Where to start...

I miss blogging. There is way too much to say now to be eloquent and amusing. First, soccer. Today was Andrew's second soccer game. He played so much better today than last week, and I was so proud of him. He was really hustling today,and when he was on the field was the first one to attack the ball after a kick-off. Unfortunately after one such event, he kicked it into the wrong goal. However, he was sooo excited, I didn't break it to him. He had some good defensive plays and almost scored a legit goal. Andrew is the only 3 year old on his team, so I am so proud!

Patrick is a growler. Seriously, he talks by growling - ALL THE TIME! I think he is going to have a very deep, husky little voice. I can't wait to hear how it turns out.

Dinosaurs. More specifically - Harry and His Bucket of Dinosaurs. Finally, Andrew is interested in something other than sports. My sister-in-law the Kindergarten teacher got Andrew this awesome dinosaur playset for Christmas last year. You know its awesome because she KNOWS little kids. But of course, being that the dinosaurs did not look like balls or kick balls, they got very little playtime. Enter the weekly trip to the library (now sometimes bi-weekly). The routine goes like this. Put the books in the slot. Beeline to the DVDs. Make Mommy tell me what they have. I spot every annoying Bob the Builder DVD there is. Mommy tries to talk me out of Bob the Builder. Sometimes it works. I pick two DVDs, and then beeline to the Curious George books. I pick two of those. Occasionally I also pick a "Stain Bears" book. I do a puzzle, while Mommy picks books to make me more well rounded and reads to or feeds Patrick. We put our books on the counter and leave.

Last week was one in which Bob the Builder lost (YAY!). This is because Andrew happened to spot a soccer ball on the back of Harry and His Bucket Full of Dinosaurs case. I really didn't want him to get it. I thought the graphics looked simple, and tried to get him to go with Toy Story II instead. But, no, Andrew had seen the soccer ball and that was that. So home came the dinosaur DVD. And how the world has changed. HE LOVES IT! He plays with his dinosaurs and talks about the cool volcano that came with the set. He sings the songs, and his world is now slightly larger. So, of course, I am now searching Amazon and eBay for Harry dinosaur stuff for Christmas, though if I get it, he'll probably never play with it. Apparently some of this stuff is collector's items because there is a 2 dinosaur Fisher Price set on Amazon for $100!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I may go for the slightly used $10 lot on eBay.

So, how is it that I have time to write this rambling post? Because Andrew is watching Harry and Patrick is happily growling to himself.

Saved by the Cross?

I just had what I feel was a beautiful and profound conversation with Andrew. We were saying his nighttime prayers, and he apparently remembered a previous conversation we had about the fact that Jesus saved him. He said, "Jesus saved me?" I replied, "Yes. Jesus saved you on the cross. That's why Mommy wears a cross on her necklace - so I don't ever forget." Andrew replied, "No, he didn't." I was slightly appalled and asked why he thought Jesus didn't save him. He sadly said, "Because I don't have a cross on my neck." I cleaned up this misconception as best as I could, explaining that at his baptism the priest drew a cross on his forehead, and as long as he loved Jesus and believed in him, then Jesus did save him. I also reminded him that he has a couple of crosses, but they're just not on a necklace. However, I was left a little stunned by this whole conversation. The innocence of a child raised as a Christian believing that Jesus didn't save him just because he isn't wearing a cross really translates for me all the adults who believe the same for such harder, personal, and often tragic reasons. If only giving them a cross would be enough to restore or find their faith.

Busy times...

So, I've not blogged in a month due to the fact that I started a new job, and that leaves no time. So...the updates.

Andrew has discovered a new sport called volleyball. Finally, my sport. Thank you, Olympics. We now play that in the living room over the soccer net.

Last night, we were watching the Democratic National Convention and Andrew asked, "Daddy, what's that?" Brian answered, "The Democratic National Convention." Andrew asked, "Do they have sports?" Later we pointed out Barack Obama, whom Andrew called Barack Obambam. That's right, he's reached an even younger, harder to reach demographic. 3 Year Olds for Obambam.

Meanwhile, Patrick lights up the world with his smile. We're not sure who he's voting for.

Stay tuned...I have lots to say once I find the time. :)

A Big Boy and His Dog

If you've been reading, you know that my husband and I met walking our dogs. He had only been a dog person for a few months prior to our meeting. However, once he became a dog person, he bought in big! Literally. When a co-worker approached Brian about adopting one of their dogs, he was shown two pictures. He told them he'd take the small dog, only if they couldn't find another home for it. Shockingly, they found no other home for it. So Brian went to pick up Cali. He rang the doorbell and a rambuctious, overweight yellow Lab came running to greet him. He asked, "Where's Cali?" The response? "This is Cali." So much for the little dog.

Cali rode home - shotgun, and her new life began. Her life as Brian's true love. We are unsure what Cali's life had been previously, but when I came on the scene a few months later after life with Brian had commenced, Cali was living the high life. Eating large servings of diet dog food (the irony), tackling Brian for hugs and kisses upon his arrival home, and riding in the front seat (more than once she's put the car into neutral). Needless to say, I was just thrilled she was willing to share him with me. Quite frankly, it was almost as if she picked me. This helps make me feel better when I occasionally think (usually during the shedding season, which lasts approximately 11 1/2 out of the 12 months of the year) that if he ever had to choose between Cali and me, the dog would win.

And the feeling is mutual. Cali loves Brian. Often when he goes to work, she lays at the top of the steps waiting for him. When he has gone on business trips, she has spent days at that same spot. I once read a L. M. Montgomery book, in which a dog accompanies his master to the train station where the master leaves for war. Four years later, the dog is still there waiting when his master returns. I have no doubt that Cali would do the same for Brian.

Cali is a fascinating dog. She has the capability to actually smile - over a table of Chinese food or an unattended cup of Starbucks. Her survival instincts are phenomenal - when hungry, simply unwrap and eat the 36 Pop-Tarts out of the Sam's Club box left on the back of the counter - in one sitting. She's helpful. If Mommy's dressing too warm for the season - shred the leather jacket to give it ventilation. Her communication skills are impressive. If she wants to go for a walk, she will go get her leash and throw it at you. Same for water and food dishes. However, she is the same gentle dog who will sniff the new baby but not touch him and let the three year old give her treats and help lead her around the house.

As Cali has slowed down over the last year due to blindness and arthritis, it has occurred to me that one day the dear girl, now considered elderly, will die. When I found out she would completely lose her eyesight and we could do nothing about it, I bawled like a baby, but Brian didn't shed a tear. It occurred to me that in 5 1/2 years, I had never seen Brian cry. So I asked him when he had last cried. I knew it hadn't been at any funerals, weddings, including ours, or even the birth of our children. He said that he remembered crying when his boyhood cat, Cheshire, died. And he would cry when Cali died. This began an occasional panic on my part, because I believe he will not only cry, but will go into a weeklong depression. And so I began to wonder, if I am the one to find her, what on earth will I do? I simply cannot call and tell him that she is gone. I decided to breach the subject of my panic.

My idea was to run away - go to the mall, and wait until he came home and found her. We discussed saying, "Honey - you know how when you went to work this morning Cali couldn't see. Well, she's seen the light." Finally, it was decided that my idea was ok and I will leave a note saying, "Dinner's in the oven, dog's upstairs, back later."

Cali will turn nine next month, and she is in great health, aside from the mild arthritis and blindness. She's even losing weight! However, occasionally when she is sleeping very still, I panic and poke her or call her name. Today, for instance. Brian had come home during the day which is very unusual, then had gone back to work. The dogs went downstairs to see him off. An hour or two later, I couldn't find Cali. I called for her, checked the top two floors of the house, her favorite air conditioner vent under the window, even outside. I was thinking that the blessed girl had gone off somewhere and died. Finally, I removed the gate to the bottom floor, and where did I find her? Laying by the front door, waiting for her love to come back home.

A Boy and His Dogs

3 1/2 years ago, my husband and I brought a preemie home from the hospital, and following my doctor's advice, laid him on the floor for my dogs to sniff him. Meanwhile, I lost a couple years off my life. However, it worked - they have never bothered or hurt him, and sometimes pay no attention to him at all, except for clean up duty. Now we are at the age, where he wants the dogs to pay attention to him. Which, to my surprise seems to be much more challenging.

Usually if one of the dogs happen to be in Andrew's room when he goes to nap or bed, he demands their removal. He will tattle, bellowing, "Katy's in my room!" So, last night, Andrew is in the bed and tells Brian that Cali is in his room. Brian tells him that's ok - wouldn't he like Cali to sleep in his room with him? Oh, the drama caused by that seemingly innocent question. Andrew changes course, deciding that's a great idea. But when Brian leaves so does the ever faithful Cali. Andrew begins wailing, "I want Cali to sleep with me." So B drags the poor, blind, arthritic dog into Andrew's room along with her pet bed, and puts Cali to bed in Andrew's room.

A couple minutes later, Cali is back in our room. When Andrew realizes that Cali is not sleeping in his room, he begins wailing again. Mommy's turn. Katy is lying just outside Andrew's room and is perhaps less set in her sleeping ways (she's a night adventurer), so I convince the sobbing Andrew that he would rather have Katy sleep in his room tonight. I get Katy to come in, and she is utterly confused as usually I am trying to get her out of Andrew's room. I get her to lay down on the pet bed, but then she starts scavenging around the room. Andrew is upset because she is not laying down. She then goes back to her spot in the hall. However, Andrew can at least see Katy in the hall from his bed, as she is just outside his door. So I convince him that she actually is in his room as she is in the doorway and that tomorrow when he wakes up she will come in to see him as she always does. Because Katy loves him and is always so excited to see him. This does the trick - he laughs and then goes to sleep.(Seriously, the grumpy Basset loves her little boy. When he was still in the womb she actually covered my belly with her body and growled once when Brian went to hug me and she misinterpreted his intentions. If she hears Drew wake up or move upstairs in the morning, her whole long, low body starts wagging and she whimpers. Back when I was working, she used to love to go into his room and try to whimper him awake every morning.)

Because of the great love of Katy for Andrew, it is supremely ridiculous when Andrew wakes up this morning, and Katy follows me up the stairs, and for the first time, walks into my room to check on squirming Patrick instead of Andrew. Andrew is upset - Katy did not come in to see him. I get Katy to go make a fuss over Andrew once she has determined that her other baby is ok and once again his little world is at peace - until naptime, when I shall try to conquer this issue by moving all the pet beds into Andrew's room.

And the survey says...

Every couple weeks when Andrew and I are eating together, I ask him what his favorites are. It fascinates me to hear how often some of them change, and how his answers compare to how I would guess he would respond. While watching an occasional guilty pleasure of mine - SuperNanny - this week, I was appalled at how the parents when surveyed knew nothing about their children. What they wanted to be when the grow up, favorite foods, colors, etc. And so, I shall continue my survey of Andrew. Below are the latest responses, and my own guesses for Patrick.

Andrew's Survey - July 2008 - Age 3 1/2
Favorite Colors: black and white (Mommy says Green)
Food: pizza
TV Show: Higglytown Heroes (because we got it from the library and he's watched it ad nauseum)
Book: "Brother Sister" (aka Berenstain Bears)
Sport: football, soccer, baseball, basketball, hockey
Baseball player: JRoll
Golfer: Tiger
When he grows up wants to be: pro athlete of some type

Patrick's Survey - July 2008 - Ages 2 1/2 months
Food: milk
Activity: Swatting at Pooh Bear, wondering why the bug toys on my swing mobile aren't moving - Mommy must need to put in new batteries; talking
Color: baby poop yellow
Person: Depends on what I want - coolness: Andrew, food: Mommy, goofy faces: Daddy
Pastimes include spitting up, talking in my own language, sleeping in the car as Mommy drags me around; kicking
When he grows up wants to be: cool as Andrew

Sports Nut

My 3 year old is a sports nut. No, really, you don't understand. Since an extremely early age, definitely before age 1, Andrew has had a healthy obsession with sports. I say healthy because there are other things that interest him as well, but not to the extent that sports do. People think that we've forced him into it, but he really was just born this way. It doesn't matter what the sport is, he LOVES it! At age 2, he knew sports terminology, including: touchdown, goal, strike, foul ball, and now at age 3 his vocabulary has expanded to include: bogey, par, huddle, and field goal.

A few examples of the obsession:

While recently watching the lacrosse national championships with B, Andrew asked, "Daddy, what is that game?" Brian answered, "Lacrosse." Andrew's response? "I don't have that. Maybe we can get it at the store."

During a recent game of Scrabble with my mom and brother, Andrew pointed out to us that the tiles on the board had made the shape of a basketball hoop. I couldn't seem to see it, but he could.

Last week while playing with his Ratatouille characters, and later in the day his Sesame Street Chutes and Ladders game pieces, the characters began tackling one another.

One version of hugs Andrew bestows are "tackle hugs."

Andrew has beaten Brian and numerous others at Wii bowling, tennis, baseball, and golf.

Andrew doesn't just have imaginary friends, he has imaginary soccer teams. Pitchell and Monner are on the white team. Minnell and Rhiner are on the yellow team. I am not making this up. They usually play in my bedroom.

So far, when he grows up he wants to play hockey, football, baseball, and soccer. Just yesterday he told Brian that he will one day throw the ball on the field at Penn State, and Mommy and Daddy will come watch him.

This fall Andrew will really play sports for the first time - unless you include the countless games of hockey, bowling, tennis, baseball, golf, basketball, and football that have taken place on my Brazilian cherry floors amongst my crystal. He will be playing soccer on a U4 rec team. I just hope that playing in competitive games will not take away from his love of sports. My gut instinct tells me it will just be the beginning. It's time for him to play with the big boys - his knowledge and skills have surpassed me.

Adventures in Mommydom, Part One

So today I went to Target - also known as Mommy Mecca. I was there mainly to scour the baby aisles for BPA free bottles. That's right - the media got me. All this talk of poisonous chemicals in bottles has caused me to want to toss out my ever popular Avents, and replace them with bottles made of polypropylene. Problem - the only bottles I am sure are BPA free (or so the label says) and cost under $10 each, are narrow opening bottles. This means they will not fit the only nipples my son likes (and are recommended by the hospital) which are for wide mouth bottles. Because I, the rogue mommy that I am, mix and match bottles and nipples...the horror! So I buy the cheapest bottles that are BPA free and find the hidden old, narrow version of the chosen nipple. Problem solved for now - til he outgrows this nipple. Meanwhile - I notice that Target formula is HALF THE PRICE of Enfamil. Will Target formula hurt my baby? Must go home and surf the net to find out.

Meanwhile in the bottle aisle - Andrew seems to be on the floor. Why is Andrew on the floor? What could possibly look appealing about that floor? Andrew tells me he has to go potty. This is the second time while we've been at Target. How could he possibly have to pee twice in an hour when he sometimes only goes three times a day? So off we troop to the checkout in an attempt to pay before peeing.

I get in line. Darned economic downturn means Target apparently has cut cashier hours. I am in line for several minutes, marveling at the snail-ness of the cashier when she turns out her light and tells me I can step into the next lane. That's when it happens - vile non-mommy cuts in front of me. She had been in line behind me for about a 1/2 second, looks at me and says, "I only have these few things." I have often allowed people with fewer items than me to go ahead of me, but not today. I only had a couple things more, but she didn't care. Patrick has hiccups and will most likely cry at any moment, Andrew has to pee, and non-mommy is now in front of me. Still dazed by the BPA/PP bottle conspiracy, and too wimpy to say something to her, I then throw my things onto the belt, so she will notice my disgust with her. She puts on her sunglasses while in line, perhaps to shade herself from my evil glares.

I will not be too frustrated, however, because I know the government's plan to turn the economy around, therefore adding more cashiers at Target - they will diagnose the PP bottles as unsafe. And all the dumb Mommies like me will go to Target and replace their PP bottles with glass bottles. Toddler siblings everywhere will drop glass bottles on floor and they will break, so we will buy more glass bottles in addition to Band-Aids. Target employees with their raises will buy houses in staggering numbers causing my house value to rise again. And this, my friends - the baby bottle conspiracy - is what will save the US economy. I however, will not benefit, because I will be buying glass bottles every week and paying double for Enfamil because the Target brand is just too good to be true.

Tails of a Pisser

Excuse the language. I am the proud owner of a pisser (there is simply no cleaner word to describe it). What is a pisser, you ask? A pisser is a poorly trained Basset Hound. Why poorly trained, you say? Because she is a Basset Hound. That's right, I spend much of my time chasing the pisser out the door, barricading the steps so she cannot go on her "grass"(translation: carpet), and cleaning up the hair of her sister, "Shedder" (a Lab - need I say more). Without Pisser and Shedder, I could have a totally different house. But instead, I need warning when company is coming, so I can be sure the floors have been vacuumed for the fourth time of the day, and that I've diffused any accidents. Why do we keep Shedder (aka Cali) and Pisser (aka Katy) around? Because they introduced us - right out of a Disney movie (I thought Brian wasn't going to kiss me on our first date until Cali literally wrapped her leash around us). And because, despite the shedding and periodic peeing, they are incredibly sweet and loyal dogs. They were wonderful with my preemie, have never hurt either of my boys, and even though Shedder is now blind and arthritic, she is a puppy at heart and has not once bumped into my kids. The Pisser has hardly had any accidents since I've been at home more, which means she really does it out of love, right? And so it shall continue, until the sad, sad day when I may actually miss the mad cleaning. Rug Doctor, Bissell, and Oxy Clean will miss it too.

Allergies are Taking Over the World

Warning - this one really is a ramble.

Allergies are taking over the world. Well, at least they've taken over my world. Almost exactly 3 years ago, we found out that my then 6 month old son had food allergies. While joyous to have an explanation for what two pediatricians had incorrectly diagnosed as full body cradle cap, which was finally accurately diagnosed by someone other than myself as eczema triggered by allergies, we found that this was just the beginning of what will be a lifetime of cautiousness for both me and my son and everyone who knows him.

We are blessed really because the peanut allergy "may not kill him" (a phrase to warm any mom's heart) and he is outgrowing the milk and egg allergy. At one point touching a milk jug produced small hives and eating anything with egg in it resulted in large hives on his scalp and even vomiting. However, my child will never be able to eat Chick-fil-A or peanut butter cups - two things very dear to my tastebuds. If I am lucky, he will sit at the peanut free table at lunch, and will always remember to carry his Epi-Pen. His teachers will be accosted by me at the beginning of each school year, and I will soon start to fight the system to allow children with severe allergies to carry their Epi-Pens with them in school or at least have teachers in the classroom keep them. Because by the time the nurse arrives (if she's there that day), it could be too late. I've even heard of a new form of bullying in which devil children expose an allergic child to peanut butter.

And the story of the allergies continue. My pediatrician doesn't want me drinking milk or eating peanut butter while breastfeeding my newest addition. She also wants any formula we use to be Nutramigen - which costs $27 for a container half the size of a regular formula container. Yes - this is considerably more than Starbucks. All just in case he has the allergies his brother does or in case we can prevent them.

For those of you (yeah right - who will even read this?) who don't get it - let me try to explain. Daycare is peanut free. Yet one day I saw a little girl in my son's class eating M& Ms for breakfast ( I won't even go there). No, they were not peanut M&Ms, however, both versions are made on the same machine. This is the case with much chocolate. I had to ask the daycare director to speak to the parents of the little girl, asking them not to send these in again. I couldn't be angry with them for violating the peanut free rule, because normal parents don't have to read labels three times to be sure they won't accidentally kill their child.

Once my husband and I, on a rare date night, went to a steakhouse where you throw peanuts on the floor. When we got home we immediately stripped down in the basement, put our clothes in the washer, and our shoes outside to be hosed off. When attending baseball games, we have to wipe off the seats in case someone ate peanuts the night before.

As much of a nuisance and concern this all is - I am so proud of my little boy. After starting what I call the yucky campaign as soon as my son could understand, he understands that cannot eat many things other children can. At age 3, he knows that Mommy has to check all candy he gets at Halloween or Valentine's Day. When he attends birthday parties he knows that he cannot have cake or ice cream because it might be "yucky" for him, and that he will instead eat the snack that Mommy brings. Meanwhile, Mommy watches like a hawk. Recently we attended a birthday party, and the party attendant gave him cake. My little man just looked up at me bewildered, and another parent who is knowledgable of our situation and was closer than I was, whisked the cake away. At the next birthday party, he was given the ice cream cup, and looked at me as if to say "Mommy, are they nuts? I can't have that." Daycare has told me that if he is given the ranch dressing with his veggies, he reminds the teacher, "I can't have that."

Many wonderful people have helped us on this scary journey. My neighbors and friends are so caring and cautious about what they have in their homes and give my son to eat. However, there are some daycare providers who lie when they make mistakes. There are parents who fight elementary schools that are trying to become peanut free. Why should their child not be allowed to eat peanut butter? Well ma'am, because there are children who could die because of that sandwich. There are children whose allergies are so bad that they could touch a book your child touched and get sick or die. Is changing one meal a day really worth that? There are people who are so ignorant of eczema, which is in the same family as asthma and allergies, that in public they would comment on how chapped my son's cheeks were or how his lunch was all over his face, causing me to come home crying and stop going anywhere with him. At the time I was afraid he wouldn't know how to use his hands because he wore mitts on them all day every day for months to protect him from scratching himself.

By the time we finally got those diagnoses of eczema and allergies, his arms were infected.
Later skin infections triggered by seasonal allergies led to ocular herpes - cold sores on the eyes, and Herpes Whitlow - on the finger, which he is now susceptible to for the remainder of his life. He must stay on an antiviral medicine for an unforseen amount of time so as not to infect his infant brother, for whom cold sores could be deadly as they can attack baby's brains. At the time that he rubbed the Herpes into his allergy-itchy eyes, I was fighting the insurance company to approve the doctor's Zyrtec prescription in order to give his swollen, red eyes some relief. They did approve it - after I asked them to take a look at his record - which now included daily trips to the pediatric opthamologist, several visits to the pediatrician and three prescriptions, all of which may (or may not have) been prevented by the allergy medication. Thankfully, its now available over the counter (though hard to find for his age), so I will not have to go through the annual battle.

So, why all this jumbled rambling? Well, both seasonal and food allergies have risen in staggering amounts in the past ten years. Some claim it is because our society is too clean, and our childrens are not exposed to as much, therefore crippling their immunity. Whatever the cause, the result is this - allergies are taking over this country's children. ALL parents of children, allergic or not, need to be aware. Elementary schools need to be peanut free facilities. People need to have more compassion. My child had a red, itchy face - I cannot imagine what people say to those with truly serious serious medical or physical conditions.

To end my ramblings, I would like to thank those companies who "get it." Cold Stone Creamery allows me to get dairy free sorbet that has never touched a spoon that has touched any of their ice cream or toppings. I simply ask them to get ice cream from the "back" with a clean spoon. Edy's has a line of ice cream that is manufactured in a peanut free facility. Hershey's makes their peanutty products in a separate facility from everything else. FreeDerm, available at http://www.freederm.com/, miraculously cleared the eczema that nothing else could. The Food and Allergy Network sends me emails that let me know what products have labels with undeclared ingredients. They are holding an allergy walk in Northen Virginia on August 23. (http://www.allergywalk.org/)

The Front Porch Swing

My parents just sold the farm in Pennsylvania on which both my father, grandfather, and I grew up. It is a bittersweet event. Sweet in that my parents are closer to me in their new home, and that the new home remarkably feels like "home." Bitter in that the selling of the farm is the end of a legacy, my last real connection to my hometown, and simply the loss of my home. I may never see it again.

Growing up, my and most everyone's favorite part of our home was the front porch swing. Our 1800s farmhouse had a large front porch with three open picture windows in the section of the porch that juts out over the old apple cellar. This is where my mom's heavy wooden swing hung, in perfect position to take in the view. In the spring, you could sit on the swing and watch the newborn calves try out their new legs and then scamper about the field across the road. In the summer, you could watch a storm and then the rushing creek that ran through that same field. While sitting in that swing, it was hard to remember that the rest of the world was not so peaceful and content. It was a place isolated from all others.

The swing was also a place for music. I cannot imagine how many evenings we spent sitting in the swing, with my mom singing to us, or my mom, brother, and I singing together. Occasionally Daddy would even join in. I can so clearly hear my mom singing "Beautiful Baby" and "Baby Face" to me, just as she does to my newborn son now.

The swing was also a place for family. The day before my wedding, the swing and entire porch were dotted with family from all over the Eastern US. My bridal shower took place on that porch. And the last time I saw my grandfather he was sitting on that swing. In the last picture I have of him, he is sitting on the swing talking to my son.

My mom assures me that the swing is now on the front porch of her new home, with a view at least as good. But I know I wouldn't get the same feeling of contentment as I did sitting in the swing at the farmhouse -at home. Last week, I found a new front porch swing, and realized I've been at home for awhile. My new swing just happens to be in the form of an anti-gravity chaise recliner on the deck of my townhome.

My husband and I have owned our townhome for almost 5 years. We never expected to be here this long, but with the current real estate market and having 2 children in that time, moving seems a distant thing. Two years ago, I was desperate to get out of the house and the region. The neighborhood was changing, I had few true friends in the area, and I hated the high price of living "near" Washington, DC. In another place, I could have a large single family home with a big yard. My walls would be my own and not attached to people I didn't know. Then things changed. New families with young children moved into the neighborhood. Through them we met other neighbors who had been there all along, and we have established a rare thing for this transient area - an actual "neighborhood" where people watch one another's children, run next door to borrow paper bags or ingredients for dinner, and gather together regularly to play games.

I know that one day, this too will change. Our growing families will find bigger homes in other neighborhoods. Someone's job will get transferred, and the quality of the neighborhood and homes will decline. However, sitting on my recliner last week, praying, watching approximately 3 stars, and singing in the summer night, I realized that "home" is not where your swing hangs, but the place where you find contentment. And right now for me, that is not on a swing in rural Pennsylvania or in some single family home in my dreams. It is on a chair on the deck of my townhouse in suburban Virginia, where I can see my living room window glowing and hear my sons playing with my husband (and the Basset Hound who is howling along with me).