Berry's Great Mis-Adventure

It all feels kind of like a dream. The instant I looked down at my phone, while attending a wedding shower in St. Louis to find that I had missed 2 calls from Matt in less than 4 minutes, I knew it was bad. He was supposed to be at the hotel, swimming with the boys, so, instantly I knew that one of our children had drowned. I couldn't breath as I waited and waited for Matt to answer my call back. He didn't pick up. I called again, and again. Diana followed me to a back corner near the laundry and fiddled with the dryer (hope she didn't damage anything) and the whole party disappeared as I focused on that phone. Finally, a voice, "Berry ran off." Huh? What? How? Why? That dog has literally never left the front yard, ever. "She panicked when the neighbor came to let her out and just took off." Shit.


Here we are, her people, 4 hours away in St. Louis. At a party. At a hotel. Breath, Erin. And start texting like mad. I tried to notify every single person I knew in Brookside. I posted to Facebook. Matt posted to Next door. Within minutes I had friends and family looking. Within an hour, someone had responded to my Instagram post that they'd seen her in Mission Hills, but that she was too scared to come and was just running. People came together from all directions, connections, neighborhoods to get the word out. To give us advice. To help us. In the same moment that I was sick to my stomach with worry, my heart was filled to the brim with amazement at all the human kindness. One of my longest and bestest friends spent no less than 5 hours searching for that dog on Saturday.


This was a dog. A silly family pet. How often had I not given a second thought when I loose dog didn't come to me? I shrugged it off, and though, "Oh, I'm sure it gets out all the time and is headed home." Never again. If I see a loose dog, if I can't pick it up, you betcha I'll be scouring those lost and found sights, calling animal control and finding it's owners.


We got that first sighting one hour after she escaped, then proceeded to have 54 hours of silence.


Berry went dark.


Matt drove, and drove and drove for days. The hope I was clinging to, was that she'd been found and they were just waiting for Monday morning to take her in to an open shelter or vet. I called every single one. No luck. The sad thoughts that whirled through  my head never ceased. I wanted to start preparing myself that she was gone. Sure that she'd either been hit, was curled-up injured, freezing and dying, or someone had found her and was simply keeping her for their own because she is simply the sweetest thing in the world.


So sure was I of tragedy, that I scoffed at the insistence by veteran pet rescue searchers to create flyers. How on earth could printing flyers and hanging them help anything? Everyone is on Next door and Facebook. Where would I print them? How many, how much, who would create it? How would I hang them. Everything felt like a mountain. Even feeding my children. Thank goodness my sister took a few for those middle 40 hours. 


This is where the encouraging stories play a vital role. Friends, family, acquaintances all started telling me their lost pet stories. How their dog was gone for 2 weeks and they found them. My mom reminded me of my sister's childhood dog, Ribbon, who ran off and was found underneath a truck almost 3 days later. Texts about neighborhood dogs being gone for 2 weeks and being reunited. The more people told me these things, the more I realized, we have to do the signs. We have to do everything.


A kind woman, named Kim, connected to me through one of my very first swim coaches sent me a long, long text explaining to me exactly how to make the flyers. This complete stranger had so much advice for me and told me to call her at anytime if I needed more help. I quickly created the file, called around to printers and found one who said he'd like to do it for me immediately and at cost (Moss Printing on Johnson Drive). He told me his own tragic pet story and said he wanted to do anything to help, and to keep him posted on the search. Matt bought a laminator and some zip ties. I got some bright colored poster board, and we went to town. Creating 100 signs. People reached out and asked for the PDF so they could print and hang signs in their own neighborhoods.


We drove around hanging signs, the kids bound up in the van watching a movie. I honestly cannot remember when or if the kids were present for most of this venture. Matt was annoyed that I insisted on coming, and bringing the children, but I told him, "I'm not currently equipt to care for them." My brain couldn't switch off. I could hardly hear my children, let alone care for them. My phone ran out of battery 9 times in 70 hours (normally this would only happen 2-3 times.) I was glued to it, waiting for something!! Anything. On any one of the 7 Facebook groups, 3 lost and found sites or Next door, or a phone call from a flyer. It got to be after 7pm on Monday night, so Matt dropped us at home so I could attempt to focus on the kids for a moment and feed them and put them to bed. So, I put my phone on the charger and spent the next 15 minutes warming mac & cheese and hot dogs.


Then, it happens. A foreign number starts ringing. "Hi, is this the person looking for Berry? I posted to Next door, but I think my husband and I saw your dog cross Shawnee Mission parkway and Santa Fe heading South. I got out and on the ground and called to her and just as she started to come to me a motorcycle scared her away. We tried to follow but she was running away full steam and we lost her." What!!? OMG. She's alive! She's alive. I got off the phone and sent Matt in that direction. I called me mom to relieve me, so I could head that way. Soon, another sighting an hour later and 10 blocks further South. I had texted friends. Matt's mom headed that way. I ran into an old neighbor who'd seen that she was in their neck of the woods and he came out with his own dog to search. Again, we drove for hours. No luck. It was snowing and freezing and pitch black.

Matt hung signs all around Overland Park and headed home around 11:45pm. Exhausted. Disappointed. And hopeful, we tried to sleep.

But, she's alive. She's crossed so many major, major intersections, has been out for 60 hours, and it still able to run fast enough that no one can catch her. She's ok. We will get her in the morning. I can feel it.
 

The next morning, we woke up to another post. Someone on Nextdoor said they'd seen her another 8 blocks South at 1am (79th and Antioch.) Matt headed straight that way to search and hang more flyers. Our neighbor headed out to search before work. Mimi headed out again. Our previous nanny of almost 5 years, Kerry, loaded up her kiddo and headed that way. I got the kids dressed and fed and motivated, and we started our own search party. No luck.

I called Matt at about 11:30am to inform him that the kids were done, they needed food and to be released from their car seats. He stated that he didn't want to leave the area, in case we got a call, but you could tell his spirits weren't real high. No sooner did I start to drive home, than my phone rings again, and a woman slightly out of breath says, "I just walked past your flyer and I see your dog! She's right in front of me at 81st and Mackey, I'm trying to follow her." My heart is pounding, I can't believe it, that's near where we are all searching. I turn around, I tell her to keep an eye on her if she can, but to not chase her. I hang up and call Matt, he starts to head that way. I hang up to see I'd missed a call from Kerry. I call her back and get a loud, "I've found her, Erin! I've found her. There are a few of us trying to get her." And I stay on the phone with Kerry, as she gently calls Berry's name, and finally, the terrified, panicked pup stopped. Her brain switched off survival mode, and she curled up crying at Kerry's feet. It was over.

71 hours later, a lifetime, yet a flicker, we had our pup. It all feels kind of like a dream.

If this experience taught me anything, it is this: there are still amazing, altruistic, caring, helpful people that exist in this world. So many of them. Good exists.

But it also showed me that:

Tragedy helps you really see what matters and get over past indiscretions.

Microchip, tag, collar and leash your dog. No matter how well trained or behaved they are. (Berry had never previously left the yard.)

Flyers work.

I don't know how those families that have a loved one go missing that is never found, ever function normally again. My brain really couldn't switch off into normal life function. I honestly didn't hardly eat or drink my self, let alone feed my children.

There are some people out there that are just "do-er's". And I am not trying to dis anyone, but do'er's are my favorite types. I'm not real sure I qualify as one. I describe myself as the "idea man", with poor execution skills. Which might be why I surround myself with do'ers, because, they jumped into action without hesitating. Spent hours of their weekend searching the streets of KC. They are amazing.

My eye is still twitching.

My heart is still swelling.

Things I still don't understand after this whole experience:

Why do we have pets in the first place?

So, that, my friends, was the great Berry chase of 2017.

Goodnight.

 

 

The Survival Guide to Road Trips (With 5 under the age of 8).

Snackeez. What!? Those stupid "As seen on TV" cup things? Yes. Those stupid "As seen on TV" cup things. The kids loved them. I bought these over a year ago and have used them twice. Only on road trips. This preserves BOTH the novelty as well as the overall condition of the product. Though, admittedly, George's didn't make it the full 36 hours in the car #chewsonstraw #destroyseverythinghegetshishandson. Added perks: they aren't see through, so the kids could not complain about the low amount of liquid* placed in the cup. And there is only so much room for the snack part; meaning, only so much that could get spilled on the floor. Win-win. Win. Win. And win.


*Liquid consumption is to be kept at an all time low. If they say they are thirsty. Tell them they are not. If they insist they are thirsty, and begin to cry, continue to tell them they are not, until their whining starts to disturb and/or influence their siblings**. Then, and only then, place 2-3 ounces of water in their Snackeez. Or, in George's case, hand him the tail end of your water.


**Which reminds me. If any of your children even so much as starts to mention the words: bathroom, pee, potty. etc. STOP them!! Immediately. Having to evacuate your bladder is highly infectious. In fact, if you hear the words, "I have to" just yell "NO!!!" (Or SHHH. Or Don't you dare say it. Or Hold it. Or I swear to god if you say that out loud we are leaving you at the next stop. Ok, maybe not that harsh. But you can consider it, up to you.) Don't even let them finish. Even if it's not restroom related, they don't "have to" do anything. You're on a road trip. They're stuck in a car. Rest my case. Just no.

PS. I chose to list first a food related item because if you've ever thought to yourself "if they say I'm hungry one more time, I'm taking them all to the fire station" when spending a full day at home. You will think this again. Within an hour on the road. 

All the electronic devices. We have 2 Leapsters, an iPad, and a Kindle. I made sure those suckers were fully charged, new batteries, etc. I considered loading a few new games, but didn't get around to it...would have helped, maybe, but not vital. If they are bored enough, anything is fun. Note: if this isn't an obvious Road-trip-with-children life hack for you, then I advise you NOT TAKE A ROAD TRIP.


All the activity books. Big ones work, but easier to carry around, store (and throw away) are some of the smaller packs you can find these days. Some even come with the stickers and crayons all packaged in tidy little zip lock bag. They don't stay like this. The crayons get everywhere, as do the stickers, and the trash. Why can't they just keep the booklet in one piece? Is it is really necessary to tear out each page? Bite a few corners off? Spit it at your brother? WHY!?  Warning: Crayons melt at extreme heat. Well, maybe not even extreme. Warning: Crayons melt at mildly elevated temperatures. Do with that information what you may. Note: If, for their entire lives, you have not insistently and firmly repeated "Stickers are only for paper or clothing". Even when they simply catch site of the things. Then I'd reconsider supplying the 3rd row of a minivan with them. Unless, of course, you enjoy using a razor blade to scrape stickers off windows. Or find the random splattering of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles about your car appealing. Then by all means, sticker 'em up.


PS: We also have some of those magnadoodles and an Etch-A-Sketch. Also great options.


Afternoon departure. Leave after lunch, if at all possible. Kids are inherently most active in the morning. They tend to do a lot of their business (you know, like #2) in the morning. They are hungry. Thirsty. Antsy. Both days that we attempted to leave before 9am, we stopped nearly every hour for various reasons. It's infuriating. A good run at the park, swim at the pool, walk around the block, is extremely helpful to gear them up for a long drive. All three of our 5 hour stints happened between 1pm-6pm. Most of the kids, even the non-nappers, dozed off for a brief period of time in that post lunch daze. Note: It is important to have a driver equipped to stave off their own mid-afternoon rut. Lucky for us, I don't get tired.

Chick-Fil-A. Cleanest "play place". Cleanest bathrooms. Decent food options. Most kids like it.

Car cooler. We filled a soft cooler with adult and child drinks. Grapes. Carrots. String Cheese. Salami. High protein. Liked by all. Relatively not messy. This came in very handy when we found an awesome rest stop with a Rocket and chose to go there instead of Mickey D's or "Chick-fer-lay" as my children call it. We enjoyed the sites. Ate some lunch. Headed back on the road.

Snacks. Choose wisely. Again, opt for non-crumbly things. Veggie straws are A LOT less messy than any sort of chips or crackers. Some cereals are a good option as well. SUCKERS! All the suckers. This provides extended satisfaction. Well, only if your children are lickers, not biters. Also, like the stickers, if you have not instilled the wrath of god into them about keeping them in their mouth and not wiping them about, or dropping the sticks everywhere and trained them to keep the wrapper if they get sick of them...maybe suckers aren't the right option for you. In fact, I think I'll retract the sucker suggestion #CURTIS #mypigpen #suckertrasheverywhere

Movies. Bring along their obvious favorites. You know, the ones they could watch 2-3 times in one sitting. Every. Single. Day. Which are currently Wall-E, Minions and Big Hero 6 for us. But also purchase or borrow a couple new ones. I bought Open Seasons 1, 2 & 3 at Wal-mart, all in one box, for $5. The first Open Season has now been added to my previous list of 3, especially for Mitch, who giggles periodically throughout the film always followed up by "that funny". WIN! I also purchased a set of 4 including both Happy Feet's and both Cat's & Dog's. No major objections, but not overly thrilled either. Note: this assumes you are traveling in a vehicle with DVD capabilities. If you are not, then I highly advise that you NOT TAKE A ROAD TRIP.

Raffi. I know this signifies that I am a product of the 80's, but, hands down, it's the best kid's music ever. My boys love it. Every song. I never get objections. For some reason, blasting Raffi, as the kids all became bored with movies, electronics, stickers, general destruction of the interior of the van but there seemed no real good reason to stop (as I don't think sanity is quite important enough to pull over) worked like a charm. The children also found it extremely amusing when we {the parents} would sing along in various styles, voices and volumes. Particularly, opera-voice to In My Garden.

Books. Easy enough. Brief amusement. Probably will become better as they age.

Toys. Diana loved the toys. Especially ones that made noise. Everyone else, probably could have done without.

Delay Gratification. A road trip is measured in minutes. Not miles. If your kids asks you for a sucker, they asked you at the exact moment they had an urge for it. They didn't wait. They didn't think, "Oh, a sucker sounds good right now, but I just had one 4 minutes ago, so perhaps I should wait an hour to ask for another one, because typically mommy doesn't even give more than one sucker in one day, so 4 minutes might be pushing it." Nope. They ask. Then ask again. And again. I found pointing to the clock and telling them what time to watch for (even though only 1.5 of them can tell any sort of "time") really helped decrease frequency in which request/whining occurred. This also helps prolong the effectiveness of said reward. Note: if you have never used this technique in your parenting prior to your road trip, I would not choose a 9-hour enclosed car ride to be the moment you start. In fact, I would probably advise you begin training and reschedule your road trip to a later date. There ya go! First step in delayed gratification training, done.

Packing. Do this deliberately. If you are stopping over during your drive. Pack just a one night bag for you and the kids, place it on top of the rest of the stuff. Just try to be smart. Ok? If this is a real struggle for you, I encourage you to NOT TAKE A ROAD TRIP.

Manage Expectations. If you and your significant other haven't been dreading the trip, moaning about it, saying such things as "this is going to be the worst 7 days of our lives" or "why the $%#& are we doing this" or "should we see about medicating ourselves for this" for AT LEAST the two weeks prior to departure, then do NOT TAKE THE ROAD TRIP. You should mentally {and medically} prepare yourself for catastrophes such as: vomiting in the car. Peeing in the car. Pooping of pants. Crying. Whining. Crying. Yelling. Hitting*. Screaming (and I mean, ear-piercing, momentarily deafening screeches - usually produced by your large, introverted, mostly silent child #Mitchplease.) Crying. Whining. Yelling. Hitting...yeah, I know I already said this, just trying to drive my point home here. Not saying all of these things will happen. Maybe some of you have little Angel babies. Who would never bother one another, let alone their parents. But we don't. Ours are needy little things, that seem to feel the sole purpose of their existence is to bother those surrounding them at all times. Close proximity makes this exponentially worse. My expectations of this trip were so utterly rock bottom, that, when you compare what I envisioned might happen to what ACTUALLY happened, I might describe this road trip as a HUGE SUCCESS. Would perhaps insert the words: fun, enjoyable, entertaining and/or amusing into my description of the experience. Amazing what a little dose of absolute pessimism** will do fer ya.

*Please, for the love, consider heavily the car seat arrangement. Do not place your two mostly highly tempered and volatile children next to one another. Do not place the babies aside one another either, as that leaves exactly no one to help hand them food, toys, their lovies, etc. This significantly lowers the amount of hitting. As for it's effects on yelling, whining or screaming, YTBD.

**Do not discuss said pessimism near children. Build up*** the trip. Make it sound like the most wonderful event to happen in their little lives. But, be absolutely sure to ALWAYS say, "after 2 days in the car" (or whatever your time in vehicle is) when referring to the positive part of the trip (thus why this falls under the "Managing Expectations" umbrella.) For us, we simply mentioned the beach, as they had never been. They should have nothing but visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads, or whatever.

***But don't build it up too early. Eff. Please DO NOT mention it a month, or even 2 weeks in advance!! This results in the constant need to point out the calendar. Count out the days or "number of sleeps". Mention over and over and over and over and over and over again that it's not for weeks. Please do not make this fatal mistake. Unless repeating yourself to the point of wanting to gauge out your eyeballs is something enjoyable for you. Then, by all means, mention the trip the day you first start to plan it...even better! Right!? Then you can give vague answers, that end up changing, thereby confusing the children and adding to their incessant questioning. Wait? It was in May, but now it's in June? Is that Christmas time?

Don't sweat the small stuff.

Accept that your vehicle will be dirty and your children irritable.

Use the quiet times to talk to your spouse. (I swear we conducted our own couple's therapy sessions.)

Enjoy the chaos.

Cherish the memories.

Then. It's over.

BON VOYAGE!!!!!

The Easter Tantrum

From the gate, Easter was difficult this year. Matt traveled to France and Belgium (which got bombed by terrorist the day before we was set to ride the train into Brussels) the week of Easter, planning to fly into St. Louis the Saturday before to meet us. This means, I played single mom (with A LOT of help from my sisters, moms and nanny) and worked full time, with a broken garbage disposal and an insane work schedule for the week leading up to Easter Sunday. I woke up EXHAUSTED Saturday morning. It's extremely rare for me to actually feel physically tired, but, wow. Eight days, with five kids, alone, even with help, is rough. Period. So, my expectations for the weekend were relatively low, and despite this, for whatever reason, I totally forget, from year to year, how awful Easter really is for families with toddlers.

But think about it for a minute. We fill eggs and baskets with chocolate and jelly beans and chocolate and suckers and chocolate. They hunt for eggs, fueled by sugar, with no interest in "real food". Our parents, family, relatives and friends just have jars upon dishes of candy sitting around the house. We pump them full of this candy. We give them gifts. Then we force them into nice clothing. We take them to church where they are supposed to be both quiet and still, while they are still buzzing on a sugar high (and perhaps heading downhill.) We then want a picture because they are so stinky winky adorable in their Easter clothing, and this must happen before brunch, because, well, if it doesn't, the outfits aren't so cute anymore. We do this year after year.

I couldn't really put my finger on why Easter seems so much more tumultuous, and tantrum-filled than Christmas, but then again, I never really tried. Until today. We go to mass on Christmas Eve. They all have their adorable outfits for evening mass after a full day of good food and naps. We then open gifts and eat mounds of candy in our pajamas the next morning. We leave them in their jammies and let them just play. All day. No obligations. No fancy, smile at the camera, type pictures. Just good ol' candid fun.

I guess I really wanted to figure out what went wrong this year, because we drove all the way to St. Louis. (By we, I mean me getting all 5 kids packed and ready alone. There was a point on Saturday morning that I was not sure we were actually going to be able to make it out of the house. Not my finest moment. It never would have happened if my Mother-in-law hadn't taken them the night before to let me pack, and then rode up with us that morning. I think she was also played an integral role in helping me get out of my speeding ticket, from the woman cop, state trooper...oops.) I had all their clothing set out, as well as my own dress. I had time to shower. I got us all ready (Matt helping minimally, but he's in charge of the family Easter egg hunt AND had returned from France/Belgium the night before. His father helping bathe Mitch who had a blow out right before dressing change.) We could have made it to 10:30 mass, but, when it came to it, neither of us could stand to put ourselves through the torture. We had 5 wild children. It would be a sweaty, anxiety provoking hour or so of just corralling and shushing our children. So, we accepted the Catholic guilt, and just skipped it. Which, prompted me to assess the situation and try to figure out what we could have done to make it go differently.

First. No more candy in the eggs or Easter basket (except their Laura Littles' Chocolate Bunny, of course). The stuff sitting around is ENOUGH.

Second. Real breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Yogurt. The works.

Third. As early a mass as possible. Maybe even save baskets and egg hunt for after.

Fourth. Maybe pictures after mass, before the potential hunt (if it gets moved). Then they are free to play as they please for the day.

Yup. I think that's it.

Despite all of this, it was a truly Happy Easter, filled with joy, blessings, family and love...with a few melt-downs in between.

We Moved.

We moved just over one year ago. We moved to the neighborhood of our dreams. The perfect size plot and home for our growing family. A huge and positive move forward for us. From the outside, it seemed exciting, new, fun, everything I had ever wanted. From the inside, it was misery. Looking back 15 months, I think I might rank moving, as the worst experience of my life, to date.

On a Sunday in May of 2014, with an extremely RARE moment of Matt and I aloneness, we stumbled upon an open house. I was finishing residency in a couple months, we had 4 boys in a tiny Cape Cod that suited us for now, but would require lots of work to make it ideal for us in just a few short years. So we thought, why not start viewing the market now? Start seeing our options for our price range? Of course, we instantly fell in love. The house met nearly every qualification I had in my head (upstairs laundry, 2 car attached garage, open floor plan, master suite with walk in closet, 5 bedrooms, updated kitchen, maintained elements of the 100-year old home charm) PLUS the price was right. Unheard of in that area.

Without much further ado, we set out to see about obtaining a loan. Nightmare. Word to the wise, check your credit score at some point between college and graduating residency...turns out little outstanding debt (like $2 at the public library) start to add up, big time. Matt spent countless hours, and I drove all the way to and from Topeka, with all the children, to try and get things on the up and up...we still fell 2 points short of the goal credit score. The house was out of reach. There is simply no way we could list, show and sell our Prairie Village home while we both continued to work full time, and the house was full of children.

We moved on, and mostly forgot about the home as well as the idea of moving anytime soon. Until, in July, the owners reached out to us because they "felt we belonged in the home", with information on a bank that might offer a Doctor's loan. And, they did! Before we knew it, we were negotiating and buying a house. By the time it was all said and done, we had a contract in August, with a close date of September 29th. Sounds scrumptiously serendipitous, wonderful. Perfect.

Now, what I am failing to mention in this summary of how we came to live at 6022 Belleview Avenue, is ALL of the rest of life that is happening in conjunction with the home-buying saga. In June, I was frantically trying to finish all my requirements for residency graduation at the end of the month. I had not signed a contract yet for a job. So, I also was busy getting applications sent, interviewing and compiling info and creating a schedule for my temporary job. The week of graduation, I found the perfect job, and signed a contract to start September 1st. I worked random days through July and August. My oldest started Kindergarten, at a school just 3 blocks away from our OLD house, 11 minutes drive from the new one. Then, after working my new job for 1 week, I found out I was pregnant with our fifth child.

Before I knew it, I was 4 weeks into a new job, 8 weeks pregnant (aka: miserable and worthless), and packing up our home to move all of our stuff as quickly as possible into the new home, so we could prep, list and sell our old house before the dead of Winter (the housing market down time). I remember multiple days of shaking from exhaustion. Matt worked tirelessly at the old house to paint, tidy up and perform multiple little handyman tasks.  He was at the PV house all weekends and evenings. I've never seen him so tired.

Meanwhile, I was at the new house, unpacking boxes, caring for 4 children, first trimester pregnant, trying to learn the ins and outs of a completely unfamiliar space. This was not home. Our old house was no longer home. We were in some kind of limbo land, where no space felt friendly, or inviting, or comfortable, or warm, or relaxing. Our entire life was unsettled and stressful. New job, new home, pressure to sell old home, no money, new pregnancy, new school schedule. On top of all this, the one piece that hadn't changed, my rock, our nanny would be going on maternity leave in October, so I had those arrangements to make. Thank goodness Matt had a nice, steady day job. I will never take for-granted, the wonderful feeling of security a home offers. Whether it's too big or too small, or dirty or clean, old or new, it's home.

Matt's parents helped immensely. My mother and siblings were around almost daily, helping me organize and unpack. Driving children too and from school. My head was never above water, but somehow, with the help of my entire community, I was able to bob up and down, with brief moments to gasp in some air. I was frustrated with so many things. Even things a minimal as waking up in the middle of the night, getting out of my mattress on the floor to go to the bathroom seemed to thrust horrific reminders in my face at just how foreign a place I was in, where was the damn light switch!? The new dishwasher was supposedly more high tech, but nearly impossible to load logically. Our giant oven and stove range wreaked of gas if you used the right side. Outlets are scarce and poorly placed. The stairs had a giant open space death trap on the first landing...that remains to this day, and I'm really not sure how or why no one has plunged off the side, but I'm not going to question it. The yard? It's oddly shaped. There's no fence. There is no great solution as to where to add a fence. For 15 months, we have been personally walking the dogs outside to go to the bathroom. I still miss opening a door and letting them run free, without a worry.

I missed walking through my front door, into our cute, well decorated and painted living room. I had grown to love the giant crack in our front door, and our non-working doorknob. I knew where not to step to avoid making creaking sounds on the hard woods. My bathroom was like an in home spa, the shower perfect.  The little galley kitchen drove me crazy, everyday, but, it had helped store and prepare food for my family for so many years. Each room had a purpose, design and order. We could pick up and clean the house in less than 45 minutes if needed. For so many months, I remained somewhat bitter about our seemingly "hasty" decision to move. We simply did not need that in our lives at that time. We kind of still don't. And, there are still moments have to remind myself that we did it because opportunity knocked.

Though finally, this Christmas, it became evident, things had finally shifted somewhere along the way. I felt good about how my home looked for the Holidays. I was actually excited to invite people over for our 10th Annual Sweater Party. While giving a home tour, I was walking backwards, and right as the person started to warn me there was a drop in the floor, I automatically and subconsciously adjusted my step, because I knew the floor. As I continued the tour, I simply accepted that rooms were not fully purposed, picked up, unpacked, painted. I walked through the backdoor on Christmas day, into our awkward entryway, carrying all of our gifts from our 3 family events, and did not feel that overwhelming panic about where to put everything.

Though, I am still trying to arrange furniture in the new home. Only 2 rooms have been painted. So many pictures and painting sit around, unhung. Boxes remain unpacked. There is still no organization of the children's toys. I realized, I was at peace with it all. I stroll throughout the house, flipping light switches without a second thought. I am not exactly sure WHEN I will find the time to accomplish these simple tasks, but I know that, eventually I will. I know that it will likely never feel "finished" because, after 9 years in our "old house", I know it sure never did. All I do know, it that this big, square, abundantly windowed yellow house, is HOME.

The Catastro-tree.

Despite my somewhat OCD characteristics, I'm not actually all that big on traditions. I enjoy switching things up from time to time.  I don't like feeling chained to an activity nor arbitrarily assigning sentiment to something just because we did it the last three years in a row. I already commit to WAYYY too many things to add yet another item to my many self-appointed obligations. That being said, I LOVE to cut down our own Christmas tree. Open fields for the boys to run. Seeing the tree up and standing, living, growing in all it's glory. Inspecting each tree, imagining it in our living room, decorated and surrounded by love, gifts, merriment.

We began this tradition before we got married. Before iPhones. Perhaps a photo exists somewhere from that 2006 Christmas. It took on a whole new meaning in 2008, when we searched for a tree with a 4-week old Brock strapped to my chest in the Bjorn. I will never forget that trip. Or any of them, really. The year Curtis was born, it was so cold that we literally cut down the first tree we saw, and turned right back around. To this day, I still think that was our most perfect tree. The year George was born, the weather was gorgeous! We went in nothing but sweaters and jeans. Each year, is unique in some way, memorable, and fun. This year? This year was special too. Real special.

The boys took an exceptionally late nap, we were waiting, and waiting for Mitch, Curtis and George to finally wake up, so we could get to the tree farm before it closed at 5pm. By the time they awoke, we had rounded them all up, changed diapers, shoed, hooded, and coated them all, we were walking out the door at 4:07pm. It's a 36 minute drive. We needed gas. Of course. Matt then stopped by our still-not-sold previous home, to open the garage, there-by interrupt the agent showing the place, to run in and grab the chainsaw battery.

We pull into the tree farm at 4:47pm. As I get the boys out and situated, Matt gets our tree ticket. It's kind of misting, a tid chilly, definitely muddy, and Curtis and George have decided they are terrified of tractors. Mitch is tucked safely away in the wagon, along-side the chainsaw. What!? The baby is by the chainsaw!? Whatever, I don't have time to worry about this hazard. We truck it to a patch of trees. All too small. But perfect for a picture. I insist we take 2 minutes to set up the timer and snap a shot. So we do. Another patch. Too dead. Any further and we will never make it back by 5pm. Then we see it. Not perfect, but it appeared usable. But we ventured on, hoping for better. There were none. We circled back. By this time, all 4 boys were out and about wandering. I rounded them all up, carrying a P'O'd and squirming Mitch (he insists he is a "big boy" now) back to our tree. Mitch and George watched Matt fell the tree with the chainsaw. Mitch, decided the falling tree meant certain death and began crying and pacing in circles.

We dragged the tree to the tractor path, I stowed George, Mitch AND the chainsaw back into the wagon, and we trucked it to the office. Only once we all got to the cashier, did I notice that Mitch was missing a shoe and had an extremely wet foot. Crap. Forget about it. That shoe has been through 4 children, and I think I paid $4 for them at Target in 2009. I'm just leaving it. I pay for the tree. But I know EXACTLY where we cut down the tree, I'm sure that's were it fell off. Damn, OCD. I'm going back out there. I sprint BACK to the tree stump, Matt rounds up the kids. We are the last people at the place. No luck, no shoe. I get back to the van and they are all waiting for me with the receipt and tree stub!! Oops. The employees kindly load the tree on our van. And...I have no cash!! We made them all stay late, and we had NO tip!!!! I promise I am mailing cash, with the date, for the proper people to get a tip.

 Four days later, we bring the tree into the house. It's really crooked. It's huge. It's completely unstable. Matt did A LOT of cursing while trying to get it properly in the stand. As I type, I fear for the life of Berry who is happily sleeping on the couch adjacent to the tree. We did lots of trimming. I am pretty sure we found a huge spider's nest that we chucked out the front door. We should have torched it. The center is filled with dead pine needles, and I don't want to think about what else...probably more spider eggs. *shiver* There is a somewhat large space deficit, that I will attempt to repair with some clever finagling of the lights. Berry thinks the needles and branches are chewable. I bought candy canes, because Brock kept insisting we needed them to decorate the tree, and that's all the boys can think about. They keep touching the package. The tree isn't even up and Curtis is all but trying to hang them!

I am too tired to hang the lights tonight. I mean, the tree is giant. We have 11 foot ceilings. I have to buy more anyway, and Target was OUT of "warm" white lights today. Of course. I fear hanging any "valuable" ornaments on this tree, I'm not sure the karma is so great. I think we shall name it Murphy. Everything about this tree has been rushed, and difficult, and not ideal. Far from ideal. Then again, so has most of 2014. Perhaps, this tree called to us, because it is US. Total chaos. And we love it.

Snug as a Bug.

Perhaps it's a weird thing to discuss, or say, but when pregnant with Brock, I told Matt, that I could never love anything as much as I love him. To me, this is logical. I chose Matt. He chose me. We were not forced to be together. Though you create your child, there-by forming an incredible, amazing, loving bond, it is not the same as the husband-wife one. Your kids will grow up and become their own person someday. They will love someone else, more than they love me. It's the circle of life. So, it was with this mentality that I planned, and looked forward to an extended vacation with my one and only, O'Laughlin boy. I imagined these 6 days to be wonderful.  Full of adult conversation. Freedom from the hundreds of obligations that fill my days because of my 4 dependents. Sleeping until I wake up of my own accord. Eating and drinking when and what I want. In essence, a window back into those days "before children".

I quickly learned, there is no such thing as going back to the "before children" days, because, well, those children exist. I think it took more planning and coordination to leave 4 children at home, than is does to take 4 children on vacation.  I am sure my family and nanny were tired of emails, going over the plan and schedule. I had more than one panic attack, and had to have my friend and fellow mother of 4 young boys talk my down from cancelling the trip all-together. I cleaned and stocked the house. Found a puppy sitter. Scheduled activities. Despite all of this, once gone, I had still not fully covered all my bases, minor details had gone unexplained, such as Mitch's eating schedule.

Don't get me wrong. Matt and I had a fabulous time, once he got over his bout of food poisoning and I got over my ruined outfit on day one of vacay. We rented bikes and rode across the Golden Gate Bridge. We enjoyed a sundae with the best hot fudge I've ever experienced from the cafe in Ghirardelli Square. We watched a bartender make at least 20 Irish coffees in less than 60 seconds, and sampled one too. We watched the baby seals play in the water, leaping out only to piss off their elders. We saw people swimming in the bay, viewed Alcatraz from afar, ate at Cioppino's on Fisherman's Wharf, took a selfie at the bottom of Lombard Street, rode a trolley. We stumbled into a restaurant called The Grove, and ate there twice it was so good. We saw people on drugs who saw...well, I'm not real sure what she was seeing. We watched a man take hundreds of dollars from gullible people betting on street games. We visited a winery. Then attended my cousin's beautiful wedding at another winery.

I showered without interruption. I brushed, blow-dried and even straightened my hair. I applied make-up twice in less than 5 days. I did sleep in. I spent wonderful, quality time with my husband. I enjoyed our conversations. But, I missed my little boys, the entire time. It turns out, for all the inconveniences, hard work, time, and energy that those little humans require, they, in turn, fill me with joy. I am now incomplete without them. Despite what I have been telling myself, or perhaps society has been telling me, all along, I don't actually need a break from the full time job of "mom". A nice evening out is more than enough to recharge my engines. I wanted to FaceTime them everyday. I enjoyed texts. I felt horrible, and helpless, and cruel when my baby had a fever and pain from teething. When my 2 year-old woke up and vomited. I felt bad for Matt's cousin who was trying to keep everyone alive, fed and happy. Something that required so much work on her part, but is near effortless for Matt and I, at this point. I know my children inside and out. I know what each cry, laugh, whimper, word, expression means.

I also learned that I don't need nearly as much "quality time" with my husband as I thought. Despite feeling as though we are pulled in a million directions at home, constantly splitting time and duties, Matt and I do a pretty fantastic job of staying close. Though I loved the uninterrupted time with him, it didn't feel necessary, or even new. We get all 4 boys to bed, every night, by 8:30 at the latest. This gives us 2+ hours together, nearly every night. We {I} text all the time. Email. Go on dates, almost weekly. We hang out with friends and family on the reg.

This vacation affirmed everything I have always felt to be true, but doubted because of society's implications. Not everyone needs a vacation from their life. Hard work can be fun, especially when it is for your favorite people in the world. Kids may make things more complicated, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. They also make experiences more enriching. The entire trip, I would find myself viewing things through my children's eyes, wondering what they would think. Next trip, they are coming. And perhaps, a nanny too. The best of both worlds. But as for now, I am home, and my boys are sleeping. Snug as a bug in a rug.

Now, Matt just needs to come home, for all balance restored. I already miss him...

#morningwalkstoStarbucks

For as long as I have lived in this little Prairie Village home, I have taken regular walks to Starbucks. In the beginning, there were no children. I can hardly remember that time. I don't remember that time. I imagine the walk was relaxing, enjoyable, and easy, but obviously it was meaningless. I have no memory of walking alone to Starbucks. Now, four children later, these walks give me a sense of joy, pride and love. It may seem silly, that such a simple, mundane routine could provoke these emotions, but trust me, there is no such thing as "simple" or "mundane" with four children under age 6.

 Every morning, Brock comes into our bedroom, sometime between 6:30 and 7am. Every morning I tell him it's too early. He doesn't listen. He wakes up this early, every single morning. He then asks if it's "a mommy day"? If I answer yes, the next question that follows is, "can we walk to Starbucks!?" Why, of course. Don't have to ask me twice. By this time, all the children are up. In about 30 minutes, after multiple threats to not go to Starbucks, or not get chocolate milk, we are all out the door. Curtis and Brock on their bikes with their helmets (which Curtis can latch on his own, yet Brock asks me to help him, every time). George and Mitch in the sit 'n stand stroller.

As we depart from the house, the boys race off ahead, stopping at our next door neighbor's bushes. For some reason, this has become a boundary, past which they know not to go without approval from a watching or accompanying adult. We continue on. Brock and Curtis stop at every street. If George has strayed from the stroller to pick a dandelion, or examine a bug, he searches for my hand before crossing the road. The walk proceeds smoothly, yet with multiple interruptions, distractions, discoveries and lots of coaxing and redirection. Like snowflakes or fingerprints, no two morning walks to Starbucks are alike.

When we encounter neighbors, at least one boy waves, if not all, sometimes they even say, "hi". They politely ask to pet every dog. Or, at least, I remind them to politely ask before petting the dog. George usually thinks he wants to pet it as well, but chickens out, every time. We need a big dog. As we approach the destination, I give the boys a pep talk. I tell them to behave, which means, not touching all the merchandise, or people, waiting with me in line, and, above all, listening to me...or else they get no treat of any sort.

Soon, we are inside the cafe. If I haven't heard it at least once on the walk, it's not long after we enter the store, before I hear, "All boys!? You've got your hands full." This is something for which there really is no proper response other than to shrug and smile. I'm not sure what I expect people to say. I'd be fine with, even prefer, no comments. Perhaps, then I could feel like I'm not a spectacle everywhere we go. Without knowing it, the people who make this seemingly harmless statement have made sure that I'm aware of how conspicuous the 5 of us are. The little O'Laughlin parade of boys. It also, somewhat, implies that my hands are too full, therefore, I don't have control of the situation. If I'd have my way, no one would even acknowledge me with my gaggle of boys.

We finally make it through the long, nearly out-the-door line. No porcelain mugs have been broken, to date. No back of coffee opened and spilled. A plastic straw may have had a little mouth on it once or twice, and "secretly" placed back on the shelf...but people wash these before use, right!?  When we get close to the front cooler full of snacks and beverages, the boys all cut in line to grab their chocolate milks. People usually smile, and find this to be cute. Sometimes I hear an "excuse me" - we need to work on that one. I open each wrapper, put in the straw, and seat the 3 boys at the high table, facing the register, all while still holding the baby. They sit and enjoy the milk. I order my drink, and their snack. I divide the cookie or pound cake into 3's, and head over to the counter to get my drink. Normally, I return to find my three boys still happily sitting, and eating. Sometimes they've made a huge mess. Sometimes they've discovered that if you blow hard into the straw, milk squirts back into your face. Mostly, they just want more cookie.

On this particular day, I returned and a middle-aged woman was standing beside them, smiling. I had taken a little longer to return because I made a detour to grab napkins to wipe up some milk off the floor. I stoop down to wipe the milk, and stand back up, again, all while holding the 23 and 1/2 pound baby. This woman looks at me and says (as she points to a table with a man and another woman), "We have just been absolutely charmed by your little family. We have been watching them, and you since you walked through the door. They are so well-behaved, and adorable. They 3 of them just sat there while you ordered and paid. Then you squatted down to wipe up that milk, while holding the baby, as if it were effortless. You seem to have everything under control. I am amazed. And you must have the strongest thighs."

I must have everything under control!!!!??? That was perhaps the nicest compliment I have ever received. She could not have known that "control" is something I strive for, and always have, all of my life. Nor could she have known that I simply do not accept compliments. I don't know how. I rarely feel deserving of them. Even this one, I'm not totally sure I deserve it. These boys have an amazing father. They have a family that surrounds and teaches them manners, how to behave, and loves them no matter what. And, not to forget, the boys themselves are wonderful (as far as little, baby, toddler boys go, anyway.) For once, I appreciate that someone approached me and admitted to gawking at my little "S show", because she seemed to see the intricacies of what had just happened. She looked beyond the spilling milk, the crumbs, the constant touching of other people and things, the required redirection, and saw 4 boys and their mom, simply enjoying some treats together at Starbucks.

The Dentist.

I know, I know. You should take your kid to the dentist much prior to him turning 5, like years, not just a couple months.  In my defense, I have been talking about making Brock an appointment for the past 2 or so years...just never got around to actually doing it.  Well, Monday, while making calls to schedule newborn appointments, my postpartum appointment, a dentist appointment for me, it dawned on me, Matt's home!  What a perfect time to get the kiddos in to the dentist.  So, I sucked it up, and called to get appointment's for Brock, Curtis and George.

Now, I am not sure how clear I have made it that Brock has a tooth obsession.  When he was little, he would insist on brushing his teeth much more frequently than once or twice a day.  He had his own brush at Mimi's.  We can use losing tooth brushing privileges as a threat to help bedtime run more smoothly.  Long ago, when Brock asked why we brush our teeth, Matt and I told him that they would turn black and fall out otherwise (which is only a slight exaggeration.)  That did it.  He would never miss a nightly teeth cleaning again.  Therefore, I didn't worry about his tooth hygiene.  We don't eat excessive amount of sugar (at night) and nor do I give juice or soda with dinner (90% of the time), and, my family has generally good tooth genetics (yes, some people are more prone to cavities than others, despite habits) so I didn't worry about it.

While out on a walk, the night before the appointment, we ran into one of our favorite neighbors.  The little girl, who is Brock's age, mentioned a possible playdate for the following day, to which Brock replied, "I can't, I have a dentist appointment." What 4 year old keeps a schedule!?  Well, the next morning, we found George covered in vomit, so his appointment was cancelled, but the other two excitedly headed out for their first dentist experience.  They loved it.  Matt said they behaved perfectly.  Brock carried home his little goody bag with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a sticker and bouncy ball, and did not put that thing down for the rest of the day.  In fact, he is still storing all the stuff in that little plastic bag and puts it under his pillow to sleep at night!

As a reward for their fabulous behavior, Matt took them to the zoo.  While there, and riding the "Sky Safari" (aka ski lift), Brock smiled at a lady passing on the other side, and yelled "look how white my teeth are! I went to the dentist!"  Also, apparently he exclaimed, "My teeth are so clean the girls' heads are going to pop off" while getting his cleaning.  Curtis, though slightly less obsessive (ok, a lot less obsessive) than Brock, also talked about this adventure for days.  He mostly just liked the fish tank at the office and the bouncy ball he acquired.

For the record, they both got a clean bill of tooth health.

The Ice Cream Social

In stark difference to last year, the Mendon Ice Cream Social turned out to be a nice little Saturday.  Instead of heading up late the Friday night before, we all packed up in the morning, ate a hearty breakfast at McDonald's and drove the 2+ hours through Missouri farmland, full and ready for day of outdoor fun.  Instead of the wicked 90+ degree weather with an obnoxiously high heat index that is expected for the weekend before August, it was somewhere in the low 80's and felt that way.  Instead of making the trip alone, with a 3.5 year old, an 19 month old and a 5 month old, I had a husband with me and an added year to each of those ages (so that's like 3 years more mature!)

We spent the entire day outside.  It's a little (and big and adult and elderly) boy's heaven.  Acres and acres of open space.  A limitless selection of ponds.  ATV's, tractors, trucks, bikes, and any other device with an engine you can imagine.  Fishing poles.  Yard games.  Shotguns, handguns, rifles, dynamite, firecrackers.  Cold beer.  Or cold Sprite, whichever your preference.  Brock loved riding the 4-wheeler, but not too fast.  They all loved "Redneck Golf".  They found the pump fascinating.  George was extremely disturbed by his father in a helmet.  Curtis was in shock after his first ATV ride.  The ALL loved watching the boys shoot.  George laughing with every round.  Brock put on a helmet to watch them light the half stick (the only boy down there with any sense.)

After the pyrotechnics, we finally trekked on over to St. Joseph's Catholic church.  This church beautifully displays the stained-glass artwork of my late Uncle Gary.  It has been home to the ice cream social for as long as I can remember (besides a few rain out years when it got moved to the high school).  In the 30 years I have been attending, NOTHING has changed.  A few familiar faces have passed on, and few new faces have arrived, but the food, games and company remain the same.  This little town, with a population of 169, has preserved everything you can imagine about country living.  You will never eat a better bite of pie, nor a better scoop of ice cream.  The bingo game is a lot older than I am, and still functioning great.  I think it's still even the same microphone, speaker, and announcer from my childhood days.  The turtle races never cease to be entertaining.  And we still go home with a few unnecessary pieced of glassware from the nickel toss, and a couple 2-liters of soda from the ring toss.  (George may, or may not, have been cheating...but gosh darnit, he wanted that Cream Soda!)

We appreciated the scene.  We enjoyed our food.  And we packed up to drive home by 8pm.  We had 3 boys conked out in the back seat.  I fidgeted the whole way with ridiculously restless legs.  And we arrived safely home, to our air-conditioned abode for a solid nights sleep.  We had three exhausted boys for the rest of the day Sunday, and they all fell asleep before 8pm.  Perhaps, one of these years, we will make a full three day, two night stay at the ol' Smith Family farm.  But for now, I am content with our day.