John is in Italy.

It's his fourth trip to Europe (third without me) and this time he is visiting Germany, Italy, and Belgium.

Germany and Belgium he's been before, but never Italy.

He's in love.

(with the country, of course!)

He used to be all about Germany. Studied German in high school, thinks red cabbage sauerkraut is the finest thing to ever be fermented, etc, etc, and it was a life long dream to visit there. (That dream was realized two years ago.)

We've fantasized about moving there. For a year or two anyway. Not permanently. We were even teaching our kids German as part of FHE for a few weeks.

Italy was never even really thought about (as a place to live). England- absolutely. Belgium- why not? But Italy?

But in just 2 short days, he's hooked.

He actually said he'd rather move to Northern Italy than Germany right now.

He sends me pictures via text message every so often.

With comments like "wish you were here!"

and "our table, waiting for you"

and "the best pasta I have ever had!"

My texts back to him vary between feeling incredibly jealous he's over there and I'm stuck here dealing with kids and their messes and their fighting and arguing and whining, and trying to clean the house and pack and plan so I can drive the kids to Utah by myself next week,

details about my bout with the flu or whatever that bug was that had me puking all night,

and the mundane like "did you pay the cable bill?"

Aaah, what a glamorous life I lead.

Before I garner too much sympathy, he's gonna make it up to me though. He has another business trip planned for next month which I do get to accompany him! Not to Italy though. Mostly Germany with a little bit of Austria and Belgium thrown in for fun. He will have to work most of the time, and I will be on my own, wandering about the German countryside, but I think I can handle that.

E-stopper

That's how Christopher says his name.

But probably not if you ask him.

Today I took him to be evaluated for special needs pre-school through the school district. Well, I guess it was more a pre-eval thing to weed out hyper-sensitive parents and parents who just want free preschool.

Zach was accepted into the program when he was little.

Anyway, one of the ladies evaluating Christopher related a conversation she had with him to me-

"Hi, what's your name?"
"Name."
"Yes, what's your name?"
(holding up 4 fingers) "Four!"
"Oh, are you sure?"
(holding up all 5) "Six."

So, in other words, we have another evaluation in a couple of months.

As we were leaving one of the evaluators said, "Bye, Christopher!"

To which he answered "Bye, E-stopper!"

A few thoughts to this whole thing- I'm starting to feel bad I didn't look into this option earlier. I guess I was just lulled into a false security with how well he was doing compared to Zach at the same time when they were 3, but now I'm really starting to notice the disparity between him and kids of his age group.

Also, He's my baby, my buddy, my little sweetheart. I'm not so much in a rush to send him off as I was the other ones. I think Nick was in pre-school at age 2. I guess I know better now. He'll be gone before I know it anyway.

The whole potty training thing must, must, must, fit into all this somehow. My first two had no speech delays and were potty trained earlier. My last two won't talk and won't use a toilet.

Baby Face

One of Nick's scout leaders approached me the other day and asked if they could shave off Nick's mustache at a scout activity. (This picture does not do it justice. Christopher got his grimy hands on my camera, and I can't seem to get the lens clean, and the light was bad, etc., etc.)

I was all for it. I wanted to come and take pictures.

John decided that was his cue to give in and teach Nick how to shave. He'd tried to postpone the inevitable, a lifetime of shaving for Nick, but clearly, it was time.

I still got to take pictures.

And ta-da! the caterpillar is gone!

boys.

The other day my two older boys approached me with a baggie of money and a shopping list. They had pooled their resources and and wanted a little add-on thingy to the wii controller. (and a bunch of food- apparently the pantry was running dangerously low.)

My purse and keys were handed to me, flip flops placed on the floor in front of me, and we were off.

Nick was in the lead guiding the way with shopping list in hand (complete with check boxes when the item was located.)

Zach pushed the cart, and Christopher alternated between riding on the side of the cart and running around the store. He'd also alternate between throwing a short fit because someone told him "no" (like when he wanted pink sparkly flip flops) and yelling just for fun because he enjoyed the acoustics of the large space (we were at a Super Target)

I was happy to keep a safe distance behind, pretending they weren't really my children, but staying within eyesight of them just in case.

They weren't being naughty or obnoxious, just loud. And exuberant. And rambunctious. You, know. Boys.

So at one point we pass this young couple taking a break in the outdoor patio corner of the store. She was clearly very pregnant and must have needed to sit and rest a bit before trekking to the cash registers.

I saw them watch my brood as they made their way noisily down aisle at which point the couple shared a chuckle between themselves. (clearly in response to my kids)

I stopped and pointed to her stomach- "Is that your first?"

"Yes. And it's a boy too. We were just saying that he's probably going to be just like them" (pointing to my bunch- apparently my discrete distance wasn't fooling anybody)

I left them with a congratulations and good luck wishes, and hurried off after my kids before Christopher decided my absence was something to scream about. (or half the toy department ended up in my cart.)

Boys. They're a joy. (as I type this, my middle son is reading over my shoulder and asking "are you done yet?" apparently there is a really important video game he needs to play.- also another reason my blogging has been spotty at best- I now have to share my computer with bored little boys.)

I think I have a Honda Civic in my mouth

When John and I were first married, we both owned Honda Civics. At one point I think, they were both reliable cars, but by the time I had anything to do with them they were giant money pits.

John had had his car for a few years, and as a teenager just ran it into the ground. Put a bunch of miles on it, didn't change the oil enough, you get the idea. We were repairing and replacing something every other month. When they finally said "you need a new engine", that's when we traded t in for something more reliable.

My car was just as bad if not worse. I bought it used, from a neighbor who bought it used, and she only had it for a couple months, and probably had no idea how bad the car really was. Near as I can tell the car had probably been in some kind of pile-up as it seemed both the front end and the rear end had major work done, and then there's the fact that some mechanic commented (during one of many repairs) "wow, it looks like this thing's been on fire."

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

At one time my teeth were perfect and wonderful, and I never had cavities, or needed braces, and life was good. And then I got pregnant. And now I am wishing I had taken better care of them when I was pregnant. Besides those little leeches growing inside me, sucking all the calcium out of my bones, flossing made me want to puke, so I rarely did it. (besides, I rarely flossed before, and I never got cavities, so I guess I figured it was optional or something)

Years, and years later I am paying the price. Instead of replacing whole transmissions, I am getting implants and bone grafts. Instead of major repairs draining our savings, I am getting root canals.

Such was my life last week. I knew I was in trouble when one of my teeth starting hurting. I'd been there before. I put it off, just in case it was nothing, but I knew. There was also the fact that I had already spent all my dental insurance money (and then some) this year, and anything wrong was going to come straight out of my pocket.

"Please be just a regular, little cavity... please be just a regular, little cavity...", I begged with my fingers crossed under the leaded apron they throw over you during the x-ray.

It was not to be.

I had a massive infection and needed an immediate root canal. One of the huge cavities that I had filled years ago, (from not flossing) had gone bad and needed to be fixed. The dentist said he was surprised it had lasted that long.

I pleaded poverty and they sent me home with a referral to a specialist, and prescriptions for pain killers and antibiotics. And a warning that if I didn't get it taken care of soon (insurance or not) I'd end up losing the tooth entirely and be faced with a gaping hole or another implant.

Despite the fact that I immediately started on the antibiotics, the infection was pretty bad and I spent the night with a fever and chills to prove it. (I'm still amazed I didn't bite through my tongue trying not to let my teeth chatter- anytime my bad tooth touched anything, it sent shooting pain through my jaw.)

I called the root-canal specialist the next day - I think it starts with an "o" optometrist oncologist obstetrician ornithologist endodontist!! (so sue me- there are two o's in the word- close enough)

So I called, and they got me right in, took care of my tooth and gave me better drugs than the last doctor. (yay for percocet!)

Unfortunately, while I do like the loopy-loo-ness the percocet does to my head for a little while anyway, it gets really old, and after a couple of days I start missing the ability to drive, or read, or think, or stay awake. (hence the lack of blogging.)

moral of the story- floss your teeth. Even when it makes you want to barf. Also, drink lots of milk. Even if it makes you want to barf too.

beating the heat

Of course, it's only a matter of days (hours) before they lose total interest and I will have to break down and go swim suit shopping so I can take them to a real pool. With my luck though I have already put it off for too long and all that's left are super unflattering/ultra ugly ones in my size.

First day of Pre-School

Maddie might have lingered a little longer at my side than expected, but when Christopher showed up to pre-school on his very first day, he ran through he door without so much as a backwards glance.

He loves it. And he's very proud of his little art projects. And I'm proud of him even with this little spot in my heart that hurts just a little bit.

I miss this girl

I sent Maddie off to Girl Scout camp yesterday. It's her third year. The first two years she chose a camp with horses, this year she chose one with a lake. (In my head she's at the camp in the original The Parent Trap).

Like I said, the first year I sent her she was only 8. I think it was harder on me than her. Sending my baby girl off for four whole days. She jumped on the bus with hardly a wave good-bye. So, she's been twice now, and twice she's come home full of stories and songs and excitement to last at least a week. It was obvious she had fun.

So I was a little puzzled this year when it was time for her to get on the bus, and she said "I'll just stand here by you until it's time to go."

Even when one of the leaders tried to encourage her to get on with the lure of air conditioning (the weather here in Phoenix isn't so pleasant these days) she declined her offer so she could stand by me for awhile longer. (I personally think it was cause the lady was a little scary with her ultra-bubbly-had-one-too-many-extra-shots-of-caffeine-in-coffee personality and her crazy MC Hammer-like pants.)

I'm not complaining, just a little puzzled that my little girl with the "see ya, wouldn't want to be ya" attitude is suddenly a momma's girl.

I'll happily take it though.

I have one baby girl and she's gonna be a teenager before I know it.

And my friends with teenage girls are scaring me a little these days.

you'd think I'd learn

This is Madison's third year at girl scout camp.

EVERY YEAR they require that we have her doctor sign a form saying that she is healthy enough to go.

And EVERY YEAR, I forget.

The last two years I remembered the day before, and had enough time to call the Dr.'s office, apologize for being a procrastinating slacker, and could they please fit her in and fill out a form for me.

This year I remembered at 6 pm the night before.

Madison and I ended up spending our evening sitting in a clinic which meant we were up pretty late packing and shopping for last minute incidentals.

I would also like to take this moment to apologize to those who got a phone call at 10 pm Pacific Time because I gave my iphone to Christopher to entertain him while I was crazily busy trying to help Madison and neglecting the rest of my kids. (Christopher ended up putting himself to bed an hour later because he got tired of waiting around for me.)

slow week.

Nick-"Mom, if you could spend the day with Donkey from Shrek, would you?"

Me- "Probably. I might get some good blog material."