Homeless, Nearly

It's hard to blog when your eyes won't stay open long enough to finish typing a sentence. Moving is exhausting business, even when other people do the packing. I spent part of yesterday and most of today deep cleaning our house. Bryan is currently finishing that task while I stay with sleeping children. Then, tomorrow morning, we'll turn in our keys, and will begin our month of being not-quite-homeless.

Training

Runners train for marathons. Swimmers train for races. Gymnasts, cyclists, and archers all spend months training their bodies for competition.

It turns out I've been training too.

We've been preparing to move for weeks. The house (and our possessions) have been deep cleaned and dejunked, several times. Our mountain of laundry was clean and, thanks to a good friend who came over to lend a hand on Tuesday, was sorted and nearly all folded. The kids suitcases were packed. I felt more ready than I have in previous moves.

But on Tuesday night, we still had so many tasks to finish. Bryan is working this whole week, so I knew he needed to be rested enough to make his three-hour round trip commute. But I didn't need that. I could even possibly take a nap while the packers worked. So we decided that he would go sleep no later than two, no matter what.

And he did.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he implored me to please go to sleep soon as well. I assured him I would do everything in my power to sleep.

While I worked to pack and sort (the most important aspect of having someone else pack your stuff), I marveled at how awake I felt. I wasn't even that tired. How was that possible?

And that's when I remembered. I've struggled with insomnia for the last few months. Nothing too severe, but I've been awake late, even compared to my normal night-owl proclivities. There were several nights that I stared at the insides of my eyeballs, praying for sleep.

But on Tuesday, when I had to be awake, I could be, because my body was already used to being alert at that time of the night. Packing was my own personal marathon.

I finally made myself climb into bed when I saw the dark outside my window starting to get light.

And don't worry, I slept for a full, normal, human eight hours last night. And I plan to do the same thing again tonight.

Hiding

Ant Farm

The movers arrive tomorrow morning. We're scurrying around like mostly-crazed ants trying to prepare.

And that is all.

Rare, Like a Unicorn

We had a beautiful few minutes of peace and calm today, so of course I took pictures.

A Mind of Its Own

I was exhausted when I posted yesterday. It had been a long day and my eyes were heavy as I typed. They were so heavy, in fact, that they kept closing on their own. I had to backtrack several times to fix sentences that didn't make sense. I finally finished and handed the computer to Bryan for proofing. While he read, I woke up a bit.

He had to do some additional fixing, then he gave the computer back. I glanced at the post title.

"Oh hey," I said, "you gave the post a title."

"No I didn't."

"But you must have, I was trying to think of one but I was too sleepy."

"Nope, wasn't me."

You guys, I name blog posts in my sleep!

I wonder if my unconscious mind can do other things, like fold laundry...

Eating the Scraps

We're close enough to the move that I've gone into overdrive using up the contents of our freezer. Yesterday I made strawberry cranberry sauce. Yes, it's a real thing. I'm going to use it in muffins and a cake tomorrow. We baked a whole chicken on Sunday and on Tuesday we used bacon, frozen fruit, chocolate coconut sugar-free ice cream, and green peppers as part of our breakfast for dinner.

Tonight I planned to make tater-tot casserole. Casseroles are a mysterious beast. We rarely ate them when I was a kid. In fact, my first exposure to them was as a teenage babysitter. I did a lot of babysitting when I was a twelve through fourteen year old. Being the oldest of five kids automatically makes you appealing for childcare roles. One family ate tater-tot casserole on a semi-regular basis. It was delicious.

Bryan ate a lot of casseroles while he was growing up. He is not so enamored with them. I generally only make them when I know Bryan won't be able to join us for dinner. However, tonight I knew we needed to use up our ingredients, whether Bryan was here or not, so I went ahead and cooked the ground beef, mixed up the cream of chicken soup from scratch, and pulled the frozen broccoli out of the freezer. When everything was assembled, I went to get the tater-tots to layer on top.

And that's when I discovered they were actually crinkle-cut french fries.

We had crinkle cut french fry casserole for dinner. Bryan agreed that we should have it again sometime. That my friends, is a success.

The Park is Always Better With Dad

Like the Von Trapps, Sort Of

One Sunday last month I was chatting with a friend after church. It's her responsibility to find musical numbers for Sacrament Meeting. She asked if I would sing one more time before we moved. I believe that if we don't use talents, we lose them, so I said yes. After deciding on the day, an idea occurred to me.

What if I didn't sing by myself? What if I had five other people that happen to share my last name join me?

I floated the idea to Bryan later that day. I thought for sure he would say no, but he didn't. Once I got a yes from him, I asked the kids. Peter was apprehensive, Cooper and Phoebe agreed, and Sophie was thrilled. "I sing at the microphone?" was her grinning reply.

This past Sunday was the day. We had rehearsed I Am a Child of God as mush as the kids would allow, which was not nearly enough for my liking. We divided the verses so the girls sang a little by themselves, the boys had a little duet, then Bryan and I sang together. We even added harmonies, but when I moved to the alto line the kids all lost the melody, so we scrapped them for the actual performance.

How did it go? Well, it went. Despite the microphone, I don't think anyone could hear the kids sing during their duets. It's an exceptionally lousy microphone. I got lots of compliments on how sweet it was that we all sang together, and several people said they had no idea that Bryan could sing, let alone that he has such a great voice. I smiled and said thank you and agreed that Bryan is a great singer.

The kids were happy with it, and that's what matters. Peter almost didn't get up to sing. He has such strong stage fright that it nearly kept him pinned to his seat, but he gathered his courage and joined us. Cooper and Phoebe were our strongest singers, but were a little overcome by the big congregation. Sophie sang as I held her, but would have preferred playing on the stand. The mic was too far away from her face to feel like she was really singing "at the microphone."

Now that this long-held musical dream of mine has been fulfilled, I'm planning for our next family performance. Two things have come to mind so far: we'll figure out a better way to use the mic, and we'll practice more.

Sometimes You Make a Five Hour Round Trip to Run Through a Fountain With Your Cousins...

...and then you spend the rest of the evening telling anyone who will listen how completely awesome it was.

The Plague

Bryan and I are sick, the kind of sick where all your limbs feel too heavy and your nose is plugged and you keep coughing and choking and your head and skin and body hurt. He took an actual sick day on Monday (a rare occurrence) and worked from home Tuesday and today. I used all my energy for the week taking the kids to the museum on Wednesday and have spent the rest of the time resting and letting the kids watch too much TV.

I had high hopes for packing in lots of adventures during our short time left here.

But sleep is good too.

Rainy Day at the Children's Museum

The Search

We don't have a place to live.

After spending a week searching for a new home in western Pennsylvania, we thought we had found a place. The condo was almost perfect. It was well maintained and big enough on the inside, though it only had a one-car garage and no backyard. But it was in our price range, so we put in an application.

And the owners picked us.

We were elated. And relieved. Our time away had not been in vain. All we had to do was read the contract and sign the lease.

Except, the lease was missing some important details. We asked for some additional information, some clarification, and for a few owner/tenant responsibilities to be outlined in writing. We didn't think we were asking too much, simply the assurance that they would keep the place safe and habitable (pest free) and give us permission to install a few child-safety latches.

Turns out, those are deal breakers. They insisted they didn't realize we had children, but that epiphany resulted in a $100 rent increase and the requirement that we pay to have the place professionally cleaned.

Once, when I was an RA at BYU, one of the apartments decided to pool their money and hire a cleaning service to prepare their dwelling for the monthly cleaning check. They didn't pass. My standards were much higher. They still are.

This back-and-forth negotiation went on for days. This morning Bryan and I prayed that we would make the correct choice, and that if this house wasn't right for us, we would know. I got absolutely no answer. This is highly unusual for me. I usually get something, even if it's just a nudge in the right direction, but no, it was radio silence.

Bryan called me from work this afternoon to tell me about the changed lease stipulations. I said that didn't sound like someone we wanted to work with, and I suddenly felt a strong confirmation that what I had said was true. Bryan called the realtor and we pulled our application. And we feel really good about it, which seems to fly in the face of logic, though it was the right choice.

But it also means we don't have a place to live.

Little Black Box

When you're a kid without cable, hotel TVs with Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel are one of the best things about traveling. It's even better when you all cram into the same small space to watch that magical little box.

The 4th in Philadelphia

We spent last week house hunting. Since we couldn't see any rentals on Independence Day, we drove to Philadelphia!

We enjoyed a free day at the National Museum of American Jewish History, including this cool play structure.

We also saw Irving Berlin's personal piano, which was awesome.

And we saw a little thing called the Liberty Bell. It was through the window, but I think that still counts.

We paid our respects at Ben Franklin's grave.

And we visited the Mint! It was really cool. We couldn't take any pictures inside, so you'll just have to trust me.

And we happened to drive past the under-construction Philadelphia Temple! That was a delightful surprise.

It was a fun day and felt like the perfect Fourth of July adventure!

Go Speed Racer

Just Like the Big Brothers

We love Lacey, our piano teacher. She is one of the people we will miss the most when we move. Phoebe had been looking forward to taking piano from her when the new school year started. When she realized that wouldn't be happening, she was distraught.

Then she had an idea. Couldn't she take just one lesson? One before we move to know if it's what she really wants to do? So she knows what it's like? She sold the idea pretty convincingly. Lacey agreed to do one lesson. The week of cub scout camp Phoebe took the boys' usual time slot since they were occupied shooting arrows and planning corny skits.

Phoebe loved it. She paid close attention and picked everything up quickly. Lacey was very encouraging about getting Phoebe into lessons once we move.

I guess soon we'll have three kids that need to practice piano everyday, and I'm really happy about that.

Hysteria

Peter has a strong sense of justice. This has the potential to be a great quality. Right now, however, it shows up when he doesn't want a consequence, so he uses his skills to attempt to lawyer us out of it. Tonight he tried to do this and I wouldn't play along. I stayed calm and every time he delved into his reasons that he was right and I was wrong I simply interrupted and reminded him he'd already told me these things.

After repeating this cycle several times he was sent to his room to calm down. A few minutes later I went in to give him a hug, thinking it would help with the calming process. As soon as I walked in, he launched into his familiar rhetoric. I stopped him and said, "No, I'm just here for a hug. I'm not going to talk to you until you've stopped being hysterical."

"Well!" he said as he angrily threw his hands into the air, "that means you won't talk to me for thirty years!"

If that number is true for everyone: good news! I only have four more years until I'm done with my own hysteria!

On a happier note, he did finally calm down and very rationally explained why he'd gotten the consequence and agreed that it was deserved.

The Wild Things

Another Excused Absence

Every once in a while we spend a whole day adventuring and I fall asleep holding an overtired two-year-old before I get a chance to post.

And that's okay.

My Boys Went to a Whole Week of Cub Scout Camp and All I Got Was This Picture