In Case You Didn't Know

Portland, Oregon is beautiful. In every way it seems.

We've yet to experience any rain so far; although, some is supposed to be headed our way this weekend. (Which I'm actually looking forward to. I want to see what this "Portland rain" is all about.)

A moving update: Moving was a nightmare. Packing everything and cleaning everything was harder than I think I've ever experienced in my life. I've decided that what made it so difficult was chasing after and cleaning up after a little toddler in the midst of packing and cleaning. (Really it was more like packing, re-packing, cleaning and re-cleaning. Rich really is a good little mess-maker. But don't get me wrong! He's a good little helper, too.) I do not think KNOW we would not have been able to do all of this without my mom's help. Thank goodness for moms, right? And to think, I almost talked her out of coming out to Logan to give us a hand. 

Literally the day before we moved (so while we were running last-minute errands, finalizing packing, packing the truck, cleaning, etc.) Rich relapsed into his sinus infection/cold/allergies/whatever. The poor boy had such a tough couple of days. He couldn't breathe through his nose, didn't feel well, etc. But he was a real trooper. Honestly, I don't think there is a little boy out there who could have handled everything better. 

Anyway, Rich getting sick just added to all of the craziness that was our move.

Let me explain: 

I'm pregnant. Rich was sick. There was a lot to do. Tyler was administering and grading finals (because he was working as recitation leader for USU) the day before we left (translation: gone ALL day). Tyler had finals the morning we were planning on leaving. So things were already overwhelming.

Now, because Tyler was grading finals on the day before we left, it was up to me to go pick up our moving truck. We had arranged to pick up the truck at a location just a couple blocks from our apartment so I could walk there and drive the truck home. But because of some miscommunication (on UHAUL's part, I might add), not only was there no truck for us at that location, there was no person there to help us out either. Not that walking a total of like four blocks is any huge feat, but the time, the precious time, we wasted in all of that confusion was very frustrating.

After we got the truck, things seemed like they were going smoothly--until we started packing the truck. Apparently packing a truck is an art which we don't know much about. We thought (and planned) that packing the truck would take about an hour, tops. For us (this time around), even with all the help we had, it took about three and a half hours. And even after the truck was packed that night, there were still a few odds and ends left to be packed in the kitchen and upstairs. Along with some cleaning that needed to be done. 

Here I need to pause and give a HUGE thank you to my mom's husband, Jay, who booked us all a last minute hotel room. With how sick Richie became that night, we all would have been miserable all night long, and literally would not have gotten any sleep. 

Once our hotel reservation was booked, we decided to call it a night and finish everything up the next morning. At this point, I was so physically exhausted that my body was having trouble moving. (Back problems during pregnancy.) We got to the hotel, got ready for bed, and thought things would calm down and be easier. But no, the poor Rich boy was so sick and having trouble breathing. He had to be held pretty much the whole night. Tyler only got about three hours of sleep; I only got about four. I don't think any of our hours of sleep were consecutive. (Mine at least weren't.)

Ok. So moving day comes. I woke up early to take Tyler to campus so he could take his finals. Then I headed over to the house to finish packing up the last minute things, and do a little cleaning before the cleaning crew arrived.

I should mention another thanks to my mom and Jay for hiring this crew. 

So, I was working like a madwoman, trying to get everything done, while Tyler took his finals and Rich got a little extra sleep. Mom was at the hotel watching him. She said Rich was whimpering in his sleep all morning. :( 

Finally, the cleaning crew arrived. I gave them a few general instructions (mistake) then headed back to the hotel to help Rich get some breakfast. He didn't feel well enough to eat. :( But we did get him to take some orange juice. 

At this point, I was really getting worried about Rich. You see, his health insurance is actually through Medicaid--which is operated at a state level. Meaning, once we left the state (that afternoon!!) Rich would no longer have health insurance. And I didn't know if he was going to get loads worse or start improving. I decided to call his doctor's office to see if they could fit us in that morning (only a few hours before we planned on leaving). 

Luckily, they fit us in. And we got to see Rich's favorite doctor, who quickly and efficiently saw to Rich and prescribed some meds for him to help him get better. 

But as our doctor appointment was coming to a close, I heard from our cleaning crew. They were finished at our apartment and needed to be paid. And I had no way to get to them. (Or inspect their work.) I still needed to pick up Rich's meds from the pharmacy, and although my mom was in town, she didn't have a car of her own. So, I agreed to let the cleaning crew go to my mom's hotel for payment, and didn't get a chance to inspect their work (which turned out to be a mistake). 

Rich and I headed back to our apartment to gather our things, repack the car, pick up Daddy, and get on the road. 

So we got back to the hotel. I took the opportunity to grab a quick shower (amazing, the restorative powers of a good shower) before Tyler needed us to pick him up from campus. We packed our bags, got Tyler, checked out of the hotel, and headed over to the apartment to make sure that we were ready to hand the apartment back over to our landlord.

But guess what.

Cleaning crews are only as good as you tell them to be. And I have problems being assertive. So when we got back to the apartment, there was still work to be done. AND we had forgotten to take down our curtains.

Here's the thing that was so difficult for me about all of this. About a month earlier, we had gotten a (condescending and rude) letter from our landlady describing what she expected out of our apartments at checkout. Basically she wanted a brand new apartment, but expected us to be filthy slobs, so she was informing us that whatever we didn't clean, she would charge us for. I was determined to hand that apartment back to her in near perfect condition.

But the cleaning crew did not meet my expectations. I was super disappointed in what I saw. Not only did they not do everything I asked, they only half-heartedly did the things they set about to do. 

But at this point, there wasn't much we could do, so we cleaned up the obvious things the cleaning crew had overlooked (like moving our oven and fridge and cleaning the floors below, which I had specifically requested they do), removed our curtains (thank you to our neighbors for their last minute tool-lending), and called it good. 

The disappointing part of cleaning our apartment (for me) was that it wasn't quite in the condition I had hoped it would be. So A) we were proving our landlady's rude letter right, and B) we can say good-bye to our deposit. But sometimes, you just have to admit defeat and let your pregnant body rest. 

So, we left our keys and forwarding address on the counter (I just hope we don't get a bill from them in the mail--can landlords do that? I wouldn't be surprised if we got one. Furious, because we are actually good tenants, but based on the letter we got, not surprised.), grabbed some lunch, and headed out of town.

I won't go into the details of our drive that afternoon. There may or may not have been a wrong turn at the beginning of our trip that separated the car from the UHAUL truck for a couple of hours, and Rich did throw up before we reached our hotel, BUT the important thing is that we got to our hotel whole and safe. (Although we were exhausted.)

I will say that I don't think I have ever been so tired in my whole life. Once I got into bed, I literally couldn't move. And even though Rich woke up throughout the night, I couldn't even open my eyes enough to see what was going on. Luckily, I have a stellar husband who held Rich throughout the night so Rich could rest (even though that meant that Tyler, once again, got very little sleep).

The next day's drive was much smoother. Rich slept almost the entire way. And we made good time (well, as good as you can when transporting a toddler and a UHAUL). 

And we are SO happy to be here. So happy to be done with our apartment in Logan, and so happy to be here with McKay and McKenna and Grant. 

Rich is recovering from whatever was ailing him. And his sleep schedule is adjusting.

And we really just think Portland is gorgeous. And wonderful. And delicious. (I'll probably dedicate a few posts later to the produce here.)

It Was Long Past Time

For the Rich-boy to get a hair cut. (His first, real hair cut.)

Some background: This winter has been so hard on Richie's poor skin. His eczema has really been acting up all winter long, and we've really been having a tough time making sure his skin is getting enough hydration. But the boy's poor scalp--no matter what we did, he still had a scaly scalp that he would scratch and scratch, which led to little cuts on his head from his fingernails. Rich's doctor gave us some steroid oil to help his scalp, but truthfully, I think all his hair was still getting in the way of the oil helping Rich's skin. So, basically we ended up just having a little oily-haired ragamuffin boy.

Proof of the oily-haired ragamuffin boy:

He basically looks like we've never bathed him ever.

So on Sunday, as I looked around at all of the cute little kids at church, with their nicely groomed hair, I became more and more embarrassed by Richie's oily and messy hair. It was simply getting too long to control, especially once we put that oil on his head (which may not have been as effective as we were hoping).

By the time church ended, I decided that this was it. We were going to cut his hair.

And so, we did.

Except, here's the thing. Tyler and I have limited hair cutting experience (Tyler does cut his own hair with clippers), and we have NO experience cutting a little kid's hair.

So poor Richie. Poor busy, impatient Richie. He WOULD NOT sit still. So while we began cutting his hair with scissors, Tyler and I quickly realized that we did not know what we were doing, and Richie's poor hair was looking worse and worse.

So out came the clippers. Which TERRIFIED Richie. He was so done by the time we pulled out the clippers, and the noise just pushed him over the edge. Richie sobbed and sobbed while we tried to fix our mistakes with the scissors.

Because Richie was having such a hard time, Tyler turned off the clippers, refusing to subject Richie to any more of what must have seemed like torture. "This will give him nightmares," Tyler reasoned. And I couldn't disagree. Richie was clearly being traumatized.

(These are actually re-enactment photos. Rich was still really sensitive for about 20 minutes after we finished cutting his hair.)

We really did try to make this adventure as painless as possible for Richie. But even our bathroom where we cut his hair shows the struggle that went down--maybe even better than I could describe:

But you know what, Rich's haircut really did not turn out so bad. If you don't look that closely. I mean, if you are really looking at him, you'll notice some pretty uneven patches (one in particular on the side of his head).

(After taking this picture, I trimmed that long section in front. So Rich really does look more normal now.)

And bonus: When I put the oil on his head last night, I felt like I was actually getting to his scalp. PLUS this morning, his hair looks gelled and styled, not oily and stringy.

AND even with the clearly unprofessional haircut this boy has been given, I still think he looks better than he did Sunday morning. And I'm less embarrassed by how his hair looks. Especially after Tyler styles Rich's hair. (For some reason, Tyler is just so much better at styling Rich's hair. It really really looks good once he's finished with it.) I'll take a picture later tonight to show you what I mean.

The moral of the story: Next time, I'll probably just take Rich to a barber.

Even Water Has a Smell

I remember the morning after Rich was born, I was full of so many different emotions. After all, he'd just come five weeks early. He was healthy and doing well, for which I was thankful. But he wasn't coming home with us, and that made me so sad. I cried and cried and cried when I thought about leaving my little baby at the hospital. (I'm sure my hormones didn't help, either.) 

But the feeling that was so prominent that morning, was that I missed Rich. I missed having him with me all the time. Safe inside me, protected from the world, still shielded and cared for by my body. And frankly, I felt a little gypped. I was supposed to have a month more with him. More time for him to grow. I was supposed to get (even) bigger, and (even more) uncomfortable. And I remember thinking, "Man, I can't wait to have this chance again, to have my baby with me, to be pregnant again." (Those hormones are killer, I'm telling ya.) 

Well. I'm here to say right now, on the record, so that I don't forget this the next time we are thinking about having a baby, that pregnancy (at least for me) is hard. I think that I really really forgot what a hard time I had with Rich.  

And one of the hardest things for me is that EVERYTHING has a smell. And every smell is so overwhelming. 

And this time around, one of the hardest smells that I have to deal with every day is the smell of the water here in Logan. 

Now, let's be clear. Before I got pregnant, I probably bragged about how good our water is. How fresh. How it comes from an aquifer and is one thing that the city of Logan is very proud of. (I mean, you should see our water bill.)

Maybe it's the winter pollution that we can't seem to shake. Maybe it's the fact that we're so close to the industrial part of Logan. But the water that comes out of our faucets, sits in our toilets, pours out of the shower heads, all smells. And it smells bad. 

Bad bad bad. 

Like, it's made me throw up many times. Too many times to count.

Showering is no longer a relaxing getaway. It's a how-long-can-I-stand-the-smell-combined-with-suffocating-heat-before-I-hurl adventure. Every time. 

Thankfully, when my mom was visiting, she had the foresight to buy us some water bottles. You know, for emergency preparedness. 

Well, I'm calling the smell of our water an emergency. 

I mean, I've had bad water before. I grew up in Texas. Where you could taste the lake the water came from (and not in a good way). 

But this--is torture.

I really think that once things warm up it'll improve. (The bitter winter cold seems to have trapped the pollution smells into the snow and city.) But till spring and summer come to my rescue, I'll be sticking to my bottled water. And holding my breath whenever I have to deal with Logan water. 

Bedtime is a Precious Gift

I've often felt very very grateful that Rich is such a good sleeper. He always has been--which has definitely made my life easier.

And I'm definitely glad that we have a routine that helps Rich wind down and realize, "Ok, my day is over. It's time to sleep."

But today, I was grateful for Rich's bedtime for a whole new reason. Well, new to me, at least.

Today was not Rich's day. He's teething (3 molars at once!), he fell a couple different times (once banging and scratching his head), he might have a black eye (we hit a bump while he was in his stroller), and he got tripped over right before bed (which I think was more of an over reaction than an actual painful experience--he was pretty tired at this point), and he shut his fingers in his dresser drawer (also more than once today).

So tonight, as we put Rich down for bed, I was just grateful that he survived the day. And that with all the bumps and bruises he acquired today, nothing was so serious as to send us to the hospital. (I seriously live in fear of that day. Sometimes it feels like it's only a matter of time until I have to rush him to the ER.)

Hopefully tomorrow will be a much happier day for Rich.

(In case it isn't, I have the ingredients to make Rich some Rice Krispie treats, which he loves.)

There were some good times today too. While Tyler studied, Rich and I went to the park. Rich LOVES getting to crawl around everywhere and explore everything. And I'm sure that once he gets the hang of walking, he's going to love running all over that park.

A Close Call

Last night, I finally got Tyler to watch the first episode of Sherlock with me. And as I was getting ready for the day, I thought about one scene in particular--Sherlock was commenting that the state of the murdered woman's wedding indicated the health of her marriage. Because her wedding ring was dirty, he deduced that her marriage was an unhappy one.

So, because I have a happy marriage, I decided to give my ring a good cleaning. After all, it always looks so sparkly afterward. (I do clean it frequently, by the way. It's not like my ring was dirty. I just thought of how pretty it always looks after a little polishing up, and went for it.)

But, horror of horrors, as I was cleaning my ring, it slipped out of my fingers, and seemingly in slow motion hit the counter and bounced into the heating duct on the floor of our bathroom. (Why, Utah? Why are there grates on your floors? This doesn't happen in Texas. Right, Texans? At least, I never noticed this until I moved to Utah.)

Now, because of the strange placement of air ducts in our apartment, I have a few of the vents strategically closed to prevent the upstairs from becoming too stuffy and the downstairs from being too cold.

Luckily, our bathroom air duct is one of my strategically closed vents. So although my ring fell into the air duct, the vents were closed, and there it lay--on the closed vents, beneath the grate covering the air duct.

So I motioned Tyler over, almost panicking, and not sure what to do. At this point, I was sure that I was about to lose my wedding ring forever. I couldn't remember if our bathroom vents open and close easily (some of our vents are super stiff, others open and close with a brush of our fingers), and I knew that if I wasn't careful, I could accidentally open up those vents, and my ring could tumble into oblivion.

I started searching for a paperclip, thinking that if I hooked my ring just right, I could pull it  up through the grate safely. As I was ransacking our dresser for a paperclip, Tyler (the wise) suggested I grab some tweezers.

After a moment's pause, I realized that this was indeed a genius idea, absolutely superior to my paperclip thoughts. Especially because there were some tweezers basically sitting in front of my face.

Together, we went back into the bathroom, and Tyler stabilized the vents while I rescued my wedding ring, Operation-style.

I put my ring back on and just sat there, practically shaking and near tears. Tyler, in his attempt to be comforting, said, "It's ok. We're still married." I responded with something to the effect of, "Yeah, but I almost lost my ring!"

And Tyler, again trying for comfort, said, "You would have found something else that you liked."

He was absolutely, 100% serious! I could not believe what I was hearing, so I tried to clarify. And indeed, his thought was that if my ring had been gone forever, we would have just replaced it with something else.

I just--I mean, how do you explain an (irrational??) attachment to an object? I was speechless. And then I rebelled. No way. This ring is an antique. It's one-of-a-kind. Irreplaceable. I actually might have died if we had lost my ring. I would, at the very least, never fully recover.

I'm not totally crazy, right? Is this a woman thing? Or is this just a me thing? (This is where you guys respond and tell me what your wedding rings mean to you. And make me feel better about how attached I am to this object that I can't take with me into the next life--but might try to smuggle in with me anyway. I'm only mostly kidding about that last part.)

It's probably two or three hours since almost losing my ring, and I still feel a little in shock at the horror that almost befell us (me).

But all's well that ends well.

And I'm never opening that air duct again.

Ugh. Food Poisoning.

I don't think I've ever experienced food poisoning before. And after having finally experienced it, I'm not sure I ever want to deal with it again.

I will say though, that it has been the weirdest thing to simply not be hungry. It's not even an, "Oh the thought of food makes my stomach turn," kind of not hungry. There's simply no appetite.

Which is weird.

At least for me. Because it wasn't that long ago (like when I was pregnant and then later when I was pumping) when it seemed like I was ALWAYS hungry.

But I must say, I have the best little boy ever. He's been so patient with me not feeling well. I can tell it's been a little rough on him (he's not getting to roam around as much as usual, and he's not getting as much attention as usual), but he seems to be taking things in stride pretty well.

And I'm sure that Rich has been liking that when he does get to roam around, he can do pretty much what he likes. You know, within reason.

Like exploring our upstairs bathroom. He loves opening and closing the drawers and doors. And he pulls out about half the contents of the cupboards and tosses/rolls things around. (No worries, all the dangerous stuff is on top of the counter, out of his reach. So yes, our bathroom is a little chaotic most of the time.)

Blessings: Rich hasn't gotten sick. Tyler got sick, but I don't think he got hit as hard as I did, so he's already recovering really well. Baby Einstein is a lifesaver--it's the only thing Rich is even remotely interested in watching, and for the past couple days it has helped keep him entertained so that I can recover (aka lay down in his room while he plays/try not to die). And Rich has been sleeping really well through the nights, despite all the noise Tyler and I have been making as we revisit the food we'd had for dinner. This also means that Tyler and I have been able to get pretty good sleep (despite throwing up) which has aided us immensely in recovering quickly.

So all in all, food poisoning is terrible. I encourage everyone to avoid it. But it isn't (or at least hasn't been for us) the worst experience of our lives.

PS--when did Richie get so big!? He can reach doorknobs now! (Although, thankfully, he can't turn them.)

Welcome to Parenthood

Sometimes, even when you are doing everything right, you still manage to do something wrong.

Today, for example, I took this kiddo with me to Wal-Mart to pick up a few groceries:

He was such a good sport. (I think he enjoys looking around at all of the different things Wal-Mart has to offer. AND he likes it when I put things in the cart he can play with.)

But by the time I finished my shopping and got Rich in the car, it was clear to me that he was ready for a nap. He was rubbing his eyes and he just looked so tired. So like a good mom, I took him straight home and put him down for a nap.

And seriously, he was down and out in two seconds flat. Poor guy.

While Richie slept, I got some things done: laundry, scripture study, planning dinner for tomorrow, catching up with my dad, getting in touch with Tyler so I could plan when to start dinner, etc.

And I was feeling good! Being productive, making the most of my stay-at-home-mom-ness.

Did you notice what I didn't mention? Remember how Rich and I went to Wal-Mart and got groceries? I didn't. As soon as we got home, I totally spaced it and left those groceries in our 90+ degree trunk for over an hour.

In fact, I didn't remember until I was out with Rich on a walk, getting ready to meet up with Tyler. And all I could say was, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh." I couldn't believe that I had just totally and completely forgotten about the groceries.

All I could think about was the frozen berries that I had decided to splurge on at Wal-Mart that were probably ruined. (They were. Totally thawed. But guess what, guys. I'm a risk-taker. I re-froze them, and I will eat them. Absolutely, yes I will. Even though the packaging warns against re-freezing. I'll let you know if I die.)

Luckily, most of what I had gotten at Wal-Mart didn't need to be kept cold. I mean, it could have been much much worse. Really, the only thing I'm calling a loss is our milk. (I'm not a crazy risk-taker, you guys. I don't even drink milk if it's been left out on the counter for an hour, so I definitely won't be drinking milk that's been abandoned in a hot trunk.)

And Tyler was so good about it all. His response was, "Well, we all do dumb stuff. It's done and over with. No problem."

But even so, I still felt like a fool.

I would say "all's well that ends well," but I still have those berries to get through first.

Wish me luck?