EverAfterLand

Ever Thankful

In case anyone hasn't looked at a calendar, or the television, or the coupons in the paper, Thursday is Thanksgiving once again.  I know many of our retailers would rather rename it "Shopapalooza Day," but I do insist on taking a moment to remember the true intent of this holiday - and showing a little bit of gratitude to The Big Guy Upstairs.

(No, Hubby's NOT home.  I'm talking about the BIGGER Guy, up the HIGHER Stairs!)

For instance, I am so thankful for whoever invented stretchy jeans.  Because without them, Lord, I never would have managed (with just a bit of heaving and hoeing!) to have yanked on a pair (and buttoned them!) of my pre-pregnancy jeans last week. It was vain, and I do apologize for that, but boy did it feel great!

I am very much thankful for my friends, the new ones and the old ones.  The ones who have allowed me to help them, and the ones who have taken the time to help me.  I am especially thankful for the ones who, through their own personal trials and hardships, have allowed me to recognize how truly blessed I am.

I am thankful for chocolate cake pops and a young Miss Priss, who decided to defy me when I declared that, after eating cake batter and (more than) a few fallen cake pops, we were NOT going to eat the remainder of the melted dark mint chocolate we had been dipping the pops into.  I had put the bowl next to the sink, turned around to clean the counter, and when I turned back, guess who's blond head was hovering over the bowl, ferociously licking the spoon?  The evidence was all over her face, and she was immediately sent to a time out.

Five minutes later (because, yes, she turned FIVE!!!  And I am so very thankful that she's made it this far!) I went over to her corner to determine if she'd learned her lesson.  During our little chat, however, I couldn't help but notice how much cleaner her face now appeared. 

In particular, the area encircling her mouth, which looked to be about tongue-reach.

"Priss....did you spend your whole time-out eating the CHOCOLATE off your FACE???"

"Yes, mommy!" She admitted, more than a little wild-eyed from her sugar high.

I had to laugh.  Not only because of my own chocolaty/sugar high that I was riding, but because of the very valuable lesson my little five-year-old showed me that day.

That sometimes we find ourselves in circumstances that are beyond our control.  But if you look carefully, you can find a bit of sweet joy in those circumstances, too. 

In fact, sometimes, it's

                                      right

                                                under

                                                           your

                                                                    nose.

 

And, as usual, I am so thankful to God for all of our daily blessings.  For my loving family, and the good food we have to eat, and the beautiful roof over our heads.  I am thankful for Miss Priss' inventiveness, and Miss Sunshine's sweetness, Eddie's security and Hubby's love. 

And if I could ask one thing of You, Lord, it's that everyone, in this holiday week of Thankfulness and Family, will find the chocolate on their faces. 

And then take a moment to give thanks for it.

Never EVER Trust a Four-Day Weekend

We had plans.  BIG plans!

OK, now I'm just being dramatic.  The plans were not "big" as in "exciting."  They were "big" as in "Hubster's got Friday AND Monday off, making a four-day-weekend, and we were going to catch up with as many people as possible/PLUS the weather was going to be AMAZING!"

Friday -

With weather just barely reaching 80 degrees, we would picnic in the park

Saturday -

Birthday Party for Miss Priss' classmate(the first she's been invited to since starting her new school)

Later that afternoon, Hub's co-worker and his family coming for a visit (our first attempt at making "couple's friends" with his co-workers since starting his new job)

Sunday -

My friend from college and her family comes over for a visit (haven't seen her in a year, very excited!)

Monday -

Go across the water to visit with some of Hub's extended family (that we, unfortunately, don't get to see often enough)

Have an old out-of-town co-worker of Hubs and his family over for dinner that night (folks we are fortunate to have in the area for a couple months before they move on)

 

It was meant to be a weekend of togetherness, and warm weather fun and Hubby smelling like a grill for four days straight.  The kind of weekend that makes you long for the summer that is right around the corner, and lulls you into forgetting that the following week's forecast puts temps right back to just-barely-touching-spring highs.

But as we all know, the best-laid plans always have a way of gloriously falling apart.

Friday -

Priss awoke with a fever.  Crap!  She'd had watery eyes and a bit of a runny nose for two days prior, but I was hoping beyond hope that it would magically clear up.  Now I was hoping beyond hope that it would be a One-Day-Thing and she could still make that party on Saturday.  In the meantime, letting the Germ Infested One race around a playground amongst healthy children was definitely out.  So was going to school.  Called up the preschool and explained her absence.

Meanwhile, while I was looking at the little TV in the kitchen, I realized that the word "Downtown Tunnel" at the bottom of the screen was missing a few letters as I focused on the top of the screen.  I informed Hubster that I had lost some peripheral vision in my left eye.  And as the minutes passed, it continued to get worse.  Hubs, being the rational, scientific thinker that he is, periodically tested me by having me cover each eye and moving his hand about.  At the worst of it, his entire hand was lost to a bizarre patch of sparkly fuzziness in the left side of my peripheral vision, in my left eye only.  We were getting scared.  And when we get worried about medical issues, we call Dad the Chiropractor. 

"Should we try to go to an ophthalmologist?  Or just wait it out?"

"Go to the ER.  You don't want to mess with that stuff."

But in the few minutes after Hubs hung up with Dad, the sparkly fuzziness calmed and cleared and, rather rapidly, my peripheral vision was restored.  Which was when the headache started to set in.

"Do we still go," we wondered?

Well, when I have a medical mystery, I call my Physician's Assistant friend Tanya.  "Go to the ER," she texted me back, "just to be sure."

So I did.

And my beautiful, nearly 80 degree day was spent in an uncomfortable chair in an ER waiting room, my only warmth emanating from my iPhone.  But, after a CT scan was analyzed by a very cute doctor, we now have verification of something we all already knew - there's absolutely NOTHING inside my head.

The cute doc reasoned that it probably had to do with the headache, migraine-style (although I'd never suffered from those) and referred me to an ophthalmologist, just to be sure.

All was well.  And Friday was gone.

Saturday -

Dammit!  Priss woke up with a fever again.  No party for her!

Oh, and Lil Miss Sunshine puked in her bed.

Wheee!  Fun for everyone! 

Sunny continued periodically vomiting for the rest of the morning before she, thankfully, held down her lunch.

It was safe to say our new "couple friends" weren't coming anywhere near us.

Sunday -

Priss' fever finally broke the night before, so she was on the mend.  And Sunny was having a bit of diarrhea, but otherwise OK.  Still, I could not let my college friend and her baby walk into this plagued nightmare of a house, so I instead met them for breakfast.  Which was great!  We chatted, we laughed, we marveled at how big the baby had gotten.

Then I came home and puked.

Twice.

I texted my friend and told her they should take a bath in boiling water and alcohol and burn all their clothes.

Monday -

Although the vomiting had subsided, my lack of energy and appetite meant that I would be a permanent fixture on the couch for the rest of the day.  I caught up on my Tivo, while Hubs and the girls drove over the bridge-tunnel to visit the family. 

Then Hubs came home and puked.

Twice.

Nope, our friends were not going to be coming over for dinner.

At this point, the Health Department has put a "Quarantined" sign on our door and people in Haz-mat suits are gingerly testing us for pathogens.

 

And that was our weekend.  No fun.  No grilling.  Almost no contact with the outside world.  Just a weekend of toilet bowls and little trash cans and crackers and laundry and PJs.

But such an amazing weekend shouldn't have to end!

"Mommy, I threw up on the bathroom rug."

 

One Small Step For Her, One Giant Leap For Mommy

Miss Priss had her very first day of school last week.  

You could say she was a little excited about it.

So excited that she looked down at me from the top of the stairs that morning, still clad in her PJ's after having just awoke, and said to me, "Can I get dressed for school now?"

Excited enough that, once she was fully clothed in her RockStar Back-To-School Attire (yes, SHE picked that out), and had thumped her way down the stairs, she promptly laced herself into her almost-the-same-size-as-her My Little Pony backpack and declared she was "ready to go!"

Which was when Mommy had to be the buzz-kill and inform her that it was still an hour before her teacher would even be at the school, so she might as well take the backpack off, sit herself down, and feast on a little breakfast first.

Later, my sweet little rockstar princess took her first steps into her new preschool.  A school she will be attending on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 8:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m.

A place where she will learn more than just numbers and colors and letters.

She'll learn how to play with other kids.

She'll learn how to be funny.

And how to be vulnerable.

She'll learn how to be a friend.

And how to be mean to another kid.

She'll learn the real world consequences to her actions.

And she'll learn all of those things with zero assistance/intervention/guidance from her Mommy.

This is her first step away from me. 

Away from our home.

From our family.

My dear baby will have moments and friends and experiences and secrets that I won't be privy to, or part of, or even really know about.

Four hours a day.

Three days a week. 

She will begin to decide on the person she wants to become.

I escorted her to her classroom - stretching the last bits of time - trying to make myself useful.

As soon as she saw the toys, she took off like a shot.

I spoke with the teacher for a couple of minutes, then called her back over to say goodbye.

She flashed me a look that said, "Oh.  YOU'RE still here?"  Then dutifully came over, paused long enough for me to slap a kiss on her forehead, another slight pause for a picture, and then... gone.

I drove home in the stark quiet of my hollowed-out car, realizing that I was only now noticing the fallen autumn leaves twirling up from the street in the vortex that remained from each passing vehicle.

Realizing that Summer had changed into Fall when I was too busy to pay attention.

Realizing that, in the future I will lament to all of you how much I wish summer were over and how desperate I am to have the kids back in school, to reclaim my sanity.

And you should know that I'm a liar.

Because the truth is, I already miss her.

PhotoStory Friday - Finally! Somebody's Done A Little WORK Around Here!

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

Lately, I have been a little frustrated.

Alright, so it’s a LOT frustrated.

Frustrated that the revamp of my blog is going so. painfully. excruuuutiatingly.  sloooooooooow.

Frustrated that, in our house-hunting expedition down South, we are not able to find the right house, in the right place, for the right price.

Frustrated that my family is living in “The House That Mr. Clean Forgot” because every waking moment is spent either dealing with the kids (why, someone tell me, do they have to eat SO OFTEN?!??!) or dealing with the blog upgrade.

Frustrated that I have four different crafty projects started, but barely constructed because every spare minute is spent dealing with this blog.

Frustrated that even the blog is suffering from lack of posts because I’ve been spending my extra time working on the layout of THIS DAMN BLOG!!!

Whew!

Anyway, in moments like these, I find that something has to give.  Some project has to get accomplished.  Something big MUST get done in a timely manner, exactly the way I want it, to exact specifications.

Otherwise, I may explode.

And, trust me, People, that ain’t something you wanna see happen.

Miss Priss’ bedroom had been bothering me for a while.  Not only had it turned into the Little Miss Priss Pigsty (listen, I spend all the energy and patience I have getting her to pick up all her toys and crap on the first floor – by the time we get upstairs, it’s just easier to close the door) her bedroom never seemed to be arranged quite right.

Maybe it was the Frustration that had come to a head.

Maybe it was all the HGTV we’ve been watching lately.

Whatever it was, I got in there like a hurricane, and laid The Smackdown on that fiasco.

I did take before pictures.

They are embarrassing.

And my mom will not be very happy with me (although I’m sure she will NOT be terribly surprised).

So I took a cue from the magicians, and included a Beautiful Assistant, you know, as a distraction.

I’m sure you didn’t even notice (my Gorgeous Assistant works like a charm!) but that bookcase is broken.

Which is why all those books are on the floor.

Or at least that’s the excuse I’m going with.

 

The Pretty Princess thought that it’d be a great idea to help me unpack her bag from the last trip….

Oh, wait, what’s that back there?

Is it a BABY?!??

Well, now, who would put a BABY back there?  Now I’ve totally forgotten WHAT we were TALKING about.

Oh, yes, the bedroom.  It’s a weird shape and has this cut-out to the side…

Dah da da DAAAHHH!!!

Me: So, Priss, what do you think of how I did this photo?

Priss: Mmmm, NOT so GOOD.

Me: Why not?

Priss: There’s no CROWN.

Of course.  What SuperHero would leave home without her Crown?

And here are the aftereffects of all my frustrations….

Ooooooooooo!!!!!

 

Aaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

 

Ooooohhhhhh!!!

 

(Disclaimer: The “After” photos are, in no way, a reflection of the current state of the rest of EverAfterLand.  The “After” photos of Miss Priss’ Bedroom are no longer even a reflection of the current state of Miss Priss’ Bedroom.  In no way does the aforementioned “frustration cleaning and organization” bind the cleaner, JenEverAfter, to perform any additional cleaning or organizational duties in this or any other room of EverAfterLand.  In fact, the aforementioned cleaning should just about do it for the rest of the year.  Or until we move.  In which case, it’ll be clean because it’s empty.)

Decapitated Angels and Murano Glass

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

It was a sad sorry sight when I walked through the door the other day.

After spending ten days vacationing with The Hubs and Kiddos, I was looking forward to being in my own house again.  Surrounded by my own stuff.  Peeing with the bathroom door open.  You know, the usual stuff.

But what greeted me when I walked through that door was a house that had been neglected for the past couple of weeks, mixed with evidence of a rushed and manic packing job.

Dishes in the sink.

Clothes strewn across the floor.

Dust piled high.

And Eddie's Puppies turned feral.

(Eddie's Puppies, by the way, are what I endearingly call the little balls of fur that collect in corners and hideaways and roll through the house like tumbleweed.  Wall to wall wood flooring is no friend to a girl who oftentimes forgets where the vacuum is located.)

The only evidence of our filth that I am willing to display for all the world to see is the shot of our dining room table.

Which was having a difficult time working in a "dining" capacity.

"But ten days away would not create such a catastrophe!" I can already hear you chortle. 

Geez, you are SO judgmental!

 Well, no.  It might have something to do with the neglecting of the house, kids and blog for the past
week or so (that I've been guilty of) in an effort to create a Super Stupendous Blog that will lead to my being crowned Bloggy Queen of the Hemisphere (followed by Bloggy Queen of the World, and then Bloggy Queen of the Universe.  There are rhinestone sashes.  You are so totally jealous.)

So I came home, and was automatically drained.  I set to work clearing off the table, washing the dishes, and attempting to find homes for all the homeless crap cluttering my house.

I declared that the remainder of this week would be spent doing some serious deep cleaning.

Yesterday was devoted to dusting the first floor.

No, not weeny Swiffering-only-the-visible-spots dusting.

This was MOVING THINGS dusting.

This was using-Pledge-and-a-RAG dusting.

This was the 1950's-Good-Housekeeping-Seal-of-Approval dusting.

There was a step stool in play, people!!!

But no good deed goes unpunished.

Or, should I say, no good housekeeping goes unmarred.

Because HOURS after pulling everything off the mantle, dusting every last knick-knack, and gingerly placing every frame and tchotchke back in it's rightful place, as I was in the midst of finally relaxing on the couch, checking some emails, my head jerked in the direction of a loud CRASH!!!

And then looked on in horror at the large 11x17 picture frame lying on the floor. 

Apparently, the cleanliness made it suicidal.

And it decided to take two of my angels and the Murano Glass frame with it.

Hubby commented to me this morning, after reviewing the carnage, "Looks like you could glue those figurines back together."

Well, yeah, Genius!  I can also go to the Hallmark Store on the corner and BUY them for the cash I've got in my wallet.

The part I can NOT replace is the Murano Glass.

That we purchased in a tiny shop in Venice.

The REAL, Italian Venice.

On our HONEYMOON!!!!

I swear, I LOVE my life.

I just think sometimes my LIFE doesn't love me.

FDA SchmeF-D-A! (Subtitled: Journey of an Illegal IUD)

As you can imagine, after the whole IUD scandal broke, I had to get me some answers as to why the heck all this FDA stuff was such a big deal in the first place.

(OK, so it was technically AFTER I went through my denial phase..... and my angry phase..... and then my curled-up-in-a-ball-thumb-sucking phase..... but we're all good now!)

And where else can a girl go for answers, but to The Wonderful Wizard of Google.

Google, after all, is a great place to find out a lot of stuff about a lot of things you never thought you'd have to know - most of them having nothing to do with the question at hand.

My fingers flew across the keyboard and, after days of very-interrupted research, I now have a couple of  answers (and from half-way legitimate sources, too!).

Drugs (or in this case "medical devices") from Canada are not NECESSARILY a bad deal.  Many of the drugs over there are actually manufactured in the good ol' U S of A.

They are cheaper because the Canadian government puts a cap on how much companies can charge for their drugs. 

But what a lot of folks don't realize is that the FDA's job is not just drug approval.  And it's not just overseeing the manufacture of drugs.  The FDA also sets standards for how drugs have to be shipped.

And shipping can be a very dangerous thing.

I'm sure you've all heard stories of Fido the Family Pet freezing in the underbelly of a plane on a Christmas flight home.

Or Sparky the Wonder Dog suffering heat stroke while perched on a luggage cart in the sweltering heat of a tarmac.

Well, drugs are equally sensitive to these kinds of extreme temperatures.  Which, of course, can alter the effectiveness.

Now, this may be a problem for Mirena users (the IUDs containing a hormone that you see all those goofy commercials about).  However, I have a Paragard IUD - no hormone here!  Copper is the magical ingredient.  And I'm pretty sure copper stays just as coppery regardless of the hot or cold.  I mean, I think so.  I tried to Google it, but all the sites were WAY scientificky, so I gave up.

But I threw a penny in the freezer and one in the broiler, and they looked alright to me!

Then there's the question of packaging. 

In the case of a "medical device" coming from unknown sources, there are no assurances that the product was not tampered with or damaged.

We once attempted to check a box of Italian dishes from Italy back to the United States.  Three planes later, our carefully packaged box was no longer in a cube shape, and now had an enchanting rattle as it was carried.

It was a sad, sad day when I opened up that box.

But, in the case of our illegal IUDs, torn or damaged packaging would have more to do with infection, which the Health Department does not believe to be an issue.

So what's left?  Well, let me check back to The Providence Journal... oh, here it is...

"OB-GYN Associates, which has five offices in Rhode Island and two in Massachusetts, purchased versions of the birth-control device from a toll-free number that claimed to be in Canada...."

and

"Drugs and devices purchased through Canadian sources are not necessarily approved for the Canadian market and sometimes are counterfeit..."

COUNTERFEIT!!??!!

I read in another article that, when doctors use IUDs, they should be wary if they see foreign writing on the packaging, because that's a sign you're using illegal IUDs.

(Really?!??  The State of California had to clue these geniuses in on that??  Ugh.)

I have tried and tried to make my brain remember if I saw any foreign writing on the packing that the doctor opened. 

I attempted to get Hubster to use a "hypnotizing" iPhone app to try and put me under so I could recollect these sorts of details, but he wouldn't stop playing "Words With Friends" long enough to help me.

(For all you non-cool, non-iPhone peeps, it's Scrabble, but you play it on your phone.  With people really far away.  Some of whom you've never met.  I swear, it's fun!)

It would probably help if I knew what "Canadian" is supposed to look like, but I'm not familiar with the language.

And Hubster won't let me shell out the dough for Rosetta Stone.

So I have NO WAY of knowing where this thing originated from.

But...guess WHAT!!!

I've started the ball rolling on my referral to a brand-new non-criminal-acts-engaging provider to get my foreign foreign object out, and I found out something absolutely charming!

The Health Department has requested that all of our "allegedly" illegal devices be put in a bio-hazard bag, affixed with an enormous label-ful of information, kept at a balmy 25-40 degrees Celsius while it waits for a HEALTH representative to arrive and provide a chain of custody protocol.

Dude.  I am sooo CSI.

Dinner's Served!

Which just about sums up the kind of day I've had.

But, with my head and shoulders in the oven, gingerly picking up all the sparkling pieces of Pyrex (after a Plan B dinner of crappy, store-bought fried chicken), I thought to myself...

"Oooooo, it's like I've found a DIAMOND MINE and I'm harvesting all the diamonds out of the cave!"

Which, incidentally, is NOT the kind of pretending game that is appropriate to play with a 3 1/2 year old.

Unless, you know, she's wearing mittens.  And sunglasses.

Safety First around here, people!

And if that wasn't enough of a bummer, when I whirled around to dispose of my diamond treasure, I came face to face with this...

The cupcakes that Priss and I had made for Daddy...

ooooooooh, about three weeks ago.

"Do you think we should throw 'em out?" Hubs had inquired for the past couple of days, "they're probably pretty stale by now."

But I wasn't going to be the one to make the call on the mass execution of mini-cupcakes. 

And I wasn't going to be the one to eat them all, either.

Hubs manned-up and did what had to be done.

And laid them all to rest in a mass grave.

Which was the most unexpected and saddest sight I'd seen since, well, since viewing the oven-fried chicken fiasco I slaved all of 10 minutes to prepare.

<*sigh*>

But I love how the two cupcakes in the back look like they're trying to escape.

"If you just give me a boost, I can get us all outta here!"

Ha!

The Importance of being "Certifiable"

It is amazing how, one small thing, occurring in the smallest of moments, can flip your whole way of thinking upside down.

One sunny morning, a few years back, Hubster was casually checking his email, and found in it a list containing the names of all the men and women being shipped to Iraq in less than two months.  And there was Hubster's name, halfway down the list.

On a slow night at a downtown bar, several years ago, a group of guys decided to check out the joint, despite the cheesy atmosphere.  And the tall, handsome one started making eyes at the Beer Tub Girl in the gold halter top.

It's funny how you can be floating through life, thinking everything's OK, going through your regular routing of getting the kids ready for a playdate at a friend's house, when, for no particular reason, you flip through the mail as you bustle about the house....and do a double-take on the long, cream colored envelope from Ob-Gyn Associates.

"Hmmm, not expecting anything from these people...."

And in that moment, in those three seconds that it takes to read three terse paragraphs, my world went suddenly unstable, and what I thought was certainty, now a vivid memory.

"As you may be aware, issues have risen concerning the use of certain Intrauterine Devices (IUDs).  In response to a Department of Health Compliance Order, we are notifying you that our records indicate you may have received an IUD that lacked certification of FDA approval...."

"What the heck does THAT mean?"  I commented to The Hubs.

On the way to our play/dinner date, through the marvel of modern technology, (and a great 3G connection) I found out exactly what that meant, courtesy of The Providence Journal, via my iPhone.

Ob-Gyn Associates had been purchasing their IUDs from Canada.

No, not necessarily MADE in Canada, just SOLD there.

Not even necessarily approved by the CANADIAN health authority peeps.

But apparently deemed good enough to be used by one of the largest gynecological offices in Rhode Island.

Because they were HALF price.

And they thought they'd be slick and bill the insurance companies FULL price for them.

I know, it's a lot of information to digest.  Take a break if you need to....

In any case, the Department of Health has informed me (via the stellar FAQs page of their website) that I have no need to fear of anything like infection, since the smarmy docs had been doing this for a year and half and have had no ill effects reported in any of their patients.

BUT, they are worried about the "effectiveness" of these illegally obtained birth control devices.

(Don't worry, Mom, I promise I have never done S-E-X.  I just got one cause all my friends were doing it!)

And they have exclaimed, in all capitalized, bold-faced type...

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REMOVE THE DEVICE YOURSELF!

Well, good thing they said something!  Hubs was in the midst of collecting his bendy flashlight, his grilling tongs and a big bunch of pillows on the bed.

I don't know what this means for me yet.  

I know I'm alarmed and disgusted and very distrustful of the medical community as a whole.

Obviously, first things first, we've gotta get this thing outta there.  (No, Hubby, I said put the flashlight DOWN!)

My letter very curtly informed me that I can "contact Joyce or Lillian at OB-GYN Associates, Inc...if (I) would like to discuss this issue further."

Um, right.  No thanks, Ob-Gyn Ass., I think I've heard about enough from you.  I'll be finding a new (hopefully) qualified professional to take care of things from here on out.

PhotoStory Friday - Worst Bridesmaid EVER!!!

Hosted by Cecily and Serious Krystyn

Recently, I had the honor and privilege to serve as a Bridesmaid for my stunningly gorgeous and favoritest cousin Cari.

(I'm cheap, though.  My next favoritest cousin has nothing more to do than offer me a triple-fudge brownie.)

But I think she may have asked me in the hopes of being the subject of a post on my blog.

(I'm not joking.  I think ya'll have grossly underestimated my popularity in the Midwest.)

Unfortunately, I was, like, the WORST Bridesmaid in the whole world because I couldn't make it to her bridal shower or bachelorette party.

(In my defense, I DID have some pretty heavy "Dad Stuff" going on, but that's NO EXCUSE!!!)

So when I got to the Rehearsal Dinner, I came well prepared.

And threw her my own "Bridal-ette Show-rty."

In the course of, oooh, about 10 minutes. 

Following is photographic documentation of the events that transpired....

 

Special thanks to the photographic talents of HubbaWubba Photography.  Remember HubbaWubba for you next special event.  As long as it doesn't last longer than 15 minutes.

WANTED: Motivation to get Motivated

"Back when I was blogging, I was at an unhappy point in my life," my bloggy friend told me, " and now that we've moved, and everything is going so well, I don't feel like I need that outlet anymore."

I could totally relate.

I had started my blog when Hubby was deployed for six months, I told her, and I had been left in a new home with a one year old to take care of and few friends. 

"I was a little nuts about the whole blogiverse thing," I'd told her, "but when he got home, and then I was pregnant with the second one, all of my priorities shifted."

You may have noticed you haven't heard from me in a little while. 

Well, there's a four word explanation for that....Summer.  Va. Ca. Tion.

Hubster is on his summer break from school.

Did I mention he's in school at the moment?  He's at War College.  Where they learn about wars and strategies and stuff.  When he graduates in November, he'll have his Master of Blowin'-Dem-Bastards-Outta-Da-Water (ARRRR!!!)  He gets to put the coveted MBDBODW after his name.

Which will make him VERY valuable for jobs OUTSIDE the Navy.

Anyway, when one attends War College, one is REQUIRED to attend EVERY SINGLE CLASS.

Unless you have a REALLY good excuse.

Like, your dead.

And to make up for it, they give the kids a summer vacation to pull their heads out of the books and traipse about New England and try to remember what their kids' names are.

(OK, TECHNICALLY they are still working.  I mean, they have a professor that they "report" to and do "projects" for, but it's basically make-your-own hours and any requested leave time is almost always approved.  [I don't want to blow it for everyone with my rinky dink post!])

So when Hubster was telling me about his upcoming "work schedule" he exclaimed, "so you'll be able to work on your blog or crafts or whatever while I take care of the girls.  You'll have time to get things rolling again!"

What a sweet and thoughtful Hubby!

But who wants to work during Summer Vacation?  I'm supposed to just let them run off and have fun whilst I sit at my computer, reminding myself to blink periodically, posting pics of what a great time THEY're having? 

Happily-Ever-After-Land is in a state of blissful euphoria.  And mama's having a tough time with her motivation.

But never fear, readers!

We have finally received word on Hubster's next orders, and guess what????

We're headed to Norfolk!

And he's headed back to the boat!

Which means you all will have me back, typing and posting away once more, escaping the misery of my existence keeping Hubs and the fam up to date on the kids' insanity adorableness!

It won't be for a while yet.  We don't even move till November, and then he has training and stuff to do after that.

The morning after we got the word, I threw my arms around my HubbaWubba and gave him a big hug.

"I'm alright," he said to me, "I was pretty sure this was what I was going to get.  I'm fine with another cruise."

Ummm, OK, sure.

But that hug wasn't for HIM.

It was for ME.

Because what was screaming through my head was, "Don't leave me alone with THEM...."

They are going to EAT. ME. ALIVE!!!