The Documents

Three and a half weeks after officially filing for divorce, the documents have arrived. They must all be signed before a Notary Public. Part of me wants to run and jump - "freedom at last!" But most of me feels like crying - releasing the pain of a difficult 6 1/2 year marriage. Mostly I think my sorrow is for our children. Our hope? That they are young enough that this will not affect them in the long run or cause trauma to their delicate little beings. We truly are doing this FOR the children. (And for us too, of course). We reached a point where 'staying together for the kids' was more harmful than separating. We want our children to have the chance to grow up seeing healthy examples of what marriage is and should be, as opposed to our 'house-mates putting up with each other' situation. We both hope to find love - true love, and that our kids will see that it can and does exist in this world. We want our homes to be full of peace and love, not tension and anger. Peter and I care about each other still. We love each other - enough to give the other the freedom to try their hand at finding 'the one' who is compatible with who we have each become, and hope to become. This is not easy for any of us. Tears have been shed and will yet be shed by all of us, I am sure. But we both believe and feel that this is what is right for all of us here and now. Our split is amicable. We realize this isn't common, but request that you accept it as such, and not try to turn things sour between us. We want our children to feel safe and happy with both of us whether we are separate or together. We don't want our kids to feel that they have to choose between us. We are still a family, no matter what. We will be a part of each others lives forever.

Six Years

The six year anniversary of my marriage came and went a few weeks ago... Talk about awkward. How do you acknowledge your wedding anniversary when you both know it's going to be your last one? The answer is, You don't. At least, that's how we handled it. All day long on April 30th I just kept thinking, "This is it. The last one. All the hard work, time and tears, and this is how it ends." It's sad to say goodbye to something we've invested so much in, and terrifying to think of having to proceed from this point as a single mother of three small children. However, I go forward with hope! It's times like these that make me remember just how truly blessed I am to have the gospel of Jesus Christ and his Priesthood in my life. We will make it through this and come out even stronger and better for it in the end.

THE BOMB

Another Mother's Day came and went. Just like most of the ones before I didn't get so much as a "Happy Mother's Day" from my husband, much less any flowers or cards. And, just like all the other's, it ended in my tears. His reasons for intentionally ignoring this holiday, (along with my birthday, and even, once or twice, Christmas), don't really matter. Anyone could come up with any excuse to be a prick if they try hard enough. No, what matters is that this cruel behavior has gone on, repeatedly, breaking my heart while also setting a terrible example for the children. Mother's day isn't about a marriage, it's about recognizing and showing appreciation for ALL of the COUNTLESS sacrifices we, as mothers, make every second of every day and night to ensure our babes grow up healthy, strong, confident, humble, kind, gracious, empathetic, loving, gentle, spiritual, modest, virtuous, respectful, trustworthy, and oh-so-much more. For me, Mother's day is even more sacred than my birthday, and to have both be repeatedly ignored with the sheer intent to hurt me has... well, hurt. Deeply. Though, at this point in my 'marriage', if you can even call it that, it has served as a reminder, and, perhaps, even a spring board, to move forward with our decision to divorce. We came to this decision 3 1/2 months ago. We'd discussed the topic countless times over the years, but, for the first time, we can both say that it feels right. This is what we are supposed to be doing, and now is the time to be doing it. Yes, it will come with many challenges, especially for me, a single mother of three children 4 and under, but we'll survive. In fact, we will thrive. Because this is what is required of us, and LIFE GOES ON. Annie will start kindergarten in the fall. She is so very intelligent that I worry kindergarten will bore her. She is only 4 years old and is already reading books. Mind you, this was my intent all along when I started teaching her letters, numbers, shapes, colors, etc., as a newborn. =) The time apart will be good for her and Callie. I plan to move 45 minutes east to Connecticut with the kids and our cat, Katie. Peter will remain nearby in NY with our other feline children. Everyone deserves a chance to be loved... I know what is is to be adored, and won't settle for anything less than that the next time around... for both me and my children.

My Journey into Motherhood

Being a mother is the greatest gift in the whole world. It's unbelievably rewarding, but also, insanely difficult. No one ever really talks about how hard it is, probably because we like everyone to think we each have it 'all together', or, perhaps, we're afraid everyone will judge us and think we're bad parents. (As if we don't judge and criticize ourselves enough!) But I'm not ashamed to admit that being a mother is tough work! I am a "stay at home mom", (I prefer the term Domestic Goddess, don't you?) of three beautiful, amazing children, who are four years, two years and six months old. The first of these three was planned. The other two were not, although, I 'felt' that they were waiting to be born, so I was happy, and at peace, when they arrived. I am 7 of 9 children. I have over 20 nieces/nephews, and was lucky enough to grow up with some of those little cuties near me, and was very involved with their lives. So when it came time to become a mother, myself, I wasn't worried, or nervous at all. I was simply thrilled! Fast forward through an unmedicated birth filled with unforeseen complications (thanks to a foolish/careless doctor), and almost having my bladder burst, and almost bleeding to death, to 20 hours post-partum, when I was told, VIA A PHONE CALL, that my baby had heart disease and would need open heart surgery(s) and could possibly die. Suddenly, I was a carefree, excited mother no more. I was simply a scared, depressed and overwhelmed mother, terrified that my precious new born baby girl would close her eyes and never wake up. Now, I was in such bad shape after delivering my beautiful child, that my sick little babe was actually released from the hospital before I was! And I was stuck in bed with a catheter, because I was unable to walk, and hardly even able to sit up. After five long days in the hospital without a shower, or so much as a sponge bath, I was released to go home. I was weak and pale from the extreme amount of blood loss, and remained so for months. I could hardly walk, or even stand up straight for two weeks after being released, so I sat, and laid down, with my baby, never letting her out of my sight or reach. If my precious little angel so much as made a peep, I was there for her in an instant, caring for her needs. She learned to not cry, which was good, because so doing could have stopped her beautiful, yet broken, heart. Four months went by like this, full of pediatric cardiology visits which included x-rays, EKG's, echo's and more. Finally, we were informed that her heart was struggling so much, that the surgery they were hoping to wait til 12 months to do, would need to be done quite soon. My heart dropped. Again, I was terrified. She was scheduled for her first open heart surgery at 5 months old. The night before her surgery I wasn't allowed to nurse her, or give her anything that wasn't a clear liquid, which, for her, meant only water. I couldn't bear her sobs of hunger, and her confused, teary eyes staring up at me. I handed her to her father, (a rare thing for me to do, as I felt that her survival rested entirely on my shoulders alone), and gave him a bottle of purified water to feed our babe. Unfortunately, she'd never taken a bottle before, and had no idea how to use it. Either that, or she just refused because she was holding out for the real thing). He finally had to give her water through a syringe, but, as you can imagine, this did not fill, nor satisfy, my precious little one. My heart ached. When it was still dark out, I strapped my baby girl into her car seat, and we all headed south to Riley Children's Hospital in Indianapolis. A world famous pediatric cardiology surgeon would be operating on her. I sobbed the whole way to the hospital. What if she doesn't make it through this? What if she never wakes up?? I held her tiny, dimpled hands and kissed them, praying for us all to make it through this. We were escorted to pre-op. I had to undress my baby and put her in a tiny little peach colored hospital gown. They brought tiny baby size hospital socks too, but she was too fat to fit into them. The next size up was too big, so we left her feet bare. They explained to us what was going to happen in in the operating room. I closed my eyes as I digested it all, and tried not to cry. Next, a nurse came in and gave my baby girl some Versed to make her calm and settled. It kicked in quickly. I hated seeing her like this. I held her closer. The nurse told me it was time for her to go back for surgery, as soon as I was ready to let go. I would never be ready to let her go. I kissed my child again, and told her everything would be okay. I told her not to be frightened, and that I would be right beside her as soon as she woke up. Then, I handed my little one over to a nurse, who took my baby away to a cold, sterile operating room to have open heart surgery. I sat back down in the little cubby of a prep room, and cried. Another nurse, (one whose daughter I became close friends with), came and held me as I wept. She told me to take my time, and that it was okay to cry. I broke down. After ten minutes or so, I pulled myself together enough for my husband, my mother and me to be escorted to the waiting area on another floor of the hospital. I silently prayed for my daughter, and was filled with a peace. I could feel the countless friends and family members praying for us and for our child, and, although the wait was still very long, and difficult, I felt assured that our Annibelle would be okay. She would make it through this surgery, and she would live. It took HOURS for the doctors and nurses just to get in the 'pick lines' near her groin and collar bone. Hours. Every 45 minutes or so, a nurse would come out and update us on their progress, and our baby's condition. After these updates, we would take turns using the restroom, getting food, and, for me, finding a private room to pump the milk my baby should have been drinking. The actual surgery took less time than getting the lines in. I found that strange. I was so relieved when the nurse finally came out and told us they were getting her settled in the NICU and that we could see her in a few minutes. We were told that her heart had had a little trouble starting back up, and they'd had to shock her once, so they were keeping the shock pads on her for now. Seeing my angel for the first time after the surgery in our rather large, corner room, was heart-wrenching. She was all swollen from the I.V. fluids. She was also on a ventilator, and had a giant tube in her mouth and down her throat. She was in an induced comatose state so that her body could heal without her wiggling and stressing. Stress really can be toxic and deadly. She had multiple tubes coming out of her chest and tummy. I hurt for her. I had brought c.d.'s of music she was used to listening to, like church primary songs and lullabies. I would stand beside her hospital crib and hold her hands in mine and sing to her softly, and talk to her, reminding her that I was with her, and that she would be ok. I told her how proud of her I was, and how brave she is. I whispered to her about all the many people praying for and thinking of her, and of the angels that surrounded her, and I felt at peace. My mother stayed and helped out by staying in the room with Annibelle so I could go to the restroom, and to kick me out at night when Peter and I were given a room to sleep in downstairs at the Ronald McDonald house. It was nearly impossible to get me to leave her side, but twice I was convinced it would be in everyone's best interest if I got some rest, so, around 3 or 4 am I would finally drag myself away from my little trooper, and sleep for a few brief hours in the deepest sleep I've ever known. It was a sweet relief to rest my mind for a few hours as well, for, even though I knew in my heart that my baby would make it through this, I ached deeply for the pain, fear and confusion she was experiencing. While in the NICU, the doctors refused to let me nurse my baby, and she didn't know how to take a bottle. These were four of the longest days of my life. After four long days, she was finally moved up to the cardiac ward. I thought this was good news, but really, it must made things unnecessarily harder. The doctors decided, for some foolish reason, to switch her meds from the I.V. (even though she still had it in), to taking it all orally. This did not go over well with my precious 5 month old. I would lay inside her crib with her and hold her and nurse her. I even slept there beside her. The final two days in the hospital were both good and awful. Annibelle was finally able to have most of her drainage tubes removed. The pick lines were removed as well. Now she had no choice but to take all meds orally. The other terrible down side was that they now had to take blood from a vein, rather than through her I.V. It's very difficult to find a vein to draw blood from, in a baby. This is why nurses often have to resort to drawing blood from a vein in the baby's head. This is exactly what had to happen; twice. A few nurses came in; they had me, her mommy, wrap her up TIGHT in a blanket so that her arms were pinned down and she couldn't move. They, they had Peter hold her head so she couldn't turn it. One nurse stood near, (who knows why), while the other stuck a needle in my babys beautiful head, collapsed the vein, then tried again on another vein. All the while, my precious child is screaming and staring into my eyes, begging to know why I am doing this to her. My face is almost touching hers. My tears fall on her cheeks and mix with her own. I think to myself, 'how will she ever trust me again after this?' We had to go through this again the next, final day, too. At last, the day came that we were given permission to take our precious little angel back home with us! I was terrified! More so than I was the very first time I ever brought her home from the hospital. I was afraid the buckle on her car seat would hurt her incisions. I was afraid it wouldn't heal properly; that it might get infected, or open up or something. She seemed so fragile to me, and yet, she appeared ready to get back to being a normal baby. (As if she ever could be). As Annibelle healed, I was still careful to not let her cry or get upset. Her heart would be busy healing from the surgery for six months, at least, and I didn't want to impair that in any way. It's a good thing, too, because little did anyone realize, that her body's natural pacemaker had been damaged during the surgery, and getting worked up at all could, and would, stop her heart. Fast forward a couple months to me and Peter getting our baby out of the bath and laying her on our bed to get lotioned and dressed. Suddenly, she started turning blue; her lips kept getting darker until they were purple. She was very still. I was FREAKING OUT. I remember shouting, "What's happening? Something's wrong!" This only lasted about a minute before she started regaining her natural pink color. We called Riley Children's Hospital and asked for Annie's cardiologist. The idiot woman on the other end of the line told us he was doing rounds and asked what the problem was. I explained to her what happened, and she rudely told me that my baby was just cold, and to put a sweater on her, and hung up. I was floored! Thank heaven our baby was ok for now. While at her next cardiology appointment we told her doctor what had happened and he seemed confused by Annie's body turning blue for 'no reason', and was shocked when we told him about the rude nurse we spoke to. We were told to bring Annie back in in 2 months. Shortly before the next doctors visit Annibelle had another 'spell', but this time much worse, and I was all alone with her. As I was preparing her lunch one day, she began to make a bit of noise; she never cried or fussed because I always got to her in time so I could settle her before she got worked up. Well, this time, as I turned to settle her down I said aloud, "Just give me 5 seconds and I'll have you plate for you, ok? No need to get upset." Then I mumbled to myself, "She's okay. Five seconds isn't going to kill her.", but oh, how wrong I was. Before I could even reach out for her plate, just 4 feet from where I stood, her fussing ended abruptly. I spun around in time to see her eyes roll back in her head and her body slump down in her high chair. I was at her side in an instant, shouting her name and begging her to wake up. She wasn't breathing. I grabbed the tray that held her in and ripped it off, catching my limp baby in my arms; she started to stir. I was sobbing now, and so was she. We were both completely freaked out. I held her tight. "I'm SO sorry!", I wept into her hair. "I'm so sorry! Mommy's got you. Mommy's here". She settled down, and I called Peter to tell him what had happened. He wasn't sure what to say, so I called her cardiologist, and he, too, acted as though what I was telling him wasn't even possible. I was irritated and confused. I wanted answers! I didn't understand why everyone was acting like I was lying, or like this was no big deal. Sadly, and quite to our surprise, the following appointment brought bad news; our baby's heart had a section of muscle fibers that were building up too quickly and would need to be cut out soon or she could go into cardiac arrest at any given moment, and there would be no way to bring her back. Oddly, we were told that this had nothing to do with her 'episodes'. I was force to schedule, yet another open heart surgery for my little baby, who was still not even a year old. "Only 2% of 'Tet. patients' ever need a second surgery", we were told. This made me feel even worse. Right there, in that sterile little doctors office, I cried. Could she make it through another open heart surgery and live, I wondered? My whole being ached with the knowledge of yet another impending life-threatening surgery, and the fear that would fill my precious babe when the time came to go through with it. How I wished I could explain to her what was going to happen, and comfort her with my words. Just days after turning 13 months, Annibelle went in for her second open-heart surgery in 9 months. I didn't feel nearly as calm this time around. I prayed and prayed the entire night leading up to this surgery, that she wouldn't be afraid; that she'd be comforted and have angels all around her. Typically she would get very upset if anyone tried to take her from me, but when that awful moment finally came to hand her over to the nurse who would take her back to surgery, my little angel didn't so much as make a peep. She was calm as a summers breeze. Again, I sat with my husband in a little cubby of a prep-room and sobbed. My friend's mother, a nurse in this triage area, came and held me while I wept. Again, I was told to take all the time I needed; there was no rush to leave. After 15 minutes or so, the nurse who had carried away my baby returned with good news; Annie had been completely calm and didn't cry once before being put under. My countless prayers had been answered, and, you guessed it, I wept again. The second time around was much like the first. It was comforting to know the basic drill, but that was about it. They got the lines in easier this time, and the surgery was performed rather quickly, as the 4 major repairs had been made in the first surgery. This time, when Annie came out of surgery, she didn't need a breathing tube or to be placed in a medicated coma. She was still sleeping when we entered the NICU room. I stood beside her and held her hands and pushed back her hair while waiting for her to awaken. "You are so brave!", I whispered to her. She finally woke up, and after 8 hours I was finally given the okay to feed her solid food. (The doctor doing rounds was a complete jerk and moron). She was doing great! She was smiling and being so amazingly charming considering what she's just been through. The only time she wasn't happy was when a nurse would come in and check her temperature and mess with her. I tried to get the various nurses to let me take her temp. and help out so she wouldn't be so frightened, but the nurses this time just weren't as compassionate as the ones before. Shortly after her first meal in over 24 hours, a nurse came in to check Annibelle's temperature; Annie started crying with fear. As she became more upset, her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped down, not breathing, and turning blue. Again, I FREAKED OUT!!! The nurse wasn't even looking at her! She was looking at the stupid piece of paper coming out of some machine, completely ignoring the fact that my baby was, basically, DEAD! After 14 of the longest seconds of my life, Annibelle took a breath. Her heart had stopped for 14 seconds, and no one did a damn thing. No doctors even came in to check on her. The nurse just looked at her briefly and then left. What. The. Hell. In the meantime, the retard doctor doing rounds tells me I can't feed her any more food. HELLO! She's hardly eaten a thing in TWO DAYS! And she's a BABY!!! You'll be shocked to hear that this happened not once, but TWO more times! Same basic senario. Nurse ignores my plea, upsets my baby, Annie's heart stops, eyes roll back in head, nurse ignores my baby, 16-18 seconds later her heart starts back up, and everyone pretends it never happened. That is, until her heart surgeon comes along, at which point I told him EVERYTHING that had happened, from the 3 terrifying 'episodes', to the lousy Indian doctor who told me I couldn't feed my baby. Now, in a hospital/surgery setting, the surgeon is BOSS, and he chewed up and spit out the stupid Indian doctor for making such a decision that wasn't his to make, and for not informing him of my baby's episodes as soon as they'd happened. This chastisement happened right in front of me, and you can bet I stared that creep-doctor down as it happened. "Try and mess with my baby again!" I said with my slited eyes. Her surgeon came in and looked through all of the records Annie's machines had printed off. He was shocked by what had happened, and told us that Annibelle's natural pace maker must have been damaged during the first open-heart surgery, and this was why her heart kept stopping. He told us that these sort of 'episodes' had nothing to do with her type of heart disease, and that's why everyone had seemed so dumbfounded by them. Annie was scheduled to go back into surgery ASAP to have a pacemaker installed in her abdomen. It wouldn't be set to pace her heart all the time, but rather, to only kick in when/if her heart slowed below a certain number of beats per minute. Again, I was left crying and praying for my baby. Bless. Her. Heart. Two days after this final surgery we were released from the NICU and moved up to cardiology. This is where we spent the remainder of the 8 days, just as before. They had toys they would bring in for Annie to play with, and movies she could watch on the T.V., but when you're a 13 month old who just recently learned to walk all on your own, sitting still in a crib for 5 days isn't an easy thing to do! Not for her, and not for the mommy. Those felt like the longest 5 days of our lives! How do you entertain a 13 month old who has splints on her arms,hands and legs, tubes coming out of her all over the place, and is attached to a slew of machines? It was exhausting. Just as before, they decided to switch her to oral meds, even though she still had her lines in. One of the new meds the put her on made her throw up every time they gave it to her. The stupid nurse tried convincing me that she was vomiting because she was constipated, and used an enema on her. I wasn't too happy about this, as I felt certain this was not the problem, and, results from the enema proved me to be right. After another dose or two of the meds (she was always given more than one at a time), I asked to see a list of the side effects of each of the meds they were giving her. The nurse seemed annoyed, but complied. A couple hours later, the lists were in my hands. As I read through them, I noticed that one of them had listed 'vomiting' as a common side effect when given orally. I showed this to the nurse and told her that Annibelle was not to be given the oral form of this any more. She was irritated, and told me she doubted this was the problem, but again, complied. She spoke with Annie's surgeon and we were given the ok to stop that medicine completely. Annibelle didn't vomit any more. A big concern with open-heart surgery is the risk for infection, because infection near the heart could mean almost-instant death, and for this reason, Annie's blood had to be drawn, and tested, twice daily. The final two days were just as awful as the final two from the first surgery. Again, we were asked to wrap up and pin down our baby girl, while a couple nurses drew blood from the veins in her head. And, just as before, Annibelle sobbed, terrified and confused. And, just as before, my tears wet her cheeks. Her white blood cell count was dropping each time they checked her blood, but they wanted it a little lower still. They really wanted to keep her one more day, but we flat out refused to let them torture our daughter with needles to her head any more. With more than a little hesitation by the doctors and nurses, we were finally given the "GO" to take Annie home, with the condition that we would bring her back in immediately if she showed any signs of a fever, along with a list of other symptom. We agreed, and I packed up our things faster than a tornado in May! I wanted to grab my baby and run out of there before they changed their minds! Strapping Annibelle into her car seat made me so nervous, just as it had the first time around. I added a little extra gentle padding of a baby blanket between her chest and the buckle, and we drove home. Just as had always been the case, I didn't let her out of my reach. Two months later we were back at the cardiologist with our toddler, and this time, FINALLY, the results of the tests were positive; the surgeries had worked, and her heart was working as well as they'd hoped it would. The pace maker test showed that she wasn't using the pacer much, which is always a good thing. For once, I cried tears of joy. Maybe. JUST MAYBE, she was going to be okay! Fast forward 3 years, and 6 cardiology appointments later, and my beautiful Annibelle, and her heart, are still going strong! Tests show that she continues to use less than 1% of her pace maker's battery, which could also mean a possible 0%. Possibly. And, though she'll require a new pulmonary valve in 9 years or so, (and a replacement of that valve in another 30+ years), both her doctor, and we, are praying that these will be the only heart surgeries she'll need for the rest of her life. Annie is free to run and play, just like other children, though, she should avoid sports where her pacemaker could get hit and broken. (Special padding for the pacemaker could make certain sports acceptable). I am comforted, a bit, by the presence of the pacemaker. And even though I know her heart is doing well, I still wake up and check on my little Annibelle every single night, and watch her briefly as she sleeps, to remind myself that life is precious, and that, even though she can be a holy terror sometimes, we all fought and prayed for her to be a part of our lives today, and tomorrow, and, hopefully, for many decades still to come. We all have different trials in life, most, unseen and unknown to those passing through our lives. As women, and especially as mothers, we are so very hard on ourselves. Let's ease each other's burdens, if only a little, by not judging and criticizing our fellow mothers, but mourning with and comforting them, for we all have heartache in our lives, and we each carry a heavy burden on our shoulders. I am a woman, and this is the story of my journey into motherhood.

New Experience

Those of you who know me know that I love to bake. Well I found a new recipe for an apple tart and I REALLY wanted to make it! There was one ingredient that I didn't have yet, though; brandy. Now, I will cook with cooking wines sometimes, such as marsala, white, red, etc, but brandy is a hard liquor, and I hadn't realized until now, that the stores in NY don't carry anything besides cooking wines and beer. After figuring this out I realized I was going to have to bite the bullet and do something I'd never done before; enter a liquor store.

I tried going one evening, but realized they close pretty early. Dang it. I really want this tart! So the next day I get in the car with my girls and head over to the shopping center where the local liquor store is located. I felt SO out of place! In I walk with a babe in arms and a toddler holding my hand. The two customers look up with amusement on their faces. The man at the register looks at me with question. "I need some brandy to flambé some apples for a tart", I tell him. I'm pretty sure I hear the two other customers chuckle under their breath. I'd hoped to ask the cashier/owner if they carried items like orange liqueur, but once inside the store I had one thought: get in, get brandy, get out.

The employee asks me how much I need. I tell him the recipe calls for 1/4 cup, but that I'd like to be able to make it more than once. He suggests this TINY little flask of brandy. I opt for the larger one so I don't have to return to the liquor store ever again.
He hands me the flask. Annibelle says, "I want to hold it, mommy". I laugh and tell her that I don't think that's a good idea. The employee laughs and offers the girls a dum-dum sucker from his halloween candy bowl. This distracts them perfectly. I decide to pay with cash, as I don't want this purchase on my bank statement. Then the cashier hands me my flask of brandy in a brown paper bag. I feel like a homeless drunk just holding it. I decide to put it in my purse so I won't draw attention to myself. It's surprisingly heavy, but I feel better with it out of sight.

I finally get to make this amazing apple tart, and it really is delicious! It's very mild, as the recipe doesn't call for much sugar and very little spices. I may alter that a bit... A scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side completes this scrumptious dish! The recipe is soon to come on my food blog, goodbuysgreatbites.com

The Chronicles of Moving

I realize I haven't written a post here in a very long time. Life has been CRAZY.

We found out that our landlord hadn't paid the mortgage since 2010, just after we'd move in, and that the house we'd been renting was now in foreclosure. Since our lease was ending, we decided to go ahead and move out. Since it had been unplanned and we'd given ourselves very little notice, finding a new house to lease was quite a challenge, as was/is moving out on time. Because of the sudden decision to move out, our landlord became quite angry with us and is threatening to keep our $6000 deposit. She tried to scare us with a few emails and such, but I've been in a similar situation before, and so I stayed up quite late for many nights researching the laws/right involved with renting in this state. As I'd guessed, the law is on OUR side. After one more annoying email from the crazy landlord, I wrote back and gave her a piece of my mind, not to mention a few legal threats of our own. Not surprisingly, she backed down. (Though I'm sure she's still planning on keeping our money, which means I"m going to have to sue her).

The house hunting was nothing short of discouraging. Many houses we looked at were shockingly gross and disgusting. The ones we liked that seemed perfect were either rented to someone else, or denied us because of poor credit. I had many sleepless nights because of this, and cried quite a few desperate tears. We have to be out by October 15th, and still had no place to move to. Finally our realtor calls us and says we have a 'call back'. The owners of 47 Widmer Road want to meet us. This is good news. This isn't my favorite house we've looked at, but we're desperate. I remind Peter that this house has no A/C, was built in the 1800's and may have a lot of issues. It has oil heating, which we know nothing about, and the basement smells moldy. Other than that I don't recall much about the house, as we've seen so many since looking at this one.

The evening arrives and we all go to meet the owners of this house. They're Chinese. They live next door. I worry that having them right there to see all that we do might be stressful. If they're anything like the previous landlord there is NO way this could work. We meet them. They're lovely. Danny Lam doesn't speak a lot of English, but he gets by alright. He's a hard worker. He built their house next door and the play set in the yard. SoYing works for IBM. She doesn't cook at all, unless there's a party, and then she makes jello. (hahahaha!) Danny speaks to his wife in Chinese and has her warn us that the wood stove gets hot and to not use it so the girls will be safe. He tells us that he will mow the lawn and, as long as he's in town, will plow the snow for us. (It just keeps getting better!) All of their concerns are for us, not their house. These are good signs! We talk and agree to rent the house and meet back in 2 days to sign the papers and pay the first months rent and deposit. (Those were two very long days!) Finally, on October 3rd, we make it legal, and for the next two years, this house is ours. =)

We immediately load up the rented Uhaul van and take a load of stuff over to our new house. We do this each evening the entire week. The house had been vacant for 2 years so there was a LOT of cleaning to do! We were out past 1am every night. The poor girls are exhausted! So are we.

Friday night we rent a 26 foot Uhaul truck and a few guys from church help load it and unload it at the new house while I pack and take care of the girls. The next day the actual movers come. They were terrible. Lazy. Slow. Incompetent. They broke two of our couches, the vanity my father gave me, and countless other items. They held some of our items hostage on the truck in an attempt to get more money out of us, so I started moving stuff myself. One of the 3 guys sat on the truck all day and did nothing to help us move. All items were just thrown into the main level of the house. The couches weren't put together and were tipped over and one was left on end! Boxes weren't in the designated rooms. You could hardly walk through the house. I cried. Today was also Annibelle's birthday. She was now 3 and the entire day had been nothing but a nightmare. We decided to dry our eyes and celebrate anyway and took our little ones to Chuckey-Cheese. We ate pizza, ordered a cake with candles and played silly arcade games until they closed. It was nice. We decided to spend the night at the old house on the recliners that were left there. Not a great night of sleeping, but we survived.

Over a week later we are still moving out/in! We're almost done. Tonight the young men and their parents are coming over to help move the rest of the stuff to the new house. I admit I'm a little stressed out thinking of immature boys running around my houses and handling my stuff. Hopefully this evening will go smoothly.

We've been blessed to have some friends from church help us in the attempt to make some sense of all this mess. If not for them we would not be able to see past or walk around the boxes.

Yesterday was a beautiful day and I just couldn't handle being inside with all the boxes any more, so after laying Callie down for a nap, Annie and I went outside to clean up the front flower beds. There was a lot of old dead debris from the plants which I pulled out with a rake. Annibelle put on her Dora gloves and helped me put all the mess into piles. We ended up with 5 big piles of weeds and such. Now what? I didn't want to handle the messes because of the possibility of spiders! Yuck!!!! I decided to leave the piles there for Peter to help me with when he got home from work. HOWEVER.... when he returned home from work the piles were no longer there and had been cleaned up! By who, you ask? By Danny! Our landlord and neighbor. He had cleaned up my gardening mess for me after mowing the lawn. I felt like my dad was here with me, as this was always how we did things. I'd prune and make the mess, and he'd clean it up.

I feel so blessed to have such great neighbors/landlords/friends. I've missed my father more than I can express, and though he's still gone, I sort of feel like he's here helping me out right now.

We now live on 3.5 acres with plenty of trees for the cats to climb and play in. We have a big open yard and a swing set for the girls to play on. We have privacy without seclusion, just as we'd wanted. We don't have an HOA telling us what we can and can't do. WE have landlords who don't care a bit that we have cats, which is wonderful, because that means they won't care if I end up getting another pet at some point. =) And, we're paying $500 less/month on rent, no longer have a water bill (we're on a well now), we don't have to pay for lawn mowing or snow plowing, the electric bill is lower since we don't have a/c, and the heat is oil! I feel truly blessed. Someone must be looking out for me.

Now you all just have to come visit us and see for yourselves this cool, old house we live in! It has a lot of character! I didn't think I"l like living in an old house but I do. I even think it's funny that the floors are so unleveled that the bed rolls across the floor! There are closets inside of closets in this house. The girls have such fun hiding in the closets and cabinets; it's so funny to watch them play. We also have a huge front porch, which will soon be sporting a porch swing!

There's still a LOT to do before this house can be called a home, (I still haven't found our drinking glasses!), but I'm excited to live her and make this place our own.

Child Again

Do you ever wish you could have just 5 minutes where you didn't have to be the mom, cook, housekeeper, nurse, maid, landscaper, chauffeur, lunch lady, psychologist, mechanic, jungle gym, spouse....? Sometimes I wish I had a few moments just to be me. And in those moments, I often wish I could just be a child again. Just for a few minutes. I'd like to be wrapped up safe in my father's arms, and just be held. I miss that feeling of security. (Husbands don't really ever feel this way because they have us taking care of their every need... Seems a bit backwards if you ask me).

Since starting my own business, (slow going, but getting up in the saddle!) I finally feel like I have an individual identity again, and I LOVE IT!!! Sure, I get tired of measuring and cutting tulle and ribbon sometimes, but when that happens I just focus on what matters most, and that's my two little girls! They always provided me with the necessary relieve from a hard day of work, and know how to make me laugh. I've never known two more hilarious kids in my life! If you haven't had a chance to be around them recently, you're really missing out. They're both growing like weeds!

Callie turned 1 year old last week, and what a cutie! She's loved destroying her birthday cake, and Annibelle felt a sisterly need to help her out in that endeavor. =) Callie is now 1 going on 5. She is so bright and advanced! We call her our little mountain goat because she tries to climb everything, and is fearless! (Not always a great quality in a baby). She has NO idea she is just a baby.

Annibelle will soon be turning 3 years old! She has grown up SO much since her baby sister was born a year ago, and even more since we moved here to NY. In the past few months she has really had a growth spurt and went from wearing 2T to barely squeezing into her 3T clothes! She still has her adorable baby chubs too. (I'm praying that's not due to her heart...) She loves to play with her little sister and sing and dance. She says the funniest things! I can hardly wait until our trip to Hershey so some of you will get to see my cuties!

I've stayed very busy this summer with my business, www.TangerineTutus.etsy.com. (AdornableFlowers.etsy.com still exists, but I"m working on combining it with the afore mentioned shop). I also have a public blog, www.goodbuysgreatbites.com. I'm not great at updating it, but I'm trying! I'm trying to do better about posting pictures too. My computer is about to die, any day now, and has been giving me a lot of trouble. Once we get a new one I hope to really get things cleaned up with that yummy blog of mine!

I also flew out west with Callie last week for my brother's wedding. (The last of us kids to marry!) It was BEAUTIFUL!!! Callie actually fell asleep just as I was going in for the sealing so I was able to attend the whole ceremony. I hadn't been able to go to the Temple in over 3 years, and being in there at Twin Falls, ID was so special. I'd missed feeling the Spirit so strong. I hadn't realized how accustom I'd become to the tension here in my home/family, and realized that I have to do something to clear it up so that my children grow up familiar with the presence of 'The Comforter' in their daily lives.

Well, I suppose I should get up and get a few things done while the others are all napping. (This is a rare phenomenon). Just so you know, I have a special discount code for all of my family to use at TangerineTutus.com. If you're interested, here it is! GOOD2BFAMILY20OFF Let me know what you think of my new woven headbands!