We went to see the pediatric dentist, and it was a bittersweet trip since he is leaving to go back to school for a few years. (At the end of the visit, I kind of teared up. This is a prime example that - one - he is a fantastic dentist, and - two - I am a very easy crier.) All three were clear of cavities. But!

• Moo is still busting out her latest molars. That explains a lot.
• The Bear had to have a loose tooth pulled. He hates to wiggle his loose teeth; the feel of it drives him bonkers. The new tooth was halfway grown in and the dentist said the old one needed to go. While digging around in there, he found that the top two are loosening, as well.
• The Princess is getting her 12 year molars. I protested a little, but the doc said, “She has the mouth of a teenager.” Why, so she does, sir. So she does. Sigh.

Do you know what this means? I am living in a house with three teething children. And one of them is awash in adolescent hormones.

Pray for me.

Tonight there was some awesome light in the side yard.  And all the Hooligans cooperated.

Even the Princess.  How about that?

I am thrilled. I am recharged. I am exhausted. This weekend I lived through my first homeschool convention.

Honestly, all those books. It was marvelous. For the first time, I got to see and touch and page through curriculum before buying. We explored products, manipulatives, and doodads. I got to talk to authors about their books.

I got to meet Jessie Wise! She was gracious and sweet. I also attended a lecture of hers called, “If I Could Do It Over Again.” She pretty much blew my socks off.

There were remote controlled model boats. There were animals from the humane society. There was a guy in full armor with a broadsword. I had worried a little bit that the hooligans might get a little bored, but they had a riot. They even held up admirably during lectures. (And when they couldn’t, Mr. MG took them out in the main area and chased them all over the place. By the end of the weekend, every vendor knew the tall bald man with the two crazy children and the toddler with the squeaky shoes.)

We were attending both days, so the hooligans got to stay in a hotel for the first time. The Bear does not like new things, and was teary for a couple of days beforehand. All that was a distant memory when he got in the room. “I want to live here!” he sighed. As for the Princess, it confirmed everything she hoped for and then some. No making beds, no vacuuming, and free cookies in the lobby.

After supper, we came back and went to the hotel pool. For the first time, Moo was in something bigger than a tub. After slowly working our way in, I got her in the water up to her shoulders and then it happened: she started flutter kicking and paddling her arms, I kid you not. She loved it! I held her waist and zoomed her around in the water while the Bigs horsed around with Mr. MG. It was one one the highlights of the entire trip.

Of course, no one really slept. And then we spent all the next day exploring the convention some more. And then the looong drive home. But you know it was a good time, because the kids all cried when we had to leave. Moo wailed, “I don’t want to go home!”

The last kid was tucked in their bed at ten thirty last night - happy, tired, and impatient for next year. And here I am today, dozing at the keyboard with a stack of new books next to my chair. I’m impatient for it, too.

What have I been up to? Well…

I’ve been working in the garden. Look at this rhody! I used to hate them before we got this house. I can’t find it in my heart to hate this magnificent beast. It has blossoms even with the second story windows.

Ignore the unsightly compost bin. And all the various weeds - I promise, I have been working to pull them.

I have also been running to get school finished while keeping up with this monkey. All pictures of her are blurred. Really, that’s how she appears in person.

Except for one day that she passed out while I was on the treadmill. Oh, baby.

We keep trying to break her finger habit since it is making her baby teeth go all wonky, but she is one tough cookie. And it’s awfully cute at the moment.

And couldn’t you just die over that little tootsie? It took a lot of restraint to snap a picture of it and not gobble it down instead.

It was also out of a sense of self-preservation that I refrained. Jiminy crickets, is she ever frightening to wake up. I think I’ll let her sleep a while longer.

Sometimes practice nearly drives me insane. Sometimes it drives them insane. But it is worth every moment to have this in my house.

Their piano teacher is so awesome. She knows that finding a piece of music you love can be the key to wanting to learn it. The Bear plays this over and over. All day long. He is so thrilled to be able to make it come out of his fingers.

(If you missed it, the travels start here.)

I was finally out of Gallup. I settled into my seat, watched the land slide by, and prepared for the usual chitchat with the driver.

He was a big, big man. Not like a sumo wrestler, and not like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but tall and stocky. He had a place on the Navajo rez, he said, but traveled in his car a lot. That was obvious, from the looks of the interior. Clothes, wrappers, magazines… for all I knew he had small appliances and furry animals back there, somewhere in the castoff heaps covering the back seat.

His slow, deep voice seemed laid back, almost nonchalant, at first. He had the typical questions about who I was and where I was going. I gave the usual vague answers. This wasn’t my first ride with a lone man, so I wasn’t nervous. I stayed alert but calm.

He said he could take me all the way to Sedona. “Awesome! That’d be great, thanks!” I smiled.

But that brought up a whole new problem. He wanted to know where to drop me off. Where did my parents live? Of all the scenarios I had gone through in my head, I had not planned out what to tell the driver who brought me to my destination. A small flicker of panic tickled at the base of my spine. That’s when he began asking more pointed questions.

“What part of town are you from?”

“What did you do, growing up?”

“When are your folks expecting you?”

And the question that sent waves of outright alarm up my back and over the back of my scalp to my eyebrows: “It’s getting close to dinner. Do you think your parents would let me come in, maybe have a sandwich or something?” He watched me carefully, sizing up my reaction. I gripped the seat with my hand closest to the door. Such a harmless question, but asked in such a quietly menacing way. If nothing else, he knew for sure that I was lying. But recanting was out of the question.

I smiled and tried to put on believable face. “Ha, ha! My parents will totally kill me if they find out I hitched to get here.” At least that much was true. “You can just drop me at the first gas station in town. I’ll call them from there.” Never mind that I couldn’t tell him what station in particular since I’d never been there before. I was going to stick with my story to the end.

As we zigzagged down the canyon to Sedona, the afternoon rays lit the red stone cliffs. Wow, I thought, it’s like a natural cathedral here. For a few awestruck moments, I forgot where I was inside the car and marveled at what was passing outside. I was so glad I had come. Now all I had to do was disentangle myself from my ride so I could enjoy it.

A Circle K loomed ahead, and I tried to stay steady when I spotted it. “Right there’s fine!”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home? I don’t mind…”

I assured him that, no, this was great, but thanks. I hopped out, grabbed my stuff, and went in. He stayed parked out front and watched as I went to the pay phone just inside the front window. Any doubts he had about my story were roundly confirmed as I picked up the phone book and started thumbing through it. (After all, who needs to look up their parents’ number?) Eventually he drove off, and I leaned my head against the booth. I was safe.

So I rifled through the yellow pages. Time to call the oasis in the desert, the friend to the poor and homeless. Time to call the local Catholic Church.

So I finally watched the season finale of Gray’s Anatomy. (To those who are rolling their eyes: I know! It’s such a soap opera!) (To those who watch it, too: I know! Can you believe the ending?! I’m still recovering!) After I switched off the TV, I puttered around and finally got to bed around one. I lay there for a while, pondering Izzy. And George. And life. And dropped off to dreamland.

1:23 The unmistakable sound of Moo retching comes over the baby monitor. She had only woken up long enough to yak everywhere before rolling over in it and going back to blissful dreamland. So I go about the business of disaster recovery, when I hear the Princess - Moo’s roommate - groggily mutter, “I tink I’b geddig a bloody doze…” So I set Moo on the beach towel/barf tarp on the floor and assist the Princess. Then back to changing crib bedding, hosing down the babe, redressing, etc., etc. After making sure the bloody nose is done, I tuck all in to bed and try to go back to sleep.

1:47 More retching. The Princess does not get a bloody nose this time, but blinks and watches the repeat performance of undressing, undoing crib bedding, wiping down the baby, trying to get chunks out of little blonde ringlets, and fetching a drink of water.

2:35 Round number three. By now, I have run out of mattress protectors, so I  leave the only slightly damp-with-barf one on, but cover it with a towel before putting on the new sheet. Moo isn’t upset by all the hubbub, but observes it all gamely and asks for more water after getting her third set of jammies for the night. The Princess is so far asleep, she doesn’t even twitch.

3-something I finally get to bed for what would end up being the final time. I spent the rest of the night with one ear plastered to the baby monitor and visions of TV medical drama carnage swimming in my head.

First thing in the morning Aunt Flo showed up for her monthly stay. There I am, trying to find the coffee pot, and she kicked down the door, threw her hands in the air, and sang Hello, Dolly!  at the top of her lungs.

All in all, not the kind of night you’d choose on purpose.

Mr. MG: Hey, how’s it going?

Me: Going okay. What’s up?

Mr. MG: How’s your day been?

Me: Oh, average. The usual stuff. Why, what’s up?

Mr. MG: So you’re doing okay?

Me: Yes. Doing fine. How are you?

Mr. MG: Oohhhh, I’m doing pretty good. Really good. Just got off the phone with the CO… I got picked up for Senior Chief.

Me: WHAT?

He hadn’t even submitted a package. It was the minimum amount of time since he made CPO that he could be selected, and he figured he had no shot. The news came totally, utterly out of the blue.

Throughout his career in the Navy, all he wanted was to make Chief like his dad. I’m not a guy, but I can sort of understand what a rush he got to pass that mark. And his dad is so proud.

Friday I got to be one of two people to pin the new anchors on his collar. It was hard to reach, floating on a cloud like he was.

Congratulations, my sweet sailor man.

For a brief, tiny moment today, I peeked over the wall of extreme math phobia. For a teensy space in time, I had a glimpse.

For just a second, I gazed at my algebra/finite mathematics homework and it made sense to me.

Thank you, God.

Behold! The final wearing of the dress. THE dress. The dress that she wore until it was filthy, then waited with all the patience of a two year old until it was clean again.

It got short enough to be a tunic to go over pants. But when it was impossible to button around her body, it was time to say farewell.

Goodbye, favorite dress. You will be missed.