It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Why? Why do the Road Trips God curse me every time? Is it something I said? Have I wronged them somehow?

Though not as mind-numbingly terrifying, white-knucklingly awful, brain-meltingly horrifying, as some I've been through and lived to tell the tale, this kind of driving is not my idea of a good time. I now understand why people retire in Florida. If it weren't for my dislike of 'gators and bugs bigger than my bread box, I'd be there now. 

On the plus side, I now need all two hands and two feet to count the number of highways I've shut down over the years. That's an accomplishment not many can boast. I barely make it through the White Witch's Winter Wonderland, my eyes blood shot from the force of the defroster melting my face, finger nail scratches on the windows, small children hyped up on the emergency candy supply (chewing makes them talk less which is a bonus when you are scared beyond belief and need quiet to plan your own funeral), blocks of ice eerily similar in size to the one that sunk the Titanic stuck to the windshield wipers, bladders about to burst, and the Lord's Prayer bursting forth out of my mouth in intermittent gasps, when I see friendly state troopers turning everyone back from the Mountain of Death and Dismemberment. Where are such friendly troopers when I attempt to go up the mountain, huh? Why are they always waiting at the bottom for me? Are they biding their time in order to judge my state of mind when I finally slide down on the black ice?

Hey, Roger Roger, here comes the Mommobile now. Gettin' a good look as she fishtails by...yeppers, by golly, her hair is white and there's a Twizzler stuck to her ear. That calls it for me: shut this mountain down, boys.

Roger that, over and out.

It really doesn't matter what time of year I plan a road trip. It doesn't matter what state lines I plan to cross. It doesn't matter what the weather men say. If your crops are in a drought, dear readers, I can save them. Either that, or bury them forever in snow: potAYto, potAHto. 

Now no more silliness. I must go unpack my suitcase; I'm fairly certain there's a small child in there somewhere eating all my Twizzlers.

Do you have a talent/gift for disaster that rivals mine? My shattered nerves would love to hear it.

Home sweet home

So you feel as though you were with us on our Great Road Trip of 2010, here are the highlights from each state we lumbered through.

Idaho...

...Utah...

...Wyoming...

...Nebraska....





...Iowa...






...Illinois...

...Indiana...





...and finally, Michigan...



This is the old gymnasium on our property. Apparently these willows have to go as they are messing royally with the sewer system. I love willows. But I suppose, given the choice, I would love a working sewer system more. You may revoke my tree hugging card now.




This is downtown St Louis.




This is our humble abode for the next 6 weeks or so. It's a two bedroom little house, maybe 900 square feet. How do we all squeeze in, you may ask? Are you kidding me? We've been on your couches since Christmas! This feels like a palatial McMansion!




This house sits right across the driveway and is the one we'll be moving into right around the end of July.





All in all, we clocked 2,013 on the good old Penske and I don't plan on traveling further than say, 20 miles, for about a year. But if you'd all like to visit me, I've got a fab two bedroom guest cottage in mind! Truth be told, the trip was not too bad and I don't think we'll even get Post Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms whenever anyone shows us an ear of corn.

I haven't had a job in a bit now, so it's kind of fun heading to staff meetings and the like. We are reading each and every sentence of the Houseparent Training Manuel as part of our, wait for it, houseparent training. There's lots to learn, from parenting to paperwork to budgeting to everything else. I went to my first baseball game as a house mom to cheer on our 14 year old, who did awesome I might say. Mike started cheering and calling him "Wheels" since he's a fast runner and the name might stick. I can't talk about the kids here at the home(s) and I can't mention their names, so we may have to come up with nicknames for each of them - one down, a few more to go!

The girls are loving having room to run, and I must say, so do I. Not that I'm running, it's just a figure of speech. I only run from big, hairy spiders. I have gone on some country road bike rides though, which has been quite lovely. Anna feels as though it's Christmas as she rips through boxes we packed 7 months ago and discovers toys and clothes she forgot she had. She changes outfits about three times a day now. Cora is excited as she can now ride a grown up size bike. Moose loves the bugs and the tractor and the teenage boys who swing him up to the basketball hoop to dunk. All of them love getting most of our groceries from the food provided by churches in a big storeroom. Subsequently they have all discovered Chef Boyardee to their Italian father's dismay and chagrin.

Mike loves his sock drawer. You never want to see a grown man cry, but these were tears of joy when he finally got to unpack that suitcase and put everything in an actual dresser. It was a beautiful moment - we embraced and wept and than held a ceremonial suitcase burning in the backyard.

I love everything. It's a beautiful place and we're having a great time. I miss all of you and if EVER you felt guilted into leaving comments for lonely, friendless, me, now's the time.

Lythia Park in Medford, Oregon is a nice place to be in February. We had just been dive bombed by a herd (pack? litter? flock?) of hungry, greedy ducks.


Homeschooling even while on the road. Anna put to good use the boiled up remains of a turkey dinner. Here are all the bones all nicely labeled and drying out. I think she may be one of those uber cool lady forensic scientist or something. She'll probably get her own tv show. Maybe an action figure.




I'm not kidding; Lythia Park has some of the fattest, shiniest, most perfect looking duckies you will ever see. The look like Disney cartoons.




Here's Gramma Nancy on her 85th birthday. She's being all goofy with Cora as they munch on curly ribbon. Oddly enough, this was before she got out the brandy and shot glasses. This girl cracks me up. We heart you, Gramma Nancy!

The girls would like to be duct taped to their Auntie Sarah's side for all of eternity. Sarah lets them sleep with her, takes them to the mall, the movies, shares her earrings, and makes them banana splits bigger than their heads. She works at an ice cream shop, so basically she's the bomb. And the sweetest person on planet earth.

While staying at the Chateau Shafer, there was a whole lotta gymnastics going on. Can you tell Cora just is soooo over it?

Sometimes my camera disappears and when it comes back to Mama there are all sorts of odd photos on it I don't remember taking...

Anna and Aly turn 8 and 5, respectably. I love how Aly is watching Anna.

At the Takashige household I just couldn't resist (not that I tried to) taking this photo of two cute morning people. Note their coffee and laptops and synchronized face shielding from the paparazzi.

At the High House, Gramma reads to her youngest grandchildren. Kary really is thrilled we're back and willing to share Gramma with Gianni. Really. She hides it well. Behind a face of annoyance and frustration. Gianni's Oregon cousin, Aidin, pretty much feels the same way about him. Aidin and Kary may be a match made in toddler heaven.

There's a lot of this happening in our lives right now. Which is nice. Lovely. Because when it's not like this, there's a lot of screaming and hollering and bouncing and munching and noise.

There's a bit of snow in Idaho City. Makes for supreme sledding conditions. That speck of black? Cora.

This is the scene of a crime. I challenged Cora to a snowball fight, and it was epic. She took the time to make her snowballs ahead of time and stacked them on her sled. Then things got ugly. The great big one? It's called The Grand Finale. In spite of that, I so totally won.

The girls got snow shoes for Christmas. They're quite fun. And it burns calories. Like 600 an hour! Can you see the fat just melting right off me?!

It's easier with walking sticks. Also helpful if you get bored and want to practice Jedi fighting skillz.

Oh my gosh! Guess who gave up the binky? This was tragically harder on Mommy than it was on Moose. He promptly forgot about it. I still remember it fondly and with a sad sniffle.

Milo found the holidays to be exhausting, what with all the lying around and eating and such. Fortunately, he has the rest of his life to recover from the stress. Remedy: lying around and eating and such.

So, we're several weeks out of Wyoming, and still as homeless as ever (no, honey, that was not a dig on you - don't be sensitive, pumpkin). We've spent time with all the people we missed and who allegedly, missed us. In fact, they desperately want to miss us again, I do believe... but now we just don't leave. The kids are amazingly flexible, thank goodness, and Mike goes to bed at night seeing job applications floating in front of his dried out eyeballs. We take up a lot of space wherever we go, so thank you to everyone who's been putting up with us. Hopefully, life will get back to a normal routine someday soon, because I know you've all missed my posts about humdrum things like paper towels. I don't have paper towels anymore. Because I don't have a kitchen. Again, honey, not a jab at you. Next stop: Washington. Did someone say Bon Jovi concert? Don't mind if I do!

cody, yellowstone, mt rushmore, devils tower

Aaaaah, family vacations! As much I complain about Wyoming, there are stunning parts and we got to see them all last week. I included the photo of an extremely sticky Gianni who has a difficult time getting snack foods from convenience stores and gifts shops, due to his allergies. So, being the dimwit I am, I bought him a huge butterscotch sucker. If you look closely you will see that his eyelashes are indeed stuck to his eyelid, where they were glued for the better part of a long car ride through Yellowstone National Park. You'd think, wouldn't you, that it would hurt not to be able to blink, but my only guess is that the sugar rush took away his ability to feel pain.

We rented a lovely house in Cody with my family, where we met everyone for Papa's big 6 - 0 birthday. For his birthday gift, he got to sleep with Anna, who enjoys practicing gymnastics routines in her sleep - happy birthday, Dad, sorry about the size 12 footprint bruises up and down your ribcage. My wonderfully organized mother brought along copious amounts of wine and a large gallon of saurkraut that we carted all over Wyoming. Our innards are pickled nicely now. We went to dinosaur museums (Wyoming is indeed a hotbed for fossils) and oohed and ahhed over Devil's Tower National Monument and realized in our humble opinions, that areas by Sheridan are actually more crazy beautiful than Yellowstone is. Gianni can officially sleep anywhere now: he loves the cribs at the Holiday Inns and is an expert at pushing elevator buttons. Mike made calls on doctors on the towns we went through, earning us hotels paid for by his job, which was a great perk.

And now, home again, spring has finally sprung here in Cheyenne. $13 and a unused garden spot in my yard became a sandbox, and combined with a subtle hint to the neighbors who own a trampoline and yet do not own children to jump on said trampoline, our yard is fully equipped for summer fun. Fun for them. I on the other hand, spend my time walking behind Gianni with a small broom and dustpan. And Mike says no more letting him play outside in nothing but his diaper and binky, killjoy. It's easier to shake him out when there aren't any clothes to hide sand and rocks and dirt in. It was me that said my kids should be dirty and disgusting at the end of the day, huh? I must have been tipsy on saurkraut at the time.

Idaho trip '09

So forgive me, please, as it's been a bit since I was last on here (yeah, just pretend you noticed, it's good for my ego). We made a crazy trip to Idaho to see my middle daughter, Sadie, who decided to pepper our dull lives with a removal of her kidney and follow up chemo and radiation therapy. Just when you think you have the hang of this whole life thing, wham-bam, thank you ma'am, a wrench gets thrown in it and you have to just go with the flow. It was of course, wonderful to see everyone we love and miss on a daily basis, even in the midst of worries and surgeries, etc. All my friend's kids have grown another foot and while I did get some cute photos, the majority of the time I left my camera in my diaper bag where I always had it and yet somehow in my old age, managed to still not remember to not forget to take lots of pictures. I still don't know how and when I went from teenager to Gen X-er to now, a thirty-something with gray hair and sore muscles and a failing memory. Anyway. Our trip itself was naturally not completely uneventful, but thankfully not AS eventful as prior journeys. Boise had lovely weather for us: shorts and tank tops and flipflops and sunburns that nicely turned a spiffy shade of bronze for us, campfires at the High House with hot dogs and a sandbox that Gianni enjoyed like no one's business, blooming trees and budding flowers. Heck, I think there were even Disney animated squirrels and birds and mice running around singing happy songs. Then, sigh, we crossed back into Wyoming. The land that spring forgot. Fog and blowing snow and rain and grayness and barren landscapes with nothing but tumbleweeds and antelope, who neither dress themselves in jaunty little outfits nor sing happy songs. But in spite of that welcome, it is nice to be home where we have more than 3 shirts and 5 pairs of underwear to rotate through before we have to borrow someone's washer and dryer. We had a great trip but I figured I would keep this post simple and write about one particular evening last week. Disclaimer: this is totally not about me and my friends. It's just a funny story told to me by...a friend. A friend with friends who are so not as cool as me and my friends. We did much cooler things all week long, oh yes indeedy.

Ladie's Night! Margeritas! Except ours, uh, I meant to say, theirs were spelling correctly. No kids! No hubbies! Freedom! It went to these ladies heads. So much freedom they were at a loss to know what to do with themselves. Literally. At a loss. Much time was spent talking about what to do while rotating drinks around the table (too icy, too sweet, too tequila-y, not enough tequila, wrong flavor, dropped salsa in this one, yadda yadda). Ladies decide to see a movie. One not rated G and animated. Movie doesn't start for another hour and a half. Ladies don't know what to do with themselves. Liquor store already closed (hey, there's an advantage in Wyoming!) Ladies huddled together in minivan. Obviously this story isn't about me; we'd be huddled in something cooler, like a Hummer. Ladies go to grocery store and buy mini margeritas and tiny bottles of wine. Ladies park in theater parking lot and hope tinted windows hide their shameful open containers. Ladies get slightly buzzed and giggle like school girls. Mall security is only a few cars away! Ladies get nervous like the good church goers they are, but can't stop laughing. Sadistic lady in front seat pushes the window button and scares the living daylights out of lady in back seat, who thought for a minute the security guys were scaling the car. More giggling. Diaper bags come in handy for sneaking in more mini margeritas and wine into theater. Ticket taker looks at ladies like they are insane. Or drunk. Ladies play it cool. Suave. Walk in straight (ish) line to see movie, which is rated a whole PG-13. Ladies not brave enough to actually drink anymore in the theater, especially lady on the end who is afraid the rest will bail on her if security guard, all 11 years and 88 pounds of him, approaches them. Ladies sober up by end of movie (is it because enough time went by or is it because they all had the thought that Zac Efron would be more interested in their daughters than he would be them? No one knows for sure) and go home to babies and husbands who ask, 'How was your time, honey?' and ladies all reply, 'Fun, dear. Bible study is always fun.'

Good times. For my friend. Should she write a blog, her story would be soooo not worth blogging about. We who blog have much more sensational tidbits to write about, don'tcha know.