The air is getting that little nip that says fall is on its way, which means one thing in our family:
Time to move again.
Ugh. As excited as I am about the new house, the thought of moving for the FIFTH year in a row makes me want to curl up and hibernate in my closet. But I can't do that because Matthew still naps in there and I'm not about to disturb a sleeping baby.
David is still living at the office. Would it scare you if I said this is the worst busy season he's ever had in eight years of number crunching? Except for our family reunion in San Diego, we have not seen him since June. In fact, we're not actually sure he still lives with us (case in point, Michael crawled into our bed at 3 a.m. a few weeks ago and said, in surprise, "Mom, what is Dad doing here?")
I would say I'm at the end of my rope, but that would imply that 1) I actually know where the rope is, and 2) I still have a hold on it, neither of which is true. I just stress-ate my way through a dozen sugar cookies and an entire bag of caramels in, well, I won't tell you how long. Let's just say it was less than 48 hours... possibly less than 24. By the end of this I'm going to be a card-carrying whale. Or, more likely, I'll just be eating a card-carrying whale. Shamu better swim for cover.
Michael is a complete wreck as well, spending untold amounts of energy trying to sneak into my bed after he has been tucked in his own, and then waking up half a dozen times a night wanting to cuddle. I've been a little lenient about it because I know he is struggling having his dad gone so much, but last night I laid down the law and told him he must sleep in his own bed. Later, when I went to check on him, I found this:
Yes, that is pretty much my entire bed transferred to his floor. Also, the bottom of a pack 'n play and, though you can't see it in the picture, his entire collection of books. Very creative of him, really. You know what they say, if you can't get to the bed, bring the bed to you.
Meanwhile, Matthew and Leah are vying to win the award for "Most Valuable Thing I Can Throw in the Garbage Can". So far, whoever threw an entire roll of stamps in is winning, though that could change at any moment. They also like to play, "Find the Most Random Place to Hide Something", "Turn on the Bathtub or the Knobs on the Stove" and "Put Vaseline, (or worse) in Somebody's Hair."
So far this week, Leah is pulling ahead on the gross things to put in her hair. Though it isn't necessarily her fault. Well, the vaseline was, but I'm sure she didn't mean to throw up in the night and then roll around in it. (Let me tell you, nothing says Good Morning like being hit with the smell of vomit as you walk in a room).
The good news is no more barfs. The bad news is Leah spent the entire morning glued to my lap, crying. So I'm just waiting for the next kid to bite the dust.
And then, I just realized, it's been awfully quiet during Michael's quiet time. Because, quiet time, while quiet in theory, usually involves three or more Mom-can-I-come-out-yets?. I just checked on him and he is sound asleep...
In my bed.