7 Quick Takes: Leaving Home

On a practical level, moving vast distances with children in tow has never in the history of humanity been easier. I am well aware of the fact that as I pack up my first-world toddlers to cross the pond to greener pastures vineyards, more than 2,000 years ago the Holy Family was preparing a road trip to Egypt. And I'm pretty sure that donkey was not the first-century version of business select.

But, but ... holy crap there's a lot to do. We sent Dave's parents and siblings out the door at 3:30 this a.m. and fell to the task of caring for two ear infected small ones. Naturally, daddy woke up with a stomach bug, so we're operating at approximately 25% capacity. Here is what remains, not that you are in any way interested:

1. Visas. Dave's is allegedly en route from the Italian consulate in Chicago. It better be, because they took his passport a month ago to begin the process, and we kinda can't fly without it. The boys and I are banking on God's good graces and a connection at the Vatican which will, in theory, allow us to pursue our family visa from Italian soil, rather than trying to finish the process from the U.S. (which we've been told is impossible in our time frame.)

2. More documents than you have ever seen in your life, copied in triplicate and 'apostilled,' a weird legal notorization which grants validity to U.S. legal documents outside the States. Oh, and translations of each in Italian. Think birth certificates, marriage licenses, passports, etc. Fun and expensive, the perfect late December combo.

3. Purge and pack the remainder of our belongings. I've laid out 8 suitcases in the basement and while it looks like a hell of a lot to carry through the airport, it doesn't look nearly spacious enough to encapsulate the 'downsized' wardrobes, books, toys, toiletries and home goods I've been culling for the past 6 weeks. Goodwill, it's time for me to return the favor: 2 metric tons of crap coming your way.

4. Learn Italian. So probably stop using the Rosetta Stone box as a place to rest open beer bottles on. Or at least pop the CD in while drinking the next beer. Plus, that air-traffic controller headset it came with is stone cold awesome.

5. Probably stop drinking 800 of my 2,400 daily calories. (Or at least cut back on the solid ones. Cutting out smoking has already jeopardized my legitimacy in Italian mommy circles. I'd better not risk things by lowering my tolerance, too.)

6. Set up my awesome!brand new!amazing! stroller that came today. Convince children it is a worthy trade off for having sold all their books, toys, car seats, and grandparents.

7. Say goodby to all the beautiful friends we've made here. I'm not going to lie, I got a leetle bit choked up after reading this piece written by a dear friend of ours. It's hard to believe that in less than two weeks, we're leaving for who knows how long, and we won't be seeing our children grow up together. This crazy journey we're embarking on is beautiful and exciting, but it isn't easy.

For more or less random, go get your takes on with Jen.

What I Wore Sunday: Christmas Adam

Afternoon readers,

Tis the night before the night before Christmas, and we are gearing up to get down at Casa Uebbing.

In preparation for the holy feast to come, we have been scrubbing, cleaning, and fluffing all throughout the house, all while wrangling two sick sickies with an ear infection and a cold from hades, respectively. I would take the time to mention who has what, except that at Dave's insistence, we buzzed both boy's heads last night and now my (sob) baby looks identical to my (gulp) toddler. Soooooo, basically can't tell them apart from a distance. 7 lbs separates JP from world domination, and by that I mean being able to defend his floppy self when Joey drops an elbow on him and starts pummeling.

All in good fun.

Without further ado, I bring to you what you've all come here to see: mah church threads.

Today's post is sponsored by holyfreakingamazingbesthusbandever. And you'll soon see why...

Gaze into Christmas future

Now contemplate how many calories are in that little red cup, and my ever-widening mommy flanks

But from this angle? Nailed it!

'Take your shades off, darling. Let them see how well we slept last night...

'Did you think I would still be making us take selfies once we were married?'

The good stuff:

Dress: Banana Republic outlet

Necklace: Lia Sophia, gifted

Earrings: Targay

Boots: Frye(!) 30th birthday present which will never, ever leave my feet.

Shades: Van Huesen outlet

Starbucks: making your holidays merry and gay

Happy FLAP-ing, ladies!

Rejoice, He's coming...

Christmas Adam

It's not too late, you know, to close Advent out right.

But it's a little too early to start decorating for Christmas, at least in my house. Which is a pity, because the tree is already dead. I blame the altitude.

The truth? Well, the tree is definitely dead. But we watered it semi faithfully, so I don't know...it rather makes me feel like the 5 lb discrepancy between pregnancies did: #1 - ice cream binges and little to no exercise: 55 lbs; #2 - gym 6 days a week and a food journal: 50 lbs. Screw it.

Next year, that sucker can wither and die on its own accord. No coffee pots filled with tap water for you, Mr. $50 fir tree.

Anyway, back to the truth. The truth is, I've been so scattered and stressed and idiotically fixated on minute packing details like having!enough!3Mcommandstrips! (What? Seriously what the hell?) that I haven't gotten around to much hall-decking this Advent.

Which is Advent-ageous in keeping with the liturgical spirit of the season, wouldn't you agree?

So bad. So, so bad.

But it is kinda cool that Christmas is 5 days away and I haven't decorated my house yet. Meaning, this final Sunday of Advent when my in-laws arrive, they will see nary a sprig of mistletoe or a carefully hung stocking. But that's okay, we all know they're coming for the grandkids, anyway.

But here's anooooooother cool thing. Actually it's a really weird thing. In my family of origin, Clan Senour, we called the day before Christmas Eve 'Christmas Adam.' Get it?

You should see us at a wedding together. Or anywhere they serve alcohol, really.

Christmas Adam is the most wonderful day of the year. Why, you ask? Because it's entirely contrived! Free from commercialism, sentimentalism, or any outside pressure to deliver. It simply...is. Plus, aaaaaaall your last minute shopping needs can be addressed on this most secular of days.

So I invite you, dear readers, to embrace Christmas Adam this year. Last minute suicide mission to the mall? Christmas Adam. Bare halls beckoning you to deck them? Christmas Adam. Need a half case of wine from your local Costco liquor store? Christmas Adam.

I'd like to consider this my act of charity for the day, but this is really a far more worthy cause.

All my love and procrastination,

Santa's medium sized helper.

Everything I Needed to Know About Motherhood

I was the most obnoxiously over-read and over-studied mother to be in the history of the world.

Shocking, I know.

I remember sitting at my desk in my office job (where nobody! ever! stopped me! from going to the bathroom!) and reading through birth and pregnancy sites online and making elaborate plans about labor and delivery and vaguely percolating on breastfeeding and vaccines and actually making judgements on other women's parenting styles - especially regarding sleep - while I was still pregnant.

Reach back in time and slap me.

I think I actually (vom) chimed in on somebody's facebook something or other about how we were planning on doing a brilliant hybrid of Babywise and the Baby Whisperer with our baby. Who was still in utero. Giving me exactly zero experience or credibility. But did that stop my from commenting? nooooooooo, of course not.

Slap me again.

Fast forward 2.5 years and behold one tired and mildly chagrined recovering baby expert.

I was such a good parent before I had these kids.

Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I've done something I swore I'd never do as a mom, or for every time I have miserably and gloriously deviated from the birthing/parenting/organizing/whatever-ing plan of my dreams...well damn, I'd have like 20 dollars in mah pocket...

Case in point: breastfeeding. If you had told me I would have nursed wolverine number one until the ripe old age of 13 months even!though!he!bit! I would have tut tutted and patted your simple head.

Conversely, if you'd told me that, in the midst of crushing post partum depression, I would fixate on formula feeding as some kind of bizarre symbol of personal failure, vowing to never give a drop of it to either of my children, I would have laughed in your face.

Oh, the glorious hindsight of the overweight, overworked, and chronically sleep-deprived parent.

Speaking of sleep deprivation, I seem to recall also having very definite thoughts about what was or wasn't an appropriate way to respond to children after hours. CIO was to be my banner, and I would ride forth into battle with a heart of stone.

I failed to take into account the uniquely potent chemical cocktail of mommy hormones which flood mah brain whenever one of the little pups so much as whimpers in the night. Hence, minutes feeling like hours of painful, painful screamfests leading to nearly inevitable resolve crumblings and midnight retrievals from the enemy camp.

Also on my 'never will I ever list:'

Junk food. Oh, I'm sorry, was that cheetoh not organic? Did I seriously just dump a handful of cinnamon sugar sparkle Chex on the 7 month old's high chair tray? Wait, is his tray even attached, or is he just shoved up against the filthy kitchen table top in such a way that his chubby buns cannot disengage from his seat?

Jammies in public. Oh the humanity. Costco, church, the gym, the dr's office, the Secretary of State's office (don't ask, don't tell); you name it, we've been there in footies.

Unbuckled car riding (am I in danger of getting arrested for admitting this? Whatever, we're leaving the country). I vividly recall shrieking at my mother for pulling out of a parking space before I was done buckling my precious firstborn into his seat; I must now confess that I have nursed on the fly with little brother. At least twice. It's almost like we were made to dwell in the land of babies on laps in taxi cabs...

Vaccinations. No vaccinations! Yes vaccinations! Every third vaccination, but skip the fourth dose of each alternating month if the moon is waxing! Still bleeping trying to figure this one out!

Swimming lessons. Babies could naturally swim, right? I watched videos of it on Youtube. It was real. Then I had a real one. Turns out I didn't want to drop him in the deep end to see what would happen 'by instinct.'

Bradley method natural childbirth. Ahem. See references here and here.

In rambling sum, I knew basically nothing before I became a mother, and I know even less now, if possible.

I don't know why I needed to spill these beans, except that turning 30 at the end of this week is making me feel equal parts wise, melancholic, and laughably inexperienced to be entering the land of legitimate adults.

And with that, I bid you all a very fine evening. I'll be up feeding my 8 month old newborn shortly, so I'd best turn in. He's totally sleeping through the night, thanks to my stellar sleep training methodology. Well, except on nights that end in 'Y.'

Go Back to Sleep Now, My Darling

Holding all the mamas and daddies in my heart and before the Sacred Heart of Jesus this week, and especially during the coming Christmas season. I like to think that each of those little ones who entered into Paradise last week were greeted by the Holy Trinity with this lullaby.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.