A Bumpy Ride?

Apparently Andrew has been playing with a doctor's kit at preschool. How do I know this? Well, on Friday he grabbed a tube of mascara while I was getting dressed in the bathroom, and proceeded to pretend to give me shots in each of the cellulite divots on my booty and thighs. I didn't realize cosmetic injections were part of imaginary play these days.

These kids sure keep us humble.

It reminded me of when little Margaret still couldn't speak too clearly yet. As I stood in my undies, she rubbed my upper thigh and said, "Dat bumpy, Mama!" When, I turned to gain a little personal space, she caressed the other thigh and said with wonder, "Dat bumpy too!"

Oh well, guess who just ordered Andrew his own doctor's kit on Amazon?

p.s. Tim, Margaret, and I go on our big trip to Africa on Friday. In case you missed it when I shared about it on Facebook a few weeks ago, we are taking Margaret on a 6 day safari in South Africa that I purchased at a charity auction a few years ago. We aren't ready, tensions are running pretty high, and it all seems so overwhelming. Could you please pray for Andrew (at home with his Aunties), and Tim, Margaret, and me as we travel? THANK YOU!

Quick Trip and an Organizational Tip

We just got back from a quick trip to Orlando, Florida.

Despite some illness, we had a very good time, and it helped solidify for us that we aren't really an amusement park family. Tim does not do well with crowds, I wilt in the heat, and Margaret does not like thrill rides. We went to two excellent theme parks and used the "quit while we're ahead" philosophy to get maximum enjoyment with minimal angst. Instead of thinking about HOW MUCH MONEY WE SPENT on tickets and trying to suck the marrow out of life by staying from opening to closing, we just stayed as long as we were still having fun and more like nibbled on a little bit of marrow. We went on low-key rides and did a lot of people watching. Quitting while we were ahead gave us time to kick back in our hotel, watch a Shark Tank marathon, and read books.

We decided to share one suitcase since the airline now charges for each bag. We used a large LL Bean duffle with wheels. In order to not have an annoying mish mash of all of our clothes, I gave each of us packing envelopes/cubes that I discovered right before my trip to Armenia last winter.

This are game changers!

Not only do they compress your clothes take up less space, and keep your everything wrinkle free, they help keep you organized so that you can find your things easily throughout your trip. I used one big envelope for my clothes, and two small cubes for pajamas/underclothes, and shoes. I bought a few on Amazon and found a few more at our thrift store. The brand I like is Eagle Creek, but there are a lot of other options out there. At home, unpacking was easier, too, because we each took our own cubes out to deal with.

Now we are back in Virginia, not a palm tree in sight, busting out the flannels and trying to get used to it getting dark at 5 o'clock again.

And after a trip, sometimes it feels like home is the happiest place on earth.

Making a Splash, Weekend Round-up Edition

Where to begin?

Do I share the beauty of going to an indoor water park with kids aged 9 and almost 12? Of being able to sit and read an entire depressing and wrenching and inspiring memoir all in one sitting, wearing street clothes, while my kids frolicked and cavorted in the water?

Of lifting my head from my serious reading matter to look around, ostensibly for the children, and glimpsing with pity lots of mommies of kids far younger than mine who were not yet free to say NO to the bathing suit and the enormous bucket of water pouring over their heads?

Do I share that this water park trip resulted in 2 epic telephone fights and a scheduling snafu that could have granted my eldest his wish of having divorced parents?



Do I share my opinion that chain hotel decor has come a long way from hunter green and floral by sharing this cool console table with you?

Instead, I think I'll share that for the second time in 2 weeks I was reminded of The Shining while staying in a hotel. Lest you conclude that I'm obsessed, perhaps you should see what slogan (?) Hampton Inn has decided to put inside every one of its elevators:


Seriously? Brilliant marketing, that.

But instead of dealing with a crazed murderer flashing his maniacal smile at me in an empty resort hotel, I was driven to distraction by another sort of foe:

A lovelorn teenager who parked himself on the floor outside our room as he had a heartfelt (loud!) phone conversation with his girlfriend. You know, one of those tortured, miserable conversations with pleading, sighing, and what-not?

Who needs in-room porn when your 11 year old can share, verbatim, these snippets and more with you:

"Well, I didn't know those kinds of pictures of you would make you uncomfortable."

"If you had been with any other guys before me you would understand all of this better."

Ewwww.

At about 11:30 I had had enough. The driving, the reading, and the water park fries had done me in.

I hopped out of bed and charged to the door, wearing my tank top and undies, and decided to give him the kind of scare that would make Jack Nicholson look as cuddly as a Pillow Pet. As I angrily flipped the deadbolts, the kid jumped up and darted down the hall, narrowly missing a sighting that could have turned him off of women forevermore.

Mission accomplished.

I slunk back to my bed and climbed in with my now-sleeping daughter.

...who had decided to take her half of the bed right down the middle.

"I'm Doing it Because I Want to and NOT Because You Told Me To"

So we just got back from a fantastic trip to my sister's house. And by fantastic I mean that no one got hurt on the trampoline, everyone bonded and slept well, and I wasn't too much of a brat. Feel free to substitute another b word of your choice if brat is not to your liking.

As has been my lifetime practice of being nicer to complete strangers than my own flesh and blood, especially when I feel "safe" with them, I continue to be a bit of a nightmare when unleashed upon my family. For those of you who have pitied me for the way my daughter Molly unloads on me, I must emphasize here that it is payback to the nth degree.

Anyway, my sister and I had a great time, greatly aided by the fact that she is a yoga instructor, and attending her Holy Yoga (Christian yoga) class kept me calm and grounded for the most part. I got snipe-y a few times about the kids but kept my stuff together pretty well until right before we left.

After Easter services we went to Shoney's buffet. I was seriously put out when my brother-in-law announced to the waitress-- with great flourish-- "We'll all have the buffet," and the waitress disappeared, taking any chance I had of perusing a menu with her.

I realize you, like my relations, may enjoy buffets. I, however, had something else in mind. A crispy asian chicken salad, perhaps? A chicken caesar wrap? I don't even know what Shoney's offers, but I just wanted the chance to choose for myself. When I go to a restaurant buffet I tend to overeat stuff I don't really like in the first place.

So I guess you can lead Anna to the buffet, but you can't make her eat. I got screechy and weird in front of my bro-in-law as I picked dramatically at my salad and biscuit. Sure I went back later for grits and french toast sticks, but that's beside the point.

I think my tantrum was my way of saying I was ready to be back on my turf, with my own schedule, making my own choices. Old lady much?

So, L, if you are reading this, thanks for having us. The kids and I are still talking about how much fun we had. Thanks for your hospitality and for loving me DESPITE me. I miss you already.

And as far as getting the chance to practice being nicer to those I love? Tom's sister, brother-in-law, and 5 kids will roll into town on Wednesday. You read that correctly.

Pray for us all.



We are over $1300 for the Well Project, but we only have 2 months left to reach $5,000. Here's the donation page.

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Sorry for the blog silence. I’ve been holed up in a house w/ 7 kids, 6 adults, one dog and a hermit crab for the past 6 days. I’m kind of glad I couldn’t blog at my in-laws, because I would have come off as a raving lunatic, or at least more of one than usual. I needed to get back home and get a little perspective before filling you in on my week. See how happy I look in my own kitchen?

Trips to the in-laws always seem to go like this: I work myself into a lather packing for the household. Laundry, pack, schlep, laundry, pack, schlep. When we get there, my first strategy is to hide out in a back bedroom reading books 24-7. This is not to protect myself from them, but to protect them from the raging b-rat I become every time I’m there.

I find myself cringing at everything anyone does. I play a little game in my head called “That’s where Tom got that annoying habit.” I feel rebellious. If they are talking politics, I feel like yelling, “I voted for Obama!” If they extol the virtues of health food, I rip open a bag of chocolate and strap on my feed bag.

Underneath my rolling eyes, moaning and groaning, I think what I’m doing is trying to punish them for not being my family of origin. As if to embrace them fully and their way of doing things will somehow negate my experience of “family.”

The thing is, ever since my mom died, twenty years ago, my family hasn’t exactly been all sunshine and roses, so why am I comparing, and judging, and punishing these kind, lovely people who have never been anything but good to me? But still.

By day 2, I feel the need to flee. Unfortunately, I’m 7 hours from home and have never bothered to plot an escape route. The idyllic country setting begins to feel more like a curse than a blessing. I have no idea how to get to a main road. Perhaps if there were a Target nearby, I could indulge in a little retail therapy to make it through. No dice. Snowfall doesn’t help either. Low thermostat? Annoying. Boring local newspaper? Ugh. Tennis magazines? No thanks.

By day 3, I’m lethargic, as if overtaken by carbon monoxide. Everything is in slow mo. I sleep as late as possible, ignoring the chipper “Well, look who is up!” by other members of the household. I keep my Christmas pj’s on as much as possible. The kids are having a blast with their cousins, and Tom is loving catching up with his parents and siblings.

By day 4 Tom is offering me a one-way plane ticket home and out of his hair. The nerve. I rally. Our anniversary is pretty good. We go to a nice dinner and a movie. That night, I roll over in my twin bed uttering a “Night Ricky,” to his “Night Lucy.” Romantic in an old fashioned kind of way.

Day 5 really picks up. I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I start to socialize. I drink wine. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of this earlier. I ring in the New Year with a smile on my face, even though my night is spent in yet a different house with 10 kids, 6 adults, and I’m on an air mattress mere inches away from a cage containing a dead guinea pig. The people we stayed with were pet sitting for the holidays. Someone had a much worse vacation than I did.

On Day 6 I start to think about whom Jake will marry. Will he bring home a girl so witchy and judgmental that I’ll have to walk on eggshells around her? Will I have to apologize for my mere existence? Will the way I breathe bother her? Will she play the “A-ha!” game inside her head? Will she fail to recognize what a fabulous person I am?

Chastened, I spend my last few hours there being the daughter-in-law I should have been since the beginning. To my in-laws—I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through for the last decade and a half, even though most of it just played out in my mind.

To Tom, I’m glad you come from such a dear family, with kind parents, siblings, and nieces and nephews. I know I’ve said this to many guys in the past, but I think this is the first time I’ve said it to you. And I mean 96% of it: “I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.”

On ZipLocs and Freedom

We spent the last week in Connecticut and New York City. There was a lot of blog material, including a celebrity sighting that I’ll fill you in on later. Today, however, I’d like to give you a little glimpse of the beginning of our trip.

Since we were already in CT, we decided to take a train from New Haven to New York City for the weekend. This was pretty big stuff for suburbanites like ourselves. We pulled our minivan into a parking lot clearly marked “Train Station Parking.” It wasn’t until we paid our $18 that we realized that this was overflow parking, the station was several blocks away, and we were in a particularly seedy looking part of town.

The four of us unloaded our stuff, and started walking to the station, the kids dragging their little pink and blue duffle bags behind them. We walked past a lot of trash, chain link fences and under a pretty scary bridge. The eeriest part was the streets were almost completely deserted.

A big building loomed ahead with a few people smiling, smoking and laughing on the front steps. It was a police barracks, and although I saw no law enforcement officers, I instantly felt safer.

Then I saw the people were holding clear plastic ziploc bags. I saw why they were smiling. They opened their bags and put their belts back on and re-laced their boots. High fives all around. I’d be smiling, too, if I were experiencing my first taste of freedom in a while. Instead, I shot Tom a look and encouraged the kids to pick up the pace a little.

I'm not sure what this says about our assumptions. We were probably perfectly safe, but I wondered-- would this trip prove too much for these nervous nellies from suburbia?