and typing whilst breastfeeding is quite difficult...believe me, I've tried....but I'll give you a hint about Part 2. We had the baby!

A Low Bar is Key

I'm kind of drunk* right now, but what the hell, I'll take a stab at this anyway.

(*Fatigue drunk, just to be clear, not alcohol drunk. Sadly.)
 
In the aeons since I last posted, we have produced a beautiful and beloved baby girl. We named her Emilia Mae, brought her home with pride and love, and then promptly proceeded to lose our minds over the next weeks. And I will very definitely post her birth story, hopefully soon, but for now, I can't even process anything more complicated than the alphabet. And I might miss some letters there, if given a pop quiz.

Baby love

So there's the usual newborn fatigue and sibling processing going on, but Emilia also has reflux and is possibly colicky, possibly just high maintenance, but either way is attached to me 24/7. Like for real, for real, I'm either nursing baby girl, wearing her, or sleeping with her.

Also it's finally spring in MN, which means it's time for the Ewalds to contract a killer death plague and disappear into the sick locker for a while. Which we have done, and 2014's plague consists of some sort of mild and yet still soul shrivelingly awful influenza complete with fevers, chills, and muscle aches that actually made me cry on Friday morning.

Sick Locker 2014: Fevers of 104, aka Life Sucks

Though to be fair, I was attempting to get three small children to the doctor's by 8 AM in order to start our medical clearance for the military, and that might have brought me to tears on a good morning. The fever and chills just made it more fun.

Allow me to share my life with you.

Scene 1: Hallmark Moment

Emi is crying, because I'm not holding her. Addie is crying because I gave her water in an orange cup instead of a blue one. Addie pushes her cup away in a tantrum, and of course, knocks it over. Water is everywhere. Graydon is crying because his hands are dirty. Wait, his hands really are dirty. Is that...yes. Yes, his hands are covered in poop. He has diarrhea, probably from "Advil tummy" and went excavating in his diaper. In his distress, he is trying to clean them on anything and everything he can reach. 

Scene 2: Motherhood: NAILING IT

My mom goes back to NC on a Tuesday, right as Emilia's colic is hitting full force. Emilia has a screaming fit that lasts for two hours. She cries. I cry because I can't soothe her and because my Mom left. Tim comes home and my eyes are swollen shut from sobbing, I'm topless because I accidentally soaked my shirt with breastmilk after forgetting breast pads, and my hair is matted with spit up from Emilia's reflux issues. 

Scene 3: Feel the Burn

I attempt to hustle the two bigger kids into the shower with me. Emi is grunting and working herself up into a crying fit in her bouncy chair. I have approximately 4 minutes to get myself and the bigs cleaned before she blows. I herd my two eldest into the spray and hurriedly rip off my own clothes. In my hurry, I accidentally also rip a dangling thread "down there" assuming it's part of a my admittedly crappy underwear. (I am not wasting good undies on post partum, y'all). It is not. It is my episiotomy stitches...which I have just ripped out.  That smarts.

Scene 4:  The Future

Tim comes home and all three kids are crying while I am swigging cooking sherry and singing "Jesus Take the Wheel" at the top of my lungs.


OK, #4 hasn't happened yet, but give it time.

 So all of that is hard and I've cried more in the last three weeks than I did in the last year, but it's totally worth it for this.

Gang of three

How did I get three beautiful, smart, healthy kids? We are truly blessed and it's that long term view that gets me through the short term chaos of transition. It's always hard to add a child to your family, even when everything is "perfect" and it hardly ever goes perfectly, am I right? Still, we have not yet visited Intensive Care so this worlds, galaxies, universes even, better than our transition with Graydon.

And during those moments that everyone is crying, I just try to find one grace note, and hang on to it for dear life. Like the following: it might be noon and Addie might not be dressed yet and Emi might need a diaper change and yet another feeding and the beds aren't made but just look at their darling faces and how much they already love each other.

Sister Love: this one melts me.

So while we've kind of lost the plot here, I know it will get better in the coming weeks. We don't have much to focus on besides our family. Just Tim finishing his thesis and defending it. And saying goodbye to our friends and family here. And moving out of our house. And moving to Tokyo. Total cakewalk.

It reminds me of something my friend Danielle says that always cracks me up: like the old MadTV skit, it's all about "Lowered Expectations" for the next few ...um....years?

Brother Love

Me and E3

*This is a post that I wrote somewhere in my fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. I didn't publish it at the time, but it's a good reminder to me NOW, as I officially enter my last few days (?) weeks (?) of pregnancy that the timing of almost everything is out of my control. And that's actually just fine. 

As soon as Sue, my midwife, placed the transducer on my belly,  we heard an immediate THUNK. "That's a kick" she said with a smile. The various muffled thumps continued while she searched for the heartbeat and then, there it was...the steady beat that promises a new person in waiting, a new little bundle of possibilities to nurture, a new life journey to cherish.

It's still surreal to me that this is actually happening.

We've never been able to add a child to our family without first experiencing a loss. This is my fifth pregnancy, but I have two children. They're amazing and totally worth everything we went through to hold them, but at some point, you learn to guard yourself. You expect disappointment in the vain hope of avoiding grief if the worst happens again.

The main problem with this strategy is that you can't really shut out pain. It's there every time you experience a loss. It is, however, very easy to shut out joy. Fear is the ultimate joy killer and I was living in fear.

Like anyone else,  I just wanted to be overjoyed to be a mother to a new life again. And I'd say I succeeded in that for about four days, until I started bleeding. And then I immediately shut down and thought "Well, OK, another miscarriage, at least it's early" and prepared myself for more loss. I stayed in that bunker mentality for the next few months, through another incidence of spotting and the various genetic tests and ultrasounds. But inside I was convinced that all the illness and suffering were ultimately going to be nothing, that I would have to lose before I could gain.

When everything came back negative (meaning no syndromes, no major issues thus far), I was shocked. And Tim was too. We both agreed that we totally expected something terrible to happen and that if the baby survived the first trimester we thought there would be some sort of health issue to deal with or some sort of deformity. It wasn't something that we ever talked about, but we both had the same fears.

A few weeks ago we were watching the Vikings game, and I told Tim, abruptly and apropos of absolutely nothing, that I wanted to find out the sex of this baby. As most of you know, Ads and G Man were "surprises", in that we had no idea what gender we were having. So this was a bit of a departure for me. He questioned me about it, and I realized that I felt like I needed to know what we were having so that I could be happy. I guess I felt like if I picked out a name and knew the gender, that I would fall in love with THIS baby on its merits and that I wouldn't be so locked up in this totally self created prison of fear anymore. I wanted to be happy.

We didn't really resolve the "find out or not" issue that night...I think we got distracted by an intense battle over some blocks (between Addie and Graydon, NOT Tim and I, just to be clear) ...and that night as I went to bed, I decided to turn it over to God. Shocking plan, right? But honestly, I hadn't been praying much in recent weeks. It's really hard to talk to God, or listen to God, without feeling something, and my whole goal was to feel nothing. Nothing good, and certainly nothing bad, because if you let your armor show some chinks, it all comes rushing in.

I didn't pray about whether or not to find out the sex of the baby. Frankly, I doubt God really has a strong opinion on couples knowing beforehand. I just asked God to tear down my walls because I had done such a good job building them that I wasn't sure I could do it myself. I asked God to let me be happy about this sweet child and to let me love him or her even before I truly knew them.

That night, I had the sweetest dream that I truly believe was an answer to my prayer. I dreamed I held a new daughter in my arms. I remember every detail of her face, and that she had no hair, unlike my other two that were born with tons of black hair. I remember her sweet newborn smell and the surprising heft of her in my arms and the gentle pursing of her lips and the movement of her eyes under her delicate eyelids as she slept.

I'm not claiming this was a prophecy of some sort, mind you. I will be totally unsurprised if I have a little boy with a full head of black hair. But I don't need to know what I'm having anymore. God reminded me, through my dream, of the impending joy that will be ours so soon. I'm more than happy about this precious person now, I'm joyful.

It isn't that I feel like I'm guaranteed to experience no pain with this baby, no heartache, or that I'm assured everything will go according to my plan, it's just that I've surrendered the anxiety about it. Attempting to shut out pain isn't worth the loss of joy. The only way to truly love your children is to dive in, to accept that they're human, with all the bodily frailties and failings that brings, and to cherish each day of health and togetherness as a gift.  I could lose this baby at any time, through some accident or misfortune, but for now, this little one is kicking the heck out of a heart monitor. And for now, every ultrasound reveals that precious heartbeat...a twinkling star, a flashing coin, a blinking light...that promises one more day. This is good. And I'm happy about it.

Hiatus OVER

"To everything (turn, turn, turn), there is a season (turn, turn, turn)" ...and now that is going to be stuck in all our heads for the rest of the day. You're welcome.

It appears that this is the season to wait, at least for our family. Waiting to sell the house. Waiting to have a baby. Waiting to hear where our new home will be. Surprisingly, and very uncharacteristically, I'm not bothered by any of this. I'm sure that will change as time goes on, but for now I'm all Zen and Buddha-like, and not just because I'm rotund. I'm just not wasting a lot of mental or emotional energy on what is totally out of my control.

So I totally yanked these off the MLS site for our house, thinking there was no way the house will look as good again. This is our dear sweet house for about four months a year.

Of course this is what it actually looks like right now and for the other eight months of the year. Tim is going to quibble about this but so far I have experienced heavy snow in every single month except for June through September. I'm sticking to my numbers. 

More propaganda.

More reality

Let's just be real here for a minute. Putting a house on the market is really hard work. I feel like I've already given birth, in fact, to one ginormous and somewhat awkwardly shaped infant. Same elation, same exhaustion, same sense of "Well, now what does our normal life look like?" Less stitching involved though, glory hallelujah.

We started this process immediately after Christmas and yet somehow, we were still running around at 2 AM the night before the photographer and the realtor showed up to formally list the house, doing things like frantically scrubbing baseboards and shoving last piles of papers under the bed (which reminds me, I should get those out) and arranging flowers in vases because you know, of course we live with fresh flowers in bud vases atop the toilet all year round and so will you, should you buy this perfect and spotless home.

Our room

Miss Adelaide's room. Is she really this old?

The G Man's room

We also had many man and woman hours of labor dedicated by my in-laws, without whom we would never have gotten this done. Thank God for family, and for the END of endless "To Do" lists. Or at least a break from them.

The end result has been great and I love our newer, simplified version of life. How did we accumulate so much stuff anyway?

Living Room

The kitchen/living room. Just in case you were confused.

The sunroom. Snowroom. Whatever.

 Oh, and we sold our house since I started writing this post. That was fast, right? We had four showings in 24 hours and those showings yielded two offers. We accepted the "best" one naturally, and are very pleased with our end of the deal. Now we just cross our fingers for the inspection. If all goes well, we should close June 26th, which means no dreaded "double move" for us. 

As you can see from the pictures, winter continues to be an evil terrorist of a season here. Lately we've had a few warm days in the 40s, but I'm not buying it yet. Spring is approximately three days long in MN, and I just can't believe we're there. We were walking into the grocery store during our recent thaw, and we were actually, you know, walking...not scurrying with our shoulders hunched up around our ears in a desperate search for shelter...and Addie said "Oh Mom, thank goodness summer is finally here!" It was 36 degrees outside. I fear our children are permanently warped and will never be able to believe in Santa Claus, religion, or the existence of seasons ever again.

Tim out snow blowing after a winter storm. I see your "Winter Weather" NC, and raise you three feet.

A typical February snowfall.

Now that our house is actually sold, I find myself taking stock of our life here and our home itself and wondering what I'll miss. It's hard to know for sure because we have no idea where we're going. I'm not going to spend a lot of time mourning the sight of hoarfrost on the trees if we're moving to Alaska, if you know what I mean.

Speaking of where we're moving, no, we really still have no clue and we may not find out until as late as mid May, according to the latest rumors. When we do know we will shout it from the rooftops and there is no way you will  miss the information. Especially if you are an immediate family member. I can't tell you how many times people like our MOTHERS have asked us if we've heard and it's like "Oh yeah, Mom, I just totally forgot to tell you where we're moving, sorry, my bad". We sort of laugh and rip out our hair simultaneously because of course we will announce the news about 30 seconds after we have it.It's natural and I know we'll do the same thing to our children some day in the time honored tradition of parents driving their children nuts with their loving concern. Not that we're short tempered about it or anything.

Speaking of short tempered, holy smokes, E3 is amazing and wonderfully beautiful according to the ultrasound we saw today, and oh my heavens, I want to meet this baby. Said baby is also tormenting the fool out of me with painful (false) back labor that upsets my tummy and keeps me awake and causes me untold amounts of "Could this be it"?!!? exactly like his/her brother did. And we all know how pleasant I was at the end of my pregnancy with Graydon. :-) I actually went in to be checked today because I was contracting every five minutes with back pain, was unable to keep down food, and was spotting. Obviously I was NOT in active labor..given that I am blogging instead of eating a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit whilst marveling at our newest creation... but I am 3 cm dilated. So, yes, let's do this, E3. Any time you like, I'm ready.

So that's what has happened during the hiatus. A house was sold, our next destination remains mysterious, and our third baby is eminently imminent. And lest I sound cranky, we are actually really blissfully happy right now. I will expound more on that later. For now, I need some chocolate and a bath in no particular order.