You're doing a terrific job of denial about the move....
Uh, what move?
Oh, that move. The across the world move. With three toddlers move. The this entire apartment must be empty and clean and everything must fit into the eight suitcases we brought with us move. And, we have to say goodbye (sob!). And, return the car we've been borrowing, preferably without the year's supply of Cheerios.
Aha, no problem, that little move happened Monday. It was no biggie. Sure, I haven't been on-line in five days and I neglected to sleep for three of those, but, it's all over now. We're in Washington. We're well. It's @*%#())$#*@( freezing. Excuse me a minute.
(AHHHHHH!!!!!AHHHHHHH!!!!AHHHHHHH!!!!!!?)
Kidding. I'm fine. I haven't lost any more of my mind than was originally missing. I have the beginnings of profound, more meaningful thoughts on travel, escape, taking a break from life, keeping things simple, how good it is to be home, etc., running through my head, but for now, I'm too tired. How about I stick with the high and low lights?
Friday (Clean and Empty Apartment Day) - I'll confess that Matt did most of the work. He cleaned, he threw away, he delivered borrowed items to their owners, he snarled at the kids for climbing in and out of the empty kitchen cabinets until we hit this fabulous moment.
Gee: Daddy, I think you should go to work now.
Matt: I'm all done with work here, buddy.
Gee: No, you need to go to work, you're driving us crazy.
I have no idea where he heard something like that. None.
Saturday (Final Errands and Goodbye Party Day) - One stop, in an endlessly long, boring list of errands, was to get Quinn shoes. Our neglected baby didn't wear shoes for the entire three month trip. His crocs gave his fat little feet blisters and he hated them, so for the most part, he ran around barefoot. And I wonder where we pick up pinworms? We found some cute little Airwalks and I put the shoes on him and told him to take a walk.
Have you ever put boots on a dog? If you're ever depressed, try it. About six years ago, one of my sister's friends had a Labrador named Finn. Don't ask me why, but she bought this dog a set of four little rain boots. Watching him walk, one giant high stepping paw at a time, was so funny that when she needed a lift, she'd say, "I'm bored, put the boots on Finn."
Quinn looked at me like, woman, why would I walk with these little bricks strapped to my feet? He gamely tried, picking up his little legs to his chest and stomping them down. I laughed until I peed my pants a little, which admittedly isn't that hard at eighteen weeks, but it was damn funny. After two minutes, he staged a sit-in and refused to move.
Post Quinn torture session, we checked into a resort hotel with a nice water park and spent the rest of the day swimming and saying goodbye to great friends. The night was lovely and sad and perfect. As we tried to get everyone in bed, I unexpectedly turned 125 years old and my hip gave out completely. Gave out as in hobbly old woman, can not move, massive pain, ridiculous immobilization. I drank a beer and went to bed and suffered for a while, but sometime during the night it miraculously recovered. Still, I'm old.
Sunday (Water Park Day) - Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming, just keep swimming (go on, five points, name that fish).
Monday (Twenty-four Hours of Travel Day) - It started at 5:00 a.m. dressing sleepy kids and cramming still wet bathing suits into crevices of already stuffed suitcases. It ended at 7:00 a.m. the next day when we walked into our beautiful home with all three of our children, alive and accounted for. Except that it was still 1:00 p.m. the day before in Washington.
The trip was fine. Long. Horribly long. I'll estimate at least one child whined during eighteen of those twenty-four hours and the other six hours they either slept or I fed them something. Waiting at the gate in the Tokyo airport, as Japanese people stared and whispered and smiled at us, it occurred to me that we probably looked like a missionary family, with my hair already in a scraggly, tired bun and my pregnancy obvious beneath my sweater and my three small children trailing after me like three ducklings (okay, two ducklings and one slightly mentally-challenged Labrador that someone cruelly dressed in boots).
About then, don't ask me why, Ess and Gee decided to do their SDA preschool routine, wherein they sing in excruciatingly loud voices, the following chant-like song while performing each motion in turn: This is how we pray, bend your knees, bow your head, fold your hands, close your eyes. That put them on their knees, heads bowed, supplicant hands out-stretched, eyes closed.
Gee (playing the part of preschool teacher): DEAR JESUS
Ess (playing the part of all fifteen preschoolers): DEAR JESUS
Me (whispering): Shhhhh. Shhhhhh. Little voices please.
Gee: THANK YOU FOR THE NUTRI-US-AL FOOD WE ARE ABOUT TO EAT.
Ess: THANK YOU FOR THE NUTRI-US-AL FOOD...
Me (looking around at our rapt audience): That's enough now, let's do stickers.
Gee: AND FOR OUR SCHOOL.
Ess: AND FOR OUR SCHOOL.
Gee: AND FOR OUR FRIENDS.
Ess: AND FOR OUR FRIENDS.
Gee: AND FOR....
Me (more harshly than warranted): Shhhhhhh!!! Shhhhhh!!! That's enough. I mean it. All done.
Gee: AND FOR...
Me: No! All done. Get up. Find something else to do. No more praying!
Gee: Momma, we're not done.
Me (mean mommy voice): We are done. No more praying.
Gee: We have to say, amen. AMEN.
Ess: AMEN.
In Japan, I am now known as the crabby, insane missionary woman. Who hates prayer. From adorable, small children.
A few flights, many hours and 6000 trips to disgusting public restrooms later, we were home. Exhausted and bleary, we put the kids to bed at 5:30 p.m. fully expecting them all to be up and ready to go at about 4:00 a.m. Midnight rolled around and I still couldn't sleep and I thought I might die if I really had to get up at 4:00 o'clock. Miraculously, the next time I looked at the clock, it was 8:22 a.m. and they were still sleeping. God bless them. If those are the kind of results the Almighty can deliver, I might let them pray. Quietly. In our home.
Tuesday - That's today. We're all caught up. I suspect I'll be missing in blogworld for a while longer. Eight unpacked suitcases mock me from the laundry room, still containing wet bathing suits. The water heater isn't working. The pediatrician's office sent me to collections for a fifteen dollar co-pay I forgot to pay before I left (ggggrrrrrrrr!). I have to figure out how/if I can see the midwife I adore on our bizarre, Saipan COBRA insurance. The siren call of Starbucks and much-missed friends beckons. Matt's driver's license expired while we were overseas and our marriage will not endure it if I have to drive with him in the car much longer.
Speaking of driving poorly, remember this? The bit at the end about the turn into the garage and the architect and Matt and the contractors and the boot-wearing Labrador next door telling me that I should put in one garage door because I'll never make the damn turn? But I didn't want one door because it's ugly? And I swore I'd learn. Yep, I did. Clipped the center pole our first night back and then promptly panicked because I didn't know how to extricate the van without pulling huge chunks of wall with me. I had to get Matt to come outside and maneuver the van away from the wall for me.
I scraped up the trim a little. So, I'll never live that down. Unless maybe the kids decide to pray for me.
crop.jpg)
