Not really, but can I blame my flakiness on time travel? That seems like it would be a good excuse. Better, at least, than I'm freaking lazy and tired and uninspired. Sooooo.... yeah. Hi. Here I am.

I think I've mentioned it here (but I'm too lazy to go back and find proof) that my sister Bri is going off to the Peace Corps. She's heading to Kenya, leaving Portland this coming Sunday morning, for 27 months of a holy-crap-adventure-of-a-lifetime-and-probably-find-a-cure-for-AIDS-at-the-same-time-because-that's-how-she-do experience. I cannot accurately express how proud of her I am, but know that it is a hella heap. She has a gigantic heart, a really big brain, and more compassion than nearly anyone I know. And she's cute, too!

So yesterday afternoon, Dude and I went out for some pints and Gin Rummy at the Lucky Labrador while Bri and Sissy hung with our girlies. It was pretty random and fun and I must say that Dude was waaaaaay ahead until I came from behind and totally spanked his ass at cards. That's right. I'm gloating. I rocked it.

I have 90 other things I'm supposed to be doing right now: clearing the dishes off the table, folding laundry, cleaning up the kid debris that is all over the floor, making caramelized onion dip, baking pecan pies. And I will do all those things in the next two hours, but first I'm having a teensy glass of wine and writing this here post. Erika, Billy and D will be here in about two hours. Sissy is bringing them from the airport and I think Bri is coming over as well. I want the house to look good, blah, blah. But this is my last 10 minutes of quiet before the holiday officially begins. 

Dude comes home tomorrow and the girls and I are still going strong. We've kept very busy and the time has gone quickly.

I have fantasies about the girls using the potty. I have changed approximately 9,735,862,147 diapers and I am OVER IT. [I should mention that I think Belly is pooping as I type this. Damn it.] I yearn for the day when both girls will just inform me that they are heading to the bathroom and I can simply go in and wipe butts when they're done. That sounds as glorious to me right now as the thought of having a massage (which, if you know me, is ALWAYS my idea of a good time).

I can't believe I haven't written in so long! But even as I start this post, I'm fading quickly. We have been unpacking and unpacking and unpacking. BLAH!!! Things are starting to take shape, though, and I've realized that while we have a lot of STUFF, we don't have a lot of FURNITURE. And the living room really, really needs some. This could prove challenging since Dude is insistent that we get stuff to go with our current couch - which doesn't really go with our new living room AT ALL. We need sorta retro/cool/big set o' stuff. I know that I will prevail (I always do) but our living room is a little echo-y until then. I saw a super cool sofa, chair and ottoman on Craigslist from the 1950s. All together it totals $550 and the upholstery is in great condition. I was all excited to go check it out in person, but then Dude said that he's a little skeeved out even thinking about used fabric furniture. I was all, "Even if it's professionally cleaned?!" And he still said yeah - kinda - maybe - it depends. Anything new that I like is going to be way out of our price range (I'm just that picky) and I don't want to wait forever. What to do? Is it gross to buy used fabric furniture? In a way, I guess it's sort of like buying a used mattress...something I would not do. Hm.

This is a comparison that I never thought I'd make, but in at least one way, my family is like the Osbournes. Remember how their oldest daughter, Amy, didn't want to be on their reality show so it looked to the whole world like they only had Kelly and Jack? Well, my youngest sister has decided that she would like to be removed from my blog. I cannot easily accommodate that, however, because she is a significant part of my life and affects it in many ways, usually for the richer. I can't pretend she doesn't exist. I have decided that a fair option would be to change her name, so from here on out I will refer to her as Sissy. And I've changed every post in which she was ever mentioned to reflect this. I'd also like to publicly apologize if I've ever aired anything that could be deemed her "dirty laundry." That was never my intent and I thought I had been careful to reflect that in my wording of any situation that did not directly involve me.

Today, along with the 1900 others at this particular ceremony, Bri graduated from college. It wasn't hard to pick her out in the sea of black caps and gowns because her cap quite clearly said, "PEACE CORPS OR BUST" in large letters on the top. Very cute. The whole ceremony was nice and I got a little misty when I saw her accepting her diploma and shaking hands on the jumbo-tron at the Rose Garden Arena. Belly and the Bug were mostly good during the ceremony, but Dude and I had to take them outside for a little while. I guess it was during that time that some guy accepted his diploma then raised his robe and danced back to his seat - whilst only wearing a shiny green grape-smuggler bathing suit under the robe. Dang - sorry to have missed that ridiculousness in the midst of an otherwise pretty mellow ceremony.

Okay - so we finally made it to Portland. Our plan was to spend the night (Tuesday, 12/16) in our new empty rental house on an air mattress, leaving first thing Wednesday morning to go to my mom's house three hours away. Mom owns a bed & breakfast so I was looking forward to a little extra pampering after the craziness of the air travel. I'm not sure if you followed national weather just before Christmas, but Portland got the Storm of the Century that Tuesday. Snow, snow and more snow fell on our new city (which apparently owns about two snow plows). It was beautiful. And paralyzing. The whole place shut down - including the interstates. We were stuck in Portland and Mom was stuck at her place. The moving company called and said the truck with our stuff would be here on Sunday the 21st. It was kind of fun, though - like camping but with all of the modern conveniences, three bathrooms and a gas fireplace. We just rolled with it because we had time on our side. We weren't supposed to leave for Green Bay (to visit the inlaws) until the morning of 12/23.

Then it snowed more. It was starting to turn into a pain in the ass. Everyone was sold out of snow shovels, ice scrapers, women's snow boots and sleds. Trust me - I looked in vain for those four items all week.

And the moving company called again. Our stuff would be here on 12/22. No - make that 12/23. We were losing our confidence in how on top of it our "move coordinator" really was because she didn't even know the interstates were closed. Having a knack for being able to get to the bottom of anything, Dude discovered that our truck was stuck in Spokane and not moving until the roads cleared. Which would be when??

We realized that it was going to be impossible to go to Wisconsin for Christmas and Dude reluctantly called his parents to break the news. Here's the thing about Dude: he's a total Mama's boy. And he loves tradition. AND his birthday is Christmas Eve. Christmas time at his parents' house is his favorite thing ever and he'd been looking forward to it for over a year. To say he was disappointed is a gross understatement. Also, three of my younger sibs live in Portland. My brother (Dan is 25) is recently married and already had Christmas plans with his wife's family. My two sisters (Sissy is 21 & Brianne is 23) had planned to have Christmas with my mom like they have every year of their lives and were at a complete loss as to what to do since Mom was snowed out of Portland. It was obvious that my duties as a good wife and big sister were cut out for me.

Cue the call from the moving company: our stuff would be here 12/24.

So, Bri came over to babysit while I fulfilled Dude's father's tradition of taking him out for a beer the night before his birthday. It was the first time we'd been out ALONE in...forever maybe?

The morning of Christmas Eve, we were all ready for our stuff to arrive. Dude had spoken to the driver the evening before and he was only about an hour outside Portland. Plus that particular stretch of interstate was open. We seemed to be in the clear! Seemed. The driver called that morning to tell us that the City of Portland still had a chain restriction for all trucks and guess what? He didn't have any chains. Not only that, the company didn't allow him to put chains on the truck. He was 10 miles away with my coffee pot and would remain there until the restriction was lifted - hopefully 12/26. I could not freaking believe it. Could. Not. But what was I going to do? So I got effing festive. I went grocery shopping and stocked up on supplies to create a holiday feast that included (but was certainly not limited to) Mom's shrimp dip for Sissy and some gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, sesame-free bean dip with gluten-free crackers for Bri. And wine. And egg nog. And soy nog. Plus we got a tree. I learned that you can get a beautiful Christmas tree for only $10 if you wait until the afternoon of Christmas Eve to make the purchase. We decorated it with lights and a shiny little ornament at the top. That night, while Dude, Belly, The Bug, Sissy and Bri were sleeping (they spent the night at our house), Santa even came with stockings for everyone. Seriously, people - I was downright Jolly.

Christmas morning, we opened gifts, played with babies, ate delicious gluten-free waffles and chilled out. The whole day was nice and it was easy to forget all of the craziness of the move - as long as you overlooked that we had a single-sized air mattress as a couch and a lone steak knife as the only sharp knife in the place.

When the truck pulled up out front on the morning of 12/26, I was so happy that I almost kissed the driver. And Mom finally made it in to Portland. THANK GOD THIS ORDEAL WAS OVER.

I have since told Dude that if we ever decide to do anything so stupid as to move across the country again, it will be after we renounce all of our worldly possessions. But I'm pretty sure we will not be moving back to the East Coast anyway (which means you can stay, all my beautiful cookbooks, and you as well, 900 pairs of shoes). Costa Rica on the other hand...