Post-Packing Wii Fun with Just Dance 2

We're pretty much gigantic dorks. But we sure have a ton of fun...

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The Toddler Runaway Story

After our yard sale Saturday, my daughter found the jar where we kept the loose change, rifling through it, purging it of any "excess" she felt needed liberating. She marched triumphantly inside, her baby pink purse jingling, as she took a place at our table and sat down.

"Daddy? Wook at all da monies I have!"

Baby Sister sprawled all her change onto the table, smoothing it between her teeny fingers, boasting about how many she stole had.

"Wow, baby, that's a lot of money!" My husband remarked, in his soft, daddy tone.

"Yeah," she began, "Now I have enough to run away."

"What!?" My husband's voice level went up a few octaves as he stumbled in his response. "What... do you mean run away?"

"I going to da carnival, daddy. I running away. My brothers are too smelly."

My husband's laugh came deep from his belly, practically making him choke as he laughed, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. They always fart and burp, and they're soooooo smelly, so I running away. You can come if you want!" She said, eyeing his laughter suspiciously while fumbling with a quarter.

"I can, huh?"

He tried to bite his lip to keep from laughing harder. Tears began forming in the corners of his eyes as he motioned for me to pay attention.

"Yup! And mommy, and Baby Dude, and sisters can come, but not them. They're too smelly. And gross. And smelly."

(Note: She did in fact, not run away, of course. She is still with us, attached to her father's hip as usual, but we did let her smelly older brothers know they are mega-funky and to keep their bodily functions to themselves and/or the confines of an enclosed bathroom, or they're going to wake up to a cork in their buttholes. Ahem.)

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Let the Crazy Continue...

At around 12:30, we had a knock at the door.

The movers arrived a day early, fresh boxes and paper at the ready.

Three hours later, bedrooms are mostly packed, and we are left with this:

Stuff to not be seen until the other end of our move, when they come to deliver it, some time next week.

Is it over yet?

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A Letter to My Baseball Player

Dear Son,

Today, you played what may have been not only your last Fort Polk baseball game, but, because we're moving, your last sports game ever at this post. Your first up to bat you had three wrongly-called strikes, but you didn't let it get you down. Tonight you also played catcher for the first time, and you played it hard, flinging off your helmet, chasing down runners, throwing that ball with ferocity and tagging a runner out at home. I was so proud to watch you.

But nothing made me prouder to see you take your turn at bat for the second time, your last time, dusting off your shoes, laying into your front leg. You swung at everything that got pitched your way. Your first two swings were low ones, and you swung anyway. You were determined to go out swinging, go out aiming for those fences. You got a piece of the ball your next two times, and hit that ball hard on the last try, unfortunately popping it up and out at first base.

Despite the pitcher throwing balls to everyone else, walking them, you were determined to hit that ball, you wanted a piece, and you got it. Your last at bat, you wanted to leave it all on the field, and you did.

And you were the first to lead the team in the congratulatory handshake at the end, too.

You may not have won any games this season, but you learned how to play baseball for the first time, and you tried your hardest each and every game, regardless of the score. It was my pleasure watching you try something new.

Congratulations to you and your team for learning a hard-fought lesson in humility and good-sportsmanship, and for never, ever giving up.

My son and his BFF on the same team.

You can't win them all, but you, my dear, are a winner for trying. I love you, baby.

Love,
Mommy

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Let the Crazy Begin...

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The Cookie-Doler-Outer Failure

"Mommy, I wanna too-tee," both my toddlers asked me, in their cute, toddleresque kind-of way.

"We don't have any cookies right now, but why don't we all get dressed, and go to the store to get some, okay?!"

I had to go to the store to pick up a few things, anyway, so this just made it more fun for them (and hopefully more obedient).

(What? Cookie bribery is an effective parenting tool. Ahem.)

After piling in the car and making it a mini-event, leaving the store unscathed and intact (whew!), I unpacked bags from the car while the kids were too busy playing outside to remember we'd even bought cookies to begin with. (Yet another effective parenting tool - the art of distraction.)

Out-of-the-blue, my four-year-old suddenly remembered we had chocolatey goodness, and magically appeared out of nowhere at my husband's desk. She made several obnoxious, yet unsuccessful pleas to get a cookie from him, to no avail. After her dejection, she came to me, playing the Mom-card perfectly, in all her curly-haired cuteness,"Mommy? Tan I pwease have the too-teez we boughted?"

Thud.

(Death by cuteness is a highly effective kid-tactic. Damn, she's good.)

I immediately scooped her up, kissing her eleventy-thousand times, her giggling, me nibbling, and decided to give into her cuteness. My one stipulation was for her to share that cute with my husband, sitting quite grumpily at his desk, while I opened up the box of Newman's Os. She agreed and sauntered over to him, celebrating her win with the grin on her face, sitting upon his lap as if he were Santa. As I walked over, peering from behind his laptop, he asked her, "You know, baby, I didn't hear you say my favorite word to mommy..."

And before she could utter "Please," she saw my hand, and screamed out, "TOO-TEEZ!!!"

"Um, not that word, baby." #fail

(Kid 1, Parents 0.)

After a few nibbles, she got down and shuffled off, skipping in jubilation with her cookies in hand - immediately making a bee-line to the other kids. Outside. Where she loudly proclaimed to all of them (including neighbor kids) how she just scored two cookies from me. Suddenly we hear Baby Dude calling out, "I WANT TOO-TEEZ TOOOOOO!"

(Kid 2, Parents 0.)

I rule. Only not. #cookiegivingfail

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Indians, Army Men, Skating, and Mom Freaking Out, Oh My!

This was our last "official" unbusy weekend. That is, if you can call character dress-up, playing outside all weekend and getting together with friends to go to a birthday party "unbusy."

This upcoming weekend is my son's 7th birthday, our big yard/moving sale, and possibly my son's last baseball game. By the next weekend after this, our stuff will be packed and we'll be out of here.

It's happening, friends. So scary fast.

And, in true, Lisa-like fashion, I'm fighting the change, despite my desperately wanting this process to be over and our move to San Antonio complete. I look forward to being homeowners for the first time, and redecorating and planting and all the myriad of excellent things that go with getting a brand-new house.

You see, I often seek the comforts in home, and being considered a "home body" despite my love of travel. The idea of crazy movers who wish to attempt to pack our stuff IN ONE FREAKIN' DAY? That scares me! I'll be lucky if my stuff makes it to our new home in one piece!

(Yes, you read that correctly. The head-mover dude who visited us for our pre-move inspection last week feels the "first scheduled day" the packers are supposed to be here will be too "busy" for them to actually "get to us," forcing them to do our entire five-bedroom home in one day, and continue to pack while the movers are here packing the truck on moving day. When the packers rush, they cut corners, and my stuff will be broken as a result. Believe it.)

As I'm sure you can surmise, I've been popping Nerve Tonic and spraying Rescue Remedy like crazy trying to remain calm. It's amazing how stressful this process is.

But this weekend's beautiful 70-degree weather, chock-filled with giggling kidlets and the sun shining was exactly what I needed.

He had to dress up as a person from history.

Skating with BFFs #winning

Look, ma! No hands!

Dirty toddlers playing army men. Does it GET any better??

Despite my looking like ass-flakes, I love cuddling with my dudes. 

So, what did YOU do this weekend?

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The "Eh, I'm fine" Syndrome

I want someone to slap my hand if I ever say that to you. If I don't look okay to you, and you say to me, "Hey Lisa, are you feeling alright?" and that's my answer? FREAKIN' SLAP MY HAND. I'm totally serious.

We are such procrastinators as wives and mothers, aren't we? Always caring for others, putting ourselves last. We can surely survive another day of feeling craptastic, we aren't the important ones, our children and husbands are.

This. Must. Stop.

I have come to a realization, with Operation Kick My Own Ass these past two weeks, that recently I've been giving MYSELF this excuse.

"Eh, I'm fine, I don't need to take my vitamin today."
"Eh, I'm fine, I worked out yesterday."
"Eh, I'm fine, I can eat this {insert high-calorie food here}. I will work-out later" (And then I don't.)
"Eh, I'm fine, I'm away from home and can't work-out, anyway."

This really must stop.

I'm only sabotaging my health and my well-being by this "Eh, I'm fine" syndrome. And I'm seriously going to try my hardest not to do this to myself anymore. If I don't feel well, I will take medicine, see the doctor, get rest and fix it! If I'm injured, I won't push, I will rest and recuperate. I will exercise daily, and not pass the buck to working it off later if I am faced with a high-calorie food in my face. I will stop this madness, take back control, and do my best. But most of all, I'm going to give myself a break. I am only human.

Do you do this "Eh, I'm fine" thing, too?

Join us, will you? You might decide your Mission: Healthier Me is to lose weight, or cut out soda, or to make healthier choices, or incorporate exercise daily. Whatever you choose, choose something healthy, that's it! And follow along with us while we support one another to achieve our missions together. We plan to post every week on Fridays what we're up to and how we're doing.


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Mom Needs a Break, Film at 11

As I'm hip-deep in flipping laundry from the washer to the dryer, while folding the retrieved dryer clothing into a basket, Baby Dude comes fumbling into the laundry room, half-gallon of milk clutched in his grasp, as he stumbles closer, unable to keep hold. "HEP!" he calls to me, to "help" him.

And I do help him, as a smile breaks through on my highly stressed face as of late.

I needed that smile. I needed that little mom-like task. The stress level is mounting lately, with the house-hunt ebbing and flowing into a fricken Tsumani of Suck™ every time we think we've got it worked out. (Pardon me if I knock on wood at the moment.)

Seeing his baby face, holding the milk, trying to encourage me to get it for him (rather soonish), I drop what I was doing to "hep" him, because, even though it's an interruption, it's actually helping me, too.

I need some semblance of normalcy right now. I want to wake up and tend to the kids and do things like I normally would be doing, but instead, it's everything movemovemove and househousehouse and packpackpack and nothing mommommom or familyfamilyfamily like it's always been. And I feel really lost.

I have been short on patience lately.
I have raised my voice more than I care to admit.
I am not taking good care of myself during this process.
I haven't been sleeping well.
I haven't been consistent with exercise, thus making me feel even worse.
As a result of all this traveling and crap-eating, I've gained five freakin' pounds.
Five pounds I did not need tacked on to the neverending crap associated with this move.
I haven't felt like I've been getting enjoyment out of much, lately, with entirely too much dealt to me in too short of a time, and it shows, quite plainly, splayed across my turmoil-ridden face.

Meanwhile, my husband has much to do on his end at work to "clear" yet, for whatever reason, other unit priorities have been taking his much-needed time away. For instance, today, some General is here visiting, so yesterday he had to weed-eat their office, straighten what was already straightened, and today he's busy "Yes sir"-ing and saluting and canoodling, while taking a ridiculous "class" every unit must take, despite he won't even be here in two weeks, it's Army-wide and when the military says "Jump" you not only should jump, you should've already expected they would say "jump" and have done it already, so.. yeah. There's that right now we don't need.

And two rambunctious toddlers who stay at home and need me, and don't need a stressed me.
And four older, school-aged children, with Muffins for Mom in-class and Band Concerts and baseball games and field trips and many other needs that require mom perform with only her "A" game.

I guess I just need a break. I need life to stop throwing curve balls and just give me a little peace. Or a nap. A nap would be good, too.

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Sitting is Killing You: The Truth About Sitting Down (WHOA)

I found this graphic shared on Facebook, and had to share it with you, because it really got to me on so many levels.

I've been fighting to work out and lose weight and stay fit for two years now, and it became quite apparent to me that perhaps I'm only fighting myself? That the reason I'm not succeeding is what's depicted in this graphic? That even with the running, the elliptical, the Wii Fit and everything, it isn't enough because I'm too sedentary otherwise, especially given my chosen profession (writing)?

And then came the realization of just how long our children are sitting. When we were kids, we had longer gym periods and recesses, and now? My kids have to hurry to finish lunch fast in order to get any recess time at all. And that really, really scare me, friends. They're only getting older, when recesses aren't "cool" anymore, because they're too old. I want my children to always be active.

Read this, and tell me your thoughts:

Graphic via: Medical Billing And Coding

What do you think after reading this?

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4:44pm

On Friday, May 6th at 12:30pm, we received word the sellers for House Pick #2 were willing to work with us. We piled into our car to drive to San Antonio (again) to make it happen.

On Saturday, May 7th at 8:30am-ish, we were up, finishing breakfast, and mulling over eggs in a complete ball of nerves, leaving to meet our realtor to see the house again.

At 10:17am, we became an even bigger ball of nerves because, after seeing the house and knowing we wanted it, with a signed offer in hand to send, their realtor wasn't answering his phone (after many repeated attempts).

At 10:42am he finally answered.

At 10:57am he received our fax.

At 11:19am he turned us down, flat. Our second rejection.

At 11:19:10am I lose all hope.

At 11:22am I confessed to my husband that I didn't think I could sign on the dotted line to be turned down again. That I couldn't continue to put my heart out there to be turned away, and wrecked. I couldn't continue to bring all six of my children into houses that they love and want to become theirs, only to tell them that it didn't work out. Again.

At 11:30am, our realtor gave us a reality check, and said "Don't let fear stop you from doing this wonderful thing you are doing for your family." And I sucked up my heartache, wiped my tears, and started over with our search, for a third time. This time with my stomach in absolute knots, and a massive headache brewing.

At 11:47pm, after making many calls, our realtor had a few more house leads that seemed amenable to our fastly approaching time-table, including one home that had been on our list that we had practically dismissed for lack of good photographs, as well as a knowingly too-small builder home.

At 12:02pm, we visited the first home, nice place, nice yard, but no room for our dining room table.

The Builder Home, unfinished yet

At 12:17pm, we visited a second home, a builder home, almost finished (needed flooring & fixtures). Our realtor showed us this home, because she negotiated it as a "sure-thing" of an option for us, just on the smaller side of what we were looking for. Before we could even consider it, we needed to see it. And it would be a guaranteed house, ready for us if/when we wanted it. And we could make the smaller size work if we needed to.

At 12:20pm, I felt a weight lifting.

At 12:46pm, we visited yet another home, and immediately became awestruck with it's perfect size and spacious rooms. This was the house we had overlooked for the pictures, and it was a seemingly perfect fit for us. After much walking around, discussing, and weighing our options, we decided to make an offer.

At 1:33pm, I confessed to my husband I was alright either way, and that even if this first house fell through, I would be okay with the sure-thing builder home. I wasn't nervous about the offer, it could go either way, and I'd be fine with it. I felt peace, not anxiousness. I felt calm.

At 2:36pm, after the documents were drafted and signed, they were faxed.

At 2:45pm, we left to eat a late lunch at a McDonald's Playplace, and do some banking.

At 4:11pm, our realtor asked which McDonalds we were at, because the sellers were also at a McDonalds, too. We chuckled about that.

At 4:44pm, we received the text that declared we just became homeowners. Our offer was accepted.

Can you tell I couldn't believe it?

And at 4pm today, almost twenty-four hours after our accepted offer, our home was being thoroughly inspected by a building inspector, whose results will be emailed to us tomorrow. And whatever comes from this inspection, thumbs up or down on this transaction, I am okay and at peace, because we will have a home (whichever one). And for that, I am forever grateful.

The offer-accepted, huge rooms, could-possibly-be-ours-for-certain-pending-inspection home

At 4:44pm on a Saturday in May, we became homeowners in a McDonalds via text message. I will never forget that memory, ever.

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Cosmic or Divine Intervention? What Do You Think?

Something downright amazing and awe-inspiring happened today, and I really needed to share this with you. If you ever doubt in there being "something else" out there, something divine, whatever religion or spiritual beliefs you may or may not hold, please read this with an open mind, and heart. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

This story begins Sunday - the day I left for Chicago. I was delayed because of weather hammering down on Dallas, delaying flights in and out of Texas, bringing a cold front with it, staying behind.

A cold front that pushed through Texas and into Louisiana on Monday, and stagnated there, in the 50's at first, but crawling up the 60's yesterday and today.

A cold front that brought sun and nice, temperate weather. Weather that caused us to enjoy going outside and frolic longer than normal today. We had already been outside for over two hours when my husband left to pick up our older kids from school. My toddlers and I continued to play outside, in the backyard, on the trampoline, when my husband dropped my first-grader off, on his way to get the older ones.

A first-grader who asked to keep his school uniform on today, instead of change (like he normally would), because he really wanted to jump right then and there. As soon as he began jumping, the school buses came.

The buses that came and dropped off neighborhood elementary school children, including two down-the-street neighbor children, ages four and six. Two neighbor children who weren't greeted by anyone as they stepped off the bus, who walked down the street, alone, to their house. A house that met them with a locked door and no vehicle in their driveway.

Two neighbor children whom I heard calling for their mother; the four-year-old screaming as loud as his little lungs would let him. At first, I thought it was a temper-tantrum; surely, he was with his mother. But as the calls for her grew louder, his tears more desperate, that's when I quickly hung up with my husband, ran and turned the corner from my backyard to find him on the sidewalk, wandering, backpack slung on his back, helpless.

I called to him, asking if he was alone. He sobbed a pitiful "Yes!" back to me, sniffling, with salty tears streaming down his face, his sister stayed solidly in place by her house. I saw his school bus tag hung with string around his neck. Thank goodness he's four! I thought to myself. I know, such a strange thing to wish, but because at this age (four), in their school they are forced to wear a bus-tag with all their info - first and last name, address, home phone number - every day of the year.

I took that bus-tag and quickly called our housing office with my phone. With that tag, I was accurately able to convey who these kids were and where they lived. Housing has all of everyone's alternate contact information, including duty phone number, commanders number, unit info, etc. Surely with all that they could track down this family somewhere, somehow.

I invited these scared children into my backyard. "Look, see? We're playing on the trampoline. We only live right here. We're close to your house, we'll find your parents. See? See my son? He goes to your school, too! Do you know him? His name is..."

And I showed them my son, the son they immediately saw and recognized as someone just like them, wearing a uniform like them; a uniform he doesn't normally wear when playing outside. And it all hit me, the irony, the timing of it all. Especially when the father came some moments later.

"Look, our dad is here!" The son called out, dutifully.

I knew he was watching the street constantly for his parents. They scooped up their belongings as quickly as they could, and ran faster than I was able, to hug their father's shaking legs. He look like he'd been hit by a truck. Twice.

Shaking like a leaf, he asked me one word, "How..." and I explained it all. He couldn't speak, only saying "Thank God!" and "Thank you!" and hugging these kids while he shivered like he was in the frozen tundra with no coat.

He drove away in their minivan, with car seats, and it was then I came to realize that perhaps they shared a car, and he had it - perhaps she was somewhere waiting on him, and not home? Perhaps?

A little later, she knocked at my door, in her uniform from the local diner, together with all three children (to include her youngest, who had been with her during this time), to thank me herself. "Thank you so much for being there, he had the car and was supposed to get them today! Thank you so much! My name is..."

And it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Of all the days for it to be cool. Of all the days for us to be outside for a prolonged amount of time. Of all the days for my son to keep his uniform on outside. Of all the days, it was the day this family needed me to be there for their children. 

Even if you don't normally believe in a higher power, you've got to admit, there was definitely something cosmic at work here. And the goosebumps you now have prove it.

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Upside Down and Back Again

The deal fell through.

The sellers took five freakin' days to tell us there was no way they could be out until end of June.

I sort-of suspected as much. They fought us on even showing the house to begin with, I could tell from their cold, steely responses to my realtor that they may have listed the house, but they certainly weren't motivated to sell it, or anything.

When we arrived that morning, the guy hung around for a second, lingering. I wish I could go back and shake him. Why waste our time? Why not include that with the listing? Why make us go through this whole mess, and waste so much time, time we do NOT have, and jump through hoops?

Lesson learned - do not fall in love with a house via the listing. The end results will be ug-ly.

However, on the flipside? Lesson learned - once you get fixated on a house-style, you find there are many more like it. Ones you weren't even considering before, but are now, because your so-called "favorite" isn't available anymore.

Like this beauty.

Remember, this house made me want to sing?

We admired the gorgeousness of this house in a walk-through when we visited. A couple-hundred square-feet less than the first, it had a familiarity to it - the design is quite similar to something we lived in before Louisiana. I immediately noticed that in walking in. Remind me to trust my gut from now on.

Keep thinking positively for us? We're still battling quite a battle here, and the clock is ticking. Time is not on our side, and this house, albeit beautiful, has people living in it that may or may not be able to move this quick to oblige. The pressure is mounting, and we're planning yet another trip this weekend to visit houses, or do an inspection of we get positive word of these sellers being more flexible than the last. Prayers and positive thoughts would go a long way. (and thank you!)

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