This Is Not The Post You're Looking For.

No Jedi Mind Trick intended.  Seriously. This is not the post you are probably expecting.

See, the thing is, I am still working on processing the events of the past 4 days.  This conference, this Mythical THING that I attended, is still being digested.  It's a bit like the old saying about eating an elephant: one bite at a time.  

Here are a few quick bullets.  Think of them as a quick snack, with the more filling meal to follow.

* MochaMomma and Mallory the Magnificent were quite possibly the best roommates in history.  I felt like I was part of the world's most awesome sleepover.  Also, they swear I didn't snore AT ALL.  I suspect they're either sparing my feelings or just really, REALLY heavy sleepers.  Either way? Rule.

* I am officially in love with The Redneck Mommy.  I mean, I already had total girl-crushdom on her, but now I officially wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home with me.  I don't think she would have minded, but when I gave it more thought I realized that I don't really want to bring someone so obviously hotter than me home to meet Big Daddy.  The man might get ideas, and in my currently delicate condition I might be too slow to successfully beat his senses back into him with my ham sandwich.

* My one big regret of the conference would have been missing the Mighty Haus launch party but, after shaking my oh-so-pregnant groove thang for hours at the Ruby Skye party, I headed to bed just in time.  By the next morning my pelvis was creaking and it took me a good half hour to relearn how to walk properly.  So, yes, I missed my chance to give a heartfelt fangirl shout-out to Dooce and many others.  I did manage to steal a brief moment to chat with Mighty Maggie after her panel, though, and she was as lovely and gracious as I imagined she would be.  Also, she brought the leftover Krispy Kremes from her party to give out after her panel, and thereby purchased a special place in heaven.  (nummmmm, Krispy Kremes. Remind me someday to regale you with the glorious tales of Friday nights and a dozen fresh Krispy Kremes back in the glory days of a little site called Kozmo.com).

* People I am happy to have finally met face-to-face, however briefly:  Redsy, Velma Smeddling, Fluid Pudding, Oh, The Joys,  Amalah, and others I know I should remember and will look like a loser for forgetting to mention but oh mah gawd I am so tired and please forgive me and comment and remind me that Hi! We met, and I said it was great, and now I'm acting all aloof and do you want to break up or what, because we should totally meet up behind the gym after fifth period and have The Talk or whatever.  Also, most of the people I DID remember to mention will likely be all "MeL WHO, now?".  Oh, and I also met Bossy, who I was somehow unaware of until her Excellent Road Trip Adventures.  Her blog makes me laugh with regularity.  She is much taller than I expected, and also I might have accidentally almost strangled her with her scarf while attempting to dance with her at one of the parties - so basically SHE will remember me, but only as the insane pregnant woman who attempted to suffocate her with her own accessories, the end.

The posts I will write later, the ones brewing in my impish head, have less to do with the adventures of BlogHer than with the ideas that were planted in my head there.  The conversations were multitude, and I have been thinking through several essays on topics raised there.  So keep your eyes open for coming-soon posts on topics like Body Image, Why I Write, and MommyBlogging as a Radical Act.  These things require further percolating.  For now, then, I will continue to digest and maybe post some of the few photos I remembered to take.  

Also, I have to catch up on the latest episodes of Avatar, So You Think You Can Dance, and Monk.  Because, you know, Mama needs her stories.

Things You Should Know.

In just over 24 hours I will be heading to the airport for my 4 day Girl Extravaganza at BlogHer 2008.

If I didn't already have bladder control issues (thank you, pregnancy) this would likely send me running for a dry pair of granny panties.  I'm looking forward to meeting, in person, people who I have learned to adore on the internet.  I can't wait to put names with faces and grope give hugs to people whose words have alternately entertained, inspired, and elevated me. 

This woman is all big and important and, in case you haven't heard, an INTERNET PHENOMENON, etc, etc, etc.  When I stumbled across her, however, she was my first brush with a "mommy blogger" and her words helped me laugh and cry and find solace in some of the darkest days of my post-partum depression.  I had no idea she was a "somebody", but in those difficult days she never knew that she was the girlfriend who sat and had coffee with me and said "I've been there, and this will get better. You will get through this."  Also, she is a keynote speaker at the conference this year.  That feels like something coming full circle for me.

So, yeah, I have a lot of expectations about this conference.  And I'm hoping to meet a few people who can tell me Where To Go Next, because I do have the desire to branch out and maybe take on a few assigned pieces for other sites or something to that effect.  Because - all evidence to the contrary - I AM interested in writing about things besides the kids, my dog, my breasts, and the voices in my head.  So there's that.

In the interest of full disclosure, then, there are a few things you should know about me before my grand "coming out" at BlogHer.  

1) As I write this, I am sitting in my favorite multi-purpose item of maternity clothing: a shapeless, black, stretchy cotton housedress thing.  When I arrive in San Francisco with my multitude of carefully coordinated outfits, complete with matching jewelry, shoes, and purses, please recognize that I am not actually That Put Together.  It's a carefully crafted illusion, and when I get home I will probably take entirely too much joy in placing my fancy kicks back up on their shelf and slipping my feet into my fuzzy pink house slippers.

2) I am a drinker.  I am NOT an alcoholic, but were it not for the small resident in my uterus I would take great pleasure in joining you for a cocktail or three.  That said, my family has a talent for acting like a buncha drunks without the aid of alcohol.  Don't believe me? Just ask any of the many guests who asked, rather doubtfully, after my wedding if I was SURE my mormon family members weren't sneaking drinks behind the curtain.  Surprisingly, an overabundance of personality can be achieved without the aid of alcohol.  So if I appear a bit tipsy, rest assured it's just my natural exuberance.

3) If I remain sitting to talk to you, it's because my feet/back/pelvis/(insert other appropriate body part here) is aching from carrying the weight of another large baby.  Please don't think I'm rude, it's just that I'm quite ponderously large.  Also, I am not due until September so PLEASE don't ask me if I'm sure there's not twins in there.  I really am that big; I really am having just one; I'm really not due for another few months.  So glad we could get that out of the way.

4) Feel free to rub the belly, unless you are creepy or certifiable.  I am a firm believer that the buddha belly is good luck, and if spreading a little luck around will come back to help me out... well, my karma can always use a boost.  

5) Bonus points to anyone who says things like "You only had one dessert; now you need to eat one for the baby!" or "But you look too fantastic to be having your THIRD baby!"  I'll know that you're lying, but I'll love you anyway.

6) If I swap my fabulous shoes for a pair of flip-flops sometime during the afternoon, please pretend not to notice.  Pregnant women? Our feet swell in the summer.

7) If you recognize me, PLEASE come and say hello!  I may act skittish and awkward, but that's just because I'm not used to it yet.  I made an art form of being invisible for most of my adolescence, and breaking out of that mold is not the easiest thing to do.  

8) When I get nervous, I tend to talk faster and faster until I may appear to be speaking a foreign language.  I'm working on it; please forgive me.   

9) In attempt to curb inappropriate language use in front of the small humans I have developed a whole host of "alternative curses" which may include such phrases as "Jimminy Christmas!", "Son of a biscuit!", "Frickity-fricking-FRAKK!".  Please avert your eyes and understand that I am aware of my own weirdness.  I'm quirky - let's just accept that and move on.

10) I really suck at keeping lists, being on time, and pretty much anything that involves minute-to-minute organization.  If I stumble into a session 10 minute late, please smile encouragingly and offer me the open seat next to you.  I promise it will be worth your while; what I lack in organizational skills I more than make up for with charm... and chocolate.  Also, I usually smell very nice.

So there we are.  I'm sure there's more that you should know about me, but that will give you a good base.  Well, that and a fair warning that I have a habit of smacking people I find charming on their bum.  Like I said, I'm a little quirky.

I'm not sure how much time I'll have for posting while I'm on my adventure; I do expect to twitter at least intermittently, so you can look for me there.. but just in case you're not going to be in San Francisco this weekend, let's plan to meet back here on Monday, shall we?

Going Under / Surfacing

It has been a plethora of days (yes, I said PLETHORA) since I posted.

There are very good reasons for this.  I have been BIZZY, y'all.  For a woman as monstrously pregnant as I currently am, busy equals tired.  I'm not just talking your run-of-the-mill, after company tired.  Oh No.  This is bone weary, "why are the nights so short and who are these small people begging for breakfast?" exhausted tired.

My sister and her family were delightful to have with us for the 4th Holiday, and the boys each became a Mini-Me for their older cousins.  In order to fully appreciate the extent of this tiny clone phenomenon, you must please refer to the following photographic evidence:

Corban and Tobin: The Blonde Ambition Tour

Rees and Jack get Cheeky.

And, yes, her boys are as "photo-negative" of each other as mine are.  Weird, I know.

Our good friends, who recently purchased the home across the street from us, also joined us for the holiday festivities.  Big Daddy and Mister Joe were in charge of manning the grill.  In the pouring rain.

Gives new meaning to the phrase "wet ribs".  The bbq ribs, by the way, were spectacular.

We spent a great few days in the company of my sister's family, and then waved them on their way on Sunday morning.  Then, Sunday afternoon, we welcomed my cousin Katie, my cousin Mike, and 4 of Mike's eight (yes, EIGHT) children into the homestead for an evening of chatter and Rock Band ruckus.  I still rock out on the drums, by the way, even if I have to lean back to reach them around The Belly.

And then, on Monday morning, I died.  The End.

Okay, not really.  But the housekeeper came.  Did I mention we now have a lovely woman coming in twice a month to scrub the bathrooms and do the floors?  Because my bulky self can't manage it any more, and yes I do feel incredibly bourgeois about it all, but there it is, and it saves my sanity.  Anyway, the housekeeper came and so I spent Monday morning doing house cleaning to prepare the way for her, and then I spent the afternoon digging out from under the mountains of laundry.  

And then, this morning, I died for real, which explains why it is now nearly 11pm and I am finally getting around to posting this rather sad summary of a really exceptional weekend.  I managed a 2-hour nap this afternoon and, after dinner at a local Mexican restaurant followed by ice cream at The Cone Zone, we finally got the boys bathed and into bed and settled in a bit for the evening.  

And now, my friends? Now I go to sleep the sleep of legends.  And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow Big Daddy turns 30.  Don't tell him I told you.  More on that later.

Nighty night!

This Girl Goes To 11.

Blogger Love On Wednesday is up at Fiddley Gomme.

Pete did a great job interviewing a guest that interrupted him at least a dozen times... someone who has obviously been off her ADD meds for the past 8 months...  

Someone who has just now, this moment, vowed to make her husband sit in the next time she does anything like this - so that he can fit me with a shock collar and give me a good jolt every time I forget to SHUT UP ALREADY.  

In my defense, I do talk the most when I'm nervous.  Also this was recorded on a day when I had been awake with Toby since 4am and my allergies were kicking my tuckus.  So that buys me about 30 seconds of the 20 or so minutes I talked nearly without interruption or maybe stopping to breathe.

Thanks again to Pete, who could teach classes in being patient with the Crazies.  (and by crazies, I mean me.) 

BLOW Me.

First off, quick aside.  I had every intention of posting this yesterday, but then our power flicked off and on and the wireless router died for the dozenth time this year and then refused to come back.  And so I was without internet, because I refused to sit down like a normal person and plug into the ethernet cable.  Because - WIRES! The weight of it all, the tied-down-ness.  It was all more than I could bear.  Also I was somewhat busy digging my way out of the pit of despair our house descended into over the course of the busy weekend.

So now things are back to normal, the house is no longer in danger of being condemned, and Big Daddy picked up a spankin' new wireless router, thus restoring my faith in the internets. All is mostly right with the world.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled insanity.

I may have mentioned once or twice or eleventy-billion times that I have a small problem with phone anxiety.  

Talking to strangers or even acquaintances over the phone has been known to give me heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and halitosis.

So it was a big step for me to spend an hour chatting with Pete of Fiddley Gomme for his Blogger Love On Wednesdays podcast.

Pete is an incredibly personable guy, and I have a feeling he'd be great to set with over a couple of beers.  Not that lightweight Utah stuff, where they water the beer down to like 4 percent.  I'm talking good, New England Lager beers.  

That said, I'm also fairly sure that I talked too much, talked too fast, and meandered down Tangent Lane a few too many times.  I mentioned to him (off recording) that I have been living happily in my little bubble of relative anonymity, and I'm somewhat ambivalent about venturing out into new territory. I've never received hate mail, nor have I had to deal with trolls and other lower life forms.  It's like the Garden of Eden -- all naively exuberant exploration without any real consequences.

It's probably to be expected, then, that I'm feeling a little anxious about letting that go and moving on into the Big Bad World.

But moving on I am.  I started with getting my ticket to BlogHer for this year... and now everyone except my Mom can tune in to Pete's B.L.O.W. podcast this Wednesday to hear me interviewed.   He's too nice to tell you that I'm as awkward to talk to on the phone as you would imagine, but I suspect he required a stiff drink and perhaps a high colonic in order to recover from exposure to all hundred kinds of my crazy.  Anyway, be sure to give it a listen so that you, too, can hear me cackle like a hyena and possibly talk about conceiving my children under the influence of too much wine. 

Thanks, Pete.  You're a gentleman and a scholar. :)

Travel, Sports, and AHH! The Cuteness.

First off, let's all give a big Internet High Five to my husband, who circumnavigated the globe several times on miserable business travel.. and then gave me the frequent flyer miles to get me on a plane to San Francisco for the oft mentioned BlogHer '08 that I'll be attending in July.

I'm not certain yet what will be required of me in return, but I suspect it will incorporate the fact that I'm quite bendy. (Thank you, pilates.) Or, at least as bendy as a pregnant woman can hope to be.

Secondly, please stop by and give big, wet smooches to the MochaMomma, who bestowed some seroius love on yours truly. She is my internet fairy godmother. Also? Her lips are mythical in their perfection and lusciousness. Actually, her whole person is mythical that way. Everyone should be so lucky as to know someone like her at least once in a lifetime. And you are free to envy that I expect to sit on her lap and let her whisper sweet things in my ear when I stalk meetup with her at BlogHer.

So you can see that my brainpan is quite overflowing with thoughts of my upcoming San Francisco adventures. It's hard to focus on anything else, even though there are oodles of things to get done between now and then. You know, like putting away the laundry that has been folded in baskets and patiently waiting to be stowed for.. oh.. I forget.

Also, my baby - MUH BAYBEE! - has kindergarten registration next week and OHMYGAWD I am too young and how could you let this happen?!! But, um, (*sniffle*cough*hiccup*) let's not talk about that because I remembered to put on mascara this morning and I don't need to have it running down my face just now.

Instead, let's talk about Tee Ball! (Smooth transition, no?) (no.)

Jack is an amazing kid. His newest habit, for example, is getting up in the morning and setting the table for breakfast while his parents are still happily snoring away. He is quick to follow directions and incredibly eager to please.

The funny thing about watching Jack learn to play Tee Ball is watching him attempt to unlearn everything we have been telling him for the last 4 and a half years.

"Slow down! Don't run!"
"Don't throw that at your brother!"
"No hitting! NO HITTING!"

And here I thought that was just good parenting. Now we get to watch him despair at ever understanding these inept humans responsible for his care and feeding as we yell out helpful instructions for success in the sport:

"Run! As fast as you can! RUN!"
"Throw the ball to Carson! THROW THE BALL!"
"Hit the ball with this stick as hard as you can!"

So, yeah, he's basically totally over thinking his parents are infallible and has moved on to the "these people are insane and OMG when do I get to move out on my own?" phase of his childhood. Because we're awesome like that.

As we attempt to navigate these complex and highly competitive waters, however, there are a few incredibly bright spots.

First off, the cuteness of kids in uniform.

Resistance to the cuteness is futile.

Next, Jack is learning the value of being a part of a Team. Taking turns, cheering each other on, and learning from each other. Of course, with four-year-olds, learning from each other usually means things like "see how he doesn't hit the kid next to him with the bat? You, also, should not hit the kid next to you with the bat." But, hey, small but important lessons.

Bonus points if you can tell how many of them were
actively picking their noses when I took the photo.

I really didn't expect the swell of pride that comes from watching your kid whack the ball off the tee and go running for first base like a pack of wild hyenas is nipping at his heels. Seeing him listen, work hard, and actually start to improve as he learns to play the game? It's like watching him learn to walk all over again. Parenting bonus, y'all.

He hit the ball! Off the little stationary thingy that is at
exactly the right height for him to hit it! My kid is a GENIUS!
Do not attempt to convince me otherwise.

Finally, there is the incredibly awesome factor of father-son bonding. Never having played any team sports myself, I am just beginning to realize the awesome power of this. Basically, now they have quiet, serious conversations about the vital importance of baseball and they both get to laugh at my expense when I attempt to talk the sports talk. Good times.

Two peas in a red-stitched pod.
You can almost HEAR them mocking
me with their thoughts.

No, really. Very Good Times, indeed.

Once Upon A Time, In April...

Good evening, internets. What a rip-roaring whirlwind it has been. You see, I have been SO incredibly busy with my, uh, glamorous life here in the coutry that my brain was too full of important information (like "where is my baseball mitt?!" and "Honey, do I have any clean boxers?") to do things like.. uh.. locate the camera hanging on the hook where it belongs. Because who in our house actually puts things away where they go?! I ASK YOU! What is this world coming to?

BUT! At long last here am I, and here is my camera. (This is my camera, this is my laptop... one is for shooting, the other for public self-humiliation) (Bonus points if you know the reference.)

So let's take a little stroll down Last Two Weeks Lane, shall we? And because my brain is tired, and I not good make words, we'll make it a picture-book adventure.

THIS, apparently, is the Amish Village.

Tobin is, understandably, nonplussed.

Jack is, as always, too cool for school.
He is also already too cool to be seen with me publicly.
His adolescence should be loads of fun.

Hey, it's Primary season in PA. What ELSE would I be wearing?
(Thanks again, Sarah, for the awesome birthday gift!)

If you want your children to think you are a rock star,
let them sleep in an actual Train Car. It's not quite the Marriott,
but it was worth it to see their brains explode.

Bid Daddy is teh hotnezz.

The best pretzels you will ever eat in your life.
We got there just in time to grab 3 to share amongst
ourselves before they ran out of dough for the day.
Don't forget the lemonade.

Old! Rusty! Junk!
Big Daddy had to physically remove me from this shop.
The most awesomest rusty junk ever. I wanted one of everything.

What, not enough for you? Well, those were the hilights of our PA trip. I still want a giant, rusted sun sculpture to hang in our family room, but I'm limping along without it. (For now.)

I was going to combine this post and the coverage of Tee Ball Opening Ceremonies, but, well, you see... Battlestar Galactica is coming on soon, and I have a few things I have to get done first, and .. well, I know you understand, internets. I mean, you're cute and all... but you're no Katee Sackhoff, you know? Don't take it personally. We can still be friends. Let's totally talk tomorrow.

I Heart Intercourse.

Yep. Same shirt, it's still there.
And yes, I look older than last time. Because I AM.

So, I have more photos of our PA adventures. But I can't post them now, because I just realized we're already 15 minutes late for a playdate next door and I'm still in my jammies, and really... well, let's just say that it takes a certain kind of something to be a half hour late for a playgroup at your neighbor's house. And I have that something. In Spades.

California, Here I Come.

Well, y'all... I went and did it. I got myself registered for BlogHer '08!

After much hemming and hawing (I'm not sure exactly what that means, but in my case it involves eating a lot of fudge and chewing my fingernails) I finally decided to go ahead and do it. SO! I'm going to San Francisco in July. I'll arrive a day early so I can hopefully catch up with a few folks I haven't seen in a while and maybe I'll finally take that tour of Alcatraz. I hear it's pretty spiffy.

Who am I kidding? I'll be shopping and wandering my romantic, misty city by the bay in my full pregnant glory, probably mugging small children for their candy outside of Ghirardhelli Square. And I'll be Kid. Free. For 3 whole days. Won't you join me for (cooked) sushi and a (virgin) cocktail, internets?

So now I can begin to formulate my brilliant plan, wherein I ensconce myself in the midst of some of the beautiful, brilliant blogging women whom I worship admire. Or, I might just attend the sessions, take lots of notes, and end up feeling like I'm back in high school, reading Nicholas and Alexandra at my locker during lunch. Either way, there is much to be learned, there are sights to be seen, and there are cocktail parties to attend. Of course, I won't actually be able to enjoy the cocktails, but at least now I have an excuse to wear the completely non-sensible shoes in my collection in the company of the women who can enjoy a few appletinis, or whatever it is the kids are imbibing these days.

Next problem: Finding a roommate so I'm not forced to pawn one of the children to pay for accomodations.

Decisions, Decisions...

So we had actively decided to take a family vacation to the Outer Banks this year. I looked up a few likely suspects for a one-week rental house and we tossed around ideas for a few dates.

THEN, Big Daddy T's Mama decided that she is going to treat herself, for her very special birthday this year, to a one-month rental in August... and invited us to spend whatever portion of that month with her that we would like.

Holy. Freaking. Awesome.

THEN, Big Daddy T tells me that Sure, why not, why don't I go ahead and stop pining for the BlogHer conference this year and go ahead and GO already. I mean, it's in San Fran (Hello Old Stomping Grounds!), in the middle of the summer when kids are out of school and weather is beautiful, and it's before I'll be so pregnant that the notion of waddling around San Fran would feel less like a luxury and more equivalent to a waterboarding.

So I'm thinking about it. And I'm also thinking about maybe using his frequent-flyer miles to truck my happy behind out to Rome, Italy and visit with my brother and his lovely wife and their adorable children.

But I can hardly rationalize, even to my spoiled self, taking both trips alone this year. Especially, really, when you include the fact that I'll likely get to spend a few weeks basking in the salt-spray of the Outer Banks come August.

So it's decision time. And I have to figure out what I want to do more... Finally get my chance to accost Dooce and make a fool of myself with the laughing and the weeping on her tiny, tiny shoulder and maybe compare buddha bellies with the also-pregnant Amalah (and probably end up with a restraining order by the time I finish frightening these and the rest of my favorite blogging Mamas..) Except for the effervescent MochaMomma, who I'm sure totally won't take it the wrong way if I happen to suddenly lick her face or perhaps administer a firm smack to her posterior...

OR...

I could finally have a real excuse to get a passport and, at long last, set foot in Europe. Not just any part of Europe, but ROME, people! The architecture, the history, the art, the FOOD. I'd also mention the wine but, sadly, the fetus in my belly makes that impossible. But still... ROME!

Seriously, I should always be faced with such dilemmas. Like winning the lottery and having to choose Bulk Payout or Incremental. Still and all, though, it's going to be a difficult thing to make up my mind....

And then it went KA-BOOM!

Christmas happened, and there was much gift-giving and shameless materialism and even a few expressions of sincere affection at our house.

Big Daddy T got his xbox 360 and immediately claimed it as his saucy mistress. Which is only a little awkward, since I end up chatting with his friend Chris over the headsets as often as he does while we play Halo 3. Also while I blast the effing aych-ee-double-hockey-sticks out of the alien scum. Because I'm a lady.

I didn't really ask for anything this year except the Amy Winehouse album, which T neglected to get because (as he pointed out) I can just as easily get it off of iTunes. Instead, he got me something totally unexpected and completely awesome. In lieu of a photo of the actual item (which I somehow neglected to photograph) I will share this radical shot of the scrumptious packaging...


Yes, a Coach purse. My husband is attempting to upgrade me from the ground level up, and it seems that my $10 canvas mommy bag from Walmart was as good a place as any to start. So, now I carry my fabulous (still big enough to hold a diaper and small spare wipes) purse with me everywhere I go, and try not to think about the fact that it cost as much as I would spend on clothes in a year. Okay, so for a year that number may be pitifully low. Which, incidentally, is the other part of my directive: Buy Nice Clothes. Which I will totally start working on... as soon as I lose the last 15 pounds.

The boys got too many toys to enumerate, sadly. The highlight, I think, was the kitchen set I got from JC Penney for $35. Of course, at that price, I knew there would be a catch. I just didn't know there would be 175 or so of them. You see, the kitchen came totally unassembled. I wish I had taken photos to share, but I was apparently so stricken at the realization that every. single. piece. was unconnected, I sorta blacked out for a few hours and somehow got it put together just before dinner.

Of course, after their recent introduction to Toy Story, they had to get matching Buzz Lightyear action figures.


And then their heads exploded.

After Christmas, of course, I headed to parts west for my sister's New Years Eve wedding in Salt Lake City. I have all sorts of anecdotes I am sure I could share - and still yet may - but for the moment, let's just stick to the highlights of the trip.

- The Kaboom. In the first 48 hours that I was gone, T and the boys all came down with fever and chest cough. The cat got trapped in our bedroom overnight with T and peed on our bed. The boys got into the Christmas stockings and ate, between them, an entire package of chewing gum. The boys also left the stockings laying out which brings us to the part where the dog ate 3 entire Tobleronne bars. The dog, by the way, is fine. I, on the other hand, and still somewhat grief-stricken at the loss of the chocolate. But I'll be okay. Time heals all wounds, and all that. Eventually.

- Saw "I Am Legend" with my sister Shannon and her teenage son. Their family is so fan-freaking-tastic I hardly know where to begin. Theirs is one of the few places I can walk into and feel immediately at home. We had good conversation and some lively debate, and even added a little icing to an already sweet relationship. Also, she makes me brave in my style choices and reminds me that, in all ways, just being myself is quite good enough. Even though her 11-year-old daughter can play circles around me on the violin. Hey, at least my teenage nephew (who has the most wickedly awesome hair, by the way) was willing to sit with us at the movie. So at least I haven't reached "sit three rows back and pretend not to know the adult" status. Yet, anyway.

- Got to have Sushi with Dr. Allie and another old acquaintance. The sushi was awesome, the Saki was hot, and the chance to catch up and let our hair down was priceless.

- Sat next to my last surviving Grandma at the wedding. She had one of her more lucid moments, and we had a nice chat. And she didn't comment on the pierced nose or the wild hair, just laughed at my jokes and let me put my arm around her during the ceremony and generally acted grandmotherly.

- At our wedding five years ago T and I gave the DJ explicit instructions about the type of music to play for the first few hours of the reception. With T's dad being retired military and currently in government, there were a fair few military and government-dignitary-types present. My sister, of course, did a little flirting and convinced the DJ to play Nelly's "It's getting hot in here (so take off all your clothes)" in the first 10 minutes.

It took five years, but I finally served up the payback. I had a little chat with the DJ, agreed to take any and all blame, and finally served my sis a dose of her own medicine. Being Utah, of course, she got the benefit of the DJ dubbing out the more offensive parts of the song (not so at our wedding, for the record) but still. Payback was sweet, baby.

- Watched fireworks at eye level on the 23rd floor of the Wells Fargo building in Salt Lake City at midnight. It was a weird moment - no T to kiss or snuggle up to. Just me, standing in a room of family and strangers, a little island unto myself. I was exhausted, oddly serene, and fiercely homesick. I think maybe it took being so far away from my home and our own little family to realize how much those things are the center of my life. Extended family is lovely, and it's nice to catch up once in a while, but if I had to make a choice... I'd choose T and the boys over anyone or anywhere else in the world every time.

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All in all, more has happened in the last few weeks than I can properly record. I'm ready to move on into 2008. I'm sure I'll probably look back here and there, and toss in a thing or two I forgot, but for the most part... I have already moved on. I'm ready for something good - no - GREAT to happen. I'm ready for a new year.

As soon as I get over this gnarly chest cold, that is.

Rest, Relaxation, and Return to Reality

The Inn was everything we hoped and more. Today, I actually feel almost human. Also, I am no longer experiencing one giant anxiety attack in regard to Christmas and everything that still needs to be finished before Tuesday morning.

Here are a few of the high points of the evening and morning at our B&B retreat. WARNING: I may wax romantic and poetic and whatnot. Old houses and unbridled pampering will do that to a girl.

The Inn opens with a tavern, complete with incredible antique furniture, paneled walls and a grand piano beckoning for a passer-by to make themselves at home and coax the music from its aging ivories.

The passageways in the main house are impossibly tiny, built to suit smaller bodies of a bygone era. Exposed beams along the high ceilings had the delicious, velvety patina that comes with the aging of hard wood under rich lacquer.

Dinner in front of the fireplace served on antique tableware. Seven courses of pure bliss. A filet mignon so tender, she wasn't kidding when she handed me the butter knife and said "you really won't need this."

The "Winter Cottage" welcomed us with a giant, antique bed perched on Tuscan-tile floors. The jacuzzi tub was deep enough for the swirling bubbles to reach my chin. The gas fireplace cast dancing lights on the hand-painted walls and vaulted ceiling. The crisp, embroidered linens felt clean and cool on the skin.

Morning brought a cascade of heavenly, scalding water in the giant, tiled shower. Coffee and muffins by the fire, Pellegrino and fresh fruit. A view of the Manor house and the stream, emerging like spectres from the fog as the hazy clouds lifted in the warmth of the morning sun.

Returning home was surreal. Waving goodbye to T as he drove off, alone, into the rest of the day. Wandering from the cold and the quiet into the bustling warmth of our chaotic life. My taste of luxury was traded back in for our modest home, with its messy kitchen, the piles of dirty laundry waiting to be washed and clean laundry to be folded.

Then two tiny pairs of arms grabbed hold of my legs, sticky kisses were planted on my cheeks, and I found that - though I enjoyed every minute of our brief getaway- when it comes to my messy, chaotic life... I am already spoiled beyond what I deserve. The rest is just icing.