"It's Raining Men"

Gay disco hit or not, that song gets stuck in my head whenever I see a jump, and Robyn, I blame you! ;)

We all went to Tim's jump today, and though a long afternoon, it was well worth it. Tim has to jump every month to keep his Airborne pay, and since the weather was so nice, he got on today's manifest, and we made it, hmmm, a family affair (another disco era classic...am I on a roll or what?!)

There were a lot of civilians jumping today, and the boys loved watching those SLOW falling, brightly colored parachutes sway down and land right in front of them. Tim took J. over on his shoulders to watch them. They were so close J. could have touched them.
Blue parachutes...









White parachutes...

The military parachutes are designed to fall much more quickly which is why much of airborne school is instruction on how to land without breaking your legs. Afterall, they aren't doing this for the view, and the intent is stayin' alive, not getting shot down mid-jump. (Yep-I did it again. Go ahead. Try not to think about John Travolta right....NOW!) The Army jumps a little higher up than the civilians, further out, and land in a drop zone in a cow pasture a ways away. Since they only have the wind to direct them, they need a larger landing target.

The boys had fun jumping and shouting "jump!" whenever a pass went by. Since 5 soldiers jumped in each pass, J. got to practice counting to 5 a lot! Then he'd say, "Ohhhh...Fall Down!" when they landed. Very cute. Here's Tim about to be inspected by the jump master getting onto the plane. J. waved, "Bye Bye, Daddy!" when Tim flew off.

Here is Tim jumping:

Thankfully, no one needed the "ouchey truck" (as J. called it-above). It was a fun day, and the boys will be talking about, and reinacting, its events for days to come, I'm sure!
And here's one last one without even an attempt at context, just to give you a little dance to do on a spring day: "Do the Hustle! Do do do do do do do do do, do do do do do do do do do..."

The family went to Charlotte this weekend to speak at an adoption conference our agency was hosting. The new Hague Convention requires 10 hours of adoption preparation for adoptive families before placement, so there were more people there this time than in the past (now that they have to go...), though most families were very attentive and were striving to gleam all the information they could.

Even though we were the speakers on inter-country toddler adoption, we were encouraged to bring the boys. They are the obvious effective "prop" in such a setting, provided they're well behaved. And they were! When families see J. loving all over us, and C. running around laughing, it gives them hope that they will have a successful placement as well.

The director wanted us to cover everything from the first meeting, the plane ride, traveler's insurance, attachment, the grief process, jet-lag, questions for the orphanage caretakers, USCIS, and trauma from the birthfamily. Every family in our conference was adopting from a different country: the Philippines, Ethiopia, El Salvador, Korea, etc... They had wonderful questions, and sometimes stunned faces. That was the point though. The director told me beforehand that, "Most of these families need a more realistic perspective. They think their toddler will come running into their arms crying, 'Mommy! Mommy!' from day-one and be able to read books! Don't scare them; but tell them like it is." Hopefully, that mission was accomplished. I didn't want to discourage, just prepare.

It's a pleasure for us to go over there once or twice a year and present at these conferences. We hope our story encourages other to adopt, and better prepares them for what they are getting into. And what they are getting into is the biggest, most time-consuming, complicated blessing of their lives!

Not to mention, we love Charlotte. We go to the "rich people mall" off of Rea street amid the 2 million dollar homes and look-OK gawk at-the "make believe" people. Really-this one guy had on white from head to toe with shiny white shoes. He had gold jewlrey, dark sunglasses and a runway walk. And then there was the half plastic blonde attached to his arm, also drowned in white, complete with a white leather skirt that should have been significantly longer-even on her brand new pair of legs. In her arms was a (go ahead and guess...) miniature cocker spaniel with a diamond leash dressed appropriately in- you guessed it-white. Oh it's sad what the love of money can do to people. Sometimes it steals not only their souls, but their identity as well. (OK-so it's not nice to stare, but after being stared at everyday and fielding questions like 'Are those your children? And 'You must be a foster mom-can you tell me about that process?" daily, we felt we earned a little credit to be spent in the stare department.)

Also in Charlotte, I get to go the World Market; we eat at Panera Bread; Tim can pick up parts for his truck at the Land Rover dealership; and the streets are lined with green sod, peach stands, pottery, and dogwood trees. This may not sound like much to you-you St. Louis-ians are probably thinking, "Frontenac"-but compared to the military town we live in, Charlotte is a little glimmer of the good life reminiscent of the towns we grew up in and love. Yes, love. Love of money? Maybe. Love of adoption? Definately.

And for those of you wondering, yes we did talk to the director about our next adoption. Yes, I said we-Tim too was involved in this conversation. Since Vietnam re-opened a year or so ago, we've been very interested in it. Afterall, SE Asia has a special place in my heart, and I love Vietnam! However, our agency's new Vietnam program had some set-backs, so currently, we can't adopt a Vietnamese child through them. Korea was on our top five list, but Korea just re-vamped their entire program as well. It's yet to be seen how adoptions will go with them under the new laws. Then, we had Ethiopia (a country our agency is not certified in), domestic, and El Salvador (the country in which our agency began). But first, we need to get through Tim's next deployment. Ask us again at the end of the year, and, Lord willing (Isn't is awesome how Muslims are in the habit of saying that after very statement with a futurisitc desire??? I'm not in that habit, though I should be) we will be able to have a more definitive answer for you as to where our next child will be born. Just an update post as to what we've been up to lately. Hope all is well where you are. Blessings!

Green Tea

I'll be the first to admit that green tea is an acquired taste. My first true sippings of this leaf extract were in Japan a decade ago, and I remember dreading visits to the homes of Japanese because I knew that our conversation would be laced with green tea. The taste wasn't as bad as raw fish, or squid chips (don't ask), but it was still revolting.

Then time went on...

In retrospect, I imagine I've spent three or four dozen hours of time sipping green tea with Asian friends and contacts. Gradually, I started asking for seconds. Eventually, I was catching myself with American friends, in Rangoon, sitting around a plastic table in plastic chairs in a "tea shop" chatting over green tea. Tea we ordered by choice, desired, and paid a taxi to get to. It grew on me.

The natural food store I go to has countless varieties of green tea; some from India with a chai twist, others are Chinese, Japanese, decaffinated, with "super antioxidants", or formulas designed to fight against arthritis, heart disease, cancer, or promote longevity. I doubt green tea is the fountain of youth, but it is beneficial. See link:
http://food.yahoo.com/blog/beautyeats/3051/7-reasons-to-drink-green-tea

There is certainly some debate about how beneficial it is, but one can't deny that the Japanese live longer than we do. They eat more fish and less meat. They eat more green, soy and lentils and less fried junk. And they drink gallons of green tea. Tim and I aren't the healthiest eaters, but we don't eat a lot of red meat; I've added soy nuts and a natural plant estrogen to my vitamin/herb routine, and there is always green tea in the house.

After it grows on you, it's tasty. Especially with 1/4 teaspoon of organic honey to sweeten it. Yummy. It hasn't surpassed my love of a Starbucks decaf grande extra-hot hazelnut mocha, but really now-what can top that??

So, what's your favorite hot drink- the drink you curl up on the couch with and watch tv with a friend with?

Let the craziness begin!

Tim is home and there is SO much to be done before he leaves again. I can't reveal exactly how long he's home for, but thankfully it is longer than the couple of days we thought we might have between outings. In fact, he should be home long enough this spell that we can get everything done on the "to do" list! Whoopee! That never happens. For those of you who aren't familiar with what typically gets placed on a military family's "things to be done during the very brief times you're here in the house with us" list, it looks something like this:

1. Spay the dog (because she's 50 lbs. of hyper puppy and I can't get her and two toddlers to the vet and calmly sitting in chairs while I talk to the vet, write the check and maneuver the busy parking lot).

2. Stain the fence.

3. Uproot our dead tree in the front yard and plant a new one. (Because my 100 lb. 5 foot-ness makes this very difficult to do). NOTE: I did do this BY MYSELF yesterday to help reduce Tim's list. Oh yeah-hear me roar...

Replacement for #3: HA! What do you think about painting the kitchen blue????

4. Teach J. how to hit a ball in case he plays tee-ball this year (because that's just something dads do).

5. Clean the garage (has been on the list three years running. Will it get done this time? I'll throw down $2.00 for "no", but you never know-miracles happen!)

6. Fill-out the funeral arrangements for the chaplain. Or at least check last year's to make sure nothing has changed. For instance, that's REALLY what you want written on your tombstone??? (Note to non-military: if you talk openly and joke about this form then odds are you won't have to use it. Or so goes the illogical rational).

7. Do the taxes.

8. Fertilize the lawn (Tim actually put this one on the list. How's that for stereotypical husband vs. wife priorities!)

9. Break C. from the pacifier. (I know you're thinking, 'Tiffany, you can't do that?' Well, remember I was going to have him off of it by 6 mon. Then by 1 year, then 15 mon... I'll summarize by saying that last night, two hours after putting C. to bed, the WHOLE family was in C.'s room. C. was sobbing. He wasn't tantruming, but sobbing big fat tears, pleading with me for his paci. It was as if he was saying, "That's the only comfort object I have; that's where my peace comes from; that's what keeps the nightmares away; why, Mommy? WHY can't I have my bestfriend? PLEASE, Mommy! My body aches for it so much that it physically hurts me. See-I can't breathe I'm crying so hard. PLEASE, Mommy, don't take away my bestfriend!" Which explains why I was rubbing his back, sobbing, saying, "Be strong C. Tim, can't we try this again next week? You're a big boy, C. Tim, I can't do it-just give it to him. I know you can do it, C. And some other mumbo jumbo about teeth, bites, speech development and palette formation that he certainly didn't understand. J. was plugging his ears saying, "C. be strong!" And Tim was saying, "Tiffany, this is hurting you far more than it's hurting him. Just get out of here and I'll stay with him until he falls asleep." I could do a whole blog post on this experience, but I won't. Suffice it to say that C. went down for a nap today, after saying he was very strong, without one tear and NO pacifier! Woo Hoo!)

(C.'s "I'm so strong" pose)

And last but not least, #10. Kiss your wife and hug your kids.

There's a lot more on the actual list, like all the actual military preparation stuff, but this is a snippet of our upcoming days together. We'll try to squeeze in a date-night or two, and treasure every moment. The light at the end of the tunnel though is that he should be home for the holidays at the end of the year and it SHOULD be his last big deployment. If that isn't a silver lining, I don't know what is. And with that hope, I can make it through the year.
And don't think we're ignoring you if we don't answer the phone, return calls or get out much. OK-we are ignoring you, but not to be mean! We're just being a little selfish with our time together. It's 80 degrees here today, so HAPPY SPRING!

C.: So you're the "big" brother, huh? Did you see those measurements yesterday? I'm weighing in at 27 lbs. and you're still holding steady at 28. Yep-one pound, big brother. And to think I'm the one that gets in trouble for not finishing his dinner. Just think what will happen when I start eating!

Look out behind you...here I come!

J.: Don't get so excited yet. Look what happens if I stretch my neck up real high like this. I'm still nearly a whole head taller than you!

C.: Today-sure. But watch out! I'm gaining on you! And by the way, it's more like a half a head.

I mean, I'm not real good with numbers yet, but let me bring you in on a little secret: I don't think there's that much difference between 31 and 33 inches. And they call you 3 1/2!

J.: At least I pee in the toilet.

C.: Hmph! I drive better than you.

J.: Oh yeah-well, I'll love you no matter how big you get. Little brother.
We didn't anticipate C. passing J. in height and weight for a couple of years, but a couple of months may be more realistic! Poor J. has tiny-ness in his genes, I'm afraid. At least he has a big heart!

Happy Birthday to Me

~Thank you Sara, DJ and Kira for a delicious Italian meal, adult conversation, and a night out.

~Thank you Mom for babysitting.

~Thank you Timmy for the daisies.

~Thank you to Melanie for the hilarious e-card.

~Thank you to friends and family who sent traditional cards, checks and gift certificates.

~Thank you to all the older and wiser women from Helen Street who shared memories from their great years beyond thirty to encourage me.

What do you know? Thirty isn't so bad after all!

Blessings,

I forgot to take out the trash...again.

Though Tim is gone, so it isn't as though the can is overflowing. I almost tracked the truck down; after all, he was only about 5 houses down. But then I thought, "Forget it. I'll just set it out next Tuesday."

C., J. and I left to take J. to school. After I dropped him off, I went to DJ's to vaccuum her house. Do I love cleaning, or what? No really, she broke her arm and can't do everything needed to be done, so I went over there this morning. By the way, there's a REALLY funny story there-not that a friend should laugh at another friend's broken bones, but HA! This one is really funny. . .

Anyway, I left DJ's and went to PetSmart to buy dog food. Then, my gas light came on. So, I stopped to get gas. After this, I thought, "I should put air in that low tire while I'm here," but a van was blocking the air compressor.

So, I went to three more gas stations searching for air, killing time until 12:15 when I needed to pick up J. from school. One had no air station, a semi was using another one, the third one just seemed kind of shady... I drove to preschool.

Two blocks away from the school, there was another gas station. With an air compressor. I got C. out of the car to get quarters from the man behind the counter inside. I never leave my kids alone in the car, even for a minute. It seems dangerous; bad things could happen. C. was nice enough to hold my keys for me while I exchanged my dollar bill for change. I put C. back in the car, shut the door, put air in all the tires, put the little valves back on, and went to drive away. Timmy, you'd be really proud at how expertly I put air in those tires!
At least to this point in the story.

I went to my door and- door locked.

Passenger door, back door, trunk door-locked.

C. is inside, it's 68 degrees and climbing, and my car is locked. (Insert explitive of choice here. Grrrr.....) C. is looking at me through the glass, smiling as if to say, "Didn't you hear the horn honk when I locked the door earlier when you were silly enough to let me hold your keys?"

No, I didn't.

I'm staring at my car thinking, "70 degrees isn't too hot to suffocate in a car, right?" "I've got to get J. at school in 15 min." "I'll call the school." "My phone is in the car." "I have to leave this car, with my baby in it, to go inside and make a phone call. There's got to be another way."

The man behind the counter of the gas station shouts to me (because I'm shouting at him, standing in the doorway thirty feet away so I can see C). "This happens all the time!" he says. "If there's a baby in the car, call 911. Otherwise call a locksmith." This nice man lets me use his cell phone to call 911, and I wait outside.

Not five minutes later a fire truck comes screaming into the gas station, lights, sirens-the whole lets-bring-on-as-much-attention-as-possible-to-this-negligent-mother-who-just-doesn't-feel-bad-enough-already-shaBang. Five firemen leap off of the truck and rush to get the car door hook hanger opener thingy. I say, "This is like a rescuing a kitty out of a tree job. I'm sorry."


They reassured me that it was priority; not petty; that I called the right people; this is what they're for; there's a child in the car, so I did the right thing. By the way, here's the paperwork you need to fill-out.

Question #1: Driver's license # _____________________
I've got that right here...uhm....no I don't. Where's my driver's license? AHHH! It's with my plane ticket in the baby carrier in the kitchen at home "for airplane check-in convenience" I explain to the friendly fireman. I'm appearing more and more responsible by the minute, I can tell.

They had the door open in five minutes and did a medical five point check on C., which was funny because I was the one freaking out-mildly. C. was laughing, enjoying seeing fire engines and firemen come to his rescue.

Almost recovered enough to laugh at the situation, I'm at the preschool by 12:18. Whew!

We're home just after 12:30, and I check the ergo baby carrier for my license. Not there. I check my carry-on bag, the suitcase, the pants I wore home. Not there. Not there. Now I'm wondering how I'm going to find the time to re-take the driver's test to get a NC license with two toddlers and Tim gone. Let alone pass the written test. I can never remember how many feet a pole is allowed to be when it's sticking out of the back of your vehicle. Then I remember, THE TRASH!

I rush outside and dig out the bag that had the papers I cleaned out of my carry-on luggage two days ago. Sure enough, tucked inside the envelope with my boarding pass, was my good old Missouri driver's license with two years of goodness left in it.

Yes God, I see now that you wanted me to have that driver's license and you used my hectic morning, an early trash man, C.'s eagerness to play with keys, firemen, and a low air pressure light to lead me to it. Maybe not the way I would have led a dumb sheep to the green grass, but whatever. You're God. And I can legally drive again.

Arizona

I LOVE Arizona!

I love the weather, the culture, and the attitute. You can be who you are, and be completely accepted. Fashion, vanity, pretentiousness, and narrow mindedness are rarely seen and it creates a refreshing, relaxing environment. I lived there with Tim for a few months years ago, and whenever he has to go back on business, I try to follow (for a few days, at least)! There was snow in Mexico and it made for beautiful scenery.

C. went with me because he still flies free, and J. enjoyed a week with Granny. Both boys ended up getting spoiled! But a little spoiling never hurt anybody.

Tim, C. and I ate out at great Mexican places about everyday. We learned that C. loves strawberry smoothies and HOT Jalapenos! Yes, I tried to take them away from him when he cried and said, "Hot! Hot!" but then he cried even more, signed "please" and begged for them. And from then on, no matter what I fed him, he'd put it in his mouth, spit it out, say "no hot!" and beg for salsa and jalapenos. Good thing he likes milk because it's the only thing that takes the fire out!

C. and I went to Bisbee one day. It's my favorite town near there. It used to be the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco-in the late 1800's. Now it's a bunch of free-thinkers, miners, Mobius strip worshippers, street preformers, artisans and coffee huts. It's wonderful! Not that I'm advocating worshipping a shape, mind you. Since Bisbee is a mining town they have great gems and I always get a piece when I go. That and honey. There's a guy who raises bees and makes a dozen flavors of honey. I bought 4 jars. Don't forget to bring home your two honey jars, Tim! C.'s favorite part was the street performer who, no I'm not making this up, had a big black dog. A shabby tabby cat rode around ON TOP of the dog, and a little mouse named Winchester rode around ON TOP of the cat and did little mouse tricks! I didn't have my camera, so I don't have a pic, but really-its true! C. said, "Woof, Woof!" and signed "mouse." He didn't want to walk away he was so mezmorized by this demonstration of peace on earth.

Well, we're home now. Tim's mom leaves Monday, and my mom comes in Thursday-just in time to babysit so my girlfriends and I can go out for dinner to celebrate a very ugly birthday for me. You know, 29 for the 2nd time...Have a great week!

Happy 1st Welcome Home Day!

The anniversary of when a family meets and brings home their adopted child is traditionally called their "Got'cha Day!" But I hate that term. It sounds like I swooped into Manila and snatched J. up like a thief in the night. Or squashed a mosquito. "Got'cha! HA! Ha! Ha!" I don't want to use a term that denotes our stealing him from his native culture and first home, so we use Welcome Home Day, for now.

This will be one of those holidays that J. will choose whether or not we celebrate openly as he gets older, but it will certainly always be special to Tim and I, as our lives were made so much more complete by J.'s homecoming.

This year, J. had his Valentine's Day party at school on his Welcome Home Day, so he had a lot of sweets there. But we still made a giant #1 cookie while C. was taking a nap.

We decorated it with red frosting, and since he loves to blow out candles, we put a #1 in there and let him blow it out. We looked at his scrap book that the nuns at his former orphanage put together for him. He pointed to people he remembered, but most of all he loved to find himself in the pictures and say, "J_____!"



I told him a child's version of his life story and we practiced saying some of the more important words like, "Philippines" and "Filipino", "home", "one", and "Heaven."


God knew what He was doing when he decided to give J. to us as our son. Sometimes I grieve the 2 1/2 years we missed with him, but not so much that I don't treasure each day I have with him now.


Tim called while J. was icing his cookie to tell him Happy Welcome Home Day.

I told J., "Daddy is on the phone to tell you, 'Happy Welcome Home Day.'"

Immediately J. broke into, "Dada home. Dada airplane. Home. Dada home, no more night-night!" (He knows Tim will be home in 25 night-nights.)

"Uh, no...you're home! Isn't that just as exciting?!" I offered trying to save the moment. They had a nice talk about school, counting to ten and the color red.

What made the moment perfect though was when after he hung up with Tim, while eating his cookie, he said, "Mommy-J. happy!"

That's all we've ever wanted for you: a family, health, faith, safety and happiness. So, for today-mission accomplished.

Sounds

J. has been able to say his alphabet for a few weeks now, well...except for "w", but that one is difficult. Considering he was more or less silent when he came home a year ago, he's come a LONG way. His speech therapist says that he's coming along faster than any other kid she's seen with his disorder. So, thanks to her, Leap Frog phonics videos and homework everyday, he's well on his way to intelligible sentences. And yes, that is a tarantula in C.'s mouth! He's not afraid of it anymore, Tom! He likes to take the remote control and make the spider walk across people's feet and then scream, "AHHHH!" as if to say, "Watch out! There's a spider on you!" Boys will be boys...
(Below, click play twice to see the video.)

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?. . .

Yes, this cello is far too large for my 28 lb. 3 year old. He could use a 1/10 size probably, but I'm going to start him on a 1/8, like this girl's:

I gave a lot of thought to which instrument to start J. on. Most parents start their kids on the violin . Suzuki violin, to be precise some time during elementary school when permission slips go out. That's what I did. I started on violin at nine and switched to cello at ten. By middle school I was principal cellist wih the St. Louis Conservatory and School for the Arts Concert Orchestra, and I moved up to the Symphonic Orchestra in high school. Though, I never made principal cellist there. I didn't even try very hard. It just wasn't the priority. Sure, I made some extra money with a quartet I was in that played weddings. I taught private lessons for a couple of years. But I never really tried to be great. I don't think I even knew what it took to become great. I mean GREAT, like these fine fellows:

(Mstislav Rostropovich and Yo Yo Ma)

To be like them-not just a professional, but a soloist making millions a year- one doesn't start at nine. He starts at three or four. And he doesn't waste time on the violin just because it's small. He starts on the instrument that will be the instrument he will pursue. The GREATS, unlike me, didn't place a social life over practice time when they were teenagers, and they don't skip rehersal with a fellow rogue violinist and tympani player to hang out at Vintage Vinyl down the street. Yes mom, I did that. But I always practiced enough to not make a fool of myself. That's what was important to me: looking cool, not necessarily being the best.

J. may make the same choices. But he will certainly be given the opportunity to be one of the GREATS. He'll start young, on an instrument that isn't as competitive as the violin; we'll keep lessons fun and enjoyable, though regular. And should he show tremendous promise as a teenager, we'll throw out algorithms (and traditional schooling entirely), and have him practice. Practice like he's on his way to Carnegie Hall: 6-8 hours a day.

J. can already pluck the correct string: A, D, G or C, when I ask him. He knows the parts of the cello, like the bridge, the frog, the pegs and the strings. And he knows not to play up on the fingerboard like the little boy is doing in the picture above. We've got a long way to go, but we're off to a good start.

I met a girl that worked at a used book store in the airport last year. She had a musical score tatooed on both arms. As I was checking out I said, "That's the Haydn." She looked shocked. "You know the Haydn cello concerto?" "Yes, I do," I answered. I knew it because my private teacher (an amazingly talented, STERN, LARGE, South African woman) let me know repeatedly in high school that I didn't play it well. She had me go over it and over it and over it. It's one of THE pieces for any cellist for a reason...it's crazy difficult.

Maybe J. will master it and the Boccerini. That would be something, even if he doesn't become one of the GREATS.

Bananas and Bad Boy Chairs

I haven't posted in awhile, and grandparents don't hesitate to let me know that! :) So...here are some captions from the past few days to give you a feel for how things are going, in case the above photo isn't revealing enough.

Me (beginning with the above photo): When you're both bad, you have to share the bad boy chair, so scoot over, C.!

Me: It cannot be 6:00 already. OK, God, I'm going to close my eyes and when I open them, please make that clock say 2:30. Ready? Urg... it's still 6:00 am."

Me: J., for the third time, you cannot put a blanket over the dehumidifier! You will burn the house down!

Tim (on the phone): He wiped his nose on his hand?

Me: J. was sleeping on the couch, C. walked over, opened J.'s hand, and rubbed his snotty nose all in it. Hear him laughing? He thinks it's hilarious.

J. (in the car, late for speech therapy): No like.

Me: Yes you do like bananas.

J.: No like.

Me: You liked them yesterday. Eat it.

Me (an hour later cleaning up smashed banana out of the car): You liked bananas yesterday. . .

C. (while dropping his lunch bite by bite onto the floor): Nope! No! No! Nope!

J.: No like.

Me (in the middle of a yoga session): You're joking. Who bends like that?

Me (9:00pm and the house is finally quiet): At least I have Grey's Anatomy.
Me (57 minutes later): Holy cats, could this show get any more depressing???

Me: C., can you let go of my legs for a minute, please. Just let me walk down the hall unattached. . .

Me: J., who took all the books off of the shelf?

J.: C.

Me: C., pick up the books.

C. (laughing and running off into the hallway): AHHHHH!

Me: Nap time. I have 2 hours. I could finish editing this last short story. I could read. I could finish the laundry. Or I could bathe. Yes, I should bathe.

J. (at night, getting ready for bed): Cold! Cold!

Me: Then put your pajamas on.

J. (sitting by his pajamas, naked and whining): Cold! Cold!

Me: Then put your pajamas on!

J. (15 min. later, still naked sitting by his pajamas): Cold! Cold!

Me: C., I think you broke my jaw. Ouch...really, I think I heard it crack. When are you going to learn that headbutting does not say, 'I love you?'

Me (at night time prayers): What are you thankful for, J.?

J.: Thank you, God for Mama, Dada, C., J., choo choo, and light.

Me: What are you thankful for, C.?

C.: Woof! Woof!

Me: Dear God, we're thankful for Mama, Dada, J., C., trains, lights and dogs. Keep Tim safe. Give me patience. Help J. obey his teacher at school. Teach C. to be gentle. In Jesus name,

Me, J. and C.: Amen!

In all seriousness, it isn't that bad. Whenever Tim leaves, it takes a few days to adjust, but I usually get a lot more done when he's gone. I guess when you know you have to do it on your own, you just get it done whether it's dragging everybody out for a gallon of milk, or going to doctor appointments and doing taxes with both kids. For me, I get it done in excess. It makes the time go by faster. Just to reassure you, here's some positives: Caleb has learned to apologize and hug whenever he hurts someone. Judah has learned to say almost all of the letters and their sounds. We've been going to Mommy and Me on Sunday nights, and they enjoy it. We're signing Judah up for Tee-Ball in March, and Caleb is eating again. (He wouldn't eat for a long time). So, except for Tim being gone, things are going well. We hope your days are as fun and eventful as ours! Blessings,