If you ask my Hubby what’s going on, he’ll often shrug his shoulders and say, “Enh, not much”.  Even if the servers at his work have all crashed and the organization has completely restructured and his coworker is moving to Yemen and the Red Sox decided to relocate to Fargo.  I’ve learned to ask more “specific” questions if my need for information is to be satisfied.

But I realize I’m not doing that in return.  If you asked me right now, I’d say the same:  it’s so much to say.  Snippets are all you’re going to get.

– We celebrated Abe’s 2nd birthday.  A couple of times.  And he’s OH so two – complete with tantrums, bright smiles, hitting, and bi-polar moods.  Right on target.

– One afternoon while we were fixing JJ’s bleeding toes, Abe slit his head open outside on the bbq.  Nothing like coming outside to see your shirtless child gushing blood from the head.  If I didn’t go into labor then, I’m good until September.   Eight staples later, and we’re back in business.  (Staples removed by Granddaddy because my doctor, who apparently LOVES removing staples, was going to be out of town, and she didn’t want to give anyone else in her practice the pleasure of taking them out, so she sent us home with the removal device.  Good times).

– We crashed at the Grand’rents new digs:  highly approve.  Busted out Unca Matt’s old school legos:  the Black Monarch’s Castle will live again!

– Hubby’s folks came to town:  lots of food and conversation and water tables and sprinklers and baths.

– It got hot:  bloody hot.  But the heat and a local conference coincided.  Correction:  the heat and a local conference with childcare and air conditioning coincided.  Nuff’ said.

– Went to the beach:  cold.  Came back:  hot.  Not good for the preggo mama to try to acclimate that quickly.  Managed fine when living in the heat, but my body moved into autumn mode and is none too happy to be back in sticky summer.  We’re working through it with lots of pudding and crystal light (not-so-much a toxin-free pregnancy for this girl).

– I have no more space in my body for this child.  But her lease isn’t up for another seven-ish weeks.  I feel like the room Alice was stuck in after drinking the bottle and swelling up to be ginormous:  poor room.

– Next week:  VBS for one tyke.

– Following week:  shipping the kids off, going to camp.  High school camp.  That I’m leading some kids through.  And hanging out with.   Until mandatory lights out at 1am.  Then meeting with leaders in the morning.  7ish.  For like 8 days.  No Memory Foam Mattress Topper in sight, but we will have easy access to an abundance of squeaky cheese.  Yeah, we’ll see how that goes.

The other week I told someone that I just have to get through camp, then I can breathe.  They looked at me.  “Okay, fine, so it will be more labor breathing, but whatever.”

For Abe’s birthday Unca Matt got him the latest cool thing/monstrosity on the market:  Broby from Yo Gabba Gabba.  I just checked out the video from the library:  it’s like preschool crack – my children talk about it non-stop.  And they dance.  You’d think I’d relate and enjoy more, what with being the embodiment of a Party in the Tummy, but somehow it’s not connecting while they blast that and I try to drown it out with my current read: “The Hole in our Gospel” by the president of World Vision … I’m sure there’s parallels between the two somewhere ….

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