California Dreamin'

It's been eight years since I left Sacramento. I was so excited on that day in February when Rebe, Eli, and I packed into the car and headed to Phoenix. A whole new world awaited. Up until then I had never lived more than a few miles away from the family and friends that I knew I could always count on. They were close in distance and they were close to my heart. But, as so often is the case, the unconditional love had its setbacks. I felt like I lived in a little bubble that somehow held me back. From what, I don't know. And so, it was time to start anew with the person who not only held my heart, but also the farthest distance from it.

I remember about two months into the move thinking that it was the best time of my life. I was working at my "real job" after so many years in school, I had a new car, and I was sharing life with the love of my life. I hardly got a chance to miss Sac because I was there so often. There was always something going on that kept me going back. But it was the small things that I used to take for granted -- the drinks after work at the spur of the moment; the Easter picnic; the impromptu get together for one of the family members' birthdays -- that I missed the most. Big events I could plan for, these I could not!

And so it goes. That part of it never changes and neither does the part where I miss it.

(Not your typical picture of CA , but CA nonetheless -- mine)

Saturday is the birthday party for a friends' little girl in Placerville. It's a big bash where the whole family is welcome to celebrate poolside. It's also my nephew's birthday party at the park. These are just two of many goings on that we miss. And it still makes me kind of sad. Not just for me, but for my kids as well.

D grew up in a family where they hardly visited with extended family. And while the concept of the three brothers being close is a wonderful one -- one we all want our kids to experience -- to me, someone that grew up surrounded by cousins and friends, it's also kind of lonely. My bro and I too were extremely close growing up and still are to a certain degree. Life has led us to different paths; paths that many times conflict with one another on many levels, but also paths that when all is said and done, end up at the same destination. The fact that we spent countless days with our cousins celebrating birthdays, holidays, and any other day the adults deemed worthy had no effect on our relationship. Yet I think I speak for all of us when I say that the effect it had on our childhood is priceless. Time, distance, families of our own may separate us, but those memories will never cease to bring us back together. If only for a minute. If only in our minds.

My kids have two sets of cousins. The ones in Sac they don't see very much and my bro and I have often talked about how it leaves a void in our hearts that they're not growing up together and making memories of their own. So I'm very grateful that they have N and N up the road in Sammamish and that they love spending time together.

Just as soon as two years ago I said that I wasn't ready to move back and I'm still not real sure I'd be completely on board if the opportunity arose, but more and more I find myself thinking about it -- envisioning my kids surrounded by sunshine and cousins at outing after outing. And then I snap out of it and remember what I know so well: That contrary to what many people think, the sun doesn't always shine in the Golden State; both literally and figuratively.

I don't think I'll be burdened with having to make the decision to uproot my family to CA anytime soon. Maybe even never, but that's a notion I know I'm not ready to accept. So I'ma keep on dreamin'.

Hitting Home

This beautiful little boy is missing and something about it has really hit home. I don't know if it's because he's from Oregon, or because he's seven, or maybe because the circumstances leading to his disappearance are so normal and everyday for me --not unlike something that would happen in our house. It could be that he somehow reminds me of my J. The hair and the missing teeth, sans the glasses, and that's him.

It sounds like he and his step mom went to the science fair on Friday morning, checked out the wares, and then she walked him to a place close to his classroom where she thought he was safe. He never got off the bus that afternoon and they later found out that he had been marked absent from class for the day.

Just yesterday I had a conversation with Colleen, J's teacher, about this. He was absent from school on Friday and I forgot to call. She said that the school calls the parents after roll call is taken if the child is not there and there was no call informing them that would be the case. She said they want to ensure that the child hasn't gotten lost.

She admitted that at times she doesn't take roll until later in the day and it sounds like that's exactly what happened here. I understand that teachers are overwhelmed with work and that classrooms are filled to capacity with children to their one adult. But I also can't let go of the thought that maybe if his parents had been informed early on, someone would have found him before critical time passed by.

Everyday I watch as J gets onto the bus and never again give any thought to if he'll make it to school. When 3:30 rolls around I go to the bus stop to pick him up, always assuming he'll be one of the first to get off. Some days I wait too long and by the time I walk out he's already close to home or ringing the doorbell. I still hadn't figured out if we'd let him walk to the bus stop alone in the morning next year. I was leaning towards no. I'm no longer leaning, I've now fallen completely into the land of Nay.

I can't stop thinking of how scared Kyron must be. It breaks my heart to think that he is living in constant fear. I pray he will come home safely; that God will bestow a miracle upon him and his family, and that the only thing hitting their home in the near furture will be the sound of the door as this beautiful child walks through it again.

The Witching Hour

I had been thinking about this entry for a while. I've been meaning to recognize a certain time of the day that no matter how well the hours leading up to it are, it always turns into chaos. It starts right after picking up J from the bus stop -- around 3:30 -- and continues until Daddy walks through the door between 5 and 5:30. Sometimes even beyond that.

J walks in and throws his backpack and jacket on the couch; he's pumped up and hungry. M is starting to get tired but gets her second wind as soon as she sees that her partner in crime has arrived. I'm convinced that at the same time there are witches somewhere in my house brewing up some type of concoction -- sort of like a happy hour special -- that they serve to my kids. And then they're off: Together they raid the "food closet" for snacks, they open up cartons and bags, and walk around the house eating and laughing all while leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake. They go up and down the stairs, terrorize his room and the bonus room in .2 seconds flat. Sometimes they giggle, sometimes she cries, and always she stands at the top of the stairs yelling "Oad-Ju" until I comply and go up the stairs for the 67th time today to Hold You!

This is dinnertime, People! And just because the Bonnie and Clyde mini-me's will have no appetite left after their job on the snacks, Mommy and Daddy would like to have a decent meal. And I gotta cook it. Right Now!

Today's been one of those days. M woke up early and cried, J was doing his usual-annoying screeching sounds that this morning sounded twice as annoying, and I didn't have time to dry my hair so it went curly all day. That in itself makes for not only a bad-hair day, but a bad day in general.

Around here, there's no better light at the end of the tunnel than sunlight, and this afternoon we got a little glimpse of it so M and I went to run some errands while J was at school.

We made a rare stop at Old Navy and I noticed the yearly flag tees had arrived. I had forgotten that July 4th is only a month away due to the lack of the aforementioned sun. The shirts have kind of become a tradition around our house in summers past and both of the kids get one every year. I picked up two and headed to Trader Joe's to buy more snacks to torture myself and my home with. I bought more than usual today, even bought some we hadn't tried before. I know that once he's out of school and he's home all day long, the munchies will have to be plentiful around here. Maybe it was the sun shining and the purchasing of the t-shirts, but I was in a summer state of mind.

When I got home and after picking up J, I was going to write a post about that. I arranged all of the edible purchases on the counter together with the shirts so I could take my picture. All of this was so fascinating to M that she climbed on the stool, probably more to see if she could grab some of the goodies and run without me noticing than to actually see the display, but as she did, she fell off the stool and onto the floor on her back. She's okay, but the camera that came down with her isn't.

I think my camera is broken -- or at least the part that takes pictures is, the part that lets me transfer out is okay. I had been talking about getting a nicer camera and then decided that I would do no such thing until I learned everything there was to know about the one I have. Now I may have to and I'm pretty bummed about it.

I am, however, very thankful that it was the camera and not M that the witches' brew got the best of today.

But we must beware. There's always tomorrow. And anything is possible during the Witching Happy Hour.

Rain Rain

GO AWAY!

Don't you know it's now past May?Welcome to June in the Pacific Northwest.

I've always been one of those people that like the rain. So when we got the call to move to Oly, I was more than excited. We were going back to the West Coast and a little rain wasn't going to stop us. The truth is that there's other parts of the country that get more inches of rain per year than we do, but they get them all in a few months. Our drizzles go on and on for what seems like forever. As a matter of fact, it's been raining on a regular basis since October.

Since our move here, I've heard it said several times that summer doesn't start until July. I was hoping they were exaggerating.

And then this morning I looked outside and saw what is perhaps the most telling picture of all:

J's lawn chair, usually used for picnics, games, and outdoor relaxation, has been relegated to nothing more than a birdbath of sorts.

I hate to complain about the weather when otherwise living here has been a wonderful experience for our family.

I don't know how long it'll last --

both the rain and our status as denizens of the Evergreen State.

I just hope we see some sunshine before the moving trucks roll up.

Tales From the Hood

Our family loves hoodies. Whether a zip-up or a pullover, cotton, fleece, or nylon, the material and hardware are of no concern. If it has a hood, we like it.

For his birthday alone, J got five of them. For Christmas the month before, he got three. He has 14 hanging in his closet and another six in his drawer.

How many hoodies does a six year old need for one season?

I'm pretty sure it's not 20.

But that's the thing. Here we are at the end of May and we're still wearing them. All the time. I'm pretty sure we'll continue to do so for at least another month and on most evenings throughout the summer.

M has her share as well. through hand-me-downs, gifts, and purchases she racked up quite a few of her own.

And if she has her way, she'll continue to wear her "Jah-Jee" even when the mercury hits the 90+ mark. It's a right of passage for her. A passage that leads her out of the house and into exciting places like Target, Safeway, or Costco.

Once her Jah-Jee and "shoos" are on, the world is her playground.

I asked Santa for a hoodie last Christmas. Santa looked everywhere for the one I wanted. I was very specific. It had to be just like the one I had purchased for J: a lightweight, North Face fleece. Santa didn't find it. He found several other North Face jackets, but the lightweight one he found didn't have a hood.

And Santa knew that wouldn't do.

He found a comparable one at REI and paid too much money for it. But he's gotten both his hard work and his money's worth. I love the way it makes me feel so warm and toasty without all the bulk. I know I'll be wearing it for years to come!

Daddy is a fan too. In fact, he may be the one that deserves the credit for recruiting the rest of the family. He has an old black Nike pullover that he's had since I met him. It can almost be called gray now, yet I don't think it's going anywhere soon.

If hoods could talk, there would be many a tales to tell. Lucky for us they don't. Even if they did, our hoodies wouldn't let us down. They're our friends. The friends that you can always count on to wrap you in their comfort and make you feel happy inside.

Sometimes the occasional rat hangs out in the hood.

But our hoodies would never rat us out. The rats are just that. Rats. Rats that like hoods. And who can blame them? In the gangsta world they're referred to as Hood Rats.

Where can we sign up?