One Fine Day

It only takes one day of glorious sunshine and a temperature of barely 70 degrees to illicit this type of response from Family O:

It leaves me wondering whether we will keep this up when we move considering that 70 degree weather might be considered cold by the local residents.  Are we going to be that weird family that walks around shirtless and shoeless in the middle of winter?

Hmmm.....Probably.

End of an Era

There is some news that has been keeping us busy these last few weeks....and I have sat down several times now trying to write this post.  I envisioned writing something touching and poignant to express my feelings, but can't seem to find the right words. So here it is in all it's glory, no fanfare, just the facts: Daddy O accepted a position down south and we will be moving at the end of the summer to a new zip code in warmer weather and closer to both sides of our family.  Of course just about any state other than Alaska and Hawaii would bring us closer to family, but this is great.  We will be within 1 day of driving or less from grandparents, parents, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles etc...  This is much better than the current minimum of a 5-7 day trek clear across the country.

We have discussed moving to this region for a few years now, waiting for the right time and the right opportunity to come along.  Our discussions always included what kind of property we would want, what type house we would buy now (as opposed to us BC-Before Children) and left us yearning for warmer, sunnier weather. The pull of family and the sun has become stronger over the last couple of years and I am excited to make the move. My parents probably are chuckling to themselves, as I clearly remember stating to anyone who would listen as I was off to New York for college, I'll never come back down here, never! 

Beyond the excitement, making a move is different now as opposed to when I was growing up.  The main difference?  My parents aren't doing all the legwork now.  Now I'm the parent.  Now I have to be a part of the hard decisions being made, the stress of not only coordinating a move, but selling our house (oh gads, what if we don't? The market is terrible....), selecting a new place to live among other things such as schools, racial diversity, activities...We are trying to concentrate on one thing at a time but it has been hard to keep our minds from racing about all the details when sit down to take a break.

I think we have done pretty well, in two weeks we have:  interviewed several real estate agents and will put our house on the market as soon as all the paperwork comes in for our move.  Both Daddy O and I are ardent fans of HGTV and have been intent on taking the advice we have listened to over the years.  We rented a storage unit for all the junk and furniture we don't need, cleared out closets (to make it look like we have some storage), decluttered, cleaned the carpets, repainted where necessary, re stained the deck, put fresh mulch in the garden beds, power washed the house, porch and driveway, washed all the windows, put higher wattage bulbs in all the fixtures to make the house appear brighter and have cleaned like you wouldn't believe.  We are tired.

And I sold my car.  My very first car.  Sigh.  I actually shed a tear over a 1998 Dodge Neon.  Silver.  The sport model....ahhh the memories...  When my father bought her for me almost 13 years ago, I don't think anyone ever imagined I would still be driving her to this day.  She still ran, albeit the automatic door locks might not work from one day to the next, the CD player doesn't work when it's cold, the air conditioning is shot, the breaks squeal and she looks pretty banged up from when I ran the hood up under someones truck bed a few years ago.  People in the neighborhood used to laugh at me hanging on to her, but they will be glad to know that the spirit of the Neon will live on in the neighborhood long after our departure.  We sold her to one of neighbors, whose daughter just turned sixteen.  She looked happy as she backed out of the driveway with her newly purchased worn wheels and I hope the Neon is as good to her as it was to me (at least until we are 10 states away).  It truly is the end of an era.

The boys seem to be dealing pretty well with the news.  Baby O of course is oblivious to pretty much everything except what is right in front of him.  Boy O took it pretty well and each passing day brings a new and interesting question.  The first question was out of concern for his toys and then the whether or not we could bring the bathroom with us.  The next day he asked about his friends....they get more thoughtful as time goes by but we have not observed any major anxiousness or worries.  I did try to check out a book about moving at the library-I was in the parenting section, perusing titles such as What's wrong with Timmy?, and Why don't Mommy and Daddy Talk Anymore?  and I picked out a book that looked like a moving book to me-it was entitled Never Say Goodbye which as I discovered upon reading it the next day to Boy O, it is about dying, not moving.  Not really the subject I was looking to talk about, but I guess it doesn't hurt. Another lesson learned for Mommy O:  never judge a book by its cover.

At times it does not seem real and almost as if we are moving in a haze as we try to fit it all in between soccer games and life in the present.  But there is still that excitement, the unknown, a fresh start, the conversations of won't it be nice when.....and it will, I know it will.

Forget the bunnies...

...and all that jazz.  Go for something bold and dare I say...heroic?  Is anyone surprised?

Hope you had a wonderful Easter weekend and that it was as full of superhero's and Elmo's as ours was.

Dinner and a Show

I can still remember my first musical-it was The Music Man and I think I was about six years old.  Yesterday, I took Boy O to his first musical, Billy Elliot.  A bit edgier than The Music Man, but our thought was that he would enjoy seeing kids close to his size dancing and singing.  From what I could see, he seemed to enjoy it all-the car ride down to the city, eating in a fancy restaurant, walking into the theater, all the people, the lights dimming, the red curtains opening and music blasting from the orchestra accompanying the performers.  He sat in his seat, eyes wide for the entire three hours-and wanted to get up and dance along.  I was quite impressed that he sat still for that long and although I enjoyed the show immensely, I found myself watching Boy O's face and enjoying his reactions even more.  Of course, he took full advantage of my good mood and somehow managed to coax a soda out of me with dinner, a candy bar at the intermission, a Billy Elliot t-shirt and ice cream on the way home.  I'm generally not this weak especially when it comes to soda, candy and my pocketbook-this kid knows how to work it. 

I don't remember too much from my first musical, but I do remember it, and I'm hoping he remembers this too (even if it is only because I had moments of nutritional weakness) because I would love to do dinner and a show again sometime.  

To Infinity and Beyond, Part Two

Every once in a while I like to read and reflect on my first post written one year ago today. Several statements make me laugh and several bring tears to my eyes.  I laugh because no amount of preparation could have prepared us for the transition into parenthood.  I cry (good tears) because it still conveys exactly how I felt and brings back all the nervous excitement we experienced in the weeks before meeting our children.

The past twelve months have been a whirlwind to say the least.  Has it really been one year?  Did we dot our i's and cross our t's?  Absolutely-or should I say as much as two people possibly could without having a crystal ball.  Did we pack enough?  Too much.  Did we need the bugspray?  No.  Pampers or Huggies?  Honestly, what was I thinking?  What a silly thing to even worry about.  Sleep?  If I could speak to myself, one year younger, I would say:  Enjoy your last weekend of uninterrupted sleep for the next ten years or so. 

But that's what I like about reading it.  This is exactly where my mind was at this very moment one year ago.  I was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  All the important things had been taken care of and I found myself focusing on the esoteric.  As we boarded the plane to Ethiopia I can still remember the feelings of relief almost surpassing my feelings of anticipation.  Just to finally begin the physical act of meeting our sons was like exhaling.

So here's to a new year, year two:  I've jumped off the high dive several times now, no one is yelling at me from below and the water has been just fine.  It won't be the last time and I've still got some things to learn but I'm thankful that I took the first leap, kept my eyes open and as I forgot to mention before, my best friend was there to hold my hand and jump with me.  To infinity and beyond indeed!

Playing Up

Have you ever had one of those moments?  You know, the one where you push hard for something to happen, it does, and then you question whether you did the right thing? 

It all began a couple of months ago after I had registered Boy O for the Spring soccer league.  At first it was just a confirmation e-mail and then it was, Dear Parents, your son's team does not have a coach, would you be willing to volunteer your time? I promptly ignored the e-mail assuming someone would be found.  Then the e-mails started to become more frequent and then desperate messages were left on our answering machine: Someone, ANYONE must volunteer, or your son will not get to play.... 

Now, I don't know the first thing about soccer and Daddy O has been super busy at work, so I did what any anally obsessive conscientious parent would do, I panicked.  I called to leave messages at a number no one seemed to answer, I sniped incessantly to my husband about how unfair this was, how Boy O would be so disappointed, how I had already lost the receipt for the new cleats we had bought and then I e-mailed the person who seemed to have the highest rank within the community soccer organization.  I may have bragged about my son a bit, how his indoor soccer league was undefeated, how it wasn't uncommon for him to score over 10 goals etc...I may have painted a picture for him that made Boy O look like an upcoming Pele...I may have said certain people could vouch for his abilities...

And then I got exactly what I asked for.  Boy O was switched to a team of kids that were a year and two years older than himself.  Oh goodness, what did I just do?  What did I get my son into?  Isn't the whole point of participating in activities at this age supposed to be to have fun?  Did I let my anally obsessive driven personality get the best of me?  And who gets to pay for it?  Not me, but my son, who just enjoys playing soccer.  He doesn't care who coaches, he doesn't care if it's anything formal-he just likes to kick a ball around.  I imagined boys twice his size on the team, I imagined his coach serious and harsh, and a bunch of other things I care not to go into...Lesson learned, next time I will just let it go and go with the flow.

As with most things I obsess over, I need not have worried.  His coach is super nice, extra supportive and clearly has an easy going personality but doesn't take too much crap.  His teammates are one to two years older, but they aren't six feet tall and haven't been playing for years. They are after all just six and seven years old  and while they may understand the game a bit better, they still need to work on their listening skills, still enjoy doing cartwheels and other gymnastic skills on the field and still just love to kick the ball around.  He's doing just fine and I think it's great that he can still play the game with kids who are a bit older.  He's not scoring ten + goals anymore, and I swear some of the kids on the other team they played during their first game must have been at least eight years old (or had been coached by David Beckham himself), but he had fun.  And that's what counts.

The destroyer's got destroyed, but it didn't stop Baby O from holding the sign and yelling, GO, GO, GO!

In his element and he did score one awesome goal in his first game:

Number 23 is Boy O-the same number as Michael Jordan.  Different sport, but I think it's a sign of good things to come!

Breaking the Ice

I feel like I have so much to write and so little time.  I'll save it all for another week and just leave you with a gratuitous cute kid video: