To actually log into the desktop, with actual internet access, wearing my actual pajamas (and clean, too!), in an actual house that we can live in (for now…they will be listing it in April, which is just part of the craziness that is small-town/big-university living) -- I am so, so, so, so grateful. To have the kids tucked into their actual beds, with their familiar blankets and toys and flashlights and all where it should be, is nothing short of a small miracle.
I don't really want to re-live the three weeks living off the bare minimum while Armando started his job, navigated the nightmare that is real estate in Eastern Washington in September, and traveled throughout Asia while the kids and I tried to have some semblance of normalcy to wind down our final days camping out at Grandpa and Grandma's house. I don't really want to recall the week and two days of sleeping on camping mats on the floor (my back and hips still remember, and my seven month-old baby belly remembers) or the hours I spent on the phone haggling for my own belongings with a very unsympathetic corporate moving company. I don't ever want to pack or unpack another box again.
I know my future holds lots more packing and moving -- and I'm up for the adventure, truly -- but for now I just want to perch my pregnant self on the edge of my mattress while I type on my desktop (we don't, of course, own an actual desk so are utilizing our nightstand for that purpose, as what the heck do you really do with a nightstand anyway except stash stuff when company's coming?), eat this pint of Haagen-Dazs and marvel at all that's happened in the past month.
We are now living in a gorgeous, sprawling house in the middle of nowhere, Washington. Rolling wheat hills as far as the eye can see, with stars that are actually bright and fill the nighttime sky, plenty of space for the kids to run around, and fifteen minutes to the nearest grocery store. Not exactly my idea of paradise, but it has its own beauty and there's something to be said for serenity, especially when you're a maxed-out pregnant person with two munchkins who could use a bit of stability in their lives.
Speaking of the little people, nearly three weeks in and they have adjusted really well to living here. Anika went from a pre-kindergarten school she loved in Wisconsin (she wrote Mr. Young a note and gave him a huge hug on her last day there) to a small, private Catholic school right down the road that combines 4-7 year-olds and that includes classes in French, science, art, Spanish and reading/writing. We went for a tour our third day here and she ran right in, grabbed the teacher's hand when she said hello, and turned back to look at me for a moment, asking, breathlessly, "Can I stay, mama? Can I please stay here?" So our tour turned into our first day of school, and it's full-time, Monday through Friday, which I thought would be exhausting for her but which has turned out to be great for everyone (she woke up this morning asking to go to school and was disappointed that it was still the weekend). Her teacher does a marvelous job teaching cohorts of pre-kindergarteners up to second-graders, and the kids seem to all get along despite the age differences. Today at Old Navy, one of Anika's classmates came up to say hello, and another of her friends is in her dance class at the Pullman Parks and Rec. (Incidentally, Anika also asks on an almost daily basis, 'Mama, do I have dance today?') Also, when she comes home from school, after wrestling her brother and wolfing down a snack - she never has time for lunch because, as she says, 'I start to eat but then it's time for recess!'), she usually spends nearly an hour sitting at the dining room table, writing numbers and letters and asking me how to write things like my age and daddy's age and her last name. They attend mass every Friday, and after her first experience, Anika's observation was: 'Mama, guess what? God ALWAYS wears flip flops!'
Reni is having a bit less fun, as we are on six different waiting lists for preschools; his daytime activities have included helping me unpack (which one day resulted in a cardboard box turning into a race car, but was otherwise about as fun for a three year-old as you might imagine), helping me grocery shop and stock up on stuff we either used up or threw out or donated before packing up in Albuquerque, and taking multiple trips to the library to stock up on superhero books. The boy is obsessed. He can't get enough of Spider-Man, Iron Man, Super Man and all the rest (he doesn't discriminate between DC and Marvel - he loves them all). He has memorized most of the heroes and many of the villains, and he will ask random questions like, "Mama, why is Green Goglin (his pronunciation) green? How did the Hulk get so big? Where does Captain America keep his shield? Why does Thor wear a cape?" These are questions I am clearly not equipped to answer, but I try my best -- and he just keeps on asking.
Often, Reni will also ask, "What happened to our old house?" or, my personal favorite, "why isn't Grandpa and Grandma's house next to our new house?" Of all of us, Reni had the best time on the farm this summer, and he clearly misses his Grandpa and his time spent driving the golf cart, feeding the birds, gardening, gathering eggs from the chicken house, and tromping around in his wellington boots. He still talks about his summer day care, too: "This is just like the carrots we had at Tiny Truckers!" or "I built with blocks and Hoyt helped me," and "Miss Cindy was nice. When the other kids would hit me, Miss Cindy would tell them no. I like Miss Cindy. Miss Cindy protects me." We talk about going to school here, and he always asks why Tiny Truckers is in Wisconsin. Poor guy, the concept of moving is a complex one and it's not really as easy to explain as you might think.
I've managed to find him a day care (right next to Anika's school, thankfully) that has an opening a few hours/day for a few days/week until we can get him into preschool (and get him fully potty trained, as we are still working on that). He starts tomorrow, and he seems pretty psyched. I hope he doesn't ask me why Miss Cindy isn't there, though.
As for our little bun in the oven, he doesn't really ever stop moving, so my tummy has turned into a bit of a freak show and I nearly always feel like I've got a monkey on a drum set in there. It's hard to relax with all the movement, and the only time he really stops is if I'm doing something active, which isn't that often at all, unless you count the bazillion trips up and down the stairs or chasing after Reni as he bounds for the toy section at Wal-Mart. Anyway, this little guy will have no problems keeping up with his older siblings, and to be honest it's hard to think about him at all because then the panic starts in -- his planned bedroom is currently the place where all Armando's computer equipment sits humming next to diaper boxes filled with clothes of varying sizes and a disassembled Ikea bed and chair, both kids are now NOT sleeping through the night, and I have yet to figure out where I will be delivering and what our insurance covers. We don't have a crib or a carseat or a dresser or any baby gear other than clothing -- we don't even have a car big enough to fit three car seats. But, at least we've got insurance and a local-ish hospital and everything will somehow be all right. Right?
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