From Starbucks and Sushi to Silos and Sticks.

If you would have bet me $1million 6 months ago that we would buy a house in the area I grew up, I would have laughed at you, shook your hand, and started thinking of ways to spend my new found fortune. But here we are, about to do that very thing. And I must say, I couldn't be happier. It's going to be pretty shocking to our system. We are going from living 1.5 miles from Phil's work to living 45 miles from it. That's pretty huge. But considering it took Phil 45 minutes to get home just the other day, the time really won't be as shocking as the gas pump charges.

As someone who grew up in the country, when I looked out the front door of this house and saw silos, I began mentally moving in. Thinking of which room would be Sam's, which drawer the utensils would go in the kitchen, what color would look great in the dining room. I began thinking of how much fun Sam and Booger would have running around the big yard (the one RIGHT outside the door, not the one we have to bundle up and walk 15 minutes to!!). I saw them playing by the edge of the woods, collecting sticks in a few years. And learning to play basketball in the driveway. And pictured sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade (OK, lets be real, a big ol glass of wine) watching them run around with Daisy. Grass stains. Crickets. Cow manure. Camping in the back yard. Quiet nights. No more drunk high heel clacking. No more witnessed walks of shame. And stars. We can see the stars. I almost forgot what they looked like.

While at first the idea of moving in 30 days  (although fully my idea) seemed really quick, I realize now that it's not rushed. It's perfect. I've been waiting for this for 5 years. Holding my breath waiting for it.   Actually, I think I've been imagining this my whole life. Raising my kids somewhere they can grow, learn, play, laugh, get into trouble. Where I have to check them for ticks each summer night. Where I have to stand on the front porch and yell their name when it's dinner time. Where they can be close to family and know the importance of spending time with them regularly, just like I learned.

So send us your good juju. All the good vibes for a smooth and hassle-free next 30 days. Because I'm really looking forward to putting that key on my key chain on March 30th. And opening the front door and finally exhaling.

cowboys and guitars

I took zero photos this week of Sam. Maybe it's because of my funky cold, my funky mood, a lot of funky stress relating to the great Boyer house hunt 2012. So this morning, Sam and I went to play with our friends. And with coffee, an Elmo guitar, and a fireman's hat, I de-stressed. And although it might have been temporary, it was much needed. :)

Mental Nesting

Nesting. I mockingly chuckle at the idea of it when I'm not pregnant, but when I am I can't deny the strange desire, no, NEED, to do it. It's bizarre really. Part of the need this time around is the thought that with two kids I'll never have time or energy to organize anything ever again. Dramatic, I realize. Irrational? Likely. But my reality none the less. What's hard is not knowing where I should nest. We are in the process of finding the right house for our expanding brood. It's not as fun a process as I anticipated. And I've been anticipating it for at least 5 years now. Probably more.

As my belly gets bigger, the house gets smaller. I drank the potion and am expanding by the second. It definitely feels like the walls are closing in and the doorways getting smaller. I'm not sure how I fit through them the last time! The booger has no designated room. I have no designated space. There's no room anywhere for Sam to put anything he might get for his upcoming 2nd birthday. And all I want to do is figure out where to create the space. Figure out where I can put this and that. Try to remember where the tiny baby things are. Some is in storage. Some in the basement. Some probably still behind Sam's crib where he likes to hide things. It's a mess. My head is a mess trying to sort it all out. I've been trying to busy myself with other things to distract from this feeling, but what happens is I'm feeling it anyway and the other things get pushed to the side. I am not even 100% sure what we are going to name this kid, I need to have something real here to feel like he is actually coming.

So while I try to figure out how to do that, Sam is distracting me every day. In a good way (usually). He is obsessed with "taking pictures". He talks about the car-car all day long. He screams with glee at the finale of the Sesame Street song. He wants to be so helpful - feeding Daisy (which he really does), putting things in the trash (and most of the time they actually belong there), trying to put on his own socks (which he gave up on and put one on his nose the other day). He mimics our actions, and thankfully not our words yet. Well at least my words. Phil doesn't say bad words.

His giggles, smiles, and ornery tactics make me smile entirely too much each day. I fear I'm relying too much on him to keep me from going into a bad funk while we search for our house and get through this stressful time. But I don't think he feels the pressure. I think he just feels love. He loves to hug tight. To sneak into a spot I was sitting as soon as I move out of it just to tease me. To hide something I'm looking for and put his pointer finger to his lips and say "Hmmmm" as he pretends to be unaware of where it is. Without those things, my day would simply suck. And the drool. Oh yes, there is still an INSANE amount of drool. I don't even care anymore. It took almost 2 years for me to not care. But really, it's just plain weird there's so much of it it's become comical. Still incredibly gross, but comical.

My funny valentine. What would I do without you?

Monkey See, Monkey Do. . .

Some people say children of photographers are the worst subjects. They are so tired of having the camera in their faces. They don't cooperate. No posing, no smiling. The worst. While Sam doesn't cooperate when I try to get him to sit still for more than 4.3 seconds, I tend to chalk that up to the fact that he is an almost 2 year old boy and asking him to sit still is a really huge request.

While I expect that down the road he will yell at me to stop taking his picture, these days he is very bossy about all of it. He wants me to sit down with my camera and take his photo. While he is doing whatever he is doing. If I don't have my camera around, he will hand me one of his toy ones. He's tried playing with mine as I cautiously observe within arms reach. Thankfully, it's pretty heavy so he prefers to play with my film camera. There's little he can do to hurt it so I let him. It's good to learn film first right?

He prefers to take photos of me now, which I think is pretty funny. And he's almost nailed down the technique. He just needs to learn which way to point the lens. We're working on that. Yesterday he told me he wanted to take pictures of bananas. I'll let you know how those turn out.

And my nearly 26 week belly. Crooked. Huge. Entertaining.

And following up on Sam's trauma from this weekend .... the trauma continued briefly this morning as we went to get the stitches out. But one way or another they are out and I'm hoping to never have to do that again! But knowing how many times I've been stitched, I'm not holding my breath.

trauma.

A weekend of more firsts. First major tent building experience. First time thinking he could fly which lead to the first time in the ER for stitches. I could have been done with the firsts after the tent thing. Really that was fun. But Sam tends to push the limits and the other two check marks quickly followed.

The trauma was not just to Sam's face - teeth through the bottom lip - but it was felt by each nurse who had to hold him down. It took 4 people (Phil and 3 nurses), two doses of a sedative (that had no apparent effect), and one very patient doctor who was good with a needle to get the 7 stitches in. Three on the outside, 4 in the inside. He was also basically straight jacketed and made one nurses arms go numb because she was using all of her strength to hold him still. The Bubba fought hard. Really hard. I thought he was going to pop a vein in his neck. Poor guy.

I assured Phil it was likely NOT our last ER trip for stitches. Thinking about how many times I've had stitches in my clumsy life, I can almost guarantee it. But hey, we might get lucky. We do have that famous Boyer Luck.

By the time the evening came, he had his energy back. He was running full speed (as our hearts raced at their own full speed) and the flapping of his bottom lip was vibrating his sounds in a way he thought entertaining. Well, we all did. Once in a while he points to his lip and says "No". As if he doesn't want there to be stitches. He doesn't want it to hurt anymore. And I'm with him. I say "No" too. And then I give him another pop-sicle.

BS. Before stitches.  (and someone needs another haircut - it's a mop!)

BS. Cookies and milk in the tent. 

AS. After stitches. Big 'ole fat lip. :(

still damn cute though.

And happy to have a Mommy who will gladly give him more cheese balls when he's already had to many. I'm not saying no to this kid for at least a few days. 

And for a kid who already drools like a banshee, this whole big lip thing has more pouring out than I thought possible.