Bodies

I like this guy in general, but then I read this blog entry and it annoyed me beyond belief. I think he is way off. He (a man, but an Oprah-therapist-lifecoach kind of man) suggests we (women) blame men (in general) for our self-image problems. Initially I had my weak moments of worrying about what pregnancy was doing (stretchmarks) and then not liking what pregnancy did to my body (mostly the residual belly bump), but I can tell you men have nothing to do with it. I think women are their own worst enemies when it comes to creating unrealistic expectations for their bodies (and other women’s bodies, for that matter). I think men will take what you give them, and they aren’t that picky. The trick is that you deliver it with plenty of belief in your own worthiness. Men are (generally-forgive me for generalizing, but this is MY experience talking here) attracted to women who have good self-esteem, are doing something they believe in and have interesting insights for conversation, and believe they are worth people’s time. They will look past thick thighs, small breasts, or a belly pooch (any of these things are turn ons for many men) if you carry yourself like a confident, competant WOMAN. And they will exclaim your hotness from the mountaintops. This is how a strong “fluffy” woman can be a super-hottie and how an ironic heroin-chic waif can be a complete turnoff. Self-deprication/fishing for compliments, even from attractive women, seems to scream “use me!”. I think men are more likely to fixate on a woman’s imperfections if she does. It annoys me when people like this blogger gives grown women an out to blame men because they hate themselves. They hate themselves because they buy into someone else’s propaganda, and usually that propoganda is brought to us by other women. Generally, buying into that is a woman’s choice…but I dare say it starts when girls are young, and that is where the rub is.

There is a woman I know professionally that is obssessed with her body. Every time she sees me (and it's often) she looks me up and down and will disingenuously say “oh, you’re looking skinny today” followed by “Ugh, I am so bloated-I have gained 5 pounds in the past week”. This woman has a child, and I worry about how this constant fixation with appearances affects her 14 year old daughter. This is how we pass the torch of poor self-esteem. I have heard her telling her daughter what to eat, and I know she pushes her to try to keep up with her exhausting exercise routine. This woman is almost 50 and looks stunning (I would love to be so fit at my age!), but I have to tell you, the price of that isn’t worth it to me. I like my chocolate, my french fries, and my wine too much. Life’s too short to not enjoy the things that blow your hair back (within reason, of course), at least in moderation. And I’m not saying people shouldn’t exercise, but it should be for the express purpose of general well-being.

I weigh the same, if not a few pounds less, as I did before I was pregnant with Addie. Things have just shifted around. Although the stretchmarks are pretty non-existent now, I wince at this post of mine now that I have come to love this new body I move around in. The extra room in the front is the place where I grew babies in my body, and is a temple for which I now have absolute reverence. My now less-than-firm breasts have fed two children, for quite some time providing all of their nutrition, for going on three years of my life. For me to drone on about wanting to change anything that reminds me of the physical experiences molding what a woman I have become-completely 100% WOMAN-is a disservice and is lacks respect for what I have done in the life-giving department. That is like unicorn magic, ladies-WE HAVE GIVEN LIFE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Holy Jesus-that is amazing, right?!? Things don’t look the way they did before, but I don’t want them to. I am a mother. What’s more, my husband thinks I’m sexy, belly pooch, less-firm-breasts, and all.

Sean is not to blame for my moments in the beginning when I wondered if I could get use to the new shape of my body. In fact, he has zero patience for that self-indulgent drivel. Any comments he has ever made followed one of mine. If I said something about my pooch back then, he’d simply say “well, if you don’t like it, work on it”. But not once did he ever make me question whether or not I was still what he considers his “pretty wife”. It was, and is, up to me to accept and love the changes pregnancy and birth have brought to me.

Pumpkins and Imaginary Alligators

Bustly little world we're in these days. Addie has so many words, and it's nice how she can express herself more and more every day. For example, when she sees her high chair, she says a blessing, even if it isn't exactly dinner time yet (Gah Gay, Gah Goo, Amma-or God is Great, God is Good, Amen). She always asks for a cookie before dinner, which sounds like "cooo-keee" and during which her little petal lips make a little O that is quite contrived. She says mermaid in the bathtub when she wants to play with Gillian's polly pockets ("mah-may"). When she's thirsty, she asks for water ("ow-wo"), or to nurse ("boop-tee"). I love to finally hear her little voice say "babeee", and lately calling "Maaaaaaaama! Mom! Mommy!" as she runs down the hall looking for me. When she hands you something she says "hee-goe" for Here You Go, and says "Thank you" when you hand her something. But. The down side with Addie's M.O. is how much climbing she does. Almost like she goes from one thing you don't want her to do to the next. We call her Monkey, and for very good reason. She is our rough and tumble girl. She falls and hits her head regularly trying to get someplace she shouldn't be, and is forever eating God-knows-what. My mantra is "IMMUNE SYSTEM".

Gillian continues to be Gillian. Today we spent an hour playing with invisible alligators at the playground. First we were running from structure to structure trying to avoid being eated by the alligators (which, Gillian told me "even live in I-RRR-LAN") only to discover that they were just sad because they missed their mama and papa, and were crying. They didn't really want to hurt anyone, and she decided that they wanted to live with us. So, she tenderly removed a thorn from one's foot, and then she carried him gently to our ship to take care of him. Changed his diaper, gave him a bottle to make him warm and cozy.

Then, we carved our pumpkins, and Gillian carved her very own with the tiny carving tools. I didn't even start it for her. During this process, Gillian told me "this is the best day of my life". It must have been the munchkins on the way to the best playground around here. Or maybe it was having Mama to herself on the playground since other people could play with Addie, and going higher spidering on the swing than we ever had. Or maybe it was the imaginary alligators whose lives were made better because we took the time to love them. But the topper was being able to use grownup tools to carve her little pumpkins. That put this day forever into another plane of amazingness.

Gillian's PumpkinsAll of the pumpkins

Gillian-working hard
Mama and Ernie the Pumpkin

Love and Pain

Addie is a huge fan of cause and effect these days, particularly when it involves other people. She likes to do something awful, and then make it all better with a kiss or hug. Like, when we were on our apple picking trip, it didn't take long for her to start loving on the baby, Will. But then the love didn't solicit an "awww!" or "thank you" because, you know, Will is 7 months old, so Addie would then start poking him in the face, saying "EYE! EYE! EYE!" or in his ear yelling "EAR! EAR! EAR!". When she made him cry, well then, she felt she had done her job, and gave him a hug and kiss (which did nothing to assuage his suffering). Amanda made the mistake of leaving them along for 5 seconds while she went to get Will a bottle (while I was running to town to get dinner) and Addie literally scratched him so bad in the face that it was covered in blood. For the rest of the trip, it looked like he had been mauled by a bear in one of the orchards (insert mound of guilt).

So, Addie will bite you and kiss you. Or slap your face and hug you and kiss you, or scratch you and give a little kiss when you squeal in pain. She justifies meanness with a little "kiss the boo boo and it's all better" action. Sometimes she tries to tickle you after the kiss and hug (there is seriously NOTHING as precious as a 15 month old trying to tickle you!). Clearly, this phase is all about reactions to her actions. And my GOD she doesn't like to sit still. My milk supply is on the fade because she literally can't be bothered to sit still long enough to nurse (except in the mornings). I'm down to about 6 ounces a day now if I pump both times. So, I'm thinking we will officially be done soon. She's finally happy with cow milk, so we're done with formula too.

And, regarding last post (which I will not apologize for or have any shame for posting, because that's exactly how I was feeling right at that moment), it's truly remarkable how none of the business bothers me when I get enough sleep. It's the sleep deprivation that makes it overwhelming. I had the opportunity to get 11 hours of sleep last Sunday night (the marathon was hell on 4 hours of sleep), 8 hours Tuesday night, and 7 on Mon and Wed nights. Yesterday, in spite of yet another in a challenging string of bedtimes, I was pretty chill about the hour it took to get everyone to sleep. We are entering a "let G fall asleep in our bed, so A can fall asleep in her crib, then move G to their bedroom while asleep" phase since Addie is all wired and keeps Gillian awake. Like all other challenging phases, this too shall pass...

Overwhelmed

I feel like I am chasing my tail and that I don’t ever get anything accomplished…or when I take something off my plate, something bigger and greasier gets piled on top. I feel like I need to do a better job balancing my responsibilities of being a mom and a wife and an employee, or I might spontaneously combust. M said it best, “I feel like I am doing a lot, just nothing particularly well”. Yes, exactly. A said she felt like the “you can do it all; you can be a perfect wife, and mother, and career professional” mantra for our generation was a big fat lie, and she is angry that she was fed this load of B.S. from the minute she was born. She feels like the feminist movement (which she considers herself partial to) is responsible for that warped image, and she’s resentful. We talked about the fact that while we never would want to be reliant on our husbands and appreciate the opportunities we have in the workplace and with education, there was something luxuriously simple and secure about the distinct roles family members had before women joined the workforce. Women had a job-run the household, raise the children. Men-bring home the bacon. Straightforward. For the record, M and A are both full time working Mamas with two kids (each has a baby and a toddler). Let’s face it, mothers are in greater demand from everyone, all.the.time. When Sean walked in from work last week and I was trying to finish dinner, pot in hand with Addie whining and clinging to my leg because she wants to be held every waking second right now (only by me though) and Gillian was throwing a fit on the floor, I thought to myself “now THIS picture is so representative of a working mother’s reality that it’s worthy of a modern day Rockwell Painting”. And I would title it “Domestic Bliss” or “Is this what we really wanted?”

So, I’m forever deprived of sleep. I get up every night lately with Addie at least twice. I get up for the day before 5 am, pump, make my latte and go to work. I commute 45 minutes. I work 10 hours, and commute 45 more minutes. I get home, sit for 15 minutes with the girls, then go in the kitchen and make dinner. Addie pulls everything out of the cabinets (mental note: need child-proof thingies for the cabinets) and Gillian whines for TV or for me to play with her (“in a little while” is my usual response). Addie clings to my legs and wants love and attention. I walk around stiffed legged finishing dinner and put away everything from the cabinets she has pulled out. I ask Gillian to set the table. I serve dinner. Sean comes home. I sit down for the prayer, then get up to finish making my own plate (I do mine last). After dinner I bathe the children (Amber does this if we are on our own and Sean can’t clean the kitchen). I dry them, slather them both with lotion, and put on their pajamas. I straighten up their room, put in a load of laundry, feed the fish, and clean up the living room while they play a few minutes before bed. I make a bottle for Addie and a cup of cold water for Gillian. We read books. We brush teeth. We snuggle. I tuck them in. It’s somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 by this time, in spite of my effort to get them in bed earlier every single day. Then I go in the kitchen and make Gillian’s lunch for the next day, make my expresso shot for my morning latte, wash the bottles from the day, and get my own food made for lunch. Now it’s 9:15. Time to pump (ahh…I can sit down for 15 minutes), then to wash the pump parts and make bottle for the next waking. If I take a few more minutes to talk to anyone or if I get a phone call, it’s 10:30 or 11 pm in a blink. I still have to wake up at 4:45 am no matter when I go to bed…and Addie is waking up twice a night. So, you get the picture. I am not attentive enough to my children because I am too busy keeping the house together. I don’t have enough time with my husband because of the time it takes to care for the children. I am exhausted from all of it and not on top of my game at work. See-Not doing anything particularly well. Survival mode, really. This is why I have to literally schedule calls with my friends out of town to catch up.

I don’t think I ever felt quite this bad when it was just Gillian. Somehow with Addie, and adding Amber to this mix (my 18 year old niece who now lives with us) life has gotten beyond complicated. Amber is a gigantic help, so I don’t think anything but good things about her being here, but logistics are complicated. All this past weekend, I feel like I was cleaning, or cooking, or organizing, or grocery shopping, and helping Amber with homework after the kids were in bed until I passed out into a deep, black sleep. I don’t feel like I did much of anything valuable with the girls, which is heartbreaking. Gillian threw one of her biggest tantrums ever last night because she didn’t want to go to bed. I did not sit down yesterday even once to relax…when I finally got her (and Addie) calmed down she, hyperventilating, said “I…just..want…to have…a..date…with…you. Without Papa or Amber or Addie”. Needless to say, when Sean got home, I cried and cried and cried. Because it is HARD. I feel like I neglect everyone, especially myself. How can I cultivate a rich garden when I can’t even begin to verbalize my needs, much less meet them? What piece of this pie is mine? When can I carve out an hour just to do something I want to do (that is not for one of the children or for the household)? My two hour nap time on Wednesday is spent cooking for the kids or taking care of medical bills or blogging or uploading pictures to share. Even the amazing walk I took with my girlfriend last Wednesday (theorectically for me) made me feel guilty because I wasn’t interacting directly with Addie (though we did stop off at the playground). And now Gillian’s school expects parents to contribute time to the classroom (10 hours a year, but still). In my free time, I guess.

I am committed to changing this, I just have to figure out how. Sean has offered to go to the grocery store. That’s a good start. I am all ears if anyone has advice on how to manage a household when you cut out 50 hours a week from between the hours of 5 am and 5:30 pm on weekdays. It feels like this became overwhelming about a month and a half ago when Addie stopped sleeping through the night again, which coincided with Amber moving in and the kids starting to share a bedroom. So, just in case you thought I had it all, effortlessly, this is my not-so-secret secret. And I think many of us feel this way. Three full time jobs is too many, particularly when they are so emotionally demanding. And I do believe that motherhood, being a wife, and having a paying full time job are each equally demanding JOBS. At the end of the day, I think we all feel like we are the only ones struggling to keep our heads above water because everyone else seems to have it together. I think it’s more common than we realize. I realize in myself, it’s time to stop being a martyr and start letting the house be a mess if that means playing with Gillian while Addie naps, just us two. Or to let Sean do the grocery shopping, even if it means not all the coupons get used and he forgets to get the ORGANIC strawberries. Or to leave the kids at home and go get a pedicure because I deserve an hour to myself. Or asking for help and not expecting other people to intuit what I need for them to do to lessen my load. Otherwise I’ll blink and my precious babies will be grown and everything getting done around the house won’t matter at all, because I won’t get these moments back.

Bug is FOUR

Dear Gillian-

Today, darling, you are 4. You crashed into our lives with lusty gusto-choking on life, and haven't slowed down yet. We have to run to keep up with you...we work so hard to keep up with you. And we watch you, and are in awe of your blinding iridescence that reflects the sun. You are a caricature of a human being-so flagrant in your disregard for time and space and the silly conventions of existence. Because nothing about you is typical. You yearn to see everything, do everything, and be everything. You have no patience for those that say "can't" or "shouldn't"-because everything is completely within the realm of your grasp. You are pure being, and I hope that radiance grows brighter throughout your life. I hope you forever take for granted that the world is subjugated to your paintbrush.

It is my priviledge to be your mother, and an awesome responsibility to cultivate the glorious creativity, the expansive heart, and laser beam intellect that is You. You don't let me rest, one second. Nothing gets by you, and nothing is forgotten by you. You love fiercely, you want unapologetically, and you ache dramatically. My calm fades next to the brilliance of your firestorm. But for now I am the frame for your story, and support for your structure. I will provide the foundation for your becoming, sometimes joyously, sometimes cautiously, and sometimes begrudgingly...but always from a place of the deepest love. Because, you see, you are my angel. You shocked me out of these cloud dreams and into stark daylight. And my life is more colorful, full of wonder, and silly because you are in it.

I hope you have the happiest and most wonderful day, beautiful girl. We have a date to dance tonight. Maybe we'll wear our fairy wings and tiaras and throw in the magic wands for good measure.

Love, love, love, and more love-
Mama

Milestone

This morning, our Very Big Girl tied her own shoes when she got dressed for school! So Big!

SCHOOL!

Since the past four years have literally passed us by in a frenetic blurry rush, I need to reflect for one second on Gillian heading off to her first day of school yesterday. We talked up the whole thing, telling her how awesome school will be and how many new friends she will make and how much she will learn...I mean, we don't know that for sure, but if we reassure her (and ourselves) enough we can will it to be. Right?

So, because Addie was Way Too Busy To Nurse, I had to pump. While I pumped I brushed Gillian's hair and put it in a ponytail and added her new headband with butterfly. She turned around, and I was struck, very suddenly, with weird grief at her going into the world. That this world would no longer be her only world. That her new world would NOT include me. That the things she loves and does and that influence her emotions and intellect would be outside of my control in that world. That would not be at all sad if I thought everyone else was looking out for her and loved her like I do. So, I teared up, cupping her sweet face with her huge doe eyes and feathery eyelashes and kissed her nose and her head. And then she cupped mine back with her little hands and said "don't cry mama. I am growing up and have to go to school...I'll still be your baby when I'm 4 or 5 or 11 or 40, Okay?". Somehow we cease to access this source wisdom when we get older, but the fact that she was soothing me the same way I had soothed her fears of having a baby sister ("you'll always be my baby, even when you have your own babies; when you're little or big, or young or old") almost pushed me over the edge to full fledged weeping. Here was my angel hearted girl. The one locked up in the basement by the three year old terror version. When all that falls away, she has a depth of emotional understanding that humbles me, and I love her. So Much. I also had a Lost-like flash forward about this moment, and the day she goes off to college and the day she gets married. I'll remember her at three years old, dancing in my living room, and I'll feel this familiar eye stinging...and then I'll think of how I feel the same way I felt yesterday.

She started school at Northside Catholic Academy. We have planned this since before she was born, when we joined the parish (which just happens to be a fantastic community). We hope she will be there until she graduates 8th grade. It's not Harvard, and it's not the *best* school in town, but they have great placement rates in magnet high schools (last year 95% of students go to their first choice high school), and the families are phenomenal. Apparently, I have to do Virtus training to step foot in the classroom, so that is set for October 7th (waiting lists are long!). The tuition is very reasonable for the area (we are paying $4600 with her scholarship) but there was still quite a list of supplies to bring in. At the end of the day, we are pleased with the arrangement, and I like that we can walk to pick her up and drop her off.

Dropping her off wasn't quite so rosy, as she decided at the last minute that the bustle was completely intimidating and she freaked out a little. Sean says we have to "do it like a band-aid", which I guess means rip it off fast. So, today, I did it like a band-aid. Her teacher said she did great yesterday after we left and was exceedingly helpful with the littler kids (she's in a full day 3-4 year old room). And here I sit, able to have a couple hours all to myself. What an unbelieveable luxury! Girls from my birth class have offered to move playdates to Wednesdays, but honestly, I love the idea of having alone time with Addie (who never gets anyone's undivided attention, except when Gillian is ripping toys out of her hands), and some quiet time to myself. I told them not to move it on my account, but that every now and then I would swing by.

I have been thinking about balance, and have decided Wednesdays are Mama-Addie day, and on the weekend, Gillian and I will do a fun Mama-Gilly date for a few hours. Then everyone gets a piece of mama. And Mama time will be Wednesdays during nap, or maybe a Mama date (for me with other mamas) on Tuesday nights or the weekends. I have been trying to do more of that. Anyway, it is a challenge to feel like I have enough time and energy to bestow each child with enough attention to suit their needs. However, I do believe there is truth to the addage that whatever attention multiple children don't get from you, they get from the luxury of having siblings, so there is ultimately a natural balance. We are starting to see what fun Gillian and Addie will have as Addie becomes more of a little person, and it looks like it will be amazing. I keep thinking how great it would have been, and how different my life would be, if I had a close sibling.

So, the ruminations of Gillian's first day of school...

Girls

Here are a couple of videos to illustrate the blossoming awesomeness of sisterhood!

First inklings of true empathy

So, Wednesday, Gillian and Addie and I went up to the "coffee store" to get a little breakfast while the kitchen floors (newly sealed) were drying. Gillian was decked out in full-on fairy princess attire (magic musical wand, wings, rainbow socks, sparkly pink skirt, pink princess crown, etc.), and she was bestowing everyone we passed (even cars waiting at the stop light) with blessings and good wishes. (can I say that not a single person could resist a huge smile at the spectacle of Her?) We got to the coffee store and ordered our drinks and breakfast sandwiches, and sat down at a table to eat. Before long, a woman and toddler (17 months) came in to visit one of the employees (they were clearly his wife and daughter), and Gillian and Addie both wanted to play with her. Gillian was completely enamored of this child (Evelyn) and was all gentle and sweet with her. Addie wanted to poke her eye out and kept pointing at it exclaiming "EYE. EYE. EYE!" (sometime I feel like I live in a psychedelic alter-universe). Gillian then decided she wanted to share her magic wand with Evelyn and they played some more. Evelyn was SO in to the wand, so you can imagine the tragedy of having to leave and take the wand with us. Evelyn's little face crumpled into tears-a complete lack of understanding about toy ownership; in her constant state of presentness she was confused as to why one minute she had this fabulous new toy, and the next it had to be taken away.

So, we left. The minute we left, Gillian started saying how she was sad that she made Evelyn cry by taking away the wand. She said she wanted to go back and give the wand to her so she could be happy, and that she could borrow it and we could get it next time we see her. I told her we might not see them again, but she could give it to her if she thought it would really be ok if she never got it back. So, about half way down the block, Gillian said, firmly, "I want to go back to the coffee store and give her this wand. I have my pink one at home." Mind you, the pink one is made of a paper towel tube and some streamers, and definitely doesn't play magic blessing music, so this was BIG for Gillian. She deliberately wanted to give a superior toy to a total stranger. So, we went back to the coffee store. We went in, and Gillian went over to the baby and her Mama, and held up the little wand-in all truthfulness an offering of likely only momentary happiness for Evelyn (but I will never say anything except that Evelyn will probably play with the wand under rainbows with unicorns, kittens, and sunshine for the rest of her life). Evelyn delightedly took it and started waving it around and pressing the button to make music like Gillian had shown her. He mother said "Are you SURE?! Wow...you must be the best big sister in the world!" (I kept my snort at this comment inaudible). Evelyn's Mom dabbed the tears away at the corner of her eyes at Gillian's utter selflessness, and I got a lump in my throat too. Because here, smack dab in the middle of the hellish 3s, I saw that my girl knows what is right, and has a big heart, and that she will be ok. We will all survive this phase.

I knelt down and looked her in the eye and told her how proud I was that she wanted to make the little girl feel better and was willing to give one of her favorite things away to do that. We left again, Gillian skipping ahead, feeling buoyant by her own ability to make someone else happy. On the way home, we talked about how she had filled all our proverbial buckets and how good it feels to to that.

Home

There is this house we came across, and it's just so us. And I could imagine our girls safely running around in the back yard, watching them while I am cooking dinner from the kitchen. We made an offer, and we waited for the verdict from the sellers after assessing an offer from another potential buyer, and the sellers are completely unrealistic, so the other potential buyers walked. I guess that's what happens when you overprice your property in a market akin to a SLUG. But the status now is that we are waiting to see if they accept our second counteroffer, and then we begin the mad dash to get our place ready for a market we can probably not sell in. Because our purchase will have a sales contingency. I am not optimistic about our ability to sell our condo, but I hope our loving restoration and building updates will make an impression on someone, and we can beat the odds.

But here's the thing. I had this big plan to live here for 10 years and pay this condo off, at which time we would buy something in Florida and have our summer and school year residences. All of this sounds nice over a glass of wine, but really thinking about yanking Gillian out of Chicago at the tender age of 13 sounds miserable (because I totally remember 13 years old, and wouldn't wish it on anyone, much less someone starting over someplace). And then we were discussing the idea of maybe having more children. Yes, I went there. More. Children. It is quite possible that I am completely mad. Aside from this three-year-old-hell, I love being a mama, and one day I want to have another child. But that aside, Sean and I looked at eachother and had an epiphany that we don't want to live in Florida except to be near his parents...and truthfully, there is more to consider than that. We love this city. We love the intelligence of public transportation. I love my job. We love Anna for our children. We love being 1 block from Lake Michigan and parks. Sean has more work prospects here. We have a church community we love and it has an affiliated school that is perfect for our kids (and not too expensive as far as parochial schoools go). So, the scale tipped back toward Chicago.

So, there's the house, and our plans to grow our family a little more, and a condo that is so expensive. Did I mention that? We spend $1020 a month on stuff that is NOT a mortgage for the priviledge of living here. If I added that to our mortgage, we could totally afford a HOUSE in this city. But honestly, I have been all Zen and rational about this (maybe for the first time in my life about something like this), and it wouldn't take much talk myself out of the house. It is a bit scary to have the financial burden 100% on you (unlike our condo, where it falls on 26 units). It is not EXACTLY done the way I would want (for example we tore out half-assed pergo floors and paint-caked trim in our condo five years ago, and yet the house has all of that in various places); BLUE kitchen countertops; unfortunate upstairs porch enclosure with unfortunate tearing out of original italianate under-roof mounts...Sean would have to insulate the garage for a shop (which would take some time)... But. Most importantly, we love the community around us. Our neighbors are more like family, and I love feeling like we live on Sesame Street on a lazy Summer evening, when everyone is out on their porches or in the garden hanging out. Darla and Kate are like Gillian's aunties (away from aunties), and she truly loves them bunches. In fact, Darla and Gillian have a date this weekend. So, there's all that. Oh, and our AWESOME new porches. So, we are oddly ambivalent about the whole thing. That all said, the house is about a 10 minute walk from where we live now, so there's no reason to get dramatic (we can see everyone as often as we do now, but just won't be able to holler off the porch at them), but it is amazing to see everyone out and about everywhere you go in the neighborhood. I don't think you get that as much in neighborhoods with single family homes.

So, light a candle that this all works out, but we are so totally ok if it doesn't. If it is God/The Universe's will, our place will sell in a reasonable time frame for a reasonable amount of money. And we will have our forever-house that has enough space for our growing family. And is close enough to The Neighbors We Love to make it OK.