Finally!

My Crock Pot has been returned to me, safe and sound. I can't say that much for my bread bowl, but the casualties of the move were few, and we are all together again in a home that does not require a plastic card to open the front door.


This weekend, we attended our first traditional Winston-Salem annual event as a family. We went to Apple Fest, which is a nerd's paradise if I ever saw one. Therefore, we fit in perfectly and had a great time! We bought apple butter, drank apple cider, smelled apple pastries being baked, and watched a woman in Colonial-style garb bake an apple pie in a Dutch oven over an open fire. We saw people party like it was 1799. Sweet Pea, of course, wanted to sample every morsel of apple-y goodness we saw. Buddy wanted to climb rocks. Then, he didn't. He wanted to make a craft. Then, he didn't. He thought he might want to sample some honey. Then, he didn't. But, if you know our Little Buddy, you know that he is always easy going and happy to be wherever he is. Goo fell asleep, because that's what you do when you're eight months old and your parents drag you to their dorky festivals.
I assume DWH would have preferred to spend the entire day watching football, but he was a great sport and I'm pretty sure he had a good time, too.


So, who wants to be the first to come visit us and get dragged to stuff like this? We're taking volunteers!

We're Here!

We have, as of last Sunday, arrived in Winston-Salem. I guess we're not really official since we still have Alabama driver's licenses and car tags, but we have a new address, a new preschool, a new grocery store, and have begun the process of church shopping. The people here are incredibly friendly, and the weather has been nice.


As for that new address, it sure will be great when we can live there. Now, if you're a mom with more than one child or any children who are not potty trained and/or cannot feed themselves, you might want to sit down for this one. We have been in a hotel room with three children under the age of five for nine days, and will be here for six more days. The moving truck has other places to go before bringing our belongings to their rightful owners, so here we are, crashing at the ol' Residence Inn. Yes, we have two bedrooms, but have you heard the way that little one can howl?? Plus, I miss my Crock Pot. Taco soup...mmmmm.


While the current accommodations are not exactly ideal for a territorial control freak - I am, of course, referring to the children, certainly not myself - this isn't forever and we will be back in the land of three bedrooms (with doors!), sleeping in our own beds, on sheets that only have our cooties, in six short days.


Next week at this time, hopefully, I will be watching this odd little PBS cooking show on our very own TV that was made around the same year America learned the ZIP code for Beverly Hills. No more of this fancy high definition stuff for us! No, sir! OK, I might miss having a TV that's easy for my antique eyes to see. But, that's it.


The youngest of my brood just announced to the entire hotel that his nap is over. That was a peaceful twenty minutes. Back to the salt mines...

On the Road Again

I don't think I'll apologize for neglecting this blog for more than a month this time. We've had a lot going on. Also, I have three children and preschool isn't in session during the summer. I'm surprised I have time to breathe, let alone blog.


First, I want to thank all of you who have prayed with us and for us during these months that DWH has been out of work. Your prayers and love have meant more to us than you will ever know.


Second, I would like to congratulate my favorite hubby on his new job! He has worked tirelessly, searching for the right job for himself and for our family, and his efforts have finally paid off.


So, it is with much excitement, along with my trademark hand-wringing and a few hives, that I am officially announcing that the Heads are once again on the move.


We are headed to Winston-Salem, NC!


It all happened very quickly, but we are excited and can't wait to settle in to our new home...as soon as we find one. :)


The area is not altogether unfamiliar, as DWH lived there for two years while attending Wake Forest, and I made the trip from Atlanta to Winston-Salem for weekend visits on several occasions during those two years.


Now, all that's left to do is pack up the minivan so that the kids and I can join DWH on our new journey, and to thank God for merciful provision.


"On the road again.
Just can't wait to get on the road again..."

Sorry

Once again, I have let my blogging duties fall to the wayside. Sorry.


I still have stuff inside my head, but I also have a baby who would rather scream his face off because he's tired than actually take a nap and do something about it.


I've never had one of those before, and I find it rather bothersome and somewhat debilitating, since the only thing I can do to calm him is rock him, and that becomes an all-day affair when he refuses to solve his sleepiness problem with sleep. I hope this isn't a trait that is going to follow him through childhood. I don't have much patience for it.


I hope to have a longer post for you soon, but in the mean time, have you seen that dadburn paci lying around anywhere?


Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock...

Diary of a Curmudgeon

It's probably no secret to you that I'm no fun. At least, I'm not the loud, boisterous, crowd-loving, outdoor activity enjoying, up-all-night-sleep-all-day kind of fun that our culture tends to value. And, I'm not sorry. Sometimes, I tend to be a bit too cautious. And territorial. And controlling. And set in my ways, also known as, "correctly."


I don't know what I'm going to do when the kids get involved in extra-curricular activities that require me to act cheerful and pretend I'm having a good time for their sakes. I'm still hoping that they'll all be into the arts and I can enjoy their activities in earnest.
Given the new kid's energy level and preference for watching grown men knock each other down to get a ball, I think I'll have better providence with the other two.


Anyway, four days from now, we will celebrate our fine country's independence and I will become Grouchy Smurf.


There will be fireworks. I hate fireworks.
There will be potato salad and baked beans. I hate potato salad and baked beans.
Everyone will be dressed in red, white, and blue. I hate dressing like everyone else.
It will be hot. I hate hot.
We will sweat. I hate sweat.
There will be barbecue. I could eat my weight in barbecue. (For my yankee and Canadian friends, that's smoked pork with heavenly sauce on it, not hot dogs on a grill.)


Oh, please understand that I love my country and am very thankful to have this day to celebrate. I just don't understand why we have to set ourselves on fire and terrify children and dogs until the wee hours of the morning to celebrate it.
Mayonnaise does not belong on potatoes, and pinto beans should not be sweet. Ick!
And, at the tender age of 37.5, I am at least 40 years too young to wear the ladies' required uniform of a blue denim shirt with American flag appliques, and denim capris that are a completely different color of blue.


No one should be forced to sweat. Ever. It's cruel. It's disgusting.


Don't fret. I will have fun. After we go eat some barbecue (again, pork covered in yummy stuff. Not burgers on a grill), I plan to watch the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Then, I will eat my veggie dogs and my salad while DWH has his chili dogs and baked beans.
After that, I will spend the rest of the night trying to get my children to go back to sleep and explaining that the noise is just fireworks and it can't get them.


Oh, and, Hey kids! Get off my lawn!

Tie a String Around My Finger, Part 2

There's a movie, and I'm sorry but I don't remember the title, in which Sarah Jessica Parker's character says something to the effect of this: If you want to know how it feels to be a superhero, all you need is to be the mom of a two-year-old boy.


I could not have said it better myself.


And, I might need reminders one day that, when he was two, my Little Buddy was my best little buddy in the whole wide world.


I will want to remember the sweet way he flashed his gap-toothed grin whenever he laid eyes on his mom. I'm going to smile when I remember the time we ate lunch at McAlister's and he spilled some applesauce on my arm, and immediately grabbed a napkin so he could clean off my arm for me. I will remember how he warmed my heart every time he would hug me from behind when I sat on the floor, the way he saw his Daddy hug me in the kitchen.


I want to have a picture in my mind of the sweetest boy in the world, hauling around his blue pillow with the whale on it with one hand, while sucking the middle two fingers on the other.


When he gets older and his voice deepens, I want a clear auditory memory of his toddler voice, calling his sister, his hero, to come and play with him. I'd like to remember how he loved dinosaurs, rocket ships, and robots (is there a future scientist in our midst??) and how he switched loyalties from Batman to Spiderman in an instant. I hope I can always hear him saying, " 'Ook, Mom! It's Dark Bader!"


What a wonderfully thoughtful, intelligent, loving little boy.


He, too, will someday want to borrow the car and will eventually drive it away. But, right now, in 2014, when my Little Buddy is two, I get to be his SuperMom.


Who could ask for anything more?

Tie a String Around My Finger

This is a reminder to myself that once upon a time, when Sweet Pea was four, she called her bathing suit her "baby soup," and I didn't correct her because I thought it was adorable.


This is a reminder that she did her best to irritate her daddy by pretending to be an Auburn fan, and that she was the greatest source of entertainment for her baby brother.


This will also remind me that when my girl was four, she loved her two-year-old brother more than anyone else in the world.


And she actually wanted to go to the dentist because she was afraid of having green teeth like in the movie she saw at preschool and she loved grilled cheese but didn't like cheese and she named her dolphin bath toy Junie B. Jones.


Because, in December, she will be five and she's just going to keep on going to six and seven, and way beyond that. She's going to go to prom before I know it and she won't call her bathing suit her "baby soup" anymore.


So, I want to remember how cute it was in 2014, when she was four and wanted to put on her baby soup and go to the pool, where she would wear her swimmies like Peppa Pig and then use her Minnie Mouse towel to dry off.


So, this post is a string around my finger so I'll remember all of that when I'm old.


Next, I want to tie a string around a finger for my Little Buddy, who's two right now, but will be three before I have time to blink and then...