Nothing new here

I am backpedaling a bit on privatizing the blog. I actually began processing it, but with only 1/2 the people invited blogger cut me off and said- No more invites! So we were privatized for about 20 minutes and then that was the end of that. I think I can make this work awhile longer and just see how it goes. It's not like my husband is a practicing  dentist anyway. The only dentistry that is on the horizon FOR SURE is a trip next weekend down to Tennessee for Remote Area Medical. He is taking along his cousin Dale, a dentist in Ohio. One more chance to practice pulling as many teeth as he can before he starts charging.


We are still debating the Pennsylvania opportunity. If you ask us we will tell you - "It's an 85-90% possibility." No reason to be hasty 100%'ers this early in the game. When I announced our intentions to pursue a practice purchase there- it meant just that. . . Pursue it. I am finding out this process is extremely lengthy and much of the time you are waiting and wondering. Too early to find a house, register kids in school, look up health insurance, etc. . until you get to a firm 100% so really I haven't done anything to get ready for the move except pack rubbermaids.  


Selling a house in NY is equally lengthy. The bank is still sitting on the loan and we are awaiting news of a final closing date. Once we have the closing date, then we can ask to extend, not before apparently since every time I mention it I am told by my realtor,  "Sure, sure that should be fine, but we'll talk about that when we have a closing date" For now we just sit here and wonder if we really won't be in our house 2 weeks from today. 


The kids have refused to go to school in June. They already announced an early move to their teachers and friends and apparently if they show up at school June 1st, they will be known "liars". I guess kids make up stories about moving all the time.


Brent spent the day at the potential dental practice yesterday and is now hanging out having breakfast among the locals at McDonald's. He just skyped me and we had a little chat while he drank his orange juice. We discussed his plans for the day and I made sure that under no circumstances did he have the green light to Buy A House. I've learned from experience that you have to spell that clearly with Brent. And I would rather camp for a few weeks then secure a permanent residence in a town we later decide we have no reason to move to, except for that steal of a deal he got on the house.


Packing so far has been no big deal. I kind of like the power I have over the mess nowadays. No games, toys, books, stuffed animals, or movies kicking around under my feet. I boxed them all up. Hee, hee, hee. Of course my kids are bored out of their minds. Especially with all the cold weather we have lately keeping them indoors and with nothing left to do but fight for computer time.


I have been thinking a lot lately about getting out of the city and giving my kids the kind of life Brent and I both had growing up. Plenty of work, and plenty of acres for exploration. I feel bad that because we live in the city,  I am forced to be right on top of them when they are just riding bikes or playing with their friends.  I couldn't imagine Mom going everywhere with us. When we were young we spent a lot of time doing chores and then after that we would walk for miles in all directions. Mom wouldn't know where we were for hours and I don't think she worried at all because seriously- nothing was going to happen to us out there. Dad had a 2000 acre farm and it was pretty much on the edge of civilization. We had a mega sand dune about a mile and half away. That was our favorite place to wander off to. Along the way we usually found plenty of deep puddles in the dirt roads created by the end gun of the irrigation circles not shutting off and flooding the road. Those were the farm kids swimming pools. They really were that deep. I don't remember swimming in them ever myself. I would ride my bike through. But I remember my little sisters stripped to their panties in them every chance they got.


Kennon's school musical performs three times this weekend  and it's also Stake Conference so that should keep us all busy for the next three days.

I don't know what is happening to my son lately. He is becoming. . .destructive! This is how I have always been told that boys act, but it reminds me more of being high on something than just being male. He's still sweet as can be, but every time I turn my back for one minute he picks something up and either smashes it, unrolls it, tears it in two, dumps it down the stairs,  jumps on it, throws it across the room, or spits on it. Maybe I need to go play some ball with him a 1/2 hour a day and he will take it easier on my house. 

He is completely and awesomely potty trained. Even during the night time he either stays dry or wakes me up with a, "I gotta go Pee, Pee!"  

We are all amazed and so grateful he wasn't anything like potty training Caroline. For those that saw him being led last Sunday into the chapel by Kennon with no pants on, that was no wetting accident. Kennon was helping him go and his pants fell in the toilet. She thought she would announce the fact by leading his bare bum in while the choir rehearsed.  

I hate the fact that I have to strip him down every time he goes. He is a sitter not a stander and it just doesn't work for boys to sit and go unless the pants are off. He needs spreading room. Each time I have been lazy and let him leave them on they get completely sprayed. Also we have to remember to tuck his shirt under his chin or it will also need to be changed. The other day he was wearing a t-shirt Savannah had decorated for him with his nickname. Right after taking him to go and then hurriedly dressing him again, and heading to the basement, he started yelling down the stairs, "Mom, I peed on Marco!" 

I kept hollering back, "What? We just went. What do you mean you peed on Marco?" I finally went upstairs to find him holding out a wet end of the front of his shirt. The shirt that is painted with a big blue M A R C O.