Mom's great escape (for the day)

A mom friend and I escaped to Boston for the day a few weekends ago and spent the day... well, I'm almost embarrassed to say. Don't get me wrong, it was glorious and relaxing and totally fun. But in terms of "crazy" and "exciting," I'm not sure you childless folks are going to appreciate this tale (those of you with kids, on the other hand, will understand exactly where I'm coming from).

To sum up the day, we walked around, we talked, we shopped, we ate pastries for lunch (without having to share!), we got fitted for bras, we talked, we had ice cream even after having pastries for lunch and we met another friend for a sinfully caloric dinner and great conversation.

At one point during the day, we found ourselves sitting by a pond in the Public Gardens just... not doing much at all. We admired a bride and groom being photographed, we talked, we sat silently, we people watched, and we wondered how to explain our day to our families. I knew if I described it like the paragraph above, the Pretend Husband wouldn't get it (in fact, I tried that paragraph and his response was, "but you could have done that in the next town over. You didn't have to go all the way to Boston to do that!")

We decided that the day wasn't as much about what we had done, but what we had not done. We hadn't had someone tugging at our clothes at any point during the day, we hadn't been interrupted in our conversation even once, we hadn't had to stop a little human from falling or diving headfirst into the pond. We hadn't had to answer the question, "why?" six times in a row. We hadn't had to keep to a schedule so no one would miss their nap and be incredibly cranky for the rest of the day. We hadn't had to make decisions based on anyone else's wants or needs. And it was wonderful.

While I did miss my family that day, it was exactly what I needed. A beautiful day with a good friend, good conversation, great pastries and not doing much of anything. It was perfect.

Thinking about moving? Don't do it! (A true life story from someone who did- and lived to tell the tale)

Ok, if you have to move because a job takes you elsewhere or your house burns down, then I guess you can go ahead and do it. But, if you have any choice in the matter, I am the living, breathing warning about how much it sucks and how it should be avoided if you can help it.

Can you guess what we did this summer? We did it. We moved. And, while we have owned our new house for three months now, our dining room and garage are still filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked and organized and, if I'm being honest with myself, will probably remained filled for a good, long time.

You see, moving is so much more than the day you actually transport your stuff from one place to another. It encompasses weeks and months of showings (I cleaned my house 25 times for 30 groups of people to come through- and I'm still unsure how I kept my kids and dogs from messing it up the moment I got it clean... I think I ran out the door with them and didn't return home until the showing was over).

Then there is the packing, the negotiations when you finally get an interested buyer, the fighting with the parent who sold you the house to finally get the last of their stuff out of your basement six years after you moved in (is that just me?), the moving day itself, the praying the deal doesn't fall through at the last minute, the negotiations on the house you're buying and the unpacking and organizing at the other end. I lived in a perpetual state of stress for more than seven months- realizing just how stressed out I was only after it was over and I could breathe- and sleep!- normally again.

And the funny (as in ironic, not ha ha) part is, the Pretend Husband and I are still not entirely clear WHY we moved. We gave various (truthful) answers to different people: "we need a layout that works better for us," "we ran out of projects at this house and are ready for something new" or "our lives weren't exciting enough before, so we thought we'd mix things up." It was a struggle because we didn't HAVE to move; we WANTED to. We had a perfectly good house that we had worked really hard to make our own. And it had plenty of room for us and our friends and family. But we both felt like it was time- and also had the thought that, if we didn't do it now, it would probably never happen once our boys were in school.

So, we did it. And now it's all over except the unpacking. And, while the PH and I tend to disagree (or at least debate) about EVERYTHING (paint colors, what to have for dinner, which house to buy, what gift to leave for the buyers, what show to watch together), we are in complete agreement about one important thing: we will not be moving again for a very, very long time.

My kid rocks at puking

Let's label this as yet another thing I never thought I would be talking about-- let alone bragging about-- before I had kids. But I am so proud of FunnyKid and his new puking skills that I had to share (it's the little things in life, you know?)

Up until this past weekend, FunnyKid had thrown up on two separate occasions. Both times, he was asleep in his bed when he threw up pretty much all over his face and hair, woke up crying and had to be stripped and rushed into the shower, where one parent got him clean while the other one stripped and remade the bed.

I felt awful for FunnyKid when this happened because the only thing worse than being sick is being pulled out of your bed, stripped of your clothes and being thrown into a shower when you were blissfully asleep just moments before. The poor kid would huddle under the water crying and begging to go back to bed while we explained why he was showering (multiple times in one night) and rushed to get him clean.

But that changed this weekend. We were staying at my dad's house for one night (the one fateful night). FunnyKid, who had exhibited no symptoms of not feeling well and had been running around just minutes before, was brushing his teeth when he suddenly started crying, asked for water and then began vomiting in the hallway outside the bathroom.

When he was done, he calmly asked to take a shower (he didn't need one as he had neatly avoided getting anything on himself, but I suspect he now associates puking with a shower afterward). After a nice, hot shower, we got FunnyKid into bed and prayed he wouldn't throw up all over a bed that doesn't belong to us, a rug that isn't ours and some various antiques and other nice stuff in the room he was staying in.

About half an hour later, FunnyKid called me upstairs and in a fairly calm manner told me he had to throw up again. I rushed him into the bathroom and held him while he threw up into the toilet like a seasoned pro. I denied him a shower after that round and he went back to bed and fell asleep.

Around 11:30, as the Pretend Husband and I were falling asleep, we heard FunnyKid call for us again. I met him in the hallway and again swooped him into the bathroom as he told me he had to throw up again. Another round of puking in the toilet and this time he got the shower he requested because if that's all your poor, sick kid wants, that's what he gets.

I feel like FunnyKid is growing and maturing in so many ways, and waking up to puke is one of them. Not the biggest deal, of course, but it makes for a happy mama who doesn't have to remake a bed for the fourth time and explain to a kid why he's showering at midnight.

Where does he get this stuff?

One of the side effects of having FunnyKid in preschool is him hearing and seeing things that I don't know about. At least, that's where I'm assuming he's gotten some of his expressions lately.

Today, he was holding FunnyBoy back from climbing up into our bay window and when I told FunnyKid to let go of his brother, he said, "there's broken glass up there!" There is obviously no broken glass laying around in my house, and I still haven't figured out where he heard it.

One of my favorites-- and another one that came out of nowhere-- is FunnyKid saying, "Me got it" when we tell him to do something. He even once busted out with, "Me on it." And he has learned how to shorten his dad's lectures about why he needs to brush his teeth before bed with, "Me know, Daddy."

As with most kids his age (3), FunnyKid is constantly asking, "why?" I try to answer him the best I can, but it does get old when I have to begin explaining things down to their most basic levels. One of the best calls I ever made as a parent was to teach FunnyKid to only ask "why" three or four times. There is nothing more satisfying than the seemingly endless string of "why's" finally wrapping up with him saying, "That makes sense, Mom."

And finally, FunnyBoy (who is always with me so I really have no idea where he got it) started getting in our faces, opening his mouth wide and roaring like a lion today. It is ridiculously cute and he will sometimes do it on command. It seems someone is following in his brother's footsteps in always keeping me on my toes and thoroughly entertained.

I have seen way too many single digit AM hours this week

While I love that FunnyKid is in preschool, I don't love the cold he likely brought home from it. The sniffling and coughing is running rampant in our family-- and creating havoc during the night as various family members are woken by their own coughing or that of someone else.

We have had a few nights this week where the dogs are the only ones asleep at 2 a.m. It is no fun, especially for the adults who then spend the day dealing with cranky clients or cranky kids while running on not enough sleep and only the energy we get from mainlining cups of coffee.

The other night, the Pretend Husband and I did our best to get to bed early to try to make up for a lack of sleep the night before. We dozed off... only to be awoken an hour later by an angry FunnyBoy, who is not only under the weather, but also teething (and angry about the whole thing). I fed FunnyBoy and had to make a couple of attempts at putting him down in his crib before he settled down and fell asleep.

Back to bed for me... for another two hours before FunnyKid began coughing and woke himself up. FunnyKid was not a happy camper and not only refused medicine and water to try to alleviate the coughing, but also refused to get back into bed or do anything other than yell at me. When trying to calm him, I felt something on the back of his head and discovered a tick. Which is how the PH and I ended up wrestling FunnyKid while he yelled "I no like this game!" and FunnyBoy woke up in the next room and started doing some yelling himself.

We got the tick off of FunnyKid and tucked him back into bed. And then I went to feed FunnyBoy again while my hero, the PH, not only read "The Teapot Book" to FunnyKid, but actually SANG it at FunnyKid's request. I don't think I would have been so accommodating at 2:30 in the morning.

Finally tucking ourselves back into bed after getting both boys to sleep, the PH and I took turns praying no one would wake up before it was at least light outside. God was on our side and no one made a peep until after 7:30, which at least gave us more sleep than we had had the night before.

Luckily, things change quickly with kids and we seem to be at the end of the illlness. Our fingers are crossed that everyone continues to heal and we can all get some sleep tonight.