Traveling with Two Small Children

So we're home, safe and sound. Our return trip was, thankfully, relatively uneventful. I don't know which frightened me more-- the thought of being on an airplane with two small children who I would need to confine to their seats for the sanity of all the passengers or the thought of having a three hour layover in the Atlanta airport.


Once we got settled in near the gate in Charlotte, the kids were pretty rambunctious. For them, it was typical kid energy, but I could tell the other passengers in the waiting area didn't think they were so cute. I even commented to one older woman that I was letting them get all the energy out now so they'd be calm on the plane. She coldly replied, "I should hope so." All I could think is "What a bitch!" I mean, it's not like I want my kids to cry loudly or scream at me or refuse to buckle in on the flight either. I know small children can be irritating to other travelers, but imagine the anxiety any normal parent feels traveling with them knowing that!


Anyway, the kids were wonderful on the flight. But the airline made a big mistake. They let me put the car seat in our seats, which were immediately in front of an exit row. Apparently an FAA no-no. I don't mind shuffling seats with the kids, mind you. But the flight attendant (kindly) carried the car seat to our row and set it in for me. Then the flight attendant announced that they wanted to push back in 6 minutes, they were closing the doors, and would everyone please hurry up and take their seats. My kids were already seated, happily munching on the last of the popcorn I'd brought and guzzling their apple juice boxes.


Then a different flight attendant noticed us. And all hell broke loose. They wanted us to switch seats with the people in front of us. Again, no big deal if they'd given me time to do it. Instead they wanted to give me help. Which, again, is a nice idea. But not so much when your toddler is terrified of the male flight attendant who wants to help you by unbuckling her or even just picking up the car seat (she was really mad when she thought he was taking away her car seat). She began screeching. Then Casey began whining, "What's happening, Mommy?" Of course, now everyone on the airplane is looking at us wondering the same thing Casey is, and I'm trying to calmly tell the kids to "hurry, hurry," so the airplane can push back. All the while, throwing our stuff from our well-settled location into the row in front of us.


That wasn't the end of the world, of course. Once Marcie was settled into her new location, she was fine. Until the pilot came to a screeching (and I'm not exaggerating) halt just as we'd begun to power up and pick up speed. He came over the PA and told us everyone needed to stay seated during take-off, and I wondered how he could tell from the cockpit that someone at the back of the plane had stood up (if that's why he stopped at all). But the thing was that when he brought the plane to a stop, it shuddered. Forcefully. And that freaked out the kids, causing Marcie to begin crying. At the moment, Casey was sitting in the middle seat because I'd chosen to strategically place myself on the aisle to prevent Casey from springing himself loose in-flight. I was able to shift Casey over the top of me into my seat and buckle him while sliding myself next to Marcie. Both kids were (understandably) concerned by the shuddering brakes, but once we actually took off, they were fine. Marcie slept through the second half of the flight, and Casey played with a new frog my mom had purchased for him the day before. I spent the first half of the flight trying to reattach the band-aid on my left arm/elbow. It somehow got attached to my sweater, and then I had to pull it off, but I didn't want to leave the skin exposed. I had a travel box of band-aids and neosporin with me, and I applied the neosporin to my arm. But it got too spread out and then the band-aids wouldn't fit. So I had to use the antiseptic wipes to clean the area around the wound so that I could get band-aids to stick. I'd say all in all, the process took me 5 band-aids and 30 minutes. I think it entertained Marcie. The flight was only about an hour long, and when it landed, we waited for everyone else to disembark before we unloaded ourselves.

The nice flight attendant again carried the car seat through the aircraft for me, and the double stroller was waiting for me on the jetway. Marcie clung to my pant leg for dear life while I opened the stroller and placed her in her seat, but she was fine once Casey was seated next to her. If you're wondering, Casey had his own Thomas backpack filled with toys, which he wore to get on and off the plane. Then I hung it by a strap on the stroller. Marcie's car seat when on the other stroller arm, and the kids balanced the weight by sitting in their seats. I traveled with a single backpack, in which I'd stuffed changes of clothes for the kids, the changing pad, diapers, diaper cream, PB&J sandwiches, Special K bars, granola bars, popcorn, peanut butter crackers, gold fish, graham crackers, the DVD player, the DVDs, extra wipes, ear phones, Benedryl, Motrin, a thermometer, the pack of band aids, the neosporin, and a book for me. I'd also stashed a couple toys that Casey had never seen to take out when he got bored. All that in a regular old Jansport backpack!

Once we got into terminal A, we located our final flight home-- which was going to be leaving from terminal E. So the kids and I trekked through the airport to the underground tram. On our way, I noted that there was a pretty big play area for toddlers, and I hoped there would be one in the terminal we were departing from, too. No such luck, of course. But after riding the tram and walking the entire length of the E terminal to discover this, Casey had fallen asleep.

Marcie and I ate some dinner at the food court, where I bought Casey some piping hot pizza, then we went over to our gate. I let Casey sleep for about 45 minutes, and then I woke him up because it was way past his nap time and I really wanted him to sleep on the flight home, especially since he was going to be flying during bed time. He wasn't so happy I woke him up, but after about 30 minutes and some pizza and chocolate milk, he was a little less cranky. I found a nice spot outside the window where we could see our plane. We watched them load refreshments and food, we played in the semi-enclosed area. We went to the bathroom to let Casey go, and then we returned a while later to change Marcie's diaper. And the next thing I knew, three hours had passed, and they were boarding our flight.

We boarded early again. Marcie still didn't like being removed from her stroller and cried as she clung to my pant leg. This time I carried the car seat myself (though the flight attendant did offer). And we settled into our row-- nowhere near the emergency exit. It was a 767, which meant a configuration of 2 seats, then 3 seats, then 2 seats, and we were in the 3 middle seats. Marcie took one aisle seat and Casey took the other. I sat in the middle. As the aircraft boarded, I pulled out one of the new toys Casey had not seen before-- a tube of air crafts (balloons, fighter jets, bi-planes, water-planes, a blimp, and a hang-glider). That occupied him for about 30 minutes. Then, as we were taking off, I pulled out his Jay-Jay airplanes and the two model 767s we'd bought on the trip, and we played like we were flying our airplanes. Marcie played, too.

By the time we got up into the air, Marcie had fallen asleep, and Casey was ready to watch The Little Mermaid. Which he did. Followed by a Thomas DVD. And the machine was still working halfway through his second Thomas DVD when Casey told me he was ready to go to sleep. Marcie had just woken up, and she was not interested in the DVD player, so she and I played with some other toys while Casey slept.

Marcie was pretty upset as we began our final descent into San Diego because I took away her apple juice (because she was going to spill it all over herself!). She cried so loudly, I finally took her out of her car seat for a few minutes, explaining that she had to sit back down when they told us we had to put up our tray tables. She wasn't happy when that time finally came, but she didn't squawk loudly enough to disturb anyone, either.

When we arrived in San Diego and got off the final elevator, the kids were thrilled to see their grandmother waiting to give them plenty of hugs and kisses. You'd think we'd been gone for weeks they way they ran to her, screaming, "GRANDMA!" Yeah, I know, we were gone for weeks. But just 2 of them! Still, I'm glad they were happy to be home.

After I gathered up the bags, and the kids had given Jason kisses, I pulled out the last toy I had stashed away. I carried it with me from San Diego to Ohio to North Carolina and back home again and never needed to give it to Casey. I told Casey how proud I was of him for being such a good boy during our long, long day of travel. I told him I was giving him a brand new Snuffy (a character from Jay Jay the Jet plane) because he was so good and listened so well.

He's been carrying Snuffy around ever since.

So here's my advice on traveling with small kids:

1. If you can afford it, buy the kids a seat. If they are in a car seat, use it. They know their car seat and are comfortable in it. It will give them a sense of security during the flights.
2. Don't be afraid of layovers. Even though trekking through an airport with so much stuff is a hassle, the layovers break up really long flights.
3. Pack lots and lots of their favorite snacks and as much of their drinks as you can. Comfort food is, well, comforting.
4. Have a small stash of secret toys to introduce at various points during the trip, especially for a preschool aged child. This will help pass the time.
5. Bring one of those DVD players (or a laptop) if your kids like movies.
6. Explain to your kids everything that's going to happen in advance. Repeatedly. And again while it's happening.

So there you have it. How I survived my summer travel!

Beaten to Bloody Pulp

Ok. So I'm exaggerating, I admit it. But really, I'm thinking that if I were a full-time, permanent stay-at-home-mom, I'd be in pretty poor physical shape. Not for lack of exercise (though that may be true, too), but because I'm insanely accident prone.

In Ohio somehow I landed a monstrous bruise on the underside of my left arm. It didn't hurt right away, so I'm not sure how I got it-- though my guess is that I got kicked on one of the water slides. At least I protected Marcie from that injury, since she was on my lap when it happened (a guess, I realize, but she was on my lap every time I went on a slide, so a pretty reasonable one).

Last week, I was trying to get the kids to stop running in circles around the first floor. As one of them came careening through the dining room, and around a corner of the kitchen, I bent over to stop her before she smashed into the counter top. Once I stopped both the kids, I stood straight up-- and smacked my own head on the corner of the counter top. Yup. Another bruise-- this time on the right side of my head.

Then when we went to Carowinds earlier this week, Marcie started to freak out a little while we were waiting for them to start the carousel moving. My dad was stationed next to Casey who was on a horse that was immobile, but Marcie likes the horses that go up and down. To calm her, I decided to launch myself up onto the horse behind her. In doing so, I managed to swing my right shin directly into the horses tail. Literally. The knot and bruise were immediate. And ugly.

Yesterday we took the kids to Monkey Joe's, which is a giant warehouse full of bouncy houses. I had Marcie on my lap going down a slide. I realized about halfway down that Casey wasn't going to get out of the way despite my yelling, so I shifted my weight over to my left side to avoid kicking him the head. The skin near my left elbow slowed me (and Marcie) down, keeping Casey from harm. My arm on the other hand has some painful rubber burn (which is just like road rash) as a result. Ouch.

Sigh. At least I haven't fallen down the stairs here. Of course, I'm not gone yet . . .

Eaten Alive

At least that's how it feels. Apparently I have delicious skin. Mmmm. Yummm. A couple mornings ago, it was cool enough to go outside and play in the yard. It was shaded. The kids were having a blast. And then I felt a bit itchy on my calf. A minute or so later, I looked at my hand and caught a mosquito biting me. I got rid of it, but not before it bit me, dangit.

The kids didn't seem bothered, so I went inside and used bug repellent wipes and went on my merry way. I smelled like summer camp (apparently I used bug spray a lot at camp growing up) the rest of the day, but the bugs left me alone.

The next morning, I opted not to venture into the yard, leaving my parents and my friend to contend with the four kids on their own. I stood on the screened-in back porch and waved to them. . .

Apparently my absence led to a new victim. Poor Marcie. I don't think they are mosquito bites because she's not really scratching, but she has maybe half a dozen on her legs and arms. And one on her face. Right to the side of her eye. I know not to use Deet on them, and I know Cutter is supposed to be safer for kids. But instead, I'm opting to keep them out of the grass and woodsy areas for the rest of our trip (which is only a couple more days).

I'm just chalking this up to one more good reason to live in Southern California . . .

Some Pictures (at long last)

Some time last week I promised to upload some photos of our trip. Unfortunately, I sent the card reader home with Jason, so I don't have any way to get any of my pictures onto a computer here. Fortunately, my parents have taken some snapshots and are giving me free reign over the computer where they are stored. So, finally, here are some pictures:
Apparently we arrived in North Carolina along with a huge heat wave. It hasn't rained in a couple weeks, and the temperatures have consistently been in the 100 degree range. That means that outdoor play is virtually unhealthy, leaving us to seek refuge in air conditioned places or outdoor places with water and/or shade. To combat the heat-- and potential boredom of playing inside, we have taken to hitting the pool each afternoon after nap time. Here's Marcie floating around in her ring.

While Jason and I were in New York, my parents kept the kids on their feet. I think this is the Discovery Place. I just like the picture of Casey-- I think he looks so grown up here-- except for the doll house in the background, of course.

The morning Jason left, it was cool enough to head over to Jetton Park, where we hunted for ducks along the shore of Lake Norman and let Casey ride the scooter. He refused to be in our family picture, as luck seems to always have it. But Marcie sure looks cute with us. She recognizes herself in the picture, by the way. Even calls herself "Marcie" now.

The kids have had Dairy Queen soft serve twice now. They prefer chocolate. Marcie will eat the cone with her hands, but this is a little less messy, I guess (not much, though!)

Casey road in the engine he's standing in front of. It was quite loud inside, and the whole time he clung to my dad for dear life and repeatedly expressed his desire to be done with it. When the ride was over, though, he told us he'd ridden in the train engine and that it was "awesome." It's too bad he only seemed to enjoy it in retrospect. It was a great experience anyway. We also went to the round house and road the turn table. He thought that was too loud, too. It figures. The kid loves trains, and he'll talk about the experience like it's the best thing that's ever happened-- but he sure didn't act that way while he was there!

My friend Danielle of South Cackalie (check out her blog by clicking the link on the menu bar) came to visit us for a couple days with her kids Emma and Nicky. Her oldest child, Emma, and Casey really hit it off. My parents treated us all to an afternoon at Carowinds (in South Carolina) while they were here, and the kids really had a blast. This is Casey and Emma in front of my mom, Marcie, and me on the Dora the Explorer train ride. Danielle and Nicky sat it out because he wanted to wiggle all over the train car. . .

When we first got to Carowinds, Casey was a cautious ride-goer. The first time on this airplane ride, he really hunkered down and clung to the rail. The ride probably goes less than 5 miles per hour. A lot less. By the end of the day, though, he was riding it with his hands in the air like he was on a giant roller coaster. Speaking of roller coasters, he rode one at his request with my dad. I don't think he'll be doing that again any time soon! And he also road the log ride-- for which I was very proud of him. And he was proud of himself, too. There's a big drop at the end, and he did great on it!

Marcie also took ride-going a bit seriously. She really wanted to go on this boat ride, during which she turned her wheel carefully and rang the bell repeatedly. She really had a good time.

Here's Nicky with Marcie after dinner. He's such a happy kid-- always a ready smile!

And here is Emma and Casey. They spent a lot of time dragging each other around like this-- they really were two peas in a pod.

So those are some highlights. There's a lot more to write about-- and show, but I think this will take care of some of your curiosity!

Second Leg

We arrived safely in Charlotte, North Carolina yesterday. At some point early next week (maybe as early as Sunday), I will post some photos. But Jason and I are leaving tomorrow for Leg Three of our trip, so it'll have to wait until we return to North Carolina for that.

We left Ohio around 5:30am yesterday, and everyone woke up to send us off. Casey didn't want to say good-bye to his big brother Bryce, and I think that's actually a good thing. We've spent a lot of time wondering how his relationship with his birth family will grow over time, and he obviously feels a sense of belonging and connection, which we were hoping for. I know that as Haley and Bryce get older and have their own interests, our visits will in some way be an interruption. But for now, they seem to genuinely enjoy Casey's participation in their summer break. And Marcie took to both of them like she was their sister, too. In fact, Bryce at one point asked me what Marcie's role was-- and I wasn't really sure how to answer. It's one of those things I've thought about with respect to Marcie. I mean, I expected Marcie to ask that question in a few years. But I hadn't considered that Bryce or Haley might wonder the same thing.

How do you classify it? Does her relationship have to have a title? I suppose not. Bryce asked if she was his sister-- and I suppose she is by mere virtue of being Casey's sister. I mean, there's no question about that relationship even though they aren't biologically related. So does that make her Bryce's half sister, too? Even though they aren't biologically related? Or is she like his half sister once removed? I know that it doesn't matter what you call it-- that Marcie will just always look up to Bryce and Haley the same way that Casey does. And I am so grateful Casey's birthfamily has taken in Marcie just like an extension of the family -- because that's obviously how we think of her. It's just one more example of how we know we hit the jackpot with them-- just one more reason to thank Casey's birthmom Angie for picking us to parent him.

But I digress. After leaving at 5:30am and driving a couple hours to Dayton, we had no trouble checking our bags curbside. The sky cap did a nice job figuring out why the airline had us down as checked in with checked bags already, and I tipped him well. So then he covered Casey's booster seat with plastic, which we sure did appreciate. We had enough time to stop for breakfast. And then we watched the planes for a while before we boarded ours. It was small. The kind with one seat along one aisle and two along the other aisle. Marcie and I sat behind Jason and Casey for the flight to Cincinnati, which was less than 20 minutes long. The bummer for us was that even though it was the same aircraft taking us to North Carolina, we had to remove everything when we deplaned. Including Marcie's car seat.

Inside the airport, the kids and I browsed a toy store, where Casey picked out a new airplane to play with. We returned to our plane and flew the hour and a half to Charlotte, where my dad was waiting for us at the gate! Back in the old days, your family and friends always met you at the gate. But nowadays because of security no one can do that. Unless you're lucky enough to have an airline employee for a friend or family member. As it turned out, my dad was on his way to his own flight (as a pilot), so he was there to greet us in uniform and everything, which Casey thought was so cool. As a matter of fact, my dad has models of all the various air craft he's flown in his study. Casey keeps taking my mom in there to point out the one that looks most like this most recent flight we took. He says, "Remember, Grandma, when we took that airplane?" as if she flew with us!

After lunch and a short nap, my mom and I took the kids over to the pool, then we had dinner, where Marcie ate more broccoli than I have ever seen a child eat.

This morning we headed over to a city pool that's an indoor water park! The only bummer was that I couldn't put Marcie on my lap to go down the slide, and she kept flopping backward and landing under water (thankfully she knows to hold her breath), so she wasn't long for the water slides themselves. The kids ate there, then home for a nap again. Casey begged us to go to a nearby park to ride a scooter. I don't know if he didn't like all the gear (helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, etc) or the heat-- or both. But after getting everything loaded into the car to go, Casey wailed that he wanted to go to the pool instead. So we did.

And now the kids are asleep. So leg two is going well so far. Then again, the real test will be these next few days-- while we're in New York and Marcie is here with my parents.

As for me, I am really enjoying this unfettered time with the kids. They make me laugh. Marcie is so determined and independent and inquisitive. Casey is so busy and musical and smart. And I did manage to finish a couple books (including Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows).

Observations on Ohio

We look forward to visiting with Casey's birth family each year. And we look forward to visiting their home, too. It's pretty different from suburban San Diego. Casey's half brother and sister live in what we would consider a small town-- Jason tells me he remembers hearing it's got a population of around 4,000. Our home town, dubbed "the city in the country," on the other hand, has a population in the neighborhood of 40,000. I bet the geography has similar acreage, though. And that says a lot.

Each time we visit, Jason comments that we should buy a place in their home town. There are plenty of rolling hills and wide open spaces. And generally when we visit, even though it has always rained during our trip, the weather is more or less pleasant. Of course, we've tended to visit in the spring. And apparently it's a tad bit hotter and more humid in August. That doesn't mean we didn't have a blast at the water park and visiting Cosi, the Columbus science museum, where there were plenty of wet activities to keep the kids engaged and cool. And we were pleasantly surprised during our foray up to Cleveland for my good friend's wedding to have even escaped the humidity for a while.

One thing we noticed, the thing that really struck me is this: people actually drive the speed limit. Now, I'm no speed demon or anything. But I don't drive the speed limit either. When we explained that we'd be taking an interstate, people repeatedly commented with statements like, "Oh, that's good. You can drive 60 (or 65) on that road." 60 or 65, huh? I don't remember the last time we drove that slowly on an interstate! And when expressed our surprise at the conformity with the speed limit to my friend's other wedding guests, we were warned to take it easy-- lots of state troopers. We didn't believe it. After all, we'd traveled from Dayton down to south of Chilicothe, up to Columbus, and up to Cleveland and run into exactly one state trooper in two days. And we'd passed two highway patrol stations!

But there we were, driving home around midnight, coming down a hill onto a straight road, about to pass under an overpass when we saw the vehicle, sitting with all his lights out in an unlit area. And though Jason slowed immediately, it wasn't enough to prevent us from attracting the officer's attention. It turns out it wasn't a state trooper, but a local officer. And when we tried to hand him Jason's license and our rental agreement, he told us he knew it was a rental and just wanted to know where we were from. One look at the California license and he sighed a knowing sigh and said, "Well, I'm just gonna give you a warning as long as your license comes back clear. But you were going 75, so take it easy." And he was pretty nice about the whole thing.

On the rest of the four hour drive, we didn't slow down to 60 (except when we got lost downtown-- why are the freeway signs in Ohio so darned confusing?!?--and when we hit construction zones with speed limits of 45mph). And we still rolled in the door around 4:10am. That was after a deer darted across the road in front of us as we took our last hill back to the house. Fortunately, Jason has quick reflexes.

Cleveland was fun-- mainly because my friend was a beautiful bride. By now I think we've seen about all of Ohio you can see from interstates. Of course, there are plenty of fields and other places to explore. And lucky for us, we have family sprawled across the state, and in one small town in particular, which beckons us back to "the country."

First Leg

We made it to Central-ish Ohio safe and sound. We flew from San Diego to Atlanta and Atlanta to Dayton, then drove a couple hours south east to our final destination. The kids traveled like champs. I was heartily impressed. My strategy? New toys.

I bought Casey three small toys (two from Bob the Builder and one from Jay Jay the Jet Plane). I put one in his carry on and two in mine. He found the first one on our way to the airport, and he played with it all the way to Atlanta. Of course, he also watched a movie and ate some snacks. And the flight was smooth, so he was able to stand up in the aisle between me and Jason. But he didn't try to run off or anything, so it was good. Marcie was in her car seat much of the flight, but she wasn't pleased about it all the way.

We only had one hour in Atlanta, which was barely enough time to switch terminals and go to the bathroom, so no lunch. Fortunately, the kids didn't mind. They both fell asleep during take-off (so I never introduced one of the new toys). When we landed in Dayton and got in the rental car, we could plug in the DVD player to the car to run another movie. Plus, I'd brought Casey a new toy and I had my secret weapon-- popcorn which I'd popped the night before and put in a gallon-sized zip lock. Of course, by the time we'd traveled nine hours without any real food, I was famished, so we stopped for food at the start of the drive. At the restaurant, we sat next to a family with a toddler wearing a Hooters bib. That was a new one!

Casey's aunt and uncle sold their goats, so they weren't here when we arrived, but his half siblings were waiting for us and came running out to the car when we pulled up. Casey was ecstatic to see them, and he didn't even notice the new Thomas Tidmouth Sheds toy they'd bought him at first! He spent the night with his big brother in a big boy bed, and he had so much fun with Bryce in the morning, that he didn't even come wake us up for breakfast when he first got up.

I'll leave off there. I'll just mention briefly how much both kids loved the water slide park. And true to form, Marcie insisted we go down the biggest, tallest slide in the children's area. Saturday, Jason and I drove 4 hours to Cleveland and back for my good friend Poornima's wedding. She looked beautiful, of course, and the food was amazing. And her new sister-in-law is a massage therapist in New York, where we are headed in a few days-- so you can imagine we'll be calling her!

Ok. I've gotta go now, the kids are wrestling next to me on the couch. I told Casey this morning that we'd be leaving tomorrow, and he was pretty upset by the news, even though I also told him he'd get to go on another big airplane, see Grandma and Grandpa, and go swimming in their pool. We expect that from here on out, it will get harder and harder for Casey to say good-bye to his older siblings. And it's gonna be hard to watch. But I think it's a good thing, too. Because it means he feels a connection with them, with his birth family. And that's what we wanted for him. And I think his birthmother would have wanted that for him, too. They are, after all, his family.

Auto Out of Office Reply

They don't really have one of these for blogs. If they did, it would read:
I'm out of the blogsphere for a short stint, experiencing new things to write about so this blog doesn't become stale. I hope you'll forgive the short hiatus and check back in a week to hear all about my latest adventures!

Here's the deal:

We're off on our trip tomorrow (actually today-- in about five hours. Good lord, I hope the kids sleep on the plane because I'm obviously going to be exhausted!). I don't know what my computer access will be while I'm away or how much time I'll have to write.

I expect to post a blog update within the week though-- my guess is next Tuesday (the 7th) at the latest. I'll have lots to tell about. I'm a little nervous about what to do with the kids on the plane. I've packed sufficient snacks, though-- so many, in fact, there's no room for Harry Potter (but that won't stop me from bringing his last book along).

In Your Carry On . . .

So, in honor of our pending trip across country, I decided to look up the TSA Regulations for what we can carry on so that I don't have to throw away a bunch of stuff when we try to pass through the security check-point. Mainly, I wanted to know if I could bring soy milk for Marcie (it's not listed as a permissible liquid in amounts greater than 3 oz., but baby formula and juice are, so I'm going to bring a box of it anyway, and if they may be toss it, so be it).

I was surprised to discover there have been some changes in the TSA regulations.

Most notable is that I am now permitted to bring scissors with metal tips that measure less than 4 inches in length. I used to travel with small scissors pre-children (and pre-9-11, obviously) because I cross-stitched on the plane. My very sharp Fiskars are a fraction or two under the two-inch mark. But man are those things sharp. I wasn't planning to bring scissors, but then when I saw that screwdrivers 7 inches in length or shorter are permitted in carry-on bags, I began to think maybe I should bring my puny scissors for protection. You know, just in case we need them on the plane. (I don't want to be too explicit here for fear I'll trigger some red alert and screw myself out of the trip!)

Then I decided to read what items are not allowed in your carry on. I was pleased to learn that swords and sabers are among the list of prohibited items. Along with cattle prods, throwing stars, and axes or hatchets. Geez. What kinds of items were people bringing on airplanes before?

In any event, I know I'll be safe. As long as I have my trusty Fiskars nearby. Heh heh.

Why I Am Becoming a Lawyer

This post is because Johnny requested it.

The truth is, I did not want to become a lawyer. There. I've said it out loud. Written it anyway. I loved being a teacher. I felt called to be a teacher. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things that sucked about being a classroom teacher. But for the most part, it was exactly what I expected. I knew I wanted to be a high school teacher before I went off to college, and so that's what I did. More specifically, I wanted to teach high school English and coach high school Speech & Debate. And I did. I also taught first year Spanish, which I did not want to do, but ended up loving. So I'm glad I was forced into it. And were I to go back to the classroom, I think I'd want the Spanish-English split again. First year Spanish is a whole lotta fun and games. And teaching English means, well, a whole lotta paper grading.

Anyway, every year I did a project with my juniors in American Literature to Billy Joel's song River of Dreams, and one of the symbols in the song is the ocean of life-- and I asked students to project where they saw themselves in their individual oceans of life. Now, I never gave an assignment I didn't do myself, and after about 5 years of teaching, I realized I really wanted to get a graduate level degree in something other than Education (I already had my Master of Education). More than that, though, I really wanted to become a parent. And so I put them both on my poster and spoke of them briefly in my "model" presentation. How do these two things fit together? I'm not sure. But this is my story.

After I'd been married for a couple of years, I could tell that continuing to coach debate would mean big trouble for our relationship. I give kudos to those people who spend several days a week apart, or several weeks a month, or several months a year-- you get the point. And my husband and I both grew up in families where our dads were gone. A lot. Mine as an airline pilot-- so he was more of the several days a week type. His dad was in the Navy, so he was gone for much longer stretches. And home for longer stretches, too. Anyway, as it turned out, we are not a couple destined to be apart for long. And the strain of traveling with 30-some-odd high school students for two weekends a month was creating tension. So I made a decision to leave coaching. It was a hard choice in many ways. But to me it felt like it was that or my marriage, so it wasn't that hard, at the same time. Plus, I had more "friends" who were 16 than 27, so that didn't bode well for me.

Once I left coaching, though, I felt restless (me, bored? shocking!). Right around that time, I had received (earned, really) a National Board certification and people were stopping my classroom to observe me more often. Plus I'd become a department chair. (That's what happens when I get bored!) One of the groups that had come to observe me liked what I saw and offered me a job at the County Office of Education (ironically) traveling all over the state and training teacher leaders in a new literacy program. The job also allowed me, well required me, really, to help design professional development for teachers. AND it was a "loan" position, which means I never technically would leave my employment with my school district. The district and the county would have a contract; the district would hold my job and pay me my salary and benefits and the county would reimburse the district. Good deal for me.

So I took the job at the county, a job which was going to last the remainder of the school year plus one additional school year.

And once I was out of the classroom, I got antsy again. I started to think about how I'd really wanted that doctorate or something. So I decided to apply to law school. And we weren't having much luck growing our family the traditional, biological way. And at the same time, we also decided to pursue adoption. And fertility. Oh. And I began to train for a marathon about 6 months after that.

Well, the fertility was slow-going and I wanted a child. Like now. So a year later, there I was having just finished the marathon, holding our son in my arms in the midst of a snow storm in Ohio. And life was good. I didn't really care about law school any more. I was going to go back to teaching, to teach part time, and life would be good. Plus, it didn't look like I was going to get accepted to law school anyway.

And then, three days before orientation, I got a phone call from the dean of the law school offering me a seat. I hesitated. Really hesitated. But with a lot of nudging from Jason, I agreed to try it for a year. We reasoned that litigation is a lot like speech & debate (and it actually is). I like speech and debate. Plus, if I did well, I could earn as an attorney what we make combined. And that would mean Jason could quit his job and stay home. As you can see, there are a lot of contingencies in this plan.

So off to law school I went. I loved being a student. It was a lot of work, but it was interesting. I enjoyed legal skills class and oral arguments. And I did really well my first year. But any time things got tough, I'd say to Jason, "I'm just gonna quit law school. There's no shame in that. I really liked be a teacher-- I don't mind doing that again." And Jason would prod me forward.
At the end of my first year (I was in a four-year parttime program so I could continue to work while in school so we wouldn't have to lose the house to put me through school), I was at the top of my class. So I applied for summer jobs. And got one. And hated it. I won't go into where I worked because that would be rude. But let's just say, there I was half way through law school and thinking I really had wasted two years-- because I didn't like being a lawyer. I asked the career counselor about it. And a professor I respected. And they convinced me it was not lawyering I didn't like, it was the firm. Plus, I was on nearly a full academic scholarship after my first year, so the education was free (well, monetarily, anyway). I had nothing to lose (other than time) by sticking it out. So I did.

At the end of my second year, I was still at the top of my class. I interviewed at all the big firms and got offers from most of them. Then hemmed and hawed about picking one that would be the most family-friendly (if there is such a thing) because I knew I wanted balance. And at the end of my third year, I worked there for the summer. And learned that I really do like litigation work, but the transactional stuff just isn't my cup of tea. And while we were in China to meet Marcie, they called and offered me a post-graduation position, which I promptly accepted on the spot. And that's where I'll be working come October-- and, if I passed the darn bar exam, hopefully my tenure will stretch much longer than that. Otherwise, I just might return to the classroom in 2008!

So that all doesn't answer the why of lawyering; it really talks about the how. Why become a lawyer? I have answered this question many times-- sometimes to convince my teacher friends that I'm not selling out. And sometimes to convince attorneys that this isn't a temporary detour in life. And the bottom line is this: I like researching and writing and arguing. I like thinking quickly on my feet, feeling intellectually challenged. I like feeling like I've made a difference in someone else's life.

Did I get all that from teaching? Pretty much, yeah. Will I get all that from being an attorney? I don't know yet. But I do know that becoming an attorney is a decision that's good not just for me but for my family. Because it means we can maintain our lifestyle and they can have an at-home parent devoted to the kids' needs. If Jason weren't willing to stay home full time, I'm not sure I'd be interested in becoming a lawyer. And I don't think having a parent at home is a necessary thing. But it makes sense for us, and for our kids. And shucks, if we can afford it, why not give it a shot?

Maybe I will hate it and go back to teaching. Who knows. But I don't feel badly about leaving education to pursue more money elsewhere, because it's not just about the money. And besides that, imagine if every semi-talented person who could teach actually did for just five years. Don't you think the quality of education would be better? I can't help but think my 5 1/2 years in the classroom made a difference-- to those students, to other teachers. And I likewise like to believe that in the 5 1/2 years since, while I've been designing professional development programs for teachers, I've still been touching kids in some (very) indirect way. I've done my part. I've paid my dues. And I owe it to my own children to provide for them in the very best way I can.
So there you have it. I may end up hating it. But I know I have to give it a shot. And honestly, I think I'll love it . . .

Whew. Glad that's over.

At least for now. I survived the July 2007 California Bar Exam. My computer didn't crash. There were no earthquakes. My mind did not go utterly blank, so I had plenty to say on the essays. I finished all the tasks in the "performance test" portion of the test. There were no earthquakes and the power functioned properly the entire time. No one sitting near me freaked out or had a break-down. People were relatively friendly and polite. The proctors were pleasant enough.

So the bottom line is that if I didn't pass this test, it's not because of the environment. And we all know it's not because I didn't study enough. I did every single assignment BarBri gave me. Plus some. And then some more. I did not slack. I did everything "right," and if I didn't pass this test, it will truly be because of my performance. And yeah, I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse, but since I won't be getting any results until November, I am willing myself not to worry about it.

I stayed at a hotel downtown for the past three nights, and although I don't think I actually I slept any better, but it sure was luxurious in the mornings to only worry about getting myself up and out the door. . .

So there you have it. Sort of anti-climactic, I suppose. On the one hand, I feel like celebrating just for making it through. On the other hand, I don't feel like I deserve to celebrate unless I actually passed. And then there is that sense of . . . I don't know . . . loss, maybe? I mean, I have spent the past four years and 10 weeks doing this, and now my life is going to be very different again. Just knowing that feels strange . . . Don't get me wrong; I'm looking forward to the next phase. But change is always hard, especially for those of us who are creatures of routine.

In the meantime, I'm going to be keeping plenty busy. Casey and I are going to Seaworld today. We have a bridal shower tomorrow (kids invited!), and Sunday my sister comes into town just for a few days. Then we are off to Ohio to visit with Casey's birth family, and on to North Carolina to visit with my parents and my childhood best friend.

And in the immediate future, I hear Harry Potter calling my name. I'm re-reading Half Blood Prince before I start Deathly Hallows-- and I must say, keeping away from all media and potential spoilers regarding this last book in the series has been a bit tricky. Even in the midst of the bar exam. But somehow, I've managed. So don't spoil it for me!

And Life Goes On

Even in the midst of the dreaded Bar Exam studying, my life has had its moments of complete normalcy. On the first day of the bar review course, they make a point to those of us with kids that we should essentially ignore them, let whomever is watching them know not to contact us unless they are bleeding. I don't know. Perhaps I'll regret not heeding this advice, particularly if I don't pass the test, but I just couldn't bring myself to ignore them. I've certainly neglected them to some degree, but I've tried to maintain the tiniest amount of, well, normalcy, too.

Here is some evidence:

Um, guess who found my lipstick?

Last night at Red Robin with Joey, helping celebrate his third birthday (which is today):

Footprint on the Wall

We re-painted our living space about 3 1/2 years ago, after the house flooded from a slab leak and we had to replace dry wall, retexture, and repaint. I say we but actually our homeowner's insurance paid for professionals. The family room, which the kids and I call the TV room has a long wall, painted beige. It's pretty gross, even after just three years. There are food stains and drink stains, mainly. But a few days after Fourth of July I noticed something new: a footprint. At first, I thought it was a handprint. But upon further investigation, Jason and I realized it's a footprint. A little, muddy footprint.

This made me laugh. Hard. And out loud. I mean, how did a tiny, dirty footprint end up twelve inches up the wall? Did someone bounce off of it?

It reminds me of that one party I threw back some time around 1997. The one where my friend fell off the edge of the spa and ended up with a concussion, but we all thought it was so funny she fell backwards and hit the pavement, we laughed. We were too intoxicated to realize she was hurt. She was too intoxicated to realize she was hurt, too. We got lucky she wasn't more injured. And then I discovered the broken toilet seat. Who breaks a toilet seat and doesn't mention it to the hostess? The point is that it was a crazy party. The only crazy party I've ever thrown. Maybe the only crazy party I've ever been to. We talk about our adult lives as before that party and after that party. And we had fun, despite our complete irresponsibility (this was before spouses and children of course). Or maybe because of it, I don't know. But I remember it fondly nonetheless.

Well, the footprint makes me feel like that. Like I threw one of those cool, crazy parties that everyone talks about for years afterward. Except it was a toddler party. And the evidence of it isn't a great story about drunken concussions or broken toilet seats, or beer replacing the water in the spa. The only evidence is a single, tiny, muddy footprint. Makes me not want to paint over the thing. . .

Cheerios Parade

No, it's not some cool activity to do with your kids (though feel free to figure out how to create a Cheerios parade with them and share with us!), it's the arrival of summertime ants.

The other day, while I was showering and combing my hair (I've actually pretty much given up on make-up and blow-drying these days, though I plan to resume those activities this week when I take the Bar), Marcie was snacking away on her dry Cheerios in the bathroom. Somehow she lost her balance, and the Cheerios spilled all over the floor. Next to the laundry basket filled with clothes to wash. She pulled herself up, but apparently as she did so, she crushed some of the Cheerios. The rest, she and I cleaned up together.

I didn't think to look for hidden Cheerio dust. Or crumbs. Though I knew we'd been seeing occasional ants in the bathroom seeking water. And off I went to school.

When I got home around 10:30pm that night, there was a trail of ants on a Cheerios parade. They entered through our bathroom window-- which is over five feet off the ground. They paraded down the wall, across our clothes, and then scattered on the floor. Despite feeling pretty grossed out by the view of ants in my pants (literally), I was intrigued by the series of ants on the wall passing pieces of Cheerios bigger than they were up the wall. It was pretty amazing. I complain about carrying almost-40-pound Casey on my shoulders during walks up hills (I feel like he bares down on my chest and it's hard to breathe), and these ants were carrying crumbs twice their size!

Anyway, I couldn't go to bed knowing there were ants all over my clothes, and the floor, and the wall, and the window. So, of course I had to clean it up, shake out my pants and shirts, vacuum the Cheerio crumbs and dust, suck the ants off the wall, and Windex the window (to kill the ants). It took me about 30-45 minutes. But the ants have stayed away since.

Giant Vat of Pepto Bismal

When I was in high school, competing in speech & debate, I used to carry around those chewable Pepto Bismal tablets at tournaments and pop them every four hours or so. They turned my tongue black, but they kept my stomach in check.

When I was in college, if I procrastinated on a paper or assignment, a couple days before it was due, I'd break out in hives, or the palms of my hand and my eyes would swell up. It didn't take me long to figure out the cause-- and the solution. Get things done efficiently and in advance. Interestingly, I no longer needed Pepto Bismal for the speech & debate tournaments.

Today my stomach is killing me. I know it's not something I've eaten. I know it's nerves. I know the pending Bar Exam is the cause. It's in three days. Three. Days. That's a long time to have a tummy ache. I finally left the library and came home to study-- I'm hoping being away from all the tension in the air will help my stomach feel better. But I know the truth. It'll only feel better after the exam is over on Thursday. A part of me is irritated by this new development. I have enough to worry about without needing Pepto Bismal on top of it all. And a part of me thinks this is a good thing. It means there is a level of anxiety in me-- a sort of adrenaline, so to speak. And I think if I didn't feel the anxiety, I'd be in big trouble. This is, after all the test. The one that is the key to the profession.

It won't be the end of the world if I don't pass it. But what a waste of a summer. And I know I'll feel embarrassed. I don't know which is more motivating. . .

I don't feel ready, if you're wondering. But another two weeks of studying wouldn't change that. I'm not going to be able to retain any additional information in my brain. Some moments I feel like I'm actually getting stupider-- I realize something new only to forget something I'd already learned. I just have to trust that I know a sufficient amount to get me through, and that's got to be good enough. How zen of me, don't you think?

So that's where I am. Still studying. Still worried. And ever more grateful it's almost over. At least for now.

Oh, Happy Adoption Day

When both parents travel to China together for an adoption, you take the oath of parenthood (I don't know if that's the official name of it, but it describes what you say) and promise you didn't lie on your paperwork in front of the consular at the American Consulate in China. If both parents don't go, you have to re-adopt the child in the U.S. to make it official and final. We both traveled to China, so our adoption was legal and final in China. And Marcie became a citizen when we all crossed back into the U.S. together through customs. But we decided to re-adopt Marcie in California anyway. Just a formality since she was already legally and permanently ours (unlike in Casey's adoption), but this will allow her to get a birth certificate here in the U.S.

We arrived at the courthouse about 15 minutes early, and Marcie hung out with Casey and with Grandma. Jason and I were there, too, of course.

We didn't wait long-- less than 30 minutes. The judge was running ahead of schedule, so he called us about 10 minutes before our scheduled hearing time.

Now, I know exactly one judge in the California courts personally. He was my criminal procedure professor for a full year of law school. I only had two professors for a full year of studies in law school, and the judge, Justice H., was one of them. He is an appellate court judge in California, and he prosecuted a very famous local case here when I was growing up. So imagine my surprise when we entered the court room and it was Justice H. who was all set up to formalize our adoption! Pretty neat, if you ask me. . .

I vaguely remember taking that parent oath when we adopted Casey. The courthouse was also much busier that day in September, but this time, things went very quickly. We signed the adoption decree, and we received our certificate. But we didn't have to make any new promises (though we were, of course, prepared to do so). This photo above is me signing my name. I forgot how long my name is to sign, being that I have two last names. And my brain is so jello-y lately, with the Bar exam a mere four days away.

I included this photo just so you could see what they do here in the jury box-- they fill it with giant, happy, stuffed children. Pretty neat.

After we signed the forms, Justice H took photos with us. We actually have a much better Polaroid version of this, but it gives you the idea.

Outside the court room we met another family there to readopt their daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth is from the Jangxi (did I spell that right?) province. She is 14 months old and they've been back in the U.S. for 4 months. We exchanged information so the girls can maybe get together . . .

Outside the courthouse, we took a family picture. Ann, Casey's godmother, also came to show her support for the adoption, and she was our photographer for the afternoon (thanks, Ann!). There is another picture with us all looking at the camera, but Marcie is actually smiling in this one, so I'm sharing this one instead.

The whole thing was over by 3pm. We'd planned to go to Emerald, a yummy local Chinese restaurant for a meal, but 3pm was too early. So we went to Cheesecake Factory for cake instead. Ann came with us, and despite missing out on half their naps, the kids were relatively well behaved.

Marcie's been part of our family for almost a year now. We don't even remember what life was like before her. We are so lucky . . .

Dear Wedding Guests

No, I'm not getting married again. But I have several friends (and a sister) who are. And watching them go through it brings it all back . . . quite vividly. My wedding planning actually pretty smoothly. My parents (bless their hearts) insisted on hiring a wedding coordinator to help me because they lived on the other side of the country. And so from Nina I learned everything I needed to know about proper wedding etiquette.

Unfortunately, I am apparently in the minority on that. And I really don't get it. I mean, if you've ever hosted a wedding or been involved in planning one (or a friend to someone who is), how could you not know how to properly read a wedding invitation? Is that snobbery on my part? Perhaps. So here is my letter to those of you who may be invited to a wedding in the near future:

Dear Wedding Guests,

If you have recently been invited to the wedding, please follow these simple rules to aid the Bride and Groom and having a happy wedding day:

1. Please RSVP to the wedding on time. Thousands of dollars and months (or even years) have gone into planning this event. Your response is necessary for determining seating arrangements, expenses, and just so the bride and groom don't go crazy. If you can't go, let them know. If you plan to go, let them know. The key: let them know.
2. If do RSVP that you plan to attend the event, and then something happens which is preventing you from attending, please contact the bride or groom. It doesn't matter that it's the night before. Or the morning of the wedding. Leave a message if no one answers. Even though it's common for a certain percentage of people who have RSVPd to not attend the wedding in the end, it's just polite to let the bride or groom know you won't be there. Life happens. They will understand, but they still care that you aren't there even on the day of their wedding. They invited you after all.
3. Please don't RSVP to bring more people than listed on the invitation. What am I talking about? Check the envelope and see who it's addressed to. If it's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. S, please don't RSVP for Mr. & Mrs. S and your three kids and your kids' friends. Often time space (and budgets) are limited, and those invitations are carefully crafted. If "and family" is not on the invitation, your kids are not invited. Similarly, if you're single and your invitation does not include the phrase and guest it's because the bride and groom are expecting you there solo.
4. If you don't like that your invitation is just to you and your spouse (and not your kids) or just to you (and not your boyfriend or girlfriend), don't bother the bride or groom. It was not accidental. Nothing about wedding invitations are accidental. If you're pissed, don't go. But don't harass the bride or groom into letting you bring a date (didn't we learn this from How I Met Your Mother?).
5. If the invitation or response card actually specifies that children are not included, do not call the bride or the groom (or their parents) and ask if you can bring your kids because they are so well behaved. Or breast-feeding. Or because your babysitter is out of town. It's rude. Your kids are still kids. They aren't invited. If you're in doubt about whether or not your kids are invited, they probably are not.

Oh. One more thing. If you found out that someone you know just got engaged, please don't assume you'll be invited to the wedding. Weddings are expensive affairs, and funds are limited-- this means that if you aren't invited, it's not that the bride and groom don't like you. They just don't like you enough. Just kidding. Seriously, though, don't take it personally-- I like to think of it as an honor when I'm invited, but I'm still happy for friends and colleagues and classmates when they get married and I'm not there to help them celebrate!

Love,

Karen

P.S. All this wedding invitation etiquette talk was prompted by my friend, I'll call her Bride. She is getting married in September and currently studying for the Bar. She's finally turned off her cell phone because she keeps getting calls about the wedding invitations, sent out a week or two ago. This is a rough rendition of the initial exchange between Mother of the Bride (MOB) and Woman (W) after W received Bride's invitation,which says on the response card that children are not permitted at the wedding venue (in this case, it' s liability issue):

W: Hi MOB, I just got Bride's invitation, and I noticed it says children are not included.

MOB: Yes.

W: I don’t understand what this means. My girls are 12 and 13.

MOB: Mmm. Hmm. What don’t you understand?

W: Well, the invitation says no children, but we don't really consider them children.

MOB: Hmm. Well, Bride and Groom haven't included any children under the age of 15 because the venue liability insurance won't permit it.

W: Well, okay.

Now, let's flash forward three days. W calls my friend, Bride. And repeats the exchange. All the while, my friend Bride is thinking: What do you mean you don't consider them children? What are they? Can they vote? Do you let them drive? Can they enter a contract legally? Do you let them gamble? Smoke? Drink? Last time I checked, 12 and 13 year olds were children!

Over-reaction? Maybe. She is studying for the bar. But there's a lesson in here-- don't keep harassing people until you get the answer you want. Seriously. Just be happy you were invited!

Marcie's First Brush Fire

Yeah, what a nice first, eh? In other parts of the country, people have first hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, thunderstorms. Here in Southern California we have brush fires and earthquakes. I'm not a big fan of either, of course. But I'm not much for tornadoes and hurricanes either.

Casey's first brush fire was in October 2003. It was huge. It burned for days. It took out entire neighborhoods and shut the city down. Casey was 9 months old. I was in my first semester of law school. No one left their homes without masks on, and even that was rare.

We voluntarily evacuated to Jason's parents house when the fire started blowing in our direction. No one told us to, we just did. I remember being amused by the items we loaded up on our car: laptops, photo albums, TIVO. We returned home that night, but the brightness of the fire shone out on neighborhood streets. And there was soot everywhere. I never felt afraid, just irritated by Nature's rage and interruption into my otherwise pretty serene world.

You can catch some photos of the devastation, along with the basic story here. Here's some more information about the conflagrations.

I'm sure Casey doesn't remember it, despite his amazing memory. But it's in his baby book.

And today, there was a brush fire near Jason's parent's house. There are several news stories on it, but this one pretty much explains what happened. Stupid arsonist. I was at school studying all day (shocking, I know-- and I'm still here at school now!), and the street leading to where Marcie and her grandma are was closed off by police all afternoon. It's been opened, and Marcie's grandpa told me she and Grandma are just fine. I got the impression they voluntarily evacuated, but I didn't even ask! Silly me. . .

What an eventful day for Marcie. As if she even knew it was going on . . .

How do you do it all?

Tonight as I was standing at the dryer folding clothes so I could switch over the wash, I was thinking about my cheering squad. No, I'm not talking about imaginary friends that cheer me on (though I wouldn't necessarily put that outside the realm of possibility). I'm talking about family and friends who say to others about me, "That Karen! I just don't know how she does it all!"

I suppose it either sounds impressive to work nearly full time and go to law school and have two small children (who actually know who you are!) at home-- or it sounds wildly insane. And the truth is probably somewhere in between. When people ask me how I do it all, I usually point out that Jason is incredibly involved-- a real partner to me. So he picks up the kids from school and gets them off to bed. And I point out that my in-laws are a huge support-- that the kids and Jason have a family meal most nights because Jason's mom feeds them all at her house. And I point out that I have understanding and flexible colleagues and an incredibly supportive boss.

And all that is true.

But as I stood at the dryer tonight, folding the clothes without even bothering to turn them right-side-out before doing so, I realized that my answer just isn't the full story. The truth is this:

• I don't dust. Pretty much ever. Maybe once a year. And sometimes I con Casey into using the feather duster to "play" and dust at the same time.
• I don't worry if the socks aren't matched up-- they all go in the sock drawer. And I don't worry if clothes are folded inside out. I figure whoever took it off inside out and didn't take the time to unflip it can't be all that upset if I treat the item the same way (though honestly it's mostly my stuff that ends up inside out in the wash).
• If I'm not going to work, wrinkles don't matter on clothes. If the clothes are clean, I'm all good.
• I have an amazing ability to ignore clutter. When Jason recently cleaned out the closet, he found bill statements from four years ago (when I started law school). Now, in my defense, I pay things online-- but really, that's a lot of mail to store up in a closet, and it was probably a fire hazard.
• I don't mind pulling clean dishes out of the dishwasher to use instead of putting things away. Okay, I mind a little. But not enough to actually put the stuff away when life gets really busy.
• I have a really dirty car. Really. Dirty. Inside and out. I try to clean it out every couple weeks, but you'd never know it. Plus, I think I might be able to feed a small army with the amount of cheerios, pieces of chips, and crackers on the floor of my backseat.

Those are just a few of the ways I'm able to "skimp" so that I have time to do other, more fun things. Don't get the wrong idea. I do clean bathrooms with some regularity. I do vacuum. The laundry gets done every week. The sheets on the beds are clean. There is fresh food in the fridge, and I make breakfasts and lunches. But the truth is you really can't have everything in life. And really, if something's gotta give, why not let it be the dusting?

Caught Around Town

Do you know that part of People magazine where they show pictures of celebrities doing "normal" stuff-- like they've been "caught" being regular? Well, these two pictures of Marcie make me think of that:

And here is me looking dastardly tired (that's what happens when I don't wear make-up) with Marcie on her first Fourth of July:
And since I'm showing off Marcie, here she is experiencing her first fudgcicle (thanks to her dad)-- and yeah, I'm thinking that shirt is probably not long for this world . . .
And a photo of the men in my life:

And finally a picture of the kids playing in our back yard:

And that's probably a bit of sensory overload for you-- so that's it for the photos for tonight!

Bread Thief

On Friday when I arrived home from studying, I entered the house letting the garage door slam behind me. I was expecting to hear the patter of feet come blustering down the hallway and the gaggle of "MOMMY'S HOME!" that usually accompany the feet. But no. No such noise.

I crept around the hallway corner to discover Casey, perched up on the arm of the sofa, completely engaged in the movie Hercules and Marcie sitting at their small table, with her back to the TV. In Marcie's arms was a bag of bread. My bread. And spread across the table were somewhere between seven and eleven slices of it. Including the heel. She had taken a bite out of each one. And not on the edge of the bread so that I might still be able to use the pieces to make myself sandwiches. Oh no. Bites out of the center. Almost like she folded it in half, took a small bite, and opened it back up to look at her work. She was digging around in the bag for another piece when I caught her eye. "Hi, Mommy!" she called out happily.

So I learned my lesson. Don't leave my bread on the kitchen table where she can reach it. And destroy it. I don't think Marcie is particular about bread-- and I don't think my bread is particularly tasty, either. I eat that Wonder Lite stuff. But the kids and Jason eat Miltons or Orowheat. So I imagine my bread (much lower in calories) must have tasted like cardboard to poor Marcie, though really she didn't seem to mind.

Then yesterday morning, I decided to go back to bed and sleep in for a while. I shoved Jason out from under the covers with a "gentle" nudge and asked if he would lay on the couch so I could get some rest. And I rolled back out of bed at around 8am when I heard Casey calling out loudly, "MARCIE, WHERE ARE YOU?" From a dead sleep, I bolted wide awake. There aren't really many hiding places for a toddler inside the house, and in the pit of my stomach I worried Marcie had wandered off. Though in retrospect, I don't know how she would have escaped-- she doesn't know how to open the slider, and the front door has a hotel latch that's hard for me to reach. Nonetheless, I raced from our bedroom to the family room.

Jason, too, groggily sat up on the couch. But he took one glance around the room and said, "Casey, she's right here." Sure enough, there was Marcie. Sitting happily at the kitchen table, hidden by the height of the table itself because she'd opted for a chair without a booster seat.

She giggled a little as I approached-- and there in her hands were a knife (gasp!) and a hamburger bun. She was attempted to cut herself pieces of the bun and she'd clearly done a pretty good job up to that point. As if I were talking down a criminal, I said, "Marcie, give Mommy the knife please. Gently." And she did.

And she held up the top of the hamburger bun and called out, "Bread, Mommy."

"Yes, I see, Marcie." I replied.

And that is the end of knives in our silverware drawer. I don't know how she reached into the drawer and got it out, but that won't be happening again.

Whenever I feel slightly exasperated by her ability to problem-solve, I can't help but also feel so proud. She's a girl after my own heart-- I was quite the trouble maker when I was a toddler, or so my mom tells me. Once I climbed up into the bathroom medicine cabinet, took out my mom's nail polish, unscrewed it, and tried to use it as eye liner. During another escape, I located my dad's deodorant-- the roll-on kind-- and licked the entire bottle. At least Marcie's actions aren't quite as gross. Well, not yet anyway.

A Life More Enriched

This morning Casey was a real pain. I didn't tell him I thought he was being a pain (though I'm sure he sensed my irritation in my tone)-- because lately when I tell him he's being a pain he says, "I not pain. You a pain, Mommy." And that makes me laugh. Which is not the proper response to your child when he's being a pain.

This morning he was being a pain because he wanted to wear his new Cars shirt. The one we bought yesterday at Target. The one that's so big, it hangs down to his knees because the smallest size they had was a boys' small. The one he wore all day yesterday. And sweated in. And rolled around in the dirt in. That one. I told him he couldn't wear it because it was dirty and stinky. And I promised he could wear it tomorrow-- that I'd wash it tonight. But he wasn't having it-- he wanted to wear that shirt. So he told me, "I not talking to you, Mommy. I going to ask Daddy." Now, Daddy was still asleep-- with an hour of sleep to go still remaining on our typical schedule. But far be it from me to keep a boy away from his dad, so off Casey stomped to talk to Jason.

Jason dutifully climbed out of bed-- albeit groggily-- and followed Casey back to Casey's room. Casey explained (as best he could) that he wanted to wear his new Cars shirt. And I added, "the dirty one," for more complete explanation. Jason told him he couldn't wear it, but that we'd wash it and he could wear it tomorrow-- to pick out something different. Casey seemed to accept this. He grabbed the dirty shirt off the floor and race out the door and into the laundry room. We heard the dryer open and close (I didn't even know he knew how to open it). And he came back and announced it was all ready to be washed. Then he opened his shirt drawer and without further complaint selected a (different) Cars shirt and put it on.

Jason and I later chuckled in the kitchen about how funny it was that Casey really thought one of us would undermine the other.

But then, on my drive to school this morning, I started thinking about how difficult Casey had been when he first awoke-- and that led me to thinking about how well-behaved he was yesterday-- and how much fun we had.

Now, I'm the first to admit that kids can sometimes be, well, for lack of a better term, burdensome. They are whiny. They are needy. They are expensive-- and I'm not talking about the cost of adoption, here. So why bother having kids at all? I mean, especially people like us-- people who have gone really far out of the way to have kids. No accidents here. Our family has definitely been planned. The answer is really simple. Kids really do enrich our lives.

And even when I'm irritated by Casey's insistence in not doing what I've asked, I'm equally impressed by his stick-to-it-ness. I'm impressed by his attempt at problem-solving by asking his dad for help. I'm impressed at him having and expressing opinions-- however much I may not like them.

But that's not all-- I remember how much pure joy Casey and Marcie bring to my small corner of the world. In an otherwise kind of dreary summer (as much as I love school, studying for the Bar really has been no picnic), yesterday was this bright ray of sunshine. . .

It started really quite normally. We left home around 8am with the stroller-- Casey racing ahead of us on the sidewalk, and Marcie strapped in. The sun was already out, sunscreen was appropriately applied, and it was starting to heat up as we made our way to the local Starbucks. We chit-chatted along the way, Casey mostly pointing out the crows-- though Marcie helping with her "caw caw" noises, too.

At Starbucks, we each enjoyed a beverage-- and we took our time. Marcie apparently knows both the words "Starbucks" and the word "coffee" (thanks, Mom), despite the fact that we frequent neither with any real sense of routine. Marcie had been carrying our miniature flag, and Casey wanted a turn, so we decided to stop into Target on the way home to see if they had any (they didn't). Outside the Target, Casey asked Jason what the flag was for. Thinking out loud (trying to come up with a response), Jason's said, "What is the flag for . . ." and before he could finish, Casey cried out, "In de pants!" Jason and I looked at each other in surprise. "What a great answer," Jason commented, and I of course agreed-- Independence!-- much better than what I could have come up with! And heck-- I didn't even know Casey knew any four syllable words!

Even though they didn't have a flag, it didn't stop us from contributing to the economy; we splurged on some pajamas for Marcie and a couple t-shirts-- this is where Casey picked out his new, favorite shirt. Marcie insisted on a shirt just like Casey's, so we got her one, too. And we trekked on home. By then, it was much hotter, and Casey was tired, so we took turns pushing the stroller and carrying Casey on our shoulders (even though it's a double stroller, he sometimes refuses to ride in it).

At home, we played a bit with the kids. Casey called his birth family and got to talk to his brother and his sister and his cousin. He was absolutely gleeful during the conversation. He is so excited that he has a big brother and big sister. Around 11am, Casey got lunch started for the kids. We told them I was going to study, I kissed them good-bye, and I disappeared into the study, in hopes they wouldn't look there for me (they didn't). I studied while they napped.

And after nap time, the real fun began. We played a little in the backyard-- mainly because Marcie discovered the water table full of water and began splashing about. Then we went to our local Fourth of July celebration. In our city, we have a 100 year old steam engine, and on 4th of July, when you ride it, there is an Old Fashioned, staged shoot-out. Casey was terrified of the gunfire. He lept out of my arms and into Jason's. Marcie, on the other hand, couldn't crane her neck far enough to enjoy the show. (Hmm. One daredevil. One not so much. Wonder which one will be riding the roller coasters with me . . .)

When we got home, some friends of ours were there waiting, with their 2 year old. A bit later another couple and their 13 month old arrived (now walking!). And the kids played. And played. Well, with the help of the dads. They got filthy. Filthy! Now this is totally my fault. Our backyard is just a dirt yard at the moment. The trampoline really needs to be washed down. So between kicking the soccer ball, sliding down the slide onto the hard, dirt ground, and rolling around during baseball playing, Casey (and Marcie) got a little grimy. And so did their friend Lucas.

Not to worry, though. After dinner, we tossed the boys into the bathtub, where they dumped water on each others heads and eliminated the grime. They were so dirty, it actually left a ring of dirt in the tub. While Marcie was getting her bath, we let Kate (the 1 year old) chase the naked boys around the living room and play area until they put on their pajamas. Then, once the kids were in their pajamas, we danced to Lollipop and Rockin Robin. Boy, their friend Lucas sure does know some cool dance moves. Three bed time stories later, it was time to say good bye to our friends and put Casey and Marcie down for the night. We had initially planned to go see fireworks, but we were just too tired.

I don't think I've laughed and smiled so much since I started studying for this test. Every once in a while, I wonder what it must be like to be preparing for this exam without a supportive spouse or partner and without children-- to just live alone, to be experiencing it alone. On the one hand, I guess it might be nice to have nothing and no one else to worry about. To not have to try and figure out which days you'll make it home in time for bedtime kisses or (gasp) even a family meal. To not be awoken multiple times throughout the night because someone is scared or thirsty or has to go potty. To not have to make four breakfasts and two lunches each morning before you can leave. To not have six loads of laundry each week (at least!). You know, to just worry about yourself.

But then, on the other hand, I cannot imagine my life without my fabulous children (and Jason, of course-- that goes without saying, really). Especially right now. Because as much as I know I need to spend time studying, I know that it's my family that helps provide me balance. I may have totally disengaged with friends and extended family during the past six weeks or so while I've been intensely focused on the preparing for this exam, but I haven't disengaged from my kids. Not emotionally. And not mentally. They really are such a bright spot in my otherwise kind of drab world-- I am so very lucky to have a family, to have my family-- my kids really have given me a life more enriched.