Cut To Scene

I think it's so annoying, in movies, how there will be this one scene, and then suddenly the next scene makes no sense because there's a terrible discontinuity. But then the movie tries to get you to waive all that by flashing a little subtitle... "*Two Months Later*".
Lazy.  That's what it is guys.
But that's basically what this post is.  I want to share more about our Great American Road Trip! But for now lets just say that we left off somewhere in Indiana, and now:
*Two Months Later*
Here we are in Maryland.  Ta Da!
The scene begins in total and utter chaos, with me wondering about without even decent shoes on, looking a little like the survivor of a zombie apocalypse.  Moving piles of Things up and down stairs, and here and there, and drinking a little too much coffee.
Of the six we have made together, this was the roughest move we have had so far, for several reasons.  Add that to also trying to unpack and recover from a two month trip, and add that to the fact that J has started residency in earnest and now only exists in our scene as one of the aforementioned zombies, shuffling and groaning occasionally through the background, and what you get is overwhelmed.
Oh no, sorry, that's me.  I get overwhelmed.  I get overwhelmed and drink some more coffee.  (Because caffeine is great for raw nerves.)  What you get is nada, because who can type when the laptop is lost in a sea of ohmigoshwehavewaytoomuchSTUFF?!
Thankfully, the scene has a hero, and it is my mom.  My mom who is taking children to zoos all day, cooking, cleaning, painting walls, sewing curtains, and making some more coffee.  She understands me, Peanuts.  Thanks, mom.
Add mom to the fact that my kids are amazing and rolling with the punches (like how I rearrange their room every day), and J somehow in the little time before he turned into a zombie built a whole ton of stuff and bought food, to the fact that the neighbors are super nice, the neighborhood is cute, and we have already been welcomed in the most generous ways by good friends, and what you get is hope.  Ok, right, that's me again. But hope is good for all of us, Peanuts, amiright?
We're going to work it out.  As for the trip and some pictures and maybe something interesting (the last one might be too hard), let's just say...
*To Be Continued* 

My Birthday

I knowIknowIknow.
It's like I have no consideration for posting anything but birthday stuff.  Sorry, Peanuts. I get behind on Things.  On the eve of my not-so-young birthday I may as well admit- that's how it is.  It's how it's going to be.
I was probably meant to be a nurse, on so many levels.  I never was, but still- I triage.  Blogging things that probably only I care about doesn't often get to the top of the list.  Birthdays, though, well.  Those are sort of momentous.  I mean, if a person has a family blog, they can AT LEAST do the birthdays, amiright?
So.  This time, it's my birthday.
This birthday, I  have the exceptional gift in life to spend it with the person who gave it to me.  Mom.  Hi mom!
Tomorrow, Mom will be accompanying me on the last leg of this long, as yet un-blogged about journey. Because she rocks.
After I became a mother, I started sending my mother flowers on my birthday.  Because then, I finally Got It.  This year, the flowers would wilt in the car but I still want to say something to my mama on my birthday.
Mommy.
You did not always do everything right and make all the right decisions.  Nope.
Thank Goodness, because if you did how would you so totally understand when I come crying to you when I mess up? There are things you have done, or not done, that I have looked back on and given you and F for.  Being real.  Like there are things that I am doing already, and definitely will do when the Littles get older (this gig gets harder when they get big! Agh!), that I will be similarly graded on.
That is the thing about parenting, the thing about life.  You do the best you can; sometimes it works out better than other times.
But.
Looking back, here are the things I think you got totally right:
You found cigarettes in my room and instead of punishing me, left a note about how disappointed you were in my choice.  That was the end of that. Forever.
You told me I could go to any party any time, as long as I told you where I was and called if I needed a ride.  I did, and I recall a few times I left a rager (safely) in your blue minivan.  And lots of times my friends' moms thought we were "at a movie", while you alone knew the cross streets and what time I'd be home.
You let me read all the books I ever wanted.  And I loved learning because of it. Still do.
You worked at the school to afford me an early montessori education, which I credit with so much of my knowledge, personal development, happy memories, and love for nerdy science journals.
You took us out into nature.  Hiking, camping, skiing, biking, road-tripping.  You forced our tender little butts into the natural world, no matter how much we whined and sulked and protested.  And in so doing gave me some of my most treasured memories.
You drilled into my brain that girls can do Anything- and you lived up to that paradigm in every way.
You worked your still-hot-at-over-sixty patootie off to give me every advantage possible. Believe it or not, I take none of that for granted.
Most importantly?
You loved me unconditionally. Even when it wasn't easy.  Even when I didn't earn it.  I have not once in my life doubted that you would always be my biggest fan, and be there for me when the dust clears.  And you always, ALWAYS have been.  I don't take that for granted, either.
You taught me how to have fun. How to work hard.  How to embrace adventures.  How to have an open heart. How to look for the light ahead.  How to appreciate feminism, education, accomplishment.  How to appreciate being a mother, sticky hugs, splashing in puddles.
Tomorrow I will turn the same age you were when I was born.
Think of that!  Hard for me to imagine, with three Littles tugging at my hems.  In a lot of ways, I think you were younger at 32 than I am.  Maybe that's why you are still so young now- so young that people balk when you tell them your age.  At the same time, you raised me with a wisdom that I hope will become Little One, Missy, and Little Mister's lessons in life.
Be happy, be healthy, be strong.  Be who You Are.  Depend on YOU.  Find your own, unique, way in the world.  But, always, come home when you need some good lasagna and a hug.
On my birthday, I think of what it's like- trying hard, wanting desperately to do the Right Thing always and not always knowing what that is.  I remember what it's like bringing Life into the world- in a physical sense, in a philosophical sense.
I look back on a lot of flying and falling, stumbling and crawling, and I see the shadow of my mother's love beside me always.  All I can say is- thank you.
You made me and I'm not perfect. But I like being me.  You gave me life and it's not been perfect, but I love life.  You're my mother and I didn't choose you.  But I'm glad I got to be yours.
By the way. I love that you had me at 32.  It makes me feel, on this birthday that once seemed SO far away, that life is just beginning.  How fun that, once again, we get to begin it together.
Adventures await.

Inside Joke

On long driving days on this trip, we play games, do art, and enjoy the scenery in the morning.  But if we're still driving in the late afternoon (or if we did a hike early and then logged some miles after lunch), we let the Sisters watch a movie in the car.
We let them choose from a selection we brought along, and for some reason, they formed an obsession way back in Indiana and have chosen the SAME movie EVERY time.  Disney's "Cars".
The repeated viewing of this gem (They've probably watched it five or six times now) has ingrained it into their soft little brains in a way that is eerily impressive.  It's kind of cool (wow! How can they remember all that?!) and kind of disturbing (wow.  HOW can they remember all THAT?!).
We sort of wish we'd brought along a video of the theory of relativity or something instead.  They'd be applying to Harvard right now.  It has also given rise to the first notable existence of a new phenomena.
We were driving one day and the Littles were chattering.  Suddenly, they both hollered, "AND MY NAME IS NOT CHUCK!" and broke into insane peals of laughter.  J and I gave each other the "huh?" look, and turned to see what the heck.  We could see no signs of Chuck.
But it became a Thing.  One of them would randomly say, "Adios, Chuck." And the other would shout, "AND MY NAME IS NOT CHUCK!".  Crazy laughter.
After a while, and quite a few "huh" looks between me and J, I suddenly gasped.  "Ohmygosh!"
J did a double on his "huh?" look.  "What?" 
"I just realized.  They have this joke.  They have a joke, and they get it, and we are the un-cool parents and we DON'T get it.  We don't GET it, J.  It's their first inside joke!" 
J was quiet for a moment.  "It is."
It was!
After careful attention, and thanks to a five-year old who (thank you Lord, and let it last forever) can not keep a secret from Her parents for long, we realized they were repeating their favorite line from the movie.  Apparently that part is, like, reeeaaallllyyy funny.
Once we were clued in, it became the family inside joke. Now, any one of us is likely to suddenly say, "Adios, Chuck!"  leading to a chorus of "AND MY NAME IS NOT CHUCK! AHhhahaaahah!"
They also quote a ton of other lines from the movie.  including, most unfortunately, such gems as "what-a-heck?!" and (this one makes me freak out EVERY time for just a sec) "Ho-ly SHOOT!"
Thanks, Mater.  You've corrupted my innocent babies.  Now they say "holy shoot".  What-a-heck?!
Little Miss, also, has a thing for the "low-ridah" cars featured, likes to go around saying, "What UP? What Uuuupp?"  And even, upon seeing a sleeping person at my grandfather's nursing home, "Looks like we got ah-selves a NOd-dah!" 
Ok, see the movie if you don't get it.
Except for the holy shoot parts, it's pretty cute.  And, if you re-live it 5000234541 times, as we have, you will grow a special fondness for it.  Trust me.  You might even drive the country, looking out for cars that resemble the characters from the movie, and find random junkyards in Nowhere, New Mexico, really awesome because there are, like, 10 Maters and 14 Doc Hudsons in there.  Trust me.
At any rate, while I have heard each scene rehashed and dissected as nauseum, and while what-the-heck and holy-shoot are phrases I could live without a few years longer, I appreciate very much the fact that J and I were let in on the Sister's first inside joke.
There will be more- many more- and we will soon be left with our "huh" looks and nothing else.  As it should be.
But maybe, one day, when they are laughing at something that makes no sense to us, and they refuse to clue us in, J or I will holler at them- "Adios, Chuck!"  And, years having passed, the Sisters will give each other the "huh?" look, and J and I will laugh hysterically.

Six Months

With all the traveling and the business and the being away from the internet, I have not had a chance to tell you Peanuts so many things.  Looking back I'm not sure yet where to start, but in the mean time, Mister has reached a whole half year!  I had to take some time out of our trip to tell you all about the fun that is Mister at six months.

First of all, I have a whole post coming about the fact that Mister had a tongue tie fixed shortly before we left Virginia.  A whole post because it was that big a deal.  Since that momentous occurrence, Little Mister has been able to do this amazing thing: eat-for-the-love-of-goodness.
Now that He isn't half starved, and now that feeding Him is no longer an all-consuming, horribly stressful event for us both, He has stepped into the role He was destined for, free to be the Mister He has always been, inside.  Which is: The Happiest, Easiest Baby EVER.
Mister almost never complains.  He has to be way past due for a feeding, utterly and completely exhausted (sometimes not even then), or in actual acute pain of some sort in order to bother fussing about it.  The rest of the time, dude just sucks it up.

8 hours in a car seat? La-di-da, got His little crinkle toy, got His sisters' faces to look at, no prob.
4 hours in a backpack under the blazing sun, getting jostled around with wind whipping sand into His face? Sounds good, just along for the ride.
Sitting on a lap through an endless restaurant meal after skipping a nap? Hey, might as well enjoy slobbering on a nice shiny spoon.
Sleeping on the floor of a tent in 40 degrees?  Bring it on.

Mister loves getting His diaper changed, literally laughing out loud.  He loves His bath, laughing and splashing and gurgling even when the water runs into His eyes.  He likes being put down to sleep, He likes being awakened from sleep.  He loves being held, cuddled, and talked to.  He's happy to chill on a blanket with something to play with until you almost forget He's there.  He loves everything about His sisters and grins just when He sees them coming.  He laughs when there is wind on His face, when He sneezes in the pool, accidentally dunking His head under the water, laughs when strangers get all up in His personal space.  He's just a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.

On this trip, He has been ripped from any semblance of a schedule and dragged though all manner of environments, confined to His car seat a lot and forced to tough out hot sun, cold days, wind, rain, and even hail.  He's gone through it all with a smile almost continuously on His face.  He loves everyone, He loves just about everything.  And His favorite thing to do is laugh.  He just wants any excuse.  His sisters' antics, His parents' conversation, even thinking about getting tickled.  The world is just hilarious.

Now, on the physical front I don't have a lot to report.  After all, it's as if we have made a conscious effort to stunt His development by restraining Him in the car seat and backpack all the time for the last month.  So, He continues to do His push-ups, He still rolls one way OR the other, but hasn't put them together yet.  He scootches. but not very far.
He seems like He may be teething soon, since He chews on ANYthing like a labrador puppy, and produces enough drool to alleviate the draught conditions of any arid regions we may pass though.
He is finally growing some hair, but it's so blonde you can't really tell.  He has had His first sun and wind burns, but those are hardly milestones to celebrate.  
But while His body has been held back, I fear, by our travels, His brain knows no bounds! He has been learning plenty.  For one, despite having a constantly changing life, He has learned a lot about what to expect.  He recognizes His sisters and parents, He knows when He's about to be changed, fed, or put to bed.  He has learned how to use His own pacifier- studying it, giving it a good shake (for luck?), orienting it properly, and popping it in.  He thinks He can swim, getting His booty going like a porpoise in the pool.  He has moved on from raspberries to full-out conversations with various facial expressions and exclamations in the form of "da da daaa daaa ta t-t-t-ba baaaa goo!" And has a LOT to say.

He is hopelessly attached to His pacifier and to a little blankie that He likes to curl around and snuggle His face into when it's sleep time.  Other favorite toys include a little football toy, and empty plastic water bottles.
Yes, He is so happy that He's perfectly pleased to play with trash.  That's our guy.  Easy, sweet, happy as can be.  He has been such a blessing on this trip (and in life in general) because even when the going gets rough, Mister finds joy and laughter, and shares it with us all.  His joy and delight in everything  (or in nothing at all) becomes joy and delight to all of us, and He keeps us smiling and giggling.
How ever did we get along without you, Little Mister?  I have no idea.  But we're all happy we don't have to do it now.  Happy half-birthday my little son-shine. We love you. 

Crazy Fun

Hey all.
I didn't disappear, exactly.  I've just been outside the sticky reaches of the Web.
I have some stories, I have pictures.  But at the moment, in a middle-of-nowhere hotel, I have only a quick moment to say that we are all surviving the trip so far.
In fact, can we be honest? Yes, lets.  There has been a misadventure or two.  But, so far, the only casualty is the screen on my fancy-fancy camera, and while I mourn that (a little too much, probably), if it's the worst hit our camp takes, then good for us.
Otherwise, we have had a phenomenally great time on this trip.  I am all for routine and consistency at home, but it really amazes me how adaptable my kids can be.  They have taken the constant changes and rootlessness like seasoned travelers.
Every now and then we meet someone along the way and they say something about how hard/crazy/ambitious it is to take three Littles on such a long and amenity-lacking trip.  I sort of give them a blank look and just smile, because as they talk I'm wondering.  Hmm.  It's possible.  It is possible.  I might really, be actually crazy.  Because I have NO idea what they are talking about.
For me, this experience has combined the two things I love most about being alive on this earth; my family, and traveling.  While there has been a moment or two of overtired whining, a couple of misadventures, and a lot of carrying of things (and Little people), there hasn't been too much.
All together it has been fantastic.  Tramping through new places, seeing new things all together, getting outside.... this is my idea of fun.  So maybe we are crazy, but who cares?!  I'm happy to trade in some boring old sanity for this kind of crazy fun.

A Goose Chase Ending At A Farm

Waking up this morning, I had the feeling I was lifting the page in a long saga. 

It was a new chapter in the story Bernice has enriched my life with.  When she died, and all of her odds and ends fell into my hands, I didn’t know what to do with them.  I left them in their boxes, her scrawl fading on the masking-tape labels, stuffed in a closet for a long time.  Then one day, packing for a move, I poured myself a drink, sat down on the floor, and dove in.   It was almost all papers; address books, letters, church bulletins.  Stacks  of notes scratched out to herself in her final decade.  I read them all.  It was like a tragic chronicle of her decline.  The notes she wrote became increasingly desperate and despairing, and it was clear that she knew full well the abyss she was sliding into- financially, socially, and mentally, as her memory slipped away.   Not all of it was heartbreaking.  There were cassette tapes of her singing with her husband, a musician, and news clippings with him posed and smiling with hi ukulele.  And in her address book, there was a page labeled: “relatives”.  

It’s funny how alzheimers erases memories more or less in order, from the present back; like a tide flowing out to a grey and fathomless sea.  Bernice couldn’t remember the years she’d written those notes to herself.  She could only barely, on a good day, remember the husband she’d been so proud of and devoted to.  But she could remember her childhood- her parents and brothers, “our farm” that she’d grown up on- clearly, any day.  From the many stories she’d shared over years of lucid moments, I recognized some of the names on her list instantly.  The name of her older two brothers had notes dashed in at the corner of the entries- “died” and the year.  But her younger brother had no such note, and there he was, his address and phone number. 

I called.  I had been told that she had no family, none.  No living relatives at all.  And yet, when the phone was picked up, it was her brother.  He put his wife on, and we talked.  They were quite elderly and perhaps memory failures were a family affliction; I told them that Bernice had died, and was never sure if they understood what I was saying.  In the end, they were just confused and asked me to contact their daughter instead; they gave me her name. 

After some time on the internet, I found an address for her.  I sent a box of almost everything, and a letter.  In the letter, I explained that I had her original birth certificate, wedding certificate, and high school diploma.  Printed on vellum, bound in velvet or leather, in a time when such documents carried a reverence.  I thought they belonged with her family.  The niece wrote me back, just as I moved.  In the turmoil, the letter was lost.  By the time I found it, she had moved, too, and all the googling in the world brought me no closer to finding her again. 

But her letter had mentioned that her father, Bernice’s brother, had died and she was planning to take over the farm.  The same one Bernice had grown up on and told me stories about.  In Indiana. 

So, when we planned this trip, we marked out our route in such a way that we would pass through the town she’d grown up on.  And this morning, I took those documents, a picture of Bernice, and the crinkling page of her address book, and drive to the house number she’d listed under her brother’s name. I didn’t know what to expect.  I didn’t know whether I’d end up disappointed or whether something wonderful would happen; whether anyone lived there at all, whether this niece, who would be nearly 80 now, was even living.  But I knew I had to try. 

I left J and the kids to swim at the hotel pool and followed my GPS deep into rolling rows of seedling corn.  The morning was crisp and sunny when I pulled onto a dirt road and saw a pretty little white farm house nestled into a bend.  That was it. 

I pulled up and saw the sweetest, tidiest little farm.  The white house backed to a sturdy barn and a silo crept over with strands of ivy.  There was a little patio off to the side, and a garden patch, freshly weeded.  Redwinged blackbirds flitted from the lilacs and the sound of frogs and crickets rang from the fields all around. 

I walked up and knocked at the door.  I waited and held my breath.  I waited some more.  I knocked again, a little louder this time, just in case. 

I waited, to be honest, a little longer than a person who doesn’t want to be creepy ought to wait.  And finally, had to retreat down the porch steps.  I sent a message to J that no one had answered.  Next I meant to ask at the post office, to see if she still kept the PO box that was the return address on her letter those years ago. 

Just as I was leaving, he answered, “is there a mailbox?”

“Yes, but I can’t really know who lives here”

I didn’t want to leave these precious documents in some random person’s mail box. 

But that J, he’s always thinking for me when I’m too emotional to do it myself. 

“Is there a name on it?  People used to put names on their mailboxes”. 

I hadn’t even thought to check.  So I pulled over, and looked.  And there it was.  I wrote her a novel of a note, slid the items into the box, took a picture (I mean I’d been parked outside this house for 20 minutes, what’s a little more creepy at that point anyways), said a little prayer, and that was it. 

I so wish I’d met her.  Had a chance to talk to her, and ask about the farm, about Bernice before the tide of her mind went out.  But I still consider it a minor miracle that I was able to find this relative that supposedly didn’t exist.  I am thankful that Bernice’s last few treasures found their way back to where they began and belong. 

And for me,  it was really something to see the farm I had envisioned so often, to know that a hundred years ago, Bernice had played where I was standing.  It was like getting to step into those stories, into that mysteriously clouded mind, and see something even more clear than the memories.  It made me happy to see it looking so well.  Somehow, even though it may have been a bit anticlimactic, it felt like a good way to end the chapter.  Like a full circle had been made.  But in a way that was gentle.  Like her. 

Great American Road Trip- So Far

Today on our Great American Road Trip, we spent our morning exploring the small town where the Littles' Grandad grew up, and took our time meandering through the middle of America.  We took scenic drives in Kentucky, played at a park and checked out some memorials in rural Ohio, had an awesome lunch at a funky cafe in Cincinnati (even scoring a vegan chocolate cupcake for the Sisters), and saw some sights in Indianapolis.  The girls watched Cars on our way through Indiana, and we talked about races and race cars.  We had a picnic dinner at the edge of a wind farm and took a walk through a baby corn field.  It was a long time before we checked into a hotel and the kids hit the pool, but that's because we took our time, going out of the way if something seemed interesting and stopping whenever we felt like it. We took in some gorgeous sights, played paper dolls and read stories, chatted about all kinds of things and had fun being together.  It's a wonderful thing how flexible kids can be.  I'm all about structure and consistency at home, but I absolutely love the way my kids can adapt when they are out of their element, and enjoy the moment we are in.  Of course, we are just getting started.  But- so far, so fun!

No Ifes in Kentucky.

After Mister's baptism, we left in the morning for a long-haul drive to kick-start the road trip.
We made it all the way through Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, and into Kentucky.
When we passed an encampment of confederate soldiers, we just had to stop and look around.

We stopped at an overlook to stretch our legs.

And arms

Other than that and a few snack breaks, we just enjoyed the changing scenery from the car.
The kids all did really well.  We did art, watched a movie, and played some car games.  I gave Little One a sheet of stickers, one for each state, and She was very into the license plate game.  She collected quite a few!
Little Miss joined the fun, too.  We played the "noun game" where we try to spot an object starting with each letter of the alphabet.  She was pretty good! At one point, we were kind of stuck on "i".

Missy: "I know! How 'bout we look for an Ife! Ife stahts with a "i"." 

LO: "Um, yeah, yeah good Miss. It DOES start wif a "i".  Um.  But, it isn't a word though. It's isn't a thing."

Miss (indignant): "It IS too a thing! It's an IFE.  Little One.  Don't tease me.  You know what's an Ife." 

LO: "I do not.  Mom? Is a Ife a real thing?"

C: "Hmm.  I'm not sure about that.  Miss, can you tell us what it is?" 

Miss: "Yes! You know, mom.  An IFE.  Like to cut things with, like at dinnah you use an ife to cut up some food. Ife."  

 We never spotted any Ifes.  Or knives, either.  But we did see lots of birds and farm animals.  Who knows what we'll find tomorrow?

The first leg of our journey led us back to familiar territory.
I have mentioned before the church that the Sisters were baptized in; it's the same one J (and much of his family, all the way back to the 1700s) got baptized in.  Naturally, to carry on the tradition, we wanted Little Mister baptized there, as well.  Unfortunately, we had a really hard time making it happen. It's a long story, but the problem was some red tape.  Catholic red tape is particularly red, after all.  A deep, dark red. Blood-into-wine red, you might say.  After months of trying to get through it, we finally were able to schedule His big day- so long as it was yesterday.  Good thing we didn't have anything else going on, like a move or a big family vacation or anything.
The morning of the baptism, we woke in our hotel to blinding rain.  So much rain, that the place J was supposed to leave his car during our trip was flooded. Yikes. So we ditched it at the airport, sat for two hours at the entrance to the tunnel (good riddance to you, Virginia Beach tunnels!  You, I will not miss.  Not even a little.), and finally made it to the church.
The family that was able to get off of work at the last minute on a Friday was there, and the priest who baptized Miss drove all the way from his new church in DC just to baptize Mister.
Even after a long, hard day, Little Mister was every bit the angel during the whole thing.  Ever the little water-bug, He actually smiled and cooed as the cool water was poured over His head.  During the parts where the priest asks questions of the parents and godparents, Little Mister congenially joined the conversation,  goo-ing and giggling and blowing raspberries.  He grinned at His adoring fans.
He got baptized, we took some pictures, and celebrated it all with a dinner out at a favorite family place on the water, right by the house J lived in as a child.  We stayed with J's aunt, and Little One stayed up WAY past bedtime playing with Her cousin.
It was worth all the trouble it took to make it happen, and turns out to have been a great start to our trip, despite the most thoroughly exploded diaper imaginable, thankfully at the very end of the day.   Oh, well, Peanuts.  Hopefully His soul stays cleaner than His fancy white outfit.  As for J?  Who picked Him up out of the car seat?  I guess you could say he got "baptized" too.  Who says the Big Guy doesn't have a sense of humor?

It was pretty funny, wasn't it Mr?


Photos from the day:

Ready to get some baptizing on

"Bathtizing" each other with holy water. Puppy got bathtized, too. 

Playing at the restaurant

These two crack each other up.  And me.  

She looks a little different since he baptized Her, two and a half years ago!

Our sweet angel boy.  

Phase One Complete

Well, Peanuts.  We somehow survived the pack out.
People always say, "oh how nice! How nice that they pack for you! That saves you so much time and effort!"  Yes.  It is and it does.  But.
I have learned from experience now, that sitting back with a cocktail as the (lowest bidders for the job) packers do it all for you, is a decision that will only necessitate a great many cocktails on the other end of that move.  The packers are about speed; they see something, dump it in a box, move on.  So if, for instance, you have a little box of pins in your sewing drawer, it will be all kinds of interesting unpacking the box they got dumped into when you get to the new place.  Like your own welcome cactus in a box!  Or if, for instance, you are me and you like things to be organized and so you put everything into little labeled boxes and baskets and such, you are going to be silently listing all the expletives you know when you see that the packers took aaaallllll the categorized, organized toys in the whole playroom, and dumped each box out together in one big box, and then put all your boxes in another box. Why?  Why commingle the barbies with the trains?  Why all the legos all mixed in with the monopoly game pieces and hundreds of puzzle pieces?  Did I insult someone's mother?  I mean, why?  Imagine how fun it is to have a whole house to set up, and have to spend an entire afternoon sitting on the floor....playing puzzles. And jewelry. 20 little chain necklaces all in one giant knot.  That will take two afternoons.  If there is trash in the wastebasket, it's getting dumped in a box (with other stuff!) and packed.  If there are wet washcloths hanging, you are getting a box of mold on the other end. And so.  I have learned the importance of pre-packing.  This time around, with J's help, I managed to get it all done in two (very long) days (and most of the night).  Here are my tips for military movers:

1) Have a yard sale and/or donation cleanse first.  I think it helps the transition to involve the kids.  We went through all their stuff and made a pile of things that "someone else might love to have".  On yard-sale day, I spread out two big blankets, gave them a cash box, a stool, and an box for a counter, and let them set up their "store".  They spent half the morning working on their displays, putting shoes here and books there. They were in charge of setting prices, negotiating with buyers, collecting and counting money, and giving back change.  The rule is, whatever money is made from the sale of their things, they get to keep.  This is a pretty good motivation to let things go.

2) Go through all bottles of shampoo and such and either ziplock them or be sure those lids are closed and tight.  The packers do not always care if the shampoo is open and upside-down.

3) Tiny things like needles, thumbtacks, paperclips, and jewelry have to be placed into a container that will not open.  For jewelry, I fold each necklace or pair of earrings into a handkerchief; roll, place another in, roll, etc. to keep them padded and separate.  Then I put the rolled handkerchiefs into a jewelry bag zip it up, and wrap it.

4)Movers wrap is my best friend.  It's basically a ginormous roll of really strong saran wrap.  All my little boxes and baskets, all the puzzles, and so on get wrapped up in that stuff.  This time I wrapped an entire cabinet of little drawers.  Because I am not separating dress-up shoes from tiaras all day in July.  I would rather have the moving guy look at me funny.  I explain in the beginning that if it's wrapped in plastic, it goes as is.  Some packers hate me for it (takes up a lot more boxes), some love it (most of the job is done for them).  But it's the difference between unpacking a room in one day, or taking a week to sort things out.  I've even taken drawers out of dressers, wrapped them, and had them pack the drawers into boxes.  When I get there, I just stick the drawers in and I'm done! It's easy to wash a drawer at a time and put a whole load back in one place, rather than re-sort everything.

5) Make signs.  I empty a closet or two myself, then put everything I don't want packed in there and make a "do not pack" sign on the door.

6) Because things can be handled roughly, lost, or stored in uncontrolled conditions, go through and take out anything that is really special, or can't be replaced (like old film photo albums, little clay baby handprints, old family things, and a hard-drive with photos and videos), and pull it out.  Usually we put them in our trunk and drive it to the new house ourselves, but since that would mean hauling it around for six weeks (and I have to admit I have a ton of old photo albums), we left it with a friend this time.  We also had a generous friend collect and babysit our house plants until we can pick them up.

7)Anything you don't want dirty (throw pillows, sofas, anything) or that is really fragile, wrap yourself.

7) Do ALL the laundry, empty wastebaskets, wash ALL the dishes, and keep people from using them.  So hard with little kids who are in the routine of throwing things away in certain places.  And changing their outfits five HUNDRED times a day.

Not to mention, all the stuff in high cabinets or shelves has to be brought down, all the stuff on the walls taken down, swing sets and play houses dismantled, electronics unplugged and serial numbers listed, hardware labeled, etc.

So even though it truly is a huge service to have packers come and do the heavy work, it's not exactly a breeze, unless I want to pay for it later.
We arranged to have the Sisters stay late at school on those days to keep them out of harms way, and after the packers left I would move things around to make their room safe again.
Coming home and seeing all your stuff gone and a bunch of boxes in its place can be upsetting for little ones.  To help ease the pain, we bend some of our rules during moving time.  We let them watch a movie on a school night (bonus of keeping them entertained safely, away from towers of boxes that could topple if climbed), have popsicles, and stay up late for extra cuddles.  I also gave them a sheet of "This box belongs to me" stickers to put on their boxes so we can find them right away when we get there.

And the last night, we got to go to a hotel with a swimming pool.  Oooohhhh.  Aaaaahhhhh.

So far Missy actually seems to be loving the adventure of it all, and until She collapses from the lack of naps at the end of the day is extraordinarily cheerful.  Little One is very, very sad to leave friends behind, and to leave the familiar, and alternates between being happy and excited, sad and tearful, and moody and obstinate.  Frankly I'm pretty much the same, so I get it.  Moving is hard.  It takes a lot of work and is, in every sense of the word, unsettling.  The one I'm looking to as a role model in all of this is Little Mister.  Mister has had some protesting over the disruption of His perfect schedule.  But overall He is dealing with it all better than any of us.

He doesn't care about our stuff being boxed up, or whether it will arrive in one piece, or at all.  Who cares about a bunch of stuff?  He doesn't care that His fancy play gym is gone and He has to roll around on a flattened box, playing with some sunglasses and a random plastic lid.  Why not be happy with whatever we have in this moment?  He doesn't care that we are leaving places and people behind. Why not focus on Now, on the sound of the birds in the trees and the warm breeze through the window and the amazing entertainment of our own toes? Really, so long as He has His most basic of needs covered and is with His loved and trusted family, He hardly cares what else goes on.

I have cleaned, sorted, padded, wrapped for our move.  I have packed, labeled, planned, back-up planned for our trip.  I have good-byed, thanked, and KIT promised many friends.  Ok.  But now?  Now is the time to be like Mister, and let it all go.  Now we set off on our next chapter, and take it day by day, moment by moment.  Despite all of it, things will get lost.  They will break.  Vacation failures will happen and some friendships will fade.  But we have our most basic needs covered, and we are all together.  We really couldn't ask for more.
Of course, swimming, warm baths, The Magic School Bus, and a pizza party in our hotel room aren't bad bonuses at all.

Budhism

Missy: "Moooommmy! Hee hee! Hee! I think tha dolly llama is FUnny. An' SIlly!"

C: "You do? Why?"

Miss (cracking up): "Cause of his silly wuhds!"

C: "Silly words? What do you mean?"

Miss:  "Tha dolly llama...hee hee... hee!  BOOTYism!"

Not Afraid Of Heights

When I was sixteen, I wore a floor-length, silver gown to my senior prom.  I went out and got my hair done, and I was all careful not to mess it up.  I went with my friends and my date and had a normal prom; dancing, chatting, dancing.  But when we walked out of the building and took a stroll down the walkway, there he was.  Some guy, selling tickets for bungee jumping.  Guys.  I had never been bungee jumping.  So, obviously, there was only one thing to do.  Borrow someone's shorts to slide on underneath, and then jump in my prom dress, hanging like a giant silver bell with that skirt up over my head, and then springing up and down, showering bobby pins everywhere.
Lately, I've been reminded of the jitter that washed over me back then, as stepped to the ledge and looked down over my toes.  A moment of wocndering whether this was really going to be fun, or scary, or awkward, or worse.  And then bending my knees, jumping up! and that moment right before gravity took hold.
Now that our celebration of the past two years is over, my little family is setting our sights on the road ahead.  Which I mean both metaphorically and literally.  In less than two weeks we will be setting out on a six week adventure through 21 of our great American states, seeing sights, visiting family, and spending so much intense quality family time together that by the time we get to Maryland and J dives into residency, we will be so sick of each other we won't even care.  We're getting all our family time for the next two years in one lump sum.
I've been packing things up, folding daily outfits into labeled ziplock bags and such. Because it takes more than a swiss army knife and a flashlight to survive weeks of camping with little people, guys.  It takes rabid organization.  Even then, it's going to be a bit dicey.  But, barring any actual harm of course, catastrophe is part of the thrill of an adventure.  We have planned out places to go, things to see, and art projects to while away the driving hours with.  But the real fun will be seeing what pops up, what we improvise when it rains (or snows), or a road is closed, or who knows what?
Driving off into unfamiliar territory is a lot like picking up and moving to a new town, a new life.  There are a lot of unknowns.  A lot of "what if"s.  It's good to try to plan ahead, to make things go as smoothly as possible. It's also good to realize that things will go wrong, the plan will be thwarted at times and have to adapt, and so will we.
There's a fine, fine line between adventure and disaster.  Where exactly that line falls is often a matter of perspective. I'm looking at this trip- and the move- as a thrill ride to jump on.  The Unknown can be frightening.  Or it can just be a bunch of awesome waiting to happen.
I looked like a fool and ruined my expensive hair when I jumped on prom night, but it was so worth it.  I know that on this trip and in this life, I will look foolish and get messy plenty.  But when the Navy says jump, we say "how high?" Because the higher the better! Bring it on.

Sea Ya Party

Well, Peanuts.  the countdown is on.  Less than two weeks until we ship out (ok, drive out.  We're driving.  But since the Navy has instigated the whole ordeal, we're going nautical. Mateys.)
To say a big goodbye to the friends we've made here, we got some of them together in our yard over the weekend and celebrated.  Nothing soothes the pain of leaving like some cupcakes, amiright? Chocolate is the answer to everything.

Well, actually.  Good friends are the answer.  It's a pretty great day, when we get both.