Packing Up the Gravy Boats

Packing to move is really a unique task. Rarely do you have such a chance to go through your belongings so thoroughly. I was reminded yesterday that I have three gravy boats. Three! No one but the pilgrims at their extra-long Thanksgiving table needs three gravy boats. But one is an heirloom, and two are extra-elegant, so three I will keep.

I've been trying my best not to pack things we might need in the remaining weeks we're here. When I packed up our master bedroom closet the other day, I intentionally left the humidifier out. Smart move, since John broke out with a croupy cough two nights ago. Sadly, I thoughtlessly packed my blue shoes that go with my blue skirt that I wanted to wear to church last Sunday. I wore my black sandals and hoped no one would notice.

You come across things that you would have no use for, ever - and you're then faced with a decision. Continue to store it in your valuable closet and cupboard space, or toss it. I came across our Peruvian Bread Warmer yesterday. Some family member gave it to us years ago - I'm sure it has survived at least three or four moves already, but I've never used it. Who would have a use for a Peruvian Bread Warmer? Peruvians, I suppose. But they must not have large families because I'm certain this thing wouldn't hold more than a third of a loaf. I tossed it.

It took two large boxes to pack up all of our board games. I tried to get rid of a few, but just couldn't. I'm far less attached to clothing. I donated more shirts last week than I have left in my closet.

Still to pack is the kitchen, which will be last-minute, and all the things which occupy the children: toys, craft supplies, Wii. They have to have something to do while I'm analyzing our belongings.

On Dentists and Churros

I'd like to meet the mom who lacks a guilty conscience and buys her kids churros at Costco moments after leaving the dentist's office. I am not that mom.

All four kids had appointments with their FABULOUS dentist this morning. Four sets of x-rays; four cleanings, four exams - plus visits to the treasure chest and trying out the new games in the waiting room. All that and we were back in our car in one hour flat. (From there we sped to Costco for a few items and I couldn't bring myself to buy them their semi-usual churro. Likely the flouride hadn't even dried on their teeth!)

Joe has one small cavity, Cayna four. At least they're tiny and all on baby teeth. So we'll go back another day for fillings and coatings. AND Cayna has a referral to see an orthodontist.

Orthodontia indicates we've moved to Level Three of Parenting Challenges.

Level One: sleepless nights; diaper rash; teething; ear infections; potty training

Level Two: no more training wheels; first day of school; "Where do babies come from?"

Level Three: body odor; orthodontia; eye-rolling; video game addiction

Level Four: cell phones and networking websites; full-on puberty

(Levels Five through Seven are foggier for me, as I have not parented in these Levels. I have, however, lived them - so I'm anticipating the following:)

Level Five: driver's license; boyfriends/girlfriends; parents suck

Level Six: SAT/ACT; college applications; empty nest

Level Seven: career choice; spouse choice; being in-lawed

There you have it! We're in a new level. Maybe there is a way I can operate here and remain uninformed about the financial requirements. As it seems that Cayna has inherited her father's funky dental issues, we are in for a LOT of work. No matter, I guess. I'd rather hang out here in Level Three for a while. Level Four makes me nervous.

These Are the Days

These are the last days of my 30s. I can't believe it. I hardly feel qualified to be 40.

I am not bothered by this big birthday (though that might change if anyone gives me "Over the Hill" cards - how depressing!). Bothered isn't the word. A little stunned, though. How have I been alive 40 years?

I can't imagine what the next decade holds, but I'm looking forward to living it. I can look back, though.

The most obvious occupation of my 30s was my kids. I gave birth at age 30, 32, 34, and 37. It appears that most of the decade was spent pregnant or nursing.

Kevin and I established our household again and again - six times! -- and in five cities.

We converted from Protestant to Catholic.

I read countless books. Slept a lot. Cleaned my bathroom more times than I care to recall (wish I could cut back on that in my 40s but I don't see it happening). Made friends. Lost a few, or moved away. Saw some sights. Tried some stuff.

Overall, I'm content. Not entirely. There are always little "itches" here and there (what if we just picked up and moved to Great Falls, Montana?) - what if I'm missing my calling in Politics?

In the moments when I trust God and quiet myself, I'm smiling. At least grinning. Life is good.

I started a journal in 2002. Before I was married, I zoomed through a journal a year - sometimes faster. But this one has dragged on for eight years. There are only a few pages left and then I'm closing it whether I make it to the final page or not. I think a new decade warrants a new journal, don't you? And I'll close the book on the 30s at the same time.

Accomplished

I had a heckuva to-do list today. And I crossed everything off. I have no good reason to blog today except to brag. Not sure posterity will care, but I do!

Woke up.

Showered.

Got feverish John up and held him.

Made appointment with pediatrician.

Ate.

Cleaned the kitchen for the first time.

Scheduled FOUR painter estimates for next week and coordinated with the realtor (amounting to roughly eight phone calls).

Scheduled FOUR children to see the dentist.

Made hair appointment and eyebrow appointment (overdue, as usual).

Answered e-mail.

Selected movie for 90-minute drive across town and back. The primary reason for the trip was to return a white serving bowl that belongs to a woman who left it here in FEBRUARY. It has been sitting on the top of my frig for over four months. Anyway...it got me out of the house without infecting others with John's germs, and the kids got to watch a movie.

Stopped by U-Haul to buy packing paper.

Served hot lunch. No one ate it. (Probably all the pretzels they got during the van movie.)

Cleaned the kitchen for the second time.

Read.

Talked to a couple friends on the phone. (I won't say who... but somebody I know is having a girl!!!)

Packed the coat closet.

Organized the laundry room and inventoried for packing.

Took John to pediatrician.

Dropped stuff off at Goodwill.

Came home and cooked fajitas. Everyone ate.

Cleaned the kitchen for the third time.

Got the kids to bed.

Went to Target for things I couldn't live without, including a pair of clearance-rack running shorts. They are bright green with a pink stripe down the sides. I am going to be a mean sight in those with my white legs, red running shoes, and maybe my "Die Trying" t-shirt.

Watched TV with the Kevster.

Blogged...

Photos of the Fourth

Is the Fourth of July really the Fourth of July without watermelon? Here's the mess I made with my big knives and two watermelons. I ixnayed the cutting board since the mess would have overflowed everywhere anyway.


As with the watermelon, so with the homemade ice cream.


Facepainting! Cayna originally requested a red, white, and blue mouse. Kevin steered her toward a star. John got the grand ol' flag.



We set up in the street and started lighting things on fire. It was quite a display.


John was a bit nervous about all the noise. I loved holding him.


Joe was cool.


We've never been hip enough to get the family-4th-of-July-matching shirts. We still aren't. But at eleven p.m. on the 3rd, I remembered that weeks before, Joe had sweetly requested a "Fourth of July shirt". Kev made it happen with a late-night run to trusty WalMart.

Fourth of July #234

You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism. -Erma Bombeck

I love the Fourth of July! I love that dress is casual, the pressures (family, menu, traditions) are minimal, and everyone has a good time.

(I also love Erma Bombeck, and I love that our priest, Father Charlie, included her quote among others in the church bulletin today. Let me say this again - if you're a reader, and a woman, you need to make sure you pick up one of her books.)

Most of what I remember from childhood 4th of July is sparklers. We lit some for our neighbors' Canada Day celebration on Thursday and though I didn't hold one myself, I could clearly conjure up the sensory experience of holding one - even to the memory of the quick prickle of a spark on my forearm.

I knew I was a grown-up when it was my peers lighting the fireworks, not my dad. And my first married Independence Day was on Lorilyn Avenue - in the street - with two other couples and a box of "Safe and Sane" explosives from a stand.

4th of July '95 was spent on a train in India. By far my most exotic commemoration. We sang "The Star-Spangled Banner" as we rumbled along. No fireworks.

Today we're sitting in the a/c as temperatures soar outside. A get-together with friends awaits in the early evening, and after dark we'll situate the mini-van somewhere with a view of the valley and all its displays. The kids will be tired, parents too, and the sky will light up in honor of our country. I'm tellin' ya, I love this day. I love my country, too. I'll get back to you later on whether I'm feeling patriotism more strongly than a full stomach.

Nearly Out Of Toilet Paper

Today we were given a closing date for our new house! If you are able-bodied, can work hard in 100+ degree temperatures, and enjoy free pizza - give us a call and we'll sign you up to help us move.

As for the toilet paper, when I bought my last billion-roll pack of t.p. from Costco, I wondered if we would use it up in the old house. Would I still be living here the next time I ran out?

I went through this same torture when we had our SoCal house on the market for OVER A YEAR! I kept hoping, "Maybe this will be the last time I buy toilet paper before we move."

There are many bizarre ways I attempt to measure my time left in limbo. Today I calculated that I should only have to mop this house (with its 220-million square feet of tile) four more times!

Finally we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I love that light. It's so lovely. Not only is it beautiful to gaze at the realization of hopes and dreams, but it also, figuratively, means the train has run RIGHT OVER Limbo. Limbo is left bleeding and dismembered on the tracks. Sorry, Limbo. I'm headed for the light.