I'm back. And some advice for the world at large.

I DID IT. 

I am awesome.

I drove from Dallas to Phoenix - seventeen hours - by myself. With four kids. And we didn't just survive - we had fun doing it.

Boo-yah.

Also - it seemed to be a reflex reaction to everyone we encountered to say -

"Wow, you have your hands full!"

Three things.

1) That implies that I am stressed. Overwhelmed. Beyond my capabalities. I am none of these things.
2) Even if  I were stressed, overwhelmed, or beyond my capabilities, I do not want to be reminded of that fact. By you.
3) Shut up.

So here's some advice, world. Never, ever, say the aforementioned phrase. Because one day, I am going to snap, and you will get punched in the face.

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you ....

I'm not home.

So congratulations, you have one less blog to read today. Use your extra time wisely. 

See you next week!

Another Disney anti-recap

So -

I was sick for two days out of three, and practically had a DayQuil IV tapped into my arm.
My shoe broke on the first day.
It rained the whole second day - especially during the (outdoor) "World of Color" extravaganza.
It was freezing. 'Specially by Arizona standards. And we were SO not prepared. 
There was at least one poopypantsepisode.
There were several almost-poopypantsepisodes. (Why don't they make bathrooms easier to find? ....)
There was lotsandlots of sibling poking.
There was lotsandlots of fighting over who-sits-next-to-mom-or-dad-or-whoever-your-brother-wants-to-sit-next-to-at-the-moment.
There might have been a few meltdowns - some sugar related, some sleep-deprivation related, some for no apparent reason other than what-the-heck-everyone-is-staring-might-as-well-give-them-a-good-show.

But I stand by what I said yesterday -

It was still the perfect family vacation. 

Because everyone was so giddy the whole entire time. Because we never stopped laughing. Because My Man and I got to playlaughhaveaball for three days straight with our kids.

Because we expected it to be perfect. 

So it was - p e r f e c t.

The recap

Actually, no.

No recap.

It was perfect. 

PERFECT.

There are no words.

Public Service Announcement

We interrupt your daily lurking to inform you that That Girl and her Family are currently on vacation.

Here:

See ya Monday!

My flock

 My Man grew up on a sheep farm in central Utah.

Did you know that?

Every time we go to my in-laws, I fall in love with him again. I like seeing him in his natural environment. He may act like a big-whig city guy in the business world, but he's quite comfortable moving sprinkler pipes and hauling hay in coveralls.

I want my kids to be comfortable, too. 

Pretty much every time we visit, I want to move there.

My Man doesn't understand why farm life seems so idyllic to me.

I know what it's like - the long hours, the pay, the every-single-day-no-benefits-no-vacation-up-to-your-knees-in-dung part.  I've even helped mark sheep. (Of course, I interpret "help" in the loosest manner possible ....)

I really don't know how to explain it. It's the back to basic-ness of it. The simplicity. The connectedness. The grass-roots-spirituality. The living by the sweat of your brow. A farm is the best way to learn about the world and compassion and responsibility and gratitude and work and life - and death. (My kids were appalled one night when they were told the "mutton" they ate for dinner used to live in the backyard.)

I know the chances of us packing up and shipping out to Sanpete are slim to nil. Still - I know that farm life made My Man the person he is.

And I want very much for my kids to follow in his footsteps.

In which I am a woman

Six and a half years ago, I moved to a foreign country.

For the first eight months, we lived in a city of 26 million people - yet I'd never felt more alone. I spent hour after hour trapped in a tiny apartment on a busy Sao Paulon street. My husband was working 12 to 14 hour days, and I didn't have a car.  I didn't even have the internet. 

I'm pretty sure my mind has blocked out most of those first few months. 

Because of my severely limited Portuguese, I was often afraid to go out. But little by little, as I grew accustomed to the blatant stares I got, I started to plop my then-ten-month-old son into the stroller and "passear"  ....

Our favorite destination was a little park, about two miles away. It was a bit of jungle surrounded by skyscrapers, and I loved it. 

On one particular day, we headed toward the swings. There were two other moms there, with their toddlers in tow. One was slim, with stunning coffee-colored skin and shiny, jet-black hair. She was Japanese. The other was shorter, with equally dark hair and big, lash-framed eyes. She was Brazilian.

We were all trying to check each other out without letting the others know. Instead we concentrated on our children, smiling and goo-gooing at our posterity, sneaking side-long glances when we thought the others weren't looking. Every once in a while we'd sneak peeks at the same time - and then we'd have to smile awkwardly and blush to our roots. 

And then our children began to play together. 

Three almost-one year olds patted each other on the face and inspected each other's toes. Giggling. Their immediate friendship broke our lingual barriers. 

I grinned at the Japanese lady, my eyes crinkling in acceptance and scrunching up my shoulders to show I was amused. She looked heavenward, smiling in response, then question-marked her eyebrows and pointed at my Little Prince. I held up ten fingers, then looked at the Brazilian, mirroring the Japanese's question. She held up one finger and grinned to her ears - he was one. 

We spent the next hour laughing and talking about our children - their messes and their triumphs, our struggles and our pride. 

And we didn't utter a word.

I realized then that while none of us had the same vernacular, all of us spoke Woman. 

Womanhood is a language. We speak with our hands, our shoulders - we know that eyebrows can be a much more powerful tool than a tongue. We have whole conversations without opening our mouths. A wrinkle of the nose, a glowing of the eyes, the twist of the mouth - the Woman Tongue is powerful and universal.

Womanhood is the language of charity. Regardless of where we live, women the world over speak it. They speak it every time they bring food to a funeral, diapers for a new baby, flowers for the sick. They speak it in listening, in laughing, in hugs and over cheesecake, chatting in the true Mother Tongue of Love.  

They say that the Adamic Language was communication in its purest form. Yet I move that Eve's Tongue is the one we should be striving toward.  Through love, let the whole world be filled with utterance. I'm sure we'll never run out of things to say.

Four day weekend in shorthand

Saddle in the trunk

and boxes for my brother

Drive 12 hours

Rest stops

Arrive at Grandma's house

Grandma gets awesomeamazingsuperincredibleAWARD

Four-wheel (it's a verb)

Start a brass band

Hang out with husband

Play with camera

Drive home

Rest stops

And most of all -

S.M.I.L.E.S