I am a lying liar. Little One is Galileo.

Little One is kind of a budding scientist.  Really, as all two year olds are.  She has a chronic and severe case of curiosity.  A while ago, this curiosity was manifesting as a focused preoccupation with electrical outlets.  She was really, really interested in them.  Many a time, Peanuts, I caught Her hovering around one looking all studious.  Many a time I caught Her in the midst of attempting to plug/unplug some kind of cord.  When I went to plug in the vacuum She "helped" by walking over and expertly prying off the safety cover for me.
Ok then.  Greeeaaaat.
One day as I was brushing Her hair on the bathroom counter, She reached for the wall outlet and mentioned something about how the little holes were "just right" for Her little fingers.  She reached.
An image zinged through my brain; my kid sister, about five years old, howling and wailing with blue fingers.  Blue.
"DON'T put your fingers in there!!!!" I cried as She was about to touch it.
She drew Her hand back, just a little, and asked, "Why?"  She looked at me so intently, guys.  Like She was ready to weigh my answer and determine whether it was really good enough to nix how completely awesome it would be to try sticking Her fingers in this magical wall fixture. Like She seriously doubted it could. 
And so, without even thinking it through or really creating it in my mind, almost as if someone else was speaking through me Peanuts, I did it.  I lied.
Not a little white lie, a BIG one.  A dumb one.  And really... kind of a mean one.
"Because, there...is a monster."
Her eyes bugged out. Her hand retracted a bit further.
"Yes.  Yes there are monsters in there, and if you put your finger in there (I'm going to hell for this) they will BITE your fingers (as if that wasn't bad enough) OFF." 
The hand fell to Her lap.  I stood there in a mildly exhilarated panic, like someone who had just robbed a bank- there was No Going Back now.  
"Mommy!  Why?  Why there some monsters living in ours house like that?!" 
"Uh, well.  Well.  Well that's where they live, in the walls like that.  But we don't have to be scared, because they never, never come out."
"They don't?"
"No.  No they never come out, but (seriously I could not stop I am evil) they sit in there, and if people put their fingers in....BITE!" 
She jumped.  She eyed the wall socket- a moment ago so exciting and friendly- with extreme suspicion.  She warned all Her friends.
She never, I mean NEVER let Her fingers go near one again.

This effectiveness gave me a little nugget of justification for the first Real, Big lie I ever told my daughter.  It was for Her safety! For (oh no now I'm one of Those) Her Own Good.  I still don't know what came over me.  And I did wonder what would happen one day, when She learned from someone the Truth and that She'd been taken. By Her own Mother.
But.

When we got to this house and our belongings did not, we had no outlet covers to childproof with.  But since the Lie was so effective, and we have buckets of covers coming on the truck tomorrow, we just let it be for now. (I am racking up the good parenting points in this post, eh?) Little One has been sleeping on the floor and (ding! ding!, a few more points) Her pillow and blankets happen to be in a spot right by the wall, right under a bare, naked outlet.

But She didn't go near it.  In fact, the first night She spontaneously reassured me that She was "not goin' to touch that monster home.  We have to be careful, mommy, cause that monster home does not have some of those tight doors on, and they could come out if we touch fingers in there, so I'm not goin' to go in that monster home, Don' Worry."  
And I didn't.

But then today. When I put Her down for Her nap. As I was tucking Her in She got a thoughtful look on Her face and said, "Mommy, can I tell you sompin? I been thinkin' bout that monster home over there."
She nodded at it.
"Ok, tell me."
"Well... I think that's not a monster in there."
"Oh... you do? Why is that?"
"Mommy don' worry mommy!  I not been touchin' that monster home, I just been lookin' closewy. I been lookin' in there, and mommy I think there's NOT a monster in there.  Because I'm lookin' and lookin', and I think...I think thas just.... some fuzz."
"Fuzz?"
"Oh yeah mommy! Look! Jus' look, take a peek in there."
She pointed to the outlet holes. Sure enough, if you look closely Peanuts, there are little tiny balls of dust. Sitting just inside, just where a monster- if there were one- would be lurking. She continued Her scientific assessment of the situation.
"And see mommy, this fuzz. Not have any neck on it. Or not have a body, or arms, OR legs! So," She sat back on Her heels and summed it all up decisively, "So mommy, I think that really this is NOT some monsters in there." 

What could I do.  I told Her that She had made some very good observations, and appeared to be right about monsters.  But, I told Her, I did know- for sure- that She really could get hurt if She put Her fingers in the outlet. Just the same.
She cozied into bed to take Her nap, assuring me that She was not going to touch the outlet.  But making sure to repeat that She was not going to touch it, but not because of monsters.  Because there weren't any.

And so my daughter, at two years old, has discovered the core nature of science.  Of being a scientist.  Which is that science and curiosity and the quest for information very often get you into trouble. It can place you in harms way.  It can stir up the authorities and cause them to do crazy things to stop you.  It also can, eventually, bring you Truth. 

And I have learned (and will re-learn and re-learn) the core nature of children. Which is that:
They are always smarter than you think they are.  And very often, smarter than you. 

Gloves and Zippers

Today I got the (yellow) gloves out. 

I said, “House.  Meet my two dear associates, Bleach and Sponge. I see that you are not particularly well-acquainted.  But you will be working very closely with one another in the coming months, so lets all just get cozy, hmm?”

The thing about forty year-old grout is that, ick. 

But here’s hoping the zombies will be discouraged, and at least I feel ten times less like breathing into a paper bag when I sit on the floor to bathe the babies. 

This scrubbing frenzy was just what I needed anyways.  Because I do not have my beloved kitchenaid mixer, Peanuts.  I do not have my flour sifter. I do not have pans, and so therefore, I cannot bake.  Scrubbing is the next heir in line for stress-smashing, and today was a big day. 

It was Little One’s first day of school without me.  The first day, J and Miss and I all accompanied Her the whole time. The next day, just I did.  Then I came with Her but left partway through.  Yesterday, I walked her there and then hid out in the office, mentally chewing my nails off all morning.  OK all hour and a half.  This first week is half-time. 

But today.  Today J took Her, dropped Her off, and came home.  Where I was deep in pools of Clorox, the better for the fumes to keep my mind off of the fact that my BABY was at school, all by herself, without me there. At all.  Even a little. 

A tough day, guys. 

Separation anxiety. Feelings of abandonment. Fear of the unknown.  The hesitating, the tears. 

All me, of course. 

Yesterday we arrived at school and She announced, “I’m so ‘CITED for mine school day!” When I lagged behind at the threshold, She turned and asked, “You comin’ mommy?”  When I said no, that I would see Her after school today, She said, “Ok! Bye-bye!” and blew me half a kiss over Her shoulder as She walked in. 

At the end of the day She proudly showed me the picture She had made.  On the walk home, Her little hand in mine, She looked up at me and smiled.  “Mommy! Today at school, I not whine! I not do any cryin’!

I'm so, so proud of my baby girl. My big girl, actually.  I'm so happy for this new territory in Her life, where She gets to have one that's just Hers, that's not completely also mine.  I'm happy for Her because She is a Person, a real one, and She deserves an existence of Her own; She deserves to make Her own way in the big world and to see for Herself that She can do it Herself.
I'm happy for Miss because it means time for Her to be the center of the universe, which every baby should be sometimes.
I'm happy for me because I get to see the thrill in Little Ones' eyes when She has something new to tell me about Her big adventures, because I get to snuggle with my little baby in the quiet morning, and I get to have some time to get things done while Miss sleeps and I can know that Little One is happily engaged elsewhere. 
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little sad for me, too.  Because I miss Her.
And because it's the kick-start to something inevitable. 
Little One and I started out like a zipper, entirely enmeshed in each other, literally a part of one another.  But as life goes, that little zipper falls, and we peel away from each other, bit by bit.  Oh I know that when it comes down to it, we'll always be connected.  But because we're destined to be two grown-ups someday, we have to come apart, bit by bit.  It's a good thing.  But bittersweet. 
I've been thinking about how odd it will be, now, when She tells a story that doesn't quite make sense, and I won't instantly know what She's talking about, because I won't have the context.  Because I'm not there anymore, for all Her little moments in life. She's out having little moments without me! 
Good for Her.  I'm proud.  I'm happy! I have to go clean something.

Gulf Zombies

Like I said, we like it here.  But we are waging a bit of a war, at the moment.   

It all started when Little One’s most recent fever kicked off a couple of nights ago.  She wailed for us from down the hall.

I attended to Her. 

Then I shuffled back to bed, bare feet, half asleep.  I heard this noise:

Skitter.  Sk-itter skitter click click. 

I saw something in the shadows flick by.  I’m half asleep- it is the middle of the ever-loving night people- and so I’m all dull and confused.  I walk closer, to see what it is.  Closer.  I pad my naked, vulnerable toes within inches of this funny noise.  And then.  A long- TOO LONG- silhouette can be made out against the wooden floor.  It moves.  TOWARDS me, holy hell! Right at me!

So I shriek (the heck with sleeping children! I swear the thing is after me!) and do the sissy-girl-freak-out dance; flipping my hands out and kicking my knees up to my chest, aaalll the way back to the surely fortress-like security of the air mattress.  Where I continue hopping around, so that J is bobbling up and down like we’re playing “crack the egg” on a trampoline. 

He’s trying to get me to behave as if I were a half-rational adult or something, all the while the dang SKITTERing is still heading for me!
GAH!  AHHH! UUUug!!!

A ROACH. 

Don’t laugh.  Don’t. DO not.  Don’t even be all “sheesh it’s only a bug, those don’t even bite, I thought it was going to be a rabid python or something, blah blah.” 

This thing was menacing!  It was at LEAST two inches long, fat, and mean.  It was mean, I could tell.  And it was chasing me! 

I like animals.  I like bugs, even. I carefully, almost lovingly removed a beetle from this same house only yesterday, tenderly setting him free in the garden.   I once had a pet tarantula for heaven sakes.  But there are three things that I can find no redeeming value for in this world whatsoever and they are scorpions, mosquitoes, and ROACHES. 

So I pranced at J- “Do something! Ack! It’s COMINGOVERHERE DO something! You- eek!- J.  J! You have to make it go away!”

And so, because he is my knight in shining pajamas, he battled that thing mano-a-mano with his shoe.  Smashed it up, threw it in the trash.  He loves me.  I was hiding under the covers.  I hate for it to be killed, almost as much as I wanted it not to exist.  But in the end, it was dealt with, J obligingly washed his hands with lots of soap, and we got back in bed.  We began drifting off. 

When I heard a noise. 

A shuffling, crunching noise.  A rustling about, if you will.  I heard a familiar footstep and knew what it was.

C: “E! Bad girl! Get out of the kitchen!”

J: “That’s not E.  She’s right here on my side.  It’s X.”  Poor E is always the scapegoat. 

C: “Sorry E.  X! Bad dog! Get OUT of the kitchen and go to bed!”

He was in there sniffing about the trash.  Gross.

He guiltily slunk back to bed.  Everything is settled down. 

We start drifting again. 
And then.

The rustling, Peanuts.  The crunching, moving around sounds.  They came again.  Loud and clear.

I sat up.  Two doggies, innocently curled in the corner.  J, just dropping off.  Crinkle crinkle. 

O.

M.

G.

It was the roach! Back from the dead! Clamoring through the trash heap to get its revenge! 

Can you imagine my reaction? Can you picture it? 
J had to get out of bed, dig that nasty, half-smashed thing out of the garbage, and re-kill it .  Then bag it up and throw it in the garage, just to be safe. 

The garage.  Oh yes. Where I have to go to wash and dry.  Where I was the next night, when I spotted some of Zombie’s relatives holding a war-strategy planning party.  Again, sissy-girl dance. J is called in to save the day.  Again with the shoes.  On my way back from the dryer- it is all the way across the two-car garage from the kitchen door- I try to avert my eyes.  I am both sad/guilty and just plain revolted by the crunched, crumpled little bodies on the floor. 
Ew ew eeeww. 

I haul in the clean clothes, I go out and put another load in.  But on the way back, I notice myself not averting my eyes. 

I beg J to tell me that he cleaned up the dead roach carcasses while I was inside. 

But he didn’t.  He didn’t! Which means one thing only.

That those dead, dead roaches got themselves up and walked away.  Maybe that big sucker was the same one from the last night, who knows. 

Here’s what I do know.  There are zombie. Freaking. Cockroaches.  IN MY HOUSE.  They are plotting against us, and they make me want to hurl. 

I marched myself right to the leasing office THAT DAY and demanded toxic poison all over the place.  But it’s not looking good for us! I mean, nuclear holocausts can’t kill these things, and we’re defending ourselves with flip-flops?!
Today J brought one down, but I knew it was going to go all night-of-the-living-arthropod so I begged him to make sure it was totally out of the house.

He all triumphantly reassured me that he had *flushed it down the toilet*. 

Great.  Ooooh, great. 

You know, Peanuts, those things can swim?!  So now, every time I have to pee, I’m sitting there all nervous, hurrying up, because I just KNOW that any second, an un-dead roach zombie is going to doggie-paddle up and-  

It’s a nightmare, people.  That’s all I’m saying. 

Hopefully the toxic poison people will come soon.  In the meantime, I want you people saying prayers, sending amulets, whatever people do to get rid of nasty, crunchy zombies. 

OH! And have I mentioned the blood-sucking, flying, come-out-at-dark creatures as well?! Zombie roaches. Vampire mosquitoes. 

We’re starting to suspect that we mistakenly moved to a D-list horror movie set. 

We expect Godzilla to walk by any moment. 

Oh but other than that, Peanuts.  Other than all that. 
Florida is super. Super nice.  

Arrived

Well Peanuts, here we are.  Here we are! 

Stories from our adventures along the way are coming.  Like it or not!

And in the meantime, we did arrive. 

We arrived on Saturday.

A few hours later, we got hold of the key.

After 24 hours, we were air-conditioned.

Two days later, we had hot water. 

The next day, we got a refrigerator. 

And! A washer and dryer!

That same day, we got a window in the master bedroom.  All in one piece, which is always good. 

Today, we got internet. Basic necessities covered!

And next Monday, assuming all goes according to plan this time, we will have beds to sleep on, clothes to wear, and all our other stuff. 

Good thing we did a camping trip! We came prepared. 

We have been sleeping on the floor, getting dressed out of backpacks, washing things by hand. Sort of camping in our new house.  But we’ve been far too busy exploring our new neighborhood and being stunned at this new reality of Little One being IN SCHOOL to be bothered by it in the least.  In fact, so far we are having a great time!
Lattes and fresh, made-to-order beignets for breakfast; fresh steamed shrimp and beer for dinner.  Sunshine and smiling, friendly people all day. 

I could get used to this, Peanuts. Yes.

We're in a great neighborhood just a few blocks walk from Little One’s school, there's a big playground across the street.  Park, community center, and dog beach just a few blocks the other way. Not bad! 

Our new house is older.  It has, um, character.  Popcorn ceilings, wood-paneled walls.  A very funky floorplan.  Groovy, I should probably call it.  It has- no seriously I am not even making this up- a turquoise toilet.With matching sink and floor!

But it has lots of space and light, and feels homey.  It works.  

In fact, other than the zombies, it’s great. 

checking in

tapping on my phone during a rare moment of cell coverage on our big adventure.  it's late and I have a terrible time capitalizing properly on this thing. but we are all doing fine; having fun, and collecting little tales for me to share with you later. some if what's coming? a human-animal hybrid, me in a ditch hugging six complete strangers, the inn-keeper Mary and Joseph should have had, and proof that the Wright brothers were gay.
yeah. tune in.

Moving on

Yesterday the packers came and put everything into boxes that make me giggle with their curiously spelled labels and shower of possessive apostrophes. "hat's" "clothe's" "toy's". "sihygn's". I think that's for signs. Most of them also have variations of the wrong last name, but I'm optimistic that we'll all end up together in Florida.
Last night we stayed up hours past bedtime petting animals and winning a pink Teddy bear at the county fair, camped out in the house among the "city of boxes", and woke up EARLY to the sunshine pouring in through curtainless windows. J has gone for coffee.
Soon the moving truck will come take everything away, and we'll be off on an adventure.
I can't wait!

Parenting Fail

It's a good thing it was our last dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant in MaryLand.
Because after Little One puked- epically- in her high chair and spilled rice on the floor, and Little Miss chose that moment to learn how to roll- OFF of the booth seat and under the table, where She commenced shrieking like a banshee on fire- I'm pretty sure we are not invited back.

At least everyone was ok, and Little One seemed to make the most of it. She was quite entertained that we stripped Her of the vomit dress and let Her ride home in Her undies. I had a terrible time corralling Her into the bath, as She ran around the house with one arm out in superhero style hollering, "I'm nakey trow-up gurl! I'm nakey trow-up gurl!!!"

I guess not all superhero powers are created equal. But seriously, I think She could scare off plenty of bad guys with that display. Plenty of waiters, too.

Enjoy Life- Check.

Today I started to feel actually ill from all the worry.
We still haven't rented out our house.
The movers are coming days before the Navy will allow us to leave.
There are medical appointments cancelled because we were in Texas that I can't get rescheduled.
A landslide of "goodbye" lunch dates and playdates and meeting-ups that we missed, I can't find time to fit back in.
The list of things that *has* to get done is impossible, Peanuts.  Im. Possible.
We planned our drive to Florida, conveniently forgetting that we will have TWO DOGS with us.  That changes a few things.
My grandaddy is in the hospital.
I'm starting to get sad about leaving.

This morning I was pouring over the calendar, with my phone in hand entertaining us all with the hold music we'd been listening to for nearly an hour, trying to fit events into little boxes that are already full.  I was worrying because it was almost 10am and I needed to be sorting through the mountain of Stuff in the basement that was supposed to be yard-saled last weekend, and now should be yard-saled tomorrow, and the laundry timer went off.  And the baby started fussing.
I started to get Worry Poisoning.  My stomach churned.  And the baby kept fussing.
So I went and picked Her up, 27 things on my mind, and She grinned at me.
A great big, watery giggly baby grin.  Just for me.  That grin, Peanuts, it whacked me upside the face! Ka-blam! It whacked me like a cute, drooling ton of bricks and it said, "snap out of it missy!"
And so.
I hung up the phone. I decided that we can wear wrinkled clothes.  I decided that goodwill can come pick up our "yard sale" in the morning.  I decided that if we don't see everyone before we go, we will skype them. I decided that there are dentists and hair salons and stores and things like that in Florida.  I decided that if our house is a mess, we can survive it until the movers pack up the mess next week. I decided that we can order pizza for dinner. I decided that things will work themselves out.
And I sat in the rocking chair with my babies and read stories, and cuddled and chatted about whatever came up, and then just rocked awhile, and then read some more stories.
Life happens.  It gets busy, it gets stressful.  In this Navy family, big changes like this are going to be part of the terrain.  I have no idea how we'll get through the next two weeks, but- we will.  And what I do know is that as life is going on, time is going on.  While I worry and plan and do chores and keep appointments, my babies are getting bigger.  They want my attention and my time so much right now.
And sometimes I feel like I don't have enough to share with them, but I have to remember that one day they won't want my time and attention so much anymore.  One day, I will want so much to be able to sit and hold them, rock them and kiss them.  And they will be too big. Too busy worrying, about other things. So I guess the laundry can just wait until those days to be wrinkle-free.
 So far today, nothing has been technically accomplished.  But yet, I feel better.  I turns out stopping and just being present is the perfect antidote to Worry Poisoning.  And although I didn't check anything off that big list, I did get to enjoy some precious moments that almost slipped away forever.  And my children got a message; that They are the top priority, no matter what.  That I value their time and attention as much as they do mine.
There's still a lot to do, and after spending an entire morning in a rocking chair, even more of it will never get done.  But that's just the point, I think. With so much to do,  I have to do the really important stuff first.

Memories

When I was little with my cousins, we spent ages in my grandparents pool. We stayed in there until we were so pruned we were pickled. 
In my memory, we spent years there. We lived in that pool, like mer-people, inhabiting an aquatic fantasy world that stretched through our childhoods. 
It wasn't just the supreme coolness of the fact that they had a pool- at their HOUSE.  It also had a diving board, and a scum-eating robotic creature named Nessie, and every kind of pool toy us mer-cousins could imagine. 
There were rubber sharks, remote-control ships, a wind-up frog that scutted across the shallow end.  Rings to dive for and every kind of floating boat/chair/animal/you-name-it to tip your cousins off of.  
I remember this one beach ball.  It was as big as me, it seemed- or bigger!- but some of the air had gone out.  Half deflated and smushy, it had almost the perfect buoyancy so that when I lay on it, it held me up exactly at surface level but was totally submerged. So that to all the world I appeared to be just floating along. Weightless. 
Almost. But the thing was, in order to keep it under me like that, I had to kind of prop my elbows on it and push down with my arms. 
If I got distracted or tired and let up just a little, it would come bobbing up. Enough that I'd lose my balance a bit. Have to scramble to get it back under and out of the way again. 
And of course there was always the possibility that I might forget myself altogether for a moment, let go. And then the thing would come shooting up with all the pent-up energy and aggression of having been Held Back- and slam me in the face. So I'd end up all sputtering and flailing arms, thrashing about for something to hold on to.  
Being here in Texas, after my Grandmother died, has been like that.
The reality of it all is still sort of submerged...I'm trying to keep my balance, long as I can. 
Partly because my Grandfather (understandably after 64 years) is kind of drowning. It's not the time for my spluttering and flailing. 
And partly because I do not want to let it go and whap me upside the head yet. This one...is hard. It's going to hurt.  
Focusing on the good things helps. Laughing when I can helps. My grandmother, for instance, was infamously emotional; brought to tears by any sadness, happiness, sweet memory. She always carried little packs of tissue, just in case.
While the family went to Oklahoma for the burial, I cleaned out her closet. The girls hit the dress-up clothes jackpot (Little One pronounced grandmother a "very princess" after discovering a rack of beaded/sequined dresses) and I am in cardigans for life. But most of the rest was donated. Before I took it all away, I was sure to empty all the pockets and purses. It was hard to do. It was sad to. But before long I was chuckling, as I slowly filled up the better part of a kitchen trash bag- *just* with little crumpled tissues.
It was just SO...her. Those unique little quirks are the hardest things to miss. And the best for helping me remember. That helps, too.
So does staying insanely, mind-splittingly busy. Which is good, because the movers come next week.
Isn't it funny how even when life has no right at all to go on...it does.

And because it keeps me floating, for now.  

Roaming

2 days ago, I packed a big bag in under ten minutes. I scooped my babies up out of their naps, and zoomed off to the airport. And I had a talk with Little One, about people. People and cell phones; how they are different. How when your cell phone dies, you can plug it in. It will wake up again. But that no, my grandmother doesn't néed her charger, because she was a person. When people die, they are gone.

Mountaineers

Back in June, I was lucky enough to get a visit by two of my best friends.  Since high school! Which is becoming an uncomfortably long time ago.  Do I get to say "back in the day", now?  Yikes.  I think I can.  Well I've known A and L since back in, um, in the day.
These two lovelies flew all the way from the west coast, just to meet Little Miss, play with Little One, and brighten everything up for all of us. They came despite the fact that they are both in the midst of some seriously busy times themselves.  They came because they are awesome.

We saw some sights, stayed up entirely too late talking, ate a lot of ice cream, and just hung out.  I don't get to see these two nearly enough.  I practically never have. Because other than senior year of high school- when I moved to their school and we met- we have never lived in the same city.
And yet we have stayed close.  As close as I can be to anyone.
Super emotionally close friendships aren't something I dislike, so much as something I'm not great at.  We all have our trust thresholds, don't we Peanuts.  Mine happens to be a fairly tall one, when it comes down to it.  
But it's important to have friends like these two. Especially these two, no matter how far apart we are. Something I think about more and more as I look ahead at a military life that promises to be on the nomadic side.
Life is quite the climb.  Sometimes I envy people who start out from basecamp together, and toil all the way to the top at each others heels.  Most of us split off onto our own paths somewhere along the way.  But even if we're scaling  our own face of the rock, we are on the same mountain. And its good to have some great people you can shout to from your side.  In case you encounter a particularly treacherous spot, and slip, and need someone to come.  To come and pull you up.  Or in case the view of the sunset from your spot is just too splendid not to share.  Or in case you just need to hear another voice answer you back, and know that Someone is There.
A, L and I are on quite distinct paths, and we are all pretty good climbers. But weekends like this matter.  Sometimes it's just important to all gather on a ledge somewhere.  To rest. Too look back at how far we've all come.  We reminisce about those early days when we set out together; laugh at what amateurs we were and what fun we had then, before it all got so steep.  We share things we've learned along the way; how to hold on when it gets slippery, where to find flowers in the crags. Climbing tips.  We talk about the climb ahead, and what we hope we'll find there. Where we think we're going.
And then we pack up our gear, head to the courses we've each set for ourselves, and keep on. Out of sight of each other, thinking of the next foothold, handhold, pulling up.
Life is a ruggedly beautiful thing.  It's exhilarating; and I expect the view from the top will be spectacular.  But it's tiring, unforgiving. Our hands get calloused, our knees get sore. Sometimes it gets too sharp, too slick, or starts to crumble. Sometimes we narrowly hang on, sometimes it rains too hard to see the way ahead.  It's hard, guys.  It can be hard. 
But when it's fun, when it's painful, as intimidating as it may be, this climb is us living. We'll get there. Especially now that I have two babies in my pack, I know that friends like these matter, and visits like this do. Because they remind us that even if we happen to be climbing our own separate swath of granite on this big Life mountain- we're not doing it alone.
There's something to that.

I get all awkward in person sometimes. It's that threshold thing. But it's easier to get mushy behind the screen of, well, a screen, so I'll go ahead and type it out instead.  You girls are a couple of the best climbing partners there could be.  Love you.