Sharing the Remote Control

After having Brian be gone 5o% to 75% of the time during the last 13 years, I think I can safely say that I can survive without him. I know where the emergency shut off valves are, and how to flip a breaker. I've gone down to dusty, dirty crawl spaces and pulled down attic stairs. I can juggle 4 kids schedules and get the oil in the car changed. I learned to sleep alone in a king-sized bed. I became king of the remote control. I got dinner on the table most nights, but we ate off paper plates to cut down on the dishes. I became the tutor, the disciplinarian, the parent so tired at the end of the day that all I could do was yell from the couch to GO TO BED. And I convinced myself that really, this wasn't so bad. Look how efficient I can be. Look how capable I've become. Look how every weekend becomes a honeymoon, reunited.

Brian has been home now for 2 months, with one overnight trip. I admit that having Brian around more was a huge plus for moving down here. But it was also a huge concern. What if I started taking him for granted? What if he took me for granted? What if we annoyed each other? What if I couldn't share my remote or the bed for longer than 48 hours? What if he came and messed up all my carefully laid parenting plans?

But really, as much as I tried my hardest to be everything, as many soccer games as Brian took the kids to to reconnect, as many phone calls and e-mails that flew across America, I am finding that shouldering the day to day together really does have intangible benefits.

Like, teaching Apollo to ride his bike. Apollo tackles challenges a little at a time. Learning to ride in one weekend session was not going to work with Apollo. But 5 min. here, 15 min. there after work, in a few weeks, Apollo was pumping away.

This is Apollo--estatic

And then, a few weeks ago, Brian heard about Video Games Live, an interactive musical show that played music from video games and had live actors and laser shows, on a ride home from work on the radio. So Tritan dressed up as un-dead Mario, and they went on a Daddy-Son date, right when Tritan was having a particularly bad week and really needed a boost.

Tritan--estatic

But it is the day to day things that have really affected me. I serve dinner on real dishes, and even garnish them sometimes, with the anticipation that someone besides me will find Persian Walnut Chicken or Chicken-Ham Lasagna appetizing. And then, Brian can pick up Athena from dance or run the kids to mutual so I can clean up dinner sometime before 11pm. He picks up items from the store on the way home! He leaves early on R.S. Meeting nights so I can go without feeling guilty about Apollo's half-done math sheet! He builds IKEA furniture in his spare time! He calls me for lunch dates! And most nights, I still have energy to climb the stairs and read Apollo a story before he goes to bed. And if someone has to yell up the stairs for them to GO TO BED...his voice carries a lot more gravitas.

Yes, there is a lot more laundry. And a lot more ironing (why iron when you just have to pack it?)--and there could be a lot more incredulous gratitude for the ironed clothes like--"Oh, my goodness, I can't believe you ironed all my shirts! That must have taken a good hour at least! That's amazing! You did this for me! You are the greatest..."only here he gets choked up at the sight of all those ironed shirts and has to turn away. That could happen more.


But getting kissed every morning. Snuggling every night. I'll take that over earned air-line miles and supreme control over the remote any time. Because I'll never get tired of that.

Did you know that letters and numbers are people too?

"O is a boy," Apollo said last night while I was helping him write his report on Alligators.
"What?" Who is O and what has this got to do with alligators?
"O is a boy," he repeated, and then pointed to his paper, "and A is a girl."
And immediately I knew what he was talking about. I couldn't help but get a little excited. All my life numbers have lived a secret life inside my head--5's were jolly fat men with top hats and 4's were their cranky, skinny wives; 3's were their precocious naked toddlers and they lived in the number 20; 1 was a skinny old wrinkly man; 0 was a magician; 7 was a rebellious teenager that grew up to be the wise and noble 49; 8 was a sexy lady of course, though 64 smelled like lipstick and carried a patent leather handbag...well, you get the idea.
However, I have never anthromorphized letters. So I was very interested.
"Why is O a boy?"
"Because he's just plain, and a has a ponytail."
Makes sense to me.
He went on...S's are snakes (of course), B's are butterflies....
t's are dads, standing with their arms out...e's are talking with their mouths open....y's are swimmers--straight body with one arm out doing a stroke...p's are swimming too, but they are just bobbing in the water...and my favorite, k's are kissing with the < being the lips doing the kissing.
I think there were more but I can't remember them all. I was just excited that someone finally gets my way of thinking. Or at least admits it out loud.

Roots Up, Roots Down

So, glory hallelulah, our house in Jersey sold!

We were sweating it when, days after the inspection, a tree fell down on the property and tore up the gas line and killed our air conditioning. The whole culdesac had to be evacuated. All I could think was, "Really? Really?!?" But after about a week of mulling it over, the buyers decided that they would still buy the house, after we got the landscaping and air conditioning fixed.

It wasn't easy to coordinate a clean up from NC, but the deal went through last Thurs. and we celebrated all weekend. Mainly by shopping at IKEA.

We know we are really lucky and blessed to have sold the house already. In Alabama, it took us almost a year. So now we are ready to really settle in here.

Dig me a hole and call me a tree. I'm not going anywhere else for a long time.

Hello again. With a little w(h)ine.

So, hello.

I know I've been gone for a while.

Moving is exciting. Until it isn't. When the newness wears off and the real work of navigating new school systems and trying to find extracurricular activities, and doctors, and supermarkets starts. And your kids struggle to find their place and it makes you feel helpless that you can't help more. And suddenly looking through the rear-view mirror looks awfully rosy.

No one really wants to hear all of that self-centered whining. Which I know is what it is. Because really, I have a beautiful house, and my kids are adjusting (some better than others) and we are making our way. Today is 70* out, so maybe that is why it feels like there is finally light at the end of the tunnel.

The kids have all suddenly seemed to have shot up and grown up. Everywhere I look there are wrist-bones popping out of sleeves and ankle bones peeking out below hems. Tritan's voice cracks less and less everyday and mostly settles on a gravelly tenor. He orders from the adult menu and usually looks around for more.

Athena's 12th birthday snuck in among the unpacked boxes, snow days, and new school schedules. Luckily, she has already made a few bffs and we've planned a girls night out--3 weeks late for her birthday, but fortunately she's not picky. She graduated from Primary and has jumped into YW with her whole heart. As we've looked at dance studios here, I had to let go of my dream for her of being a prima ballerina as I've watched her enthusiasm for ballet falter. But watching her come rushing out of her new lyrical dance class, her eyes bright with delight, it wasn't too hard to let go of the reins and let her make her own new choices. This will let her be more flexible for doing all of the activities she wants to try. She's already tried out for the middle school musical. She didn't get a part, but she surprised me with her reaction to that too--"Well, now I know what I need to do to get better," she said. Where do these kids come from? If they came from me they would be wallowing in self-pity for at least a day.

Paris has become a bookworm. The kid who wouldn't read a book 2 years ago now reads a book a day. He tells us all about the plot in long-winded sentences any time we get in the car. We try to stay interested. He has had about 3 sad days this entire move. He really has a gift for always being happy.

And Apollo. Apollo is climbing a very steep mountain. New Jersey was great for their modulated special-ed program, but in states that don't have the same funding (like NC) it's sink or swim. His choices here are to be in a self-contained class with very low-functioning students, or to be put in a regular class with a one-hour pull out help session. We opted for the latter and he has diligently worked to try to keep up. He's exhausted when he gets home and that means that we have a lot of melt-downs daily, but I can see that his reading is already improving. (Maybe a little pushing won't be a bad idea--if it doesn't break him). Meanwhile, he is a genius at math.

You would think that moving would get easier the more you do it. But I've also heard it explained that each move is almost like a death--you have to say good-bye to the way you lived your life, and start over new. And no matter how many times I do it, it doesn't get any easier to start over. But I continue with my mantra--"Faith is better than fear" and add this thought from Pres. Dallin H. Oaks--"faith prepares us to deal with life's opportunities--to take advantage of those that are received and persist through the dissappointments of those that are lost."

Here's to life's opportunities. Salud.

From Jersey to Charlotte

We rolled out of Jersey Saturday, Dec. 18 at 7am. We spent the night at the same Marriott we spent the first 2 months of our 3 1/2 year stay in Jersey (you know I like circles). I was going to spend the night in Richmond with Alyssa but we made such great time that we opted for a long lunch and kept right on going. Charlotte seemed so close, and I was afraid that if I stopped, I might not be able to start again (not to mention, if we unpacked the van, we might never get it all back in again).

At long last, we made it to Charlotte on what felt like fumes--the last dregs of our momentum. Luckily, Brian was ready to take over and I have been slowly recharging ever since. Here is some of the lovely things that have kept me afloat and recharged my soul:

these beautiful trees, shawdows of symmetrical triangles, sit outside my bedroom window

The kids playing with their Christmas toys--me playing with the settings on my camera

Snow in Charlotte! Gone the next day!

Sometimes they actually get along!

My inspiration

I did get the tree up and the stockings hung, just in time for Santa.

My wonderful friends in Jersey without whom I never would have made it this far!

Mantras

When I ran the half-marathon last year, I read a lot on strategies and training plans to run long distances. Most sources said you should pick some "power words" or a "motivational phrase" to keep you going when things got rough. When your mind went to that negative place of wanting to quit and give up, you said your motivational phrase to help refocus you and get you back on track. And it kind of worked. I think it might work better for people who don't have constant conversations with themselves.
My motivational phrase was "You can do it".
At mile 3, I said,"You can do it" and I smiled smugly, believing I could.
At mile 5, I said, "You can do it" and I cocked my head and shook it slightly, "I'm not so sure, it's still a long way to go." "You can do it" I said sternly to shut myself up.
By mile 8, I was having full on discussions with myself :
"You can do it."
"No, I can't. It's another--lets see, 8,9,10, 11, 12, 13--(you can't expect me to do math and run)--5 miles or so. I'll never make it."
"Yes, you can. You ran 13 miles in your training. You were fine. You didn't die."
"Yea, I got lucky. I'm pretty sure I'll die now."
"No. You got this. Just keep moving."
"Easy for you to say. You're just my brain. Lungs and legs, on the other hand, have a different opinion."
And so on, until, wow, look I made it to mile 9.
By mile 10, the argument had devolved to:
"You can do it."
"No, I can't."
"You can do it."
"No, I can't."
By mile 12, I could sense the end. I thought maybe I would make it after all. But if there was supposed to be a surge of energy that came with that knowledge, I didn't feel it. But I gave up aruguing with myself. I just repeated the mantra "You. Can. Do. It." dragging each word out with each ragged breath. I think by the time 13 miles came around and I saw the finish line at the bottom of the hill, I had just forgotten how to stop. But I was still pretty elated when I crossed the line, and I could stop. I was dissappointed that I hadn't run as fast as I wanted, and that it had seemed so hard despite all my training. But I couldn't help feeling proud that I had at least run the entire way.

Just like I know there are millions of people who have run a half-marathon, and tons who have run an entire marathon, I know there a lot of people who are dealing with stuff right now, a lot of them dealing with stuff harder than what I have to deal with. But still, this is hard.
It is hard being away from Brian for so long. I miss his reassurance, his optimisim, and his practicality. I miss his shoulders--to lay on, to cry on, to lean on.
It is hard to be everything for the kids. To be their taxi, their scheduler, their advocate, their teacher, their friend. Especially when there seems to be too little of me.
It is hard to leave this place. To leave friends, to leave places, to leave the comfort of knowing what is for the uncertainty of what could be.
It is hard not worry. About whether the house will sell, what should we do to sell the house, what should I get ready for the movers, how do I transfer the kids smoothly, how do I comfort them, etc. etc.
It can almost be overwhelming sometimes and I want to just quit. It's too hard. But I find myself repeating my mantra for this move. It's not something I picked, necessarily, it just came to me one day and I repeat it whenever I feel burdened down with all I have to do, all my worries, all my guilt--"Faith is better than Fear."
There is no arguing with a statement like that. "Faith is better than Fear".
So I will have faith that everything will work out for the best. I will have faith that North Carolina will be a good place for us. I will have faith that our family will be stronger and better. And I will have faith that I can do this. I may not do it the best way, or the way I wanted to, but I have faith that I can keep moving.
Faith is better than Fear.
Faith is better than Fear.

Apollo's birth story

It's wierd how life just goes around in circles. 6 1/2 years ago, I was cleaning out our house in Boise, getting ready to move, while Brian squatted in our newly rented townhouse in Virginia with a blow-up mattress, a lawn chair and his computer. At least this time I am not pregnant. And Brian is living in a fully furnished (though equally sad) apartment with a new house waiting in the wings. And it was 6 1/2 years before that, that we left Boise the first time--just after Christmas, pregnant (with Tritan), to go to school in AZ. See, we just keep going in circles.
We settled down in Virginia pretty quickly. We knew we were only going to be there for 2 years, so we took advantage of the cheap transportation and free museums and went into the city often. The townhouses allowed us to make quick friends with our neighbors and I soon found myself involved in the ward, and a great Mom's group in the community.
I found a dr. right away. I didn't love him, but I didn't hate him, and after 3 kids, it didn't seem to matter anyway. I didn't find out what sex Apollo was, but I hoped he would be another girl. It just seems like good symmetry to have two of each.
He was due around Thanksgiving, so I didn't bother to make a Thanksgiving meal that year. We went down to the corner Subway and had turkey sandwiches instead.
Mom was due to fly in the next day. I started having contractions early that morning, but I laid down, hoping to postpone them til she got in. I went with Brian to pick her up--I didn't want to be alone, in case the contractions came back. Sure enough, on the ride there, the contractions came back, strong and consistent. We dropped Mom and the kids off at the house, and drove to the hospital. At least we made it in time that I could get an epidural this time, though it only half worked. It was still better than going all natural.
I think Apollo was scared to death they were going to drop him when he came out. He clung to everything he could reach. As soon as the pried the blanket or finger or whatever from his grasp, he would reach for something else. I'm not surprised that he is still deathly scared of heights.
He was beautiful--bright blue eyes, and dark hair, with just a tuft of blond over his left eye. I quickly fell in love with him--and I never regretted him not being a girl. He was my easiest baby by far. He nursed well, he was hardly ever fussy, he slept well. People assume that when I say 2 of my babies were planned, and 2 were a surprise that Apollo must have been one of the surprises--3 years after 3 kids 3 years apart (see that repetion again)--but no, I knew I wanted one more. In those crazy years of 3 babies/toddlers, my hands were more than full; they were overflowing--yet I always felt like someone was missing, and kept looking in the backseat to make sure all 3 carseats were full. (Yet who could blame me for hesitating just a little?)
Once Tritan and Athena were both in preschool, I thought, what a great time to have another baby. In 9 months, Tritan would be in kindergarden, and Paris and Athena would be in preschool and I could be alone with the baby in a way I hadn't been able to since Tritan was my one and only. I daydreamed about rocking the baby to sleep in the afternoon, drinking in all his new baby smells, for once documenting everything in a baby book...
What really happened was that Tritan ended up with afternoon kindergarten, and Athena and Paris with morning preschool. We spent most of the days driving to schools, dropping off, picking up, hurrying from one thing to the next. Apollo spent most of his naps in those wonderful convertible carseats, and my arms got buff carrying him around. They put me in as YW President 6 months after he was born, and then it seemed like Brian got to see him more than I did. I would come home from an activity and they would be watching Lost and eating Krispy Kremes.
But I also knew he was my last. I knew that our family was complete, as sure as I knew he was missing before. So whenever I got a chance, I drunk in all that good, new baby smell--from sour milk to baby powder, and held him whenever I could. Sometimes I half-wonder if his small size isn't from my sheer willpower to keep him small and cuddly forever.
And so when he wakes up with a bad dream, and asks to sleep in my bed, I let him snuggle in. When the older kids protest that I never let them do that, I shrug. I guess it's one of those things about being last...