Catch Up

     So, I haven't blogged in a while. It's usually too hard during the day, when I feel as though I'm dropping at least one ball if I'm sitting in front of the computer. And at night I'm usually busy with James. We are really into watching Psych on Netflix right now. Have you seen it? You should. It's so very funny. And you can watch it with your grandma, which is another plus. But right now, Juliet it still asleep, and June is playing quietly with toys, which is actually a reverse of their usual behaviors. So, here's what's been going on the last few weeks"
     I got new eyebrows. Yes, you read that correctly. In junior high I plucked all my eyebrows out to make a very thin line, which for some reason I thought was attractive. Mistake. Even more of a mistake since they never grew back, and for the last 12 years I have had incompetent eyebrows. I filled them in every morning for the last few years, but that comes with its own set of problems. So, I made a snap decision (which is what most of my decisions are) and made an appointment with a permanent cosmetologist to basically have eyebrows tattooed on my face. The cosmetologist, Dottie, was extremely nice and told me she could make me look great. She's done 15,000 procedures, for goodness sakes! But I would have to wait two months, until mid-May, because she was so booked up. Apparently eyebrow mutilation is rampant in these parts. So I booked a session, and slowly started to panic. I'm sure everyone can think of an least one encounter with the unfortunately eyebrowed, whether they are permanent or drawn fresh every day. I did not want this to be me. But how could it not be? I was getting a tattoo on my face. My sister was no help. Let's just leave it at that. But I was determined to go through with it. May 14th dawned, and I was not nearly as nervous as I imagined. I was much more nervous when I had LASIK. I had to wait all day until 3:00, though. But, I made it. I did not turn at the door and run. She put me in a dentist-type chair and we proceeded to choose colors, then I approved the shape she drew. And then we started. All I could do was breath through the first eyebrow, until she handed me a mirror. Cue angels singing gloriously, I knew everything was going to be all right. It's been two weeks, and I look great, if I say so myself. Fortunately, so does my husband, and my friends, and most importantly, my sister.
     Now I have to take a moment to brag on my girlies. We went to a friend's house for dessert on Friday, and stayed until midnight. They were so good! June conked out at about 10:00, but Juliet was her sweet self all the way to the end (although she did start to cry when we told her that no, she couldn't have anymore cake at 11:00). We have always been able to do this with her (when she was younger we would take her out to Happy Hour at our favorite sushi place, from 10:00 to midnight. She would sit quietly and eat edamame until it was time to go home), so it's nice to know that the tradition continues with June. I should add that this was not a typical night for us. I usually start getting them ready for bed sometime between 8 and 9.
     Finally, the future. I am getting a little stressed, because of VBS and Foster Care Training. I agreed to do the decorations for VBS, and it is a lot of work. I think I am making it that way though, which I tend to do. I have a bit of pride in my artistic abilities, and I like to wow people. My friend reminded me that the kids will absolutely love it no matter what, which is absolutely true. I just need to keep reminding myself of that, as well as the fact that not everyone feeds off of procrastination like I do, which means I should stay in better contact with all of those helping out.
     We also start FCT in three weeks. And there is so much paperwork. Plus we still all need to go get fingerprinted (yes, all of us, apparently to rule out the risk that June is a six-months-old outlaw). And James and I need notes from our doctors assuring the agency that we are not secretly morbidly unhealthy. James doesn't even have a doctor, and I am going to try to convince my midwife to just sign it. I want to make a good impression on these people, but having everything done on time is just not my style. I'm pretty sure that's what they expect, though. At our first home meeting, we were asked "How good are you at working in teams, coordinating with others, and staying organized?" Snort. So maybe this will be good for me. Or maybe or caseworker will go home every night and weep. I don't know. But please pray for all of us!

Getting My Groove Back

     I feel like a switch flipped this week. I ventured out of the house, voluntarily, almost every morning this week. After five months of doing everything possible to avoid quick trips to the grocery store (Peanut butter on a crust of bread for lunch? With tomato slices on the side? Wonderful!) I actually put both girls in the car and drove to the store for an onion. A single onion! And do you know why I needed that onion? Because I was making homemade chicken stock, with the carcass of the whole chicken I roasted the evening before. If you were inside my home during the day the last few months (and thank goodness no one was) you would know how crazy this is. June's love language physical touch. She's five months old and we already know this. The girl wants to be held all day long. I love the snuggles, but when I can't even unload the dishwasher, it gets a little difficult. Fortunately, I have a very patient, understanding husband. It probably also helped that, even if if was only fifteen minutes before he arrived home, I always showered, did my hair, and put on makeup. A Band-Aid on a hemorrhaging jugular. Okay, makeup was about 70/30, but you won't convince me that's not darn good. Anyways, let's just say it's a good thing that CPS doesn't do random home-cleanliness inspections, or my kids would probably have a new mommy. But. We're starting to turn things around. I bought a Didymos wrap (used, for $90, and it was a steal. Don't judge.) so that I can wear June on my back. That's it's own post. Spoiler: there's a reason the instructions insist you practice over a soft surface. She's also better at entertaining herself, as well as interacting with Juliet.
     And for some reason, an easier time at home makes it easier for us to leave home. A full shopping trip to Cosco and the farmer's market. The aforementioned onion run. And today, a jaunt solely to pick up a new diaper pail. Two weeks ago, I would have waited for James to come home, and that would have been our Friday night entertainment. I did it by myself, before lunch. We also walked around the shopping plaza, wandered into the pet store, and got free slices of bread from this amazing local bread store. They give out massive slices of fresh bread, with lots of melty butter, and it is heavenly. On the way home, I saw a sign for a little craft show just a few blocks from my house and impulsively pulled over. It was so cute and Pinteresty. There were about ten vendors, all set up in a random backyard. I scoped it out and then went back with my mom later in the afternoon. We bought lots of stuff, mostly Mother's Day presents for various people. It was fabulous. The whole day was fabulous.
     Up until this past November, James and I only had one car. We always made it work, but it was never very easy, and it got much harder once Juliet arrived on the scene. We bought a second car in November, realized it wasn't big enough, and traded it in last month for a Mazda5. Anyways, I spent years dreaming about what I would do once I wasn't stuck at home all day. The fun outings we would take, trips to the library, the zoo. I would never have to eat weird things for lunch, because I could run to the store at any time. I've spent the past few months secretly, slightly disappointed because that never happened. But we've turned a corner. And maybe now my lunches will as well.

DMVentures

     I took both girls with me to the DMV today. Twice. How's that for self-torture? I had no choice, however; I had to register our new car by tomorrow, and of course the DMV is closed on Saturdays. I thought I could get it all done in an organized manner. Last night James gathered up all of the necessary documents. This morning Norah had tumbling class at the YMCA at 10:15. No problem, we would get to the DMV at 9:45, smoothly complete the transaction, and be on our way. Ha. Ha ha ha. We did get to there at 9:45, which is quite the minor miracle in itself. I should mention that I was wearing my gym clothes, because I was planning to lift weights while Juliet tumbled. They were clean, which is always a plus, but I was only wearing one sports bra. Normally I double-wrap. Small obstacle. I wrapped June in the K'tan carrier and voila! Baby functions as second sports bra. The line inside was ridiculously short; maybe three people ahead of me (It was still long enough for a slightly wild-looking man with a portfolio to park himself next to me and begin sketching away, all the while discussing how to make millions off of art. Which is why he is doing sketches at the DMV. These people really do always happen to me. We'll have to talk about refrigerator lady at the appliance center sometime. I did get a neat pencil drawing out of this encounter, though). I get up to the counter. Give the clerk all of my paperwork, plus the license plates from our former car. And it turns out the the paper James promised me was our proof of insurance is actually a completely meaningless cover letter. But it's okay; James will have All State fax the real proof of insurance over. I only have to pay $295 for tax, title and license. And I can come back to complete the transaction after tumbling, because who knows how long it will take that fax to get here? All is well again. I wave a cheerful goodbye to sketchy-man. And we are gone. Fast forward 90 minutes later. I am sweaty and surely smelly. Juliet has entered the danger zone, located approximately 20 minutes from nap time, and it is dicey as to whether or not she will obey me. I have neither fed not changed June since 9:00 this morning. As we walk to the front door, a woman stomps out. "That line is ridiculous." Actually, it's just backed up all the way to the door. Juliet finds an empty space and begins to run back and forth, singing her "princess song." The princess song is high-pitched. It is very close to being in bat-only range, but unfortunately it is just low enough that humans can hear it as well. June starts to squawk. I might not be the worst-smelling person in there, but I am close. And since DMV clerks have to eat too, half the lanes are closed. Somehow I manage to corral Juliet and grip her hand, all while doing the baby-bounce with June. Twenty bad minutes later, I am at the front of the line. My transaction takes 30 seconds. And I know that I will never go the the DMV with children again. But of course we all know that I will, because that is how it works.

      This was actually my second trip to do tax, title and license in less than six months. Up until November of last year, James and I had only ever owned one car. We managed to be a single-vehicle family through two years of college and class schedules and jobs, and then another three years of baby and doctor visits and playdates. Happily, James got a raise two months before June arrived, and then we bought a 2007 Accord, to match our exhausted 1998 Accord. There was no comparison. The new car was (insert any hip word for "cool" that I am not cool enough to use). Sun roof. CD changer. Automatic locks! But it was not big enough, as we quickly learned. And last month we traded it in for a Mazda5, which we had wanted in the first place. It doesn't have a sun roof, but it does have sliding doors. And a CD player. And automatic locks (Cosco sells an automatic lock for your house! How cool is that?)! And hopefully, I will not have to go back to the DMV for a long, long time.

     I don't know if there is a blog etiquette against posting multiple times per day, but if there is... I'm about to break it.  I'm barely able to keep my eyes open at this point, so if everything I write comes across as incoherent, I apologize. Juliet turned three on Tuesday, and today she had her well-child visit. Afterwards we met James for lunch, and then hurried home for a quick nap. We needed to meet James' uncle's fiancee at 3:00; Juliet is the flower girl in their wedding, and it was dress-shopping time. After a brutally short rest, I rousted two very sleepy little chickies and headed to the mall. Where we waited. And waited. And waited. I called L several times. No answer. I called D, who was freaking out just a little that his extremely organized fiancee was nowhere to be found. Then I checked my phone. We are supposed to meet next Thursday. So now we are home. I tried to get the girls back to sleep, but I lost. Now Juliet is eating a bag of stale tortilla chips in the kitchen, and June is entertaining herself on the floor. I don't even care. This might sound ridiculous, but I have to have a nap to function well. I've always envied moms who accomplish things in the afternoon; I'm snoozing right along with my girls. It's not going to happen today, though. And James is working late, because of his long lunch break. I miss him, so I will write about him, and by extension, us.
     We met in 8th grade, when I started attending the private Christian school he had gone to since kindergarten. James claims that I was the prettiest girl in class, and that he developed a crush on me right away. I don't remember meeting him at all. Let's be fair, though. I was meeting lots of new people, and he only had to meet me, and maybe one or two others. Plus, he was very shy and not very confident (This is one of the best reasons for growing up with your spouse. I've seen him develop from a quiet 13-year-old with bad hair to the confident man he is today. With much better hair. On the downside, he definitely witnessed my braces-and-glasses phase).
     Our class was very small, so we spent a lot of time together, but amazingly, I started going out with someone else at the end of 8th grade (Disclaimer: my mom hates it when I call this dating. "You sat together at lunch!"). James claims that he was gearing up the courage to do it that week, but that Boyfriend #1 swooped in first. And no, I was not that hot of a commodity. We just had very few girls in our class. Then, sophomore year, Boyfriend #1 dumped me. Tragedy. The way it went down is hilarious in retrospect, but that's another story.
      Anyways, from January to May I was sadly single. Cue graduation parties. A carload of sophomores driving from house to house eating food, including me, Boyfriend #1, and James. I oh-so-casually dropped the fact that my birthday party, which was on Memorial Day every year and was always a huge family bash, was in two days. Of course, we all know who I was hoping would attend. But the next day James called me and said "I'll be there." And he was. With flowers for both my mother and me, and a handmade card. We had fun; he was grounded for staying too late. He left a few days later on vacation, and he called me every day. At the end of one conversation he said "Bye. I love you." I said "I love you too," more out of reflex than anything else. Then I sat and stared at the phone, thinking "Did I just say that? I don't think I actually love him." Three weeks later, sitting by a lake, he told me that he wanted to marry me. I had been head-over-heels for two weeks by then. We talked about what our children would look like. Three years later he proposed to me at that very spot. That was 10 years ago; we've been married for six. Our wedding was four years to the day that he came to my birthday party.

I am a blog stalker. I admit it. I'm that shadowy reader lurking in the background, the bane of all bloggers who try to grow their following. I have followed some blogs for years. Years. Sometimes a blogger will write a post that really resonates with me. I start to type in a comment, and then stop when I realize: I am only a blog stalker. So this is my foray into legitimacy. It's not my only reason for starting a blog, but it's a big one. Obviously, as you can tell by the title.
There are two other reasons I started this blog. The first one is my girls. I have two sweet little girls, a three-year-old and a four-month-old. They do cute things, and they say cute things. Sometimes I post about what they do on Facebook. Sometimes I write it down in a pretty little notebook. This blog makes it that much more likely that I will actually record some of our day-to-day. I have to record it. I didn't write down anything that Juliet (girly #1) did for the first two years. And I have forgotten almost everything. I know when she walked, because she did it at her birthday party, in front of everyone. But that's about it. Rolling over? No idea. Sitting up? Beats me. In a way, this is good because I have nothing to compare her sister to. But still. Hopefully the record of June's early life will fare slightly better.
The final reason I started a blog: my unused English degree. Let me first say, I hated school. I was very good at it. I was always one of the "smart kids" in grade school and high school. I earned a full ride scholarship to University, and I graduated magna cum laude. This is not to brag, but rather to show that there was no academic reason for me to hate school. There were two reasons that I went to college: my parents refused to pay for my wedding unless I got my degree, and I thought that if my husband was ever in a tragic accident and I had to support the family, a degree would be nice. So I got an English degree, because English was always my best subject. And two days after graduation, I got pregnant, which was what I had wanted all along. My husband and I started dating when we were sixteen, sophomores in high school. We knew from the beginning we would get married, and all I wanted to do from the start was have babies and stay home with them. However. Even though I have no interest in using my degree, or working outside our home, I am still a very wordy person. There was a reason I chose English over anything else. I make up blog posts in my head constantly. And now it's time to get some of those down on paper.