Lists....

Today is Shawn's first day on his new job. He called around lunchtime to tell me that yes, they are feeding him, and they are also slowly easing him in. As in, he gets all the easy cases today. I don't have any idea when to expect him home. But when he does come home he'll be locking himself in the closet to study for boards. Yes. I said the closet. This house is designed so----awkward for a better word. The master closet is the size of a bedroom. So. Shawn set up shop in there complete with a bookcase and a desk. I decided I don't like him studying amidst my clothing. Especially because his clutter tends to leak into my space. But there is no other room. It makes the most sense. For now. As for the rest of us? The boys are trying to save Luigi in "Luigi's Mansion". Kennedy is watching my TV in my room because the upstairs TV isn't hooked up yet. Presley is exploring every nook and cranny and putting most of them in her mouth. And me. I'm tackling my "to do" list. It's quite long. And painful. But the list helps. All week I've been running around like a chicken with it's head cut off accomplishing nothing. Now that I have my list? I've already crossed off 4 things. And those 4 things didn't involve feeding, changing, and wiping 5 kids, running 4 miles on the treadmill, dishes, or laundry. But all of that also got done. I'm making headway. And I'm starting to feel like I'm living in my house instead of someone else's. (Even though technically it is someone else's).

Ceremonial....

Shawn headed down to our new home on Friday. After only 12 hours of living with us, we left all 5 kids with my mom and headed back to Kirksville for the Resident/Intern Banquet. Kind of like a "graduation" for those moving on. Each specialty roasted their "graduates". It was hilarious. The things the Anesthesia group came up with were awesome. I tried to take pictures of them all honoring him, but it was just too dark and I was too far away. Besides. I was laughing too hard to try to take a photo. We had a great time with some great friends that we've made a long the way.

After the banquet, Shawn remembered he needed to clean out his locker. This was quite the feat. After practically living in a small square for 4 years, quite a few things accumulate. Only. Shawn accumulated 4 lockers. Full of papers, mugs, pens, Mt. Dew bottles, a pair of stinky operating room shoes. And surgical clamps. One locker dedicated to surgical clamps. I also have a drawer in my bathroom devoted to these babies. No use for them that I can see. It's almost like Shawn is afraid he'll never be able to get his hands on a pair when he needs them. Someone needs to remind him he'll always have access to them as long as he's able to retain employment.

This night was actually a ginormous event in our lives. It indicated the end of a long journey.

2 years didactics (book work) = check

2 years clinical rotations = check

Graduation = check

1 year internship (with lots of icky in-house call nights) = check

3 years anesthesia residency (including various out rotations, long labor epidurals causing sleep to occur at odd hours, various ER moonlighting opportunities, and not being able to control anything in his work environment) = check

The anesthesia group officially declaring him competent in his field and being given the official title of "Anesthesiologist" = check

I think his face sums up his feelings on this.

Life Changes....

I've been disconnected from the Internet world for about a week now. We are finally up and running. A lot has been going on around this place. So much that my head is spinning just thinking about all that needs to be done. Last Tuesday, June 16th, we said goodbye to our home. And our normal lives. I'm not a fan of change. Or of goodbyes. This little town has been good to my family. We moved in with a 19 month old son and we leave with 4 more added to the family. A lot of growing has taken place. Socially. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. A lot of learning has occurred. Both in the academic world, and the real life world. I feel like I have grown exponentially since arriving in this little Midwest town 8 years ago. I feel like I'm much more capable than I ever imagined I could be. Much more independent. These past 8 years have been pretty rough. Most people have no idea what it really means to put your husband through medical training. It's too hard to explain the level of stress this whole experience puts on your marriage. And your life in general. But I wouldn't trade it. It's made me who I am. And shown me what I truly can be. This little town will always have a place in my heart. It's where I really grew up. And where I learned that family is more than just blood relatives. The slogan for the town is "Kirksville---where people make the difference". I used to think the local commercial they used to run quoting the slogan was funny. I'd probably cry if I saw it today. Kirksville will be missed. It will be missed greatly.

The kids and I left Shawn to finish up the week at the hospital while we met the movers at our new house. We picked my mom up at the airport to help with crowd control. And with unpacking. She's good. With both the unpacking and crowd control.

We haven't had any form of electronic entertainment so the kids have been left to their own imaginations. It's been fun to see what kinds of things they come up with. The hotels were ingenious. Kennedy's was destroyed before I could get a picture.

The ginormous wardrobe boxes get the best use. We've seen a variety of puppet shows. Used them as drive-through windows for the kids riding by on scooters in the unfinished basement. But on the third day they found the best way to make use of them.

These little people sure have had their lives turned upside down. And they are troopers.

There is finally starting to be a little bit of order to the chaos around here. Slowly the boxes are getting unpacked. Beds are getting made. Furniture is being arranged. And even curtains are being hung. But. We are all feeling the effects of being uprooted. It's hard. Even as the Mom. It's hard. Sometimes I just want to go home. Only. This is my home now. I better get used to it.

Packin' Up...

This is kind of an unusual moving experience for me. Usually I'm running around like a crazy woman panicked that I'm not going to get it all in boxes before people show up to help load it on the truck. This time though. Different. I'm still stressed. Believe me. I'm stressed. But not about the packing. Because while I'm taking care of this:

And breaking up fights between these people:

And every so often feeding the lot of them:

Someone else is taking care of this:

And I just have to say. Wow. I'm so grateful for moving allowances. And for people that are professional packers. I think I prefer this way of moving.

Slumber?

Kennedy will be 8 years old this year. August 4th to be exact. And she's smart. The discussion came up about her birthday and how she would have zero friends to invite to her party this year. Having moved away and everything. So I told her we'd throw her a party that very next weekend. At first she balked. "Mom, but it's not my birthday yet." "Kennedy. We make up the rules. Who says we can't throw you a party now? Are we going to get arrested?" After a total of 30 seconds she relented and the planning was on. A sleepover was the desired celebration this year. And I surprisingly obliged. I know her friends. They are really good girls. And easy for the most part. She made her very own invitations and we delivered them the very next day. 3 of the 5 girls invited RSVP'd with a definite yes. They all showed up Friday at 5 pm and we had pizza and root beer waiting for them on the table. After dinner Shawn gathered up the 3 boys (who were "not invited Mom. They wreck everything") and took them to the movies. The girls headed downstairs for some serious dance time while I cleaned the kitchen and got the craft ready.

These girls sure had some great moves. Then upstairs for the craft. Kennedy chose these little denim purses that everyone could decorate with puff paint. I ironed their first name initial on the back pocket. After turning them lose with the paint I realized that I shouldn't have gone to the effort. Less is more girls. Less is more.

A little more dance time, then onto the cakes. I remembered doing this decorating activity for one of my parties as a girl and thought it would be fun to re-create. So did Kennedy. We made everyone their own individual cake, bought all kinds of sugared junk to decorate with, and let each girl to their own. I got a sugar rush just watching them. And Presley just crawled around under the table hoping someone would accidentally drop something she could devour.

After everything I had planned, it was 7:15. That was it. A little over 2 hours. I just sent the girls downstairs to their own devices. Presley was in bed, so I just came in the basement bedroom to play on the computer. All the while listening to the girls. They made up some game with animals, owners, trainers, keepers, and everything else associated with pets. I LOVED it. I loved that these 8 year olds aren't too old to pretend. Nobody made anyone else feel left out, or bad for any reason. They were all considerate of each others wishes and opinions. I just sat and smiled. Around 8:30 the boys returned. The girls got in their pj's and settled in to watch "High School Musical 3". I came down at 10:30 and told them I was going to bed. Nobody had even remotely heavy eyes, so I was prepared to hear voices until the wee hours. Just after midnight I came down just to check and this is what I found.

The reason the room looks so light is only because of the flash on the camera. Lights were out, TV was off, and they were all sound asleep. Midnight. Wow. I've never been to a slumber party where sleep was even considered. Probably the reason my mom didn't truly enjoy slumber parties. If every slumber party was guaranteed to be as wonderful as this one, I'll hold them every year. I'm guessing the next one will cause them to be banned for eternity. Just a mother's hunch.

Dancin' Queen....

Kennedy's final dance recital was quite the event for me. This year she chose to take tap, ballet, and jazz. Dreamy. I watched a few classes throughout the year, and I have to say, the girl has got rhythm. In jazz anyway. My class of choice. I used to be quite the jazz dancer back in my day. Ballet and tap she was sufficient for the class, but in jazz she stood out from the crowd. I was saddened for this recital because Kennedy has told me numerous times throughout the year she was done. Done. Done. Done. It was probably the fact that all three 30 minute classes were held consecutively on Monday nights. Long enough to bore the pants off a 7 year old. And also the fact that she was one of the oldest and the very tallest. I had to stifle a chuckle after the first few classes when she complained about her long arms. "Every time we get in a line to do kicks or something my arms always whack the girls next to me in the face. I have to try really hard not to hit them." When I suggested moving back behind the line she replied, "I do. But they just follow." Maybe next year I can convince her to sign up just for jazz. Only 30 minutes a week. Maybe an hour. Hopefully all my praise of her talent will win me something. Right? She is a beauty. Especially since she was forced to pull her hair back out of her face. She likes to hide those adorable freckles that I can't seem to get enough of.
This is her and her friend ready for her Jazz number.
And while waiting in line to go on stage. Wish I could have been privy to that conversation.

Her ballet and tap costume. Saved us some money by using the same one for both numbers.

I love her little face. She, however, will desire revenge when she finds I posted this close-up.

My dream of birthing a dancer might be obliterated completely. At least I have this last year of pictures to prove I put forth a good fight.

Wheels for Heels....

One Friday morning I got up pretty early, as I typically do. Presley likes to eat as the sun rises. Sometimes she goes back to sleep, and sometimes she stays awake. I rarely go back to dreamland. I usually send Shawn off to work, and then I start my typical morning routine of getting the kids off to school. When I have a little time before the waking ritual, I usually head into my bathroom. After emptying my bladder for the 2nd time since waking (bladders are never the same after 5 kids), I usually find myself in front of the mirror. I like to examine all the negative aspects of my figure. The extra fluff around my middle, the way my thighs touch each other, my jiggly arms. So the self-loathing begins. Self pity is in abundance. This morning was the same. I didn't have to weigh myself because I changed weigh in day to Mondays. Thank goodness. My mental state couldn't have born that burden this morning. I left the bathroom knowing that today I'd have to run extra hard. A lot happened before I was able to actually begin that run. I was glad when Shawn showed up around 11 so I could run outside. I feel like I've mastered the indoor run. My treadmill has a tv and a flex-deck, so it's really like going on vacation. It's still a workout. But for some reason I've mentally conquered any pitfalls I might have. Outside is a different story. There are hills. And wind. And people that can see me. Mentally this is challenging. Especially when I start off a run with my mind cluttered with negative self-loathing thoughts. In all actuality, I'm not really a runner. I think you have to be really good at running to consider yourself that. I can go further and faster now than ever before. But I still don't consider myself a true runner. I'm just a girl trying to get this cumbersome body to move. The sun was shining full force at 11, and it was hot. I found myself chattering within myself. You can't do this. You are sooooo slow. C'mon slug. Pick up the pace. If only I was 10 pounds lighter. Then I could go farther. Running outside is hard enough, but you add this incessant negative chatter and it's a disaster. 40 minutes in and I quit. I just stopped. And I walked. I still had to get home. More negative chatter. Loser. You couldn't even make it the entire way home. What is wrong with you? You've done this route before and made it just fine. Loser. Man. I felt my body start to tense. I wanted to at least finish the last 1/2 mile running. As I turned the corner onto my street I was hit---BAM! Perspective at it's finest. In the form of my neighbor. My neighbor in a wheelchair. He was out collecting his mail. Only I could tell it was a chore. His arms have limited mobility so it was slow going to get the mailbox door open. I felt naked. And guilty. If he could have heard that little person in my head a few minutes ago griping about my fat thighs. At least I have them. And they work. Great in fact. They let me travel a number of miles. Mostly running. Kind of changed my whole thought process in regards to my self worth. I've also changed my thoughts on running. Instead of just trying to fit in my cute pants I'm trying to become a true runner. One that loves the feel of the wind in my face. I'm trying to eat healthier because I feel better when I do. I'm pushing myself to run farther and faster because I can. And there are some that would, but can't. I'm just trying to enjoy myself and all that running has to offer. Fitting in my cute pants will probably be a side effect. A side effect that I can easily live with. Two weeks in and so far so good. Let's just hope this trend continues.