No really, this is how happy food makes me:

That poor cheesecake never even saw it comin'...

Whatever. Back to School Can Wait Another Month

So the thing is, I don't know where we should live for the rest of our lives, and apparently it is up to me to make this decision. Boone says he has way fewer requirements than me and keeps putting the question back on my plate.

But my plate is full already, thankyouverymuch, and I just don't want to be responsible for this one. It's too big. It's too permanent. It's too not my career.

Thanks to all the big fat liars (in my head) who told me that "You can live anywhere you want with a dental degree." That may technically be true, but when you start getting into dentist to patient ratios you learn that is not really the case. And then when you add your crazy list of things you want long term things get even more difficult.

For a long time I thought living all over the country was this great thing, but as I have tried to figure out my ideal location I have realized that my experiences have made it HARDER to pick where I want to live, because I know now that there are truly good and bad things in pretty much every region of the U. S.

I think my biggest obstacle is trying to accurately prioritize which things are most important to me and to our family. Lots of things are important to me, but I am realistic enough to concede that no one place has all of these things (in no particular order, because that's really the problem, duh):

Large airport; good concerts; loads of outdoor activities; good restaurants (good seafood and sushi especially); low humidity; no bugs; professional sports teams; large theatrical productions (not just the ones in my home when I'm PMSing); cultural diversity; well educated population; great schools; good health care; distinct seasons; health conscious/active population; not too conservative; educational/career opportunities for me once we get there; Ikea/Costco/farmers markets/Target on every corner, etc. etc.

So for a long time we said Boise was it, but there are way, WAY too many dentists there to make that work, and now we think we might be too left of center (read: "open-minded") anyway.

Then we were all over Denver (and really, it's still my #1 I think), but again, not a lot of practice opportunities there either.

***Side note: for everyone who is about to comment and tell me "But there are TONS of dentists here!", that is not a good thing. If you are getting Val-Pak coupons for free bleaching for life, the area is saturated and Boone wants no part in that.***

Seattle and Portland are nice, but after 6 years of sun, I don't think we can do 70 degree summer days anymore.

Boone is all of a sudden talking about Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico. I know, it's impossible to spell and really? Albuquerque?

He is also all over Bend, OR but really, that is probably too small for me and by the way, unemployment is sitting above 15%. Plus all I can hear when he says it is, "Bend over again".

So that pretty much covers the parts of the west I would even consider. So then we head east, far from family (still), but with better access to lots of big cities and big city things. I could seriously live in Manhattan if it wasn't insanely expensive and as saturated with dentists as the subways are with rats.

The northeast is probably too cold. The deep south is, well, too southern. We are seriously considering North Carolina -- either Charlotte or Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill. But then we have to deal with humidity and bugs and never having a white Christmas. Do I care about white Christmases? I don't know. Every year I think I miss them, and then 3 years ago we were in Idaho Falls in December and the snow made me want to kill myself. Oh yeah, and there's the part where we will live on the other side of the country from all of our family for the rest of our lives, too. And most of the time we LIKE our family and wish we were able to see them more than once or twice a year (at best).

Sigh. So there's my dilemma. Army life has a lot of drawbacks, but maybe I have underestimated the value in NOT getting to choose where you live. I stress out enough trying to order my dinner off a menu and that only stays with me for 12 hours (unless I am traveling, and then...wow...that detail is SO uncalled for).

Seriously, tell us where to live! I'd settle for someone just accurately numbering our list, effectively telling us what is most important to us long term, because clearly, we have no idea what long term even looks like.

The End.

Keaton Then and Now

Apparently I am in a story telling mood right now. This one was brought on by my Sunday evening activity of cleaning out my Gmail inbox going back to 2005. I decided to start at my first email and go from there, but found some attachments from way back that just HAVE to be shared.

So there we were -- March 2006 -- living in Texas and finally getting a grip on life with two kids, which would have been a dandy place to be had we not been 2 weeks away from having our third baby. I was enormously pregnant with Branik and generally spending my days in the "please shoot me now" state of being (all you ladies with kids know this feeling). I was in survival mode as far as parenting my older children went -- considering the day successful if they were all alive at the end. Sort of like now, actually.

Anyway, one day Rylan (who had just turned 4) was having a playdate at our home with her friend Kate, and Keaton was toddling around behind them as fast as his 21 month old body could take him (which was quite fast, unfortunately). I was most likely sprawled on the couch feeling sorry for myself/eating while the 3 kids played together. Kate was kind of a stinker and had been begging all morning to take a bath with Rylan. I told them no repeatedly, because who wants to do double bath duty with someone else's kid when they are 35 weeks pregnant? Not me.

Well, Kate knew how to get what she wanted. About 5 minutes later, she came out of Rylan's room and said, "I peed in my panties and it ran all over my legs. I guess I need a bath now!"

She stripped her clothes off with startling speed and was in my bathroom filling the tub in no time. I was beyond caring at that point and waved Rylan in the same direction, instructing her to remember to go potty before she got into the bathtub with Kate. She did, but in all her excitement to have a midday bubble bath with her BFF, she forgot to flush (this part is key).

Once I got the girls squared away, I went back to Rylan's room to clean the carpet where Kate had peed and to get fresh clothes for two 4 year olds. It took me less than 5 minutes, but at about that point, I heard Keaton crying -- and it sounded like he was hurt.

I waddled down the hall towards his voice and this is what I discovered:

What you can't tell from these pictures is that Keaton's shoe was stuck in the "cave" of the toilet and he needed my help to get free. That's why HE was crying. His mother, on the other hand, was crying because that child was SOAKING WET with toilet water and his sister's urine, had unrolled the entire roll of TP into and around the toilet, and then flung soggy wads of pee paper all over the walls of the toilet room.

So I did what any rational mother would do: I grabbed the camera, took photographic evidence, started bathing a third child, and prayed that Keaton wouldn't teach his new baby brother any of his tricks. Had I known that Keaton's "fun with bodily waste" would eventually reach new levels, I'd probably have passed out on the spot.

Fast forward to Thursday night (as in 3 days ago).

I was heading to bed and wandered down the hall to peek in on my sleeping kiddos like I always do. Everything was cool, but I caught sight of a new picture outside Keaton's doorway and flipped the light on for a better look. This friendly little note is what I found (go ahead and click on it so you can see better):

(Here is a direct transcription -- punctuation and all.)

"do. NOt. Go. iN. My. ROOM.?. I Said do NOt Go iN." Awww, how precious!

And then just so we're all on the same page, he drew a diagram with a quiz.

Q: Stick figure standing next to a door (I assume this is anyone reading his notice) -- "Good. or. Not. Good" ?

A: (Reader trying to enter) = "Not Good."

This is what I get for teaching him how to read and write at an early age. I can't wait to see what kinds of things prompt me to grab my camera another 4 years from now. Heaven help me.

P.S. JustMe: school update coming soon -- just need to get to the back computer for Branik's pictures too.

Happy Birthday, Your Highness

Once upon a time, there was a family who suffered an unexpected loss when their beloved grandmother passed away following a surgery. The family quickly gathered from all over Idaho, Utah, and Texas to be together and found much needed support under the same roof.

What they did NOT find, however, were enough beds for every family member on such short notice.

The oldest sister, Nicole, was 5 months pregnant and had to travel with her 2 young children while her husband stayed behind in evil residency. The third sister, Courtney, was also pregnant -- almost 7 months along with her first child.

Makeshift sleeping arrangements were made to accommodate all the visitors as best as possible -- Courtney only wanted the couch because mattresses were hurting her aching back, but that left Nicole only 2 options: sleep on the queen mattress on the living room floor next to Courtney's couch, or sleep on the floor next to the mattress.

Prince Ryan would not hear of his pregnant sister-in-law relegated to the floor and insisted that she take the mattress beside his wife.
Nicole felt guilty, but was grateful for the gesture.

When bedtime approached, however, the guilt was too much for Nicole, who had realized that she was most comfortable sleeping with her back against Courtney's couch -- leaving 3/4 of the mattress empty. Seeing Prince Ryan on the floor with a nearly empty mattress inches from his face seemed absurd, and in light of the extenuating circumstances, the two sisters proposed that Prince Ryan just share the mattress with Nicole.

Prince Ryan didn't know Nicole very well yet as he was relatively new to the family and she lived all the way in Texas, but he hesitantly agreed to leave the cold floor and hugged the opposite side of the mattress for all it was worth.

In the morning, all parties agreed that the arrangement -- though unconventional to say the least -- was the best option for decent sleep. They planned to spend the remaining nights all in a row -- Courtney on her couch, Nicole on the mattress against the couch, and Ryan 2 body widths away on the far end. All was well in living room land.

The second night fell and the 3 roommates settled in for some much needed rest after an emotionally exhausting day. Things were repeating as smoothly as they had the first night until...

*pat-pat-pat*

Nicole's eyes FLEW open and within seconds she realized that a very gentle (and very asleep) hand was resting squarely on her derriere. And it wasn't Courtney's.

She tried in vain to wiggle enough to get Prince Ryan to roll back over and take his stray hand with him. She coughed. She cleared her throat. She itched one leg with the other foot. Nothing worked. That left hand was staying put.

Not wanting to wake Prince Ryan enough for him to realize his mistake, she continued adjusting her pillows and coughing until she was making so much noise that she roused Courtney. Since she too was pregnant, any onset of consciousness brought with it the need to relieve her bladder, and Courtney leaped from the couch to visit the bathroom down the hall.

When she returned and got near the mattress, she looked down carefully to avoid stepping on her husband and sister and was startled to discover the location of her sleeping husband's hand.

"RYAN!" She whispered as loudly as possible, "move OVER!" She reached down and physically dragged his unconscious body as far as she could until he settled back to his designated side. Once he was still, Courtney crashed back onto the couch, and Nicole exhaled deeply for the first time in nearly 15 minutes.

The next morning while Prince Ryan was showering, Nicole and Courtney reviewed the events of the evening to make sure they had really happened. When they confirmed that they remembered the same thing, they both burst out laughing hysterically and were still at it when Price Ryan entered the kitchen and started pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

The two sisters finally stifled their laughter but couldn't help but wonder if Price Ryan remembered any of the action. They stared at him intently, until he looked back and forth between the two and said, "What?"

They lost it. Through barely discernible words, Courtney managed to eek out the story, Ryan's eyes growing wider and more horrified with each passing second. The two sisters had tears of laughter pouring down their cheeks again, and poor Prince Ryan just sat there staring at his cereal. He tried in vain to deny it -- to suggest that the sisters were purposely deceiving him. He eventually grew tired of the teasing and left the room before the story was recounted multiple times to the rest of the family.

When he returned, the only thing Nicole could manage to say was, "You owe me dinner."

Hysterical laughter resumed, and "Bottomgate" was cemented in the McQuain Family's Greatest Stories of all Time.

The End.

Camping 2.0

I know I need to update after my ultra depressing post (no, not the Obama one you snarky Repubs), but the OCD in me has to post our pictures from camping in the Smoky Mountains first.

I didn't grow up camping and I have had less than fantastic feelings about the whole concept for years. Something about sleeping on the ground and getting eaten alive by bugs and using public toilets/bushes for days on end just doesn't sit well with me. However, my darling husband wishes he lived outside full time and has somehow convinced our children of the same. Utterly outnumbered and in the name of family unity, I decided to shut my trap (a little bit) and see if we could work things out this year.

I was pleasantly surprised at how well our first trip in our new tent went. Of course, we were only 30 minutes from home and it was only one night, but still -- I didn't hate it and that's saying something.

In fact, it was so not lame that I didn't even protest when, during a brief visit with our good friends in Cleveland (on the way home from PA), Boone and Sean hatched a plan to meet up in Great Smoky Mountain National Park in July. To camp. For 3 whole nights.

Much to my delight, I only got 2 insect bites the whole trip, and both while I was breaking camp to go home (figures). Here's how the rest of the trip went in picture/caption format because I feel like lazy blogging, except for the part I know I will write out in great detail (you can't wait, trust me).

Anyway, here we go...



Typical Boone. The man just cannot fake smile for anything. I have given up and I just smile for the two of us with all the cheese I can muster.

And this was the best I could do from the littles. Branik was yelling, Keaton was distracted, and Rylan was worried that all 3 of them were going to fall backwards over the wall and die.

Sean making camping pancakes for all 11 of us. I basically put up with all the unpleasant details of camping for the pancakes. So sue me.

That's right, men, get to work feeding the children. Call me when my pancakes are ready.

Okay, here's the part where I have to tell a story. Look above at this first picture. My 3 kids on a big rock. Nothing exciting, right? Let's add a few details: it was 80 degrees at our campsite, but when we drove up to hike Klingman's Dome (the highest point east of the Mississippi River), the temperature dropped 25 degrees and it was misting/raining. We didn't bring any warmer clothes in the car, and it had taken almost an hour to get up there, so we just decided to tough it out. Rylan INSISTED on wearing this tank top that morning and swore she would be fine, but by the time we got through the parking lot and onto the trailhead, she was shivering. Boone rolled his eyes as best he could (I'm really the expert in that department) and ran all the way back to the car to get a beach towel for Rylan to wrap around her arms.

In the meantime, I asked the kids if they needed to go potty before we hiked. All of them had gone before getting in the car, so I wasn't too surprised when they said no. We waited about 10 minutes for Dad to get back, and as I craned my neck to look for him heading our way (there he is!) I heard something trickle.

Now let's look at the next picture and see if you can tell what happened. Look hard. Specifically at the child furthest to the right. Who sees it?

Yeah, those would be size 7 shorts on size 3 Branik. And thank goodness for them, because here's what happened in between pictures 1 and 2.

I turned toward the trickling sound just as Branik says, "I have to go poottttyyyy!!!", all the while holding his crotch and peeing all over his shorts. All over that rock. All over his shoes. Boone approaches and takes one look at Branik, who is now crying, and says, "Well, he's just going to have to deal with it." Aren't husbands funny? I gently (and by gently I mean "like a hose beast") reminded Boone that it was 55 degrees outside and that making our 3 year old hike more than a mile in soaking wet shorts was going to chafe the kid to pieces. We had no change of clothes in the car, so it became clear that one of us was going to have to stay back. Since hubby had just come all the way back from the car with a stupid beach towel for Rylan, I grabbed Branik by the hand and started marching him back to the car.

Once he realized he was not going with everyone else, he really let loose and began screaming his head off. So there I was, dragging my soaking wet 3 year old by one hand down to the parking lot while dozens of people watched me suck at my "job". Awesome.

When we got back to the car it occurred to me that I could not just sit him in his carseat all wet, because then the urine would soak into the cushion. The cushion that would then go back down to the 80-90 degree heat and sit for 3 more days until the car smelled like death. No good.

So I stood right there by the sidewalk with people passing by Branik and I and I stripped that boy down to his birthday suit. He was naked, shivering, covered in pee, and standing outside screaming in 55 degree weather. I shoved everything into a plastic bag as quickly as I could, and then wiped every square inch of the lower half of his body in baby wipes. Which made him even more cold than before.

When he was safe to handle again, I grabbed his naked little body up and put him in the car. I managed to scrounge a size 5 diaper from the console (nevermind that he outgrew those a year ago) and dressed him in that, just in time to see Boone running towards me with something in his hands.

Me: "What are you doing? You are supposed to be 15 minutes up the trail already!"

Boone: "The Spittles had a pair of shorts in their backpack (because they are responsible like that). Let's get Bran dressed and get back up there."

Me: "Ummm, he doesn't have a shirt or shoes, darling husband."

B: "Where are they?"

Me: "They are soaked in pee in a Walmart bag."

B: "How did his shirt get pee on it?"

Me: "He leaned forward when he was peeing and the shirt was resting right on his exit point, that's how. And now it's wadded up with the shorts and underwear and shoes anyway. He can't wear it."

B: "Yes he can. We're going."

So, like the subservient wife I am, I stood there horrified as he dug out a peed on shirt and shoes, pulled shorts that were 4 sizes too large onto Branik's body, and tossed him up onto his shoulders so that the pee part of Bran's shirt was pressed up against his neck. I told you, that dude LOVES to be outside.

Whatever.

So up we went. And the view stunk because it was too misty, but now I have this great story right?

Anyway, here are the boys who didn't pee themselves that day --


-- and the girls, who also didn't pee themselves. Please ignore my toddler hair. I was camping, people.

So we survived Klingman's Dome and headed back to the campsite where Rylan made a discovery that had Hannah running...

What did she find that has these two so engrossed? Well...

...that's a millipede. A big one. And she's petting it. The girl just really loves bugs.

We decided to do one real hike (the other one was paved = fake) right out of our campground up to Hen Wallow Falls. It was 2.2 miles each way, and I think we sort of overestimated how much 7 children could hike, the youngest of which were 3 and 2. It was fun, but the kids were exhausted by the end.


Here's what Branik thought when we got to the falls. What a grump.

Rylan tried to cheer him up. Keaton, on the other hand, didn't need cheering.

He decided he needed to go check things out up close while Daddy kept watch.

Sort of.

Sean, Hannah, and Ella (with Branik in the background).

Go ahead and click on this one to make it bigger. That is what you get when someone "makes" Boone smile. Now you know why I gave up.

Logan and Keaton playing in the water.

Headed back down. Keaton carried a stick all the way up to the falls with the intention to "throw it in the waterfall" when we got there. At which point he demanded a new stick for the trip home.

Keaton: "Look at this stick! I have it, just like a man!"

No urine on Boone's neck this time, but apparently he was lactating.

The rest of the trip involved a lot of food, a lot of campfires, and a boatload of grimy children. We're really glad the Spittles came all the way from Ohio to sleep on the ground with us. I guess that's the kind of junk you are willing to do with friends you've had for over 9 years, eh?

I think I am at peace with camping now, but I still love coming home to shower and sleep in my bed. Branik couldn't wait that long and gave up about 3 minutes into our 6 hour drive home. Thank goodness for blankies.

If I Thought I Was Feeling Blue BEFORE...

...it's nothing compared to how I'm feeling as of 7:00 this evening. Positively drowning in azured (totally a word) bliss.

Obama is here to save the day...by getting to work in my kitchen. He DOES know and love me! Thanks a million UMC gals! I promise to take good care of him (we're watching Jon Stewart at the moment -- it's all very "Kumbaya" in my living room).

But I Can't Seem to Find the Baby...

So that last post was in the works a while ago but then I decided to save it for Grandpa's birthday (all together now, AWWWWWW).

This means I haven't really posted anything in a couple of weeks, and most of the summer has been stuffed full of vacation recaps and photo orgies for the extended family. Which is fine -- I want to remember this stuff and all the little stories when I am decrepit and incontinent, after all.

But that brings me to my point, if I have one: okay wait -- maybe I don't have one. Except my last 2 weeks have sucked royally, to the point that I can compare them only to the disaster that is postpartum Nicole (physically and emotionally). And I think maybe I just need to blog it out.

Problem is, I am too tired to do it tonight. But I wanted you to know that before I continue with the tail end of summer goings-on I am going to have to purge a few things.

Like maybe that my leg is worse and was in a cast for 2 weeks (with bonus crutches), including over my 30th birthday which was another disaster all it's own (some of you saw my post that I put up and quickly took down that day in an effort to grow up and change my attitude -- THAT worked well, obviously).

Or maybe the part where 5 days after being cast I got to go have bladder surgery that didn't go all that well, and then got a bonus catheter to go with the bonus crutches for a whole week. And now I am on prostate medication even though I am, you know, totally lacking a prostate, but whatever.

Or the part where for a whole week I couldn't fall asleep before 4:00 am, and was up until after 7:00 am (twice), which basically made me stark raving mad. More than normal.

Or the part where now my leg is in a boot but all of a sudden hurting again which causes me to spend inordinate amounts of time worrying that I'll never run again, all the while getting flabbier and flabbier and watching a part of my body literally become an unrecognizable pile of mush.

Or the part where I sent my baby to preschool for the first time today and came home to a quiet house that I was too disabled to clean, so instead I spent hours watching the clock and wondering if I have totally blown the years I had with my kids at home by being too caught up in stuff that doesn't really matter.

Or the part where I put my special needs child on the bus for kindergarten yesterday, worried all day about him, was relieved when he came home smiling and "on green", only to have both the bus driver AND his teacher talk to me this afternoon about his unacceptable behavior on Day 2. Day-freaking-2. You know, that behavior that I can't fix because my kid has Asperger's. Fantastic.

So yeah, in addition to all the waist-down physical pain I have been through in the last 2 weeks (or 4 months, if we're being honest), I have been a blubbering emotional train wreck too. Lucky Boone. Lucky everyone who knows me.

Seriously, I feel postpartum. Except I'm not spraying milk everywhere (you're welcome for that).

Waaaaahhhhh.

(Maybe this is enough after all.)