Let me begin by saying that our family much prefers traveling 24 hours by plane to traveling 2 hours by car.  Don’t try and make me feel bad about that, like if I just knew all the secret tricks our kids would magically become great car companions.  It’s just the way it is.  We are not a happy car driving family.  Yet.

Plane traveling, though, is great.  Mostly.

Let’s start with the general philosophy – only take what the two of you parents can carry and still hold a hand at the same time.  Without a cart.  With an umbrella stroller.

This philosophy is now encouraged by having to pay for every piece of check in luggage.  LAME-O.

So we packed for our three month stay in one suitcase and one duffel bag.  Someday I’m going to get this bag, and then see how efficient we can be.

Now, for the good stuff.  The carry ons.

Carry on philosophy – only take what the adults can carry on their backs, leaving arms free for pushing umbrella strollers and carrying tired children through airports.  Not to mention dealing with tickets and passports.

First, we do not take car seats on the plane.  Other people swear by them.  Getting them down the aisle and locked into place while shepherding small bashful people makes us swear.  (But, when we did still think it was a good idea, Janeen had the great suggestion of strapping it to a luggage cart and using it as a stroller in the airport.  Brilliant.)

Other than the struggle of transporting the carseats, we found that the girls didn’t want to stay in them, so we ended up with kids on our laps and no elbow room.  Because you can’t keep kids strapped in for 10 hours on a plane.

So in the two bags that are carried on our backs (no over the shoulder bags!), our packing generally goes as such.  Devo carries the tickets/passports, computer(s), and camera(s).  I carry everything else (which is remarkably lighter than the technology).

Diapers (one for every 2 hours in transit, plus a few extra), wipes, vaseline, and compact extra clothes for the kids (two sets for the baby).  This all goes in one packing cube.

One baggie with liquids, including infants tylenol for just in case.

One small bag with tylenol for the parents, vitamin c, my beloved thyroid medication, and toothbrush.

Sweaters.  But only for the little girls.  I can keep a blanket on myself and an infant when sleeping.

For food we take trail mix or nuts.  And non-spill sippy cups.  The non-spill part is very important.  Non-spill means that liquid does not come out unless someone is sucking on it (and no caps to open and close!).  We have the flight attendants put the drink of choice in the sippy cup and it greatly reduces parental gasping and lunging.  This bonus by far outweighs the inconvenience of lugging empty cups around.

And about toys.  Now that the girls are older, we are packing them each a very small bag with toys in it.  I think there were five identical toys in each.  Paper and pen, very small doll…and I don’t even remember the rest because the only toy that got any attention in 24 hours of traveling were the dolls.  Which is saying something, because usually my kids don’t play with any of the toys we bring.

I take a one-pocket bag that can fit alot, but collapses when it’s empty.  The girl’s bags fit in the top of my bag.  As they get older, they will carry their own bags.  But for this trip, it was infinitely simpler to tuck them into my bag for getting in and out and around places.

This trip we also took the snugli.  Which I referred to mid-trip by various names such as the thingy, the backpack, the sling.  And then wondered why Devo never knew what I was talking about.  We didn’t really use the snugli.  I thought it would be a good idea for holding the baby secure while sleeping, but we couldn’t get comfortable.  And I hate wearing it because it makes my shoulders really hurt.  So I don’t think we’ll take it again.  But I still think it’s a good idea.

The last thing we take it the aforementioned umbrella stroller.  Yes, so you can’t pile things on it (including other children).  But it’s compact, it’s easy to get in and out of, the tiredest child gets to use it, and you don’t get really upset if it gets all beat up.

So there you have it!

I’d like to announce that we arrived for our (almost) three month sabbatical with – three children, three carseats, two suitcases, two carryons, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Here we are in Japan after 20 hours of traveling, one poopy (executed, of course, right when we began taxiing towards the runway – so we had to sit, and sit, and sit, in it), one bowl of ramen, one visit with my cousin-in-law in the Portland airport, one purchase of non-spill sippy cups, four lame movies, and a partridge in a pear tree.

So now we’re here.  Blessedly.  And already our horizons are expanding under the influence of the wide open possibilities of a sabbatical.  A Sabbath.

I had a date with the Rug Doctor tonight.  It didn’t go so well.

So as I squat here in front of my computer desk on a damp, but still dirty and stained carpet, I resolve once again to never choose carpet.

Have human beings every invented something more disgusting and unhygienic to live with them?  I think not.

Well, there is only so much a girl can write about baby-induced sleep deprivation.  (Well, not really.  But I do have a great deal of power over that publish button that keeps me from talking about nothing but…)

Today I tore into the girl’s closet and did the grand switcharoo.  Summer clothes in current (almost outgrown) size put away.  Winter clothes (that it’s still too warm to wear) filling drawers and closet.  Summer clothes in upcoming size sorted and readied for our impending sabbatical to the tropical island of Guam.

So now they have nothing to wear between now and next Wednesday.  I refuse to think too deeply about this chink in my great accomplishment.

And I strongly considered trying to stuff all the girls clothes (including the bank of storage drawers) into my closet with my clothes (my three wardrobes–summer, winter, maternity).  Because it drives me NUTS that Amelie gets into the clothes and wreaks havoc.

But instead I’m keeping it as is, in faith that in three months she will be three months less likely to mess up my hours of labor.

If I got paid for the amount of time I spend getting their clothes sorted, I’d be making pretty decent money.  And that doesn’t include regular laundry time.

So we’ve got the clothes ready to be packed.  Minimalist plan is to take clothes and toothbrushes.  Any thing else is luxury.

I’ve started peeking in closets.  And asking myself if it would be a good or bad idea to take things like:

-the floor mat Grandma made for Lia that Levi is just the right age for and will have grown out of by the time we get back.  My mom has hard tile floors.  And it’s got jungle animals on it.

-the shopping cart cover thingy.  Again, just the right age.  (I’m thinking this goes to the bottom of the list).

-Sabbath School quarterlies

-Christmas sheet music

-which sling/carrier will we use the most?

-BOB books and kindergarten workbooks, our usborne book about nature, and the kids yoga book

-Afrikaans books and videos, just a few…but which few?  I’m thinking the cartoon series based on Heidi.  Then Grandma can watch too.

-which Lori Wick book will I be just dying to read?  Or will I crave Maeve Binchy?  (Mom and Grandma already have Mrs. Pollifax).

Current plan: pile it all up on my dresser and then pack it in order of importance.  When I run out of room, that’s it!  No more!

Other than packing, not sleeping, and general happy family stuff, I’ve also spent an inordinate amount of time working on our church’s Easter program.  We’re trying to get it set up before we leave.  It’s going to be really good.  Really.  Good.  (Is that boasting?  I don’t think I’m boasting…)

Between the hours at the computer, the hours walking the crying baby, and the lifting on and off of forty-eight outfits over two small heads today…my shoulders hurt.

I’m going to really miss yoga.

Perhaps blogging at 12 minutes past my bedtime is not the wisest choice.  But I must admit that my ability to form coherent thought has been rather suppressed today.  Not oppressed, just suppressed.

So Levi hasn’t been sleeping well.  Tonight marks two weeks since we began tackling the night sleeping thing vigorously.  Well, it’s vigorous for a night or two and then exhausted for a night or two.  The first four days went really well.  And that was about it.

Last night was a step forward…Little Mr. Wakeful actually cried himself back to sleep.  Once.  Out of four wakings.  And only because I was so tired I couldn’t wake up enough to drag myself out of bed and over to his crib.  I woke up to discover that is was…quiet.  Which has been a very rare occurrence the last few weeks.

But lest I bore you with a detailed rundown of every minute of sleep I got and every minute that I didn’t get, perhaps we should remember that there is more to life than sleeping.  And dishes.  And bathing.  And picking up toys.

Things like decluttering.  Devo tore into his closet yesterday and decluttered about half his wardrobe.  It was amazingly scary.  How can you live without clothes you never wear?  It was also inspiring and exhilarating.  So I did likewise. We filled up the back of our explorer and carted it off to community services.

The Nester said this week to get rid of things you don’t love.  It’s amazing how many things I have that I don’t love.  I’m grateful for them (wouldn’t want to go…clothes-less…now would we?) but I don’t love them.  Okay, so I see that she actually said to get rid of things you hate.  And I translated that as things I don’t love.  Hmmm.  Whatever, it’s been a cleansing exercise.  And we’re not through yet.

I’ve decided to take the fabric in my fabric baskets that I’m never going to use and make beach blankets out of it.  Oh, yeah, that’s what I was supposed to be doing this evening whilst my husband was communing with the parishioners.  Oops.  I knew I had a plan.

I wanted to go through all my closets and clean and purge and straighten before we leave (in less than two weeks!) on our sabbatical.  [Or, spaghatical, as Lia calls it.  I spell it with an "h" in the middle, because it sounds like spaghetti.]  And shampoo the carpet.  And get my haircut and a pedicure and new contacts.  And get the kids clothes all ready for summer in Guam and winter for when we get back.

Well, that was the BIG plan.  The little plan is to pack and go.  With hopefully an emptying of the fridge.  I always make a big plan and a little plan.  Bare-minimum-must-accomplish-no-matter-what and all-the-many-many-things-I’d-like-to-do-if-I-were-super-woman.  Helps with perspective.

Did I ever mention that I’m a soprano.  I mean, I was a soprano.  I mean, I think I’m still a soprano.  I hope I’m still a soprano.  I want to be a soprano.  Still.

Four years of college and fairly regular practice, as well as one year of a master’s in vocal performance at a fairly prestigious music school.  Operas, oratorios, the works.

And then I became a mother and used it as a wonderful excuse to excuse myself from another year of school and another $15K of student loans. It was absolutely the right choice.  On all accounts.

I sang for church a time or two post-baby.  Not the easiest thing maritally when your spouse is paid to show up and work hard on Sabbath morning.  Because three minutes of singing takes several hours of focus and focus doesn’t come easily in the midst of spit up and oopsie diapers.

So when asked when I am going to sing for church again, I say, “Either when our children are older or my husband finds a new job.”  I tell myself that it’s just not the season in my life for singing, and that Sabbath is a time to be together as a family.  One family member otherwise occupied is enough.

But as the years (did I say years? am I old enough to say years?) slip by, I am beginning to second-guess myself.  That maybe all the hard work and blood and sweat I put into overcoming my terrible case of stage fright might just fizzle and disappear.  And so I’ll be a 40 year old soprano who can’t be taken out in public.

Which would really be too bad.

I’ve been practicing.  A little.  About once every three months.  On average.  I started working on Schubert’s Shepherd on the Rock when I was pregnant with Lia.  Still working on it.  I think that in my heart of hearts I don’t really want to finish it because it would be kind of like being all dressed up with no where to go.

A few months ago I was starting to sink into a perpetual state of glumness regarding the whole thing when, out of the blue, people started asking me when I was going to sing again.  And not just Jim L., who is a professional percussionist who played with an opera company for years (and soothes my soul with his compliments).  But really random people.  Really.  Random.  People.

So I perked up and made a list – a recital program of sorts – of my favorite art songs (read: new repertoire!).  With a few of Lia’s favorite songs.  And made a folder.  And more recently, shelled out the dollars for accompaniment CDs and internet downloads.  And put a copy of all the texts and translations into my notebook that contains all the vital information about my life.  And put all the songs and accompaniments onto Devo’s old iphone, in lieu of my dearly departed ipod.

I got it all ready to go…and promptly got sick.  And lost my voice.  Finally got fed up (I still sound scratchy) and started practicing anyhow.  While I do dishes.  When Devo takes the kids and I’m supposed to be napping.  Or, like tonight, with Levi in our borrowed ergo-carrier after putting the girls in bed.  And as Levi nodded off to sleep, he would jerk his head up and look at me with that what-on-earth-are-you-doing-Mommy-it’s-kind-of-freaking-me-out look whenever I sang anything over an F.

I’m hoping to overcome all the fear and bad habits I’ve accumulated by thinking about singing instead of actually…singing.

After Levi went soundly asleep, I crept into the girls room to see if Lia had gone to sleep.  (She likes to “sleep” with her “eyes open”.)  My Lia who loves Shepherd on the Rock (she should, she’s been hearing it since she was in utero), and Mozart’s Exsultate Jubilate.  And who’s newest interest is opera…specifically The Magic Flute (it has a princess – and the Queen of the Night).  She was still awake.  She hummed for me her favorite song from the evening’s concert.  And my little Mommy heart went wooshy gooshy.  And then she asked why there are no songs in English.

I guess I should probably add some songs in English.

I love singing for my children.  They’re so non-judgmental.  Unlike their mother.  But I’m working that.

On my way to blog about this topic, I passed by facebook and saw that my friend Scott had posted a link to a video Laundry and Tosca about a woman (a soprano!) who worked a 9 to 5 for years, while practicing and dreaming her dreams.  How…fitting.

Edited to add:  I just finished watching Laundry and Tosca and it was amazing.  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  If you have half an hour…

I’ve got the house blues.

Well, maybe it’s just low blood sugar.  One of the perks of parenting small children is that I eat meals consistently.  But all the fun of the last month with my brother in law’s visit has knocked that ‘consistent’ part slightly askew.  So I didn’t get dinner before heading off to (teach my first!) yoga class.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I just can’t get well.  Devo’s down with it now, moving from a cold into the flu.  I’m now taking vitamin c, vitamin d, the green power sludge stuff my mom swears by, a daily drink of disgusting apple cider vinegar and water, and forsaking all sweet things.

Or maybe it’s because I didn’t have much sleep last night.  I finally bit the bullet and have begun to teach/convince/encourage Levi to sleep through the night (method: no milk till morning).  First night went well with only about two hours of walking and patting.  Second night he slept EIGHT HOURS!  Last night he was up for what seemed like hours on end, playing the part of a narcoleptic pacifier flinger.  He won last night.  I ungraciously lost.  (Is it possible to be gracious at four o’clock in the morning after hours of sleep interruptions?  I think not.)

Or maybe it’s because the Nester has been posting this great series on 31 days to a Better Dressed Nest.  And I want to dress my NEW nest, not this old one.

Or maybe it’s that my favorite dream house is being sold…to someone else.

Or maybe it’s that I’ve realized that I’ve lost an entire year of gardening because of assuming that we were going to find a house.  I should have taken Jesus’ advice and “occupied”.  He always has good advice.

So, maybe, once my blood sugar comes back up, and I have a night of at least semi-decent sleep, and I stop sounding like I’ve got a sinus infection when I don’t, I’ll stop whining to myself and dress up the nest that I have and plant some things in my winter garden to grow while we’re gone on sabbatical.

Because we’re leaving for our sabbatical in 22 days.

And then I’ll be living in my mom’s house.

I’ve neglected to mention the landmark event happening in our household…Amelie is learning to go potty!  Finally.  She is also becoming more eager to be a ‘big girl’.

So now our house is strewn with panties.  She likes changing her clothes as many times a day as she can get away with, so why shouldn’t she do the same with panties?  Feeling in a different mood?  Try a new pair of panties!

She trots off to the potty every half hour or so “by myself“.  I’m none too eager to accompany her to the potty that many times a day, so I let her go happily on her way.  But I think I need to at least peek my head in for a few days and see how often she really is going.  Lia pees three times a day – morning, noon, and night, like clockwork.  With an occasional extra trip.  Is Amelie a more frequent pee-er?  This is something I need to know before taking her out in public without a diaper. Running off to a public toilet is no small feat when dragging three small people with you as you make a wild dash for a (usually far off and/or occupied) bathroom.

And already, only a week or so into it, she doesn’t even come ask for her celebratory tictac after a successful potty venture. I don’t think she’s had an accident since maybe the first day.  So there are benefits to potty training a little later.

We haven’t yet managed the poo-poo, though.  She asks for a diaper.  I’ve promised her TWO tictacs for when she goes in the potty, but she hasn’t taken me up on the offer yet.  I’m thinking of uping the ante.  I’m ready to be done with diapers and done with pooping in public places.  Haha.

Our house was also strewn with toilet paper until I moved it up out of reach.  So today they swiped it off the counter and tp’d the back yard.  But they very kindly picked it up with no help from me when I asked them to.

We put an offer on a home a few weeks ago.  We were the 33rd offer out of 80-something. We didn’t get it.

Which was good, because we didn’t really want it.

And we put an offer just yesterday on one we like a whole lot more.  Much more character.  But it has a pool.  <thumb down>  And beautiful, original wood floors.  <thumb up>  But we’re not holding our breath on that one either.

The only house I’ve held my breath on, I finally passed out from holding it so long.  And we still haven’t heard back for all of that.

It’s my house.  My dream house.  I’ve only been in it once, but I remember it like it was…my own house.

Oh, it’s soooo beautiful.  The kitchen, dining room, and family room all open up into one another.  (One of my top-of-the-list requests…next to sunshine and four bedrooms).  And it’s on an empty half acre lot.  Just half a mile down the road from our current house.  Out of the suburbs, into the country in half a mile.

When I was in high school (okay, and probably college, too), I day dreamed about boys.  When I was engaged, I daydreamed about marriage and homemaking.  When I was married I daydreamed about babies.  When I had babies, I daydreamed about sleep.  Haha.  No, now I day dream about houses.  This house in particular.

I have the landscaping all planned out.  Badminton/soccer field on the right of the house.  Garden on the left…raised beds or in ground still to be decided.  Parallel lines of fruit trees all along the front fence.  Grape arbor over back patio.  Bougainvillea spilling over future stone wall.  Lavender and white roses under windows.  Herbs next to patio.  And eventually a grove of trees in the front yard.  Shade trees with grass underneath.

Room for the chickens.  Room for the goats.  Room for the children.

And inside, oh, inside.  Soaks in the jacuzzi tub in the master suite.  Me cooking gloriously while keeping an eye on everyone at the same time.  Ping pong in the three car – completely drywalled and carpeted – garage.  Large office for Devo.  Front formal living room for guests and music.

Ahhhhhh.

When there are no other adults in the car, I drive by the house and pull over and gaze at it longingly.  Unfortunately, Lia is old enough to wonder why on earth we are here AGAIN.  But she’s a good sport and allows me 15.3 seconds of wishfulness before politely requesting that we return to the day’s planned activities. Devo wonders about that little commandment about not coveting thy neighbor’s house.I’ve been drooling over it for probably six months.  It pops on and off the market (currently off, after two days of being on early last month).  If someone would just buy the house, then I could let it go and move on.  I think.

So you might have already guessed that I’m a huge fan of gardens, especially kitchen gardens.  I’m always peering at plantings and seeing what there is to see.   And you may have guessed that buying locally grown food is my newest revolutionary soap box and lifestyle change (even had a long conversation with the grocer at vons this week about signage on fresh foods).

So I’ve been excited about the White House kitchen garden Michelle Obama has started.  Not only does this video deal with gardens and food, it deals with parenting!  Found it on Kitchen Gardeners International, one of my perennial bookmarks.