Garth

Chances are you probably don't like Garth Brooks as much as I do.  Or maybe you do.  But probably not.  When I thought about how this concert would be, I envisioned him walking onto the stage and me, like an 11 year old at a Justin Bieber concert, in a fit of total mania, grabbing my head with my hands, crying and screaming.  Thank goodness for everyone, that's not what happened.

The trip was a really quick ordeal.  The plane tickets turned out to be less than the concert tickets as long as we were willing to fly in one day and out the next.  That means we arrived in Vegas with just enough time to eat dinner, go to the concert, go to bed, and fly out the next morning.

Because I am a pessimist in many ways, I came up with a lot of things that could have gone wrong.  Our planes could have been delayed causing us to miss the concert.  We could have sat alone of every leg of our flights due to Southwests' cattle call seating. We could have left the tickets at home.  The hotel could have messed up our reservation.  We could have gotten lost on the way to the concert.  We could have gotten food poisoning (or more likely I could have fallen victim to my much too common "evening sickness" complete with an excruciating headache.) I could have brought my camera to the venue and been denied entrance because they're not allowed.

But like those few magical times in life,  the night was perfect. Completely hiccup free, right down to people willingly giving up their seats on the planes so we could sit together.  I started with a headache in the afternoon and my Tylenol was kind enough to nip it in the bud.  We ate a most delicious dinner at the Wynn's buffet.

And almost like it was just for me, the TV screen right next to our table kept flashing this reminder, just in case I forgot why we were there.

As you might guess, Las Vegas is not exactly our scene.  It has never been a place I've dreamed of visiting. One visit was enough. If we were into doing any thing that needed to "stay in Vegas" it'd probably be a different story.  But one thing it has to offer, that I like to take advantage of, is people watching.  Las Vegas is kind of like Walmart to me.  You go there, and because of the diverse population it draws, it's easy to look around and think, "Hey, I'm actually pretty normal."

The buffet was divine.  I ate thirds and left feeling more pregnant than I have in a few years.  Dan was a dream date, with a wink and a drink, he even went back to get me more food and let me eat off his plate.

After dinner we strolled around the casino and took some more grainy cell phone pictures, which are now becoming my specialty.

But soon I could wait no longer and we found our seats in the theater.

I think it held about a thousand people.  It felt very small and intimate for a concert and from our seats on the second row of the balcony we had a perfect view.

And then after a little wait, he came out. And I didn't cry or scream. There he stood with his acoustic guitar, next to a stool with two bottles of water on it. There was no set, there was no band.  And despite the lack of bells, whistles, drums, or cymbals, it was positively the best concert I've ever been to.  He proceeded to explain that during our time together he would show us "how Garth Brooks got his sound".  He told about his family and told stories about growing up.  And he played the songs of the musicians who inspired him.  Among many, there was Haggard and Jones, Bob Seger and Elton John, George Strait, and even a little Monkees and Simon and Garfunkel.  And I only loved him more, when he said that his hero was James Taylor.  He played a lot of James Taylor and I was in heaven.

The second half of the concert he performed his own music. Trisha Yearwood came out and sang a couple of her songs just for the cherry on top.

Instead of that burst of crazy girl emotion I anticipated, I found myself crying silently as he played certain songs.  When his voice, like melted butter poured out of his mouth and fell onto his fingers so expertly strumming and plucking his guitar.  I was surprised at his guitar skills- really, really phenomenal.

And at the risk of sounding like the giant cheeseball I am, I have to say that what I experienced at that concert was nothing short of a spiritual experience.  Of course, everybody is born with certain talents and gifts.  And some people's talents are ones that are easily set on a stage and visible by others.  And of those blessed with the ability to make music, there are degrees of mastery.

But what was witnessed, whether a country music fan or not, was like the intersection of mortal and immortal.  A human being expressed, in a completely unadulterated fashion, the mastery of a gift given to him by his Maker. He was born to make music and I was feeling really lucky to be close enough to hear it. There were just times when he sang and played from a different place.

 I told Dan this concert was one of the best presents I've ever gotten.  And I meant it. I lost any desire I'd had to see Garth Brooks perform at a stadium, with all the fans, the hype, the band, and a bunch of amplifiers.  Not that I'd turn him down if he got me tickets. But now that seems totally unnecessary.  This experience is one I definitely will not be leaving in Vegas.

Not Much to Report But I Will Anyway

I haven't felt like doing a lot of things lately, blogging included, and that's strange for me.  I haven't felt like unloading the dishwasher, or doing the laundry, or making dinner, or packing lunches, or cleaning the bathroom, or mopping the floor, or picking up toys, though that stuff's not really that strange. Sometimes I get a wild hair and start in on painting furniture or hanging picture frames, but Dan doesn't seem to find much satisfaction in returning from work to a disastrous house and no dinner, even though the inside of the armoire is now a happy yellow (and still minus a door and knobs in this picture).

I am 15 weeks now.  This time around there are many, many similarities, though overall I would have to say that this pregnancy has been slightly milder than at least two of the others. I can feel the sickness waning and I find myself on the couch every afternoon, under the control of some other entity, where I remain until I can force my eyes open again an hour later.

  I truly have no inclination as to the gender.  At first I openly wanted another girl to round things out.  But as the weeks passed, I kept picturing my new little baby boys, and realized that actually, I would give my left arm to have another one of those.  That realization combined with a convincing conversation with a friend, led me to convince Dan, that we won't find out the sex of the baby beforehand because whatever it is, it's exactly what I wanted!

 Technically, my regular pants still fit.  But they do not look good.  It was time to choose a direction--over or under, cause through the middle wasn't doing me any favors.  I bought a new pair of maternity jeans, and they were just what the doctor ordered. I am looking forward to having a baby pooch as opposed to displaced organs and fat pooch that I am sporting now.

And I don't know how to say this without sounding like a like a heartless person, and I promise I am not heartless, but I am so excited for this baby, more than I have been for any of the others.  Moments of giddiness come upon me each day and I can hardly contain my excitement.  I can't recall that ever happening before.  And surely it's not because I don't love my other kids because obviously I do. I decided to push out the guilt and just enjoy my own excitement.  I can't wait!

Without fail, as I've left the OB's office each time, I step in the elevator to go down to my car, I start to cry as I get overwhelmed thinking about the little body floating in there and the heartbeat I just heard.  There's really a baby in there!

But as I mentioned, it's not sunshine and butterflies all the time.  Our life is still running a little more roughly, and we've all lowered the bar.  But it's good.  Or it could be a lot worse.

And now, the crappy phone picture recap.  The past few weeks highlight reel:

With the big ones in school everyday, Max and I have been getting a lot of QT together.

I took the whole gang to Hobby Lobby, The Three Musketeers: Max, Buzz, and Harry

We've also had some time that was not so quality, for example the floured living room:

We've celebrated two birthdays:

And if you are wondering if layering ice cream sandwiches with whip cream, caramel, chopped up reese's cups and another layer of ice cream sandwiches, whip cream, caramel, and chopped up reese's cups tastes good, the answer is yes.

There 's been cowboy bonding over the ipad:

Max refuses to nap and consequently falls asleep at random times and places:

And after last weekend's garage sale, we are one step closer to parking Dan's car in the garage.  But it was Ava's cookies and rice crispy treats which brought in the most profit.

The Day Poo Flies (kind of gross)

Sweety pie Luke started school on Tuesday. He was not excited at all.  At least until he met his teacher and saw his new classroom the week before the first day.  He kept saying he didn't want to go and that he was "too shy" but after that visit, he changed his tune and said he was so excited.

Before I could get him to school on Tuesday morning I experienced a motherly first.  Like any good mom, I realized as the minutes flew by and we needed to be getting in the car, that I had another kid named Max who was still in his pajamas and a very ripe diaper.

We ran over to the corner of the living room where all the changing supplies are, he laid down, I changed his bum, set the diaper onto the wood floor where I would soon retrieve it, wrap it around itself and deposit it in the trash.  But first I had to rip off his jammies and replace them with clothes.  I did.  And I did it fast.  I am such a champ. Before we got up, I grabbed his pajamas from where they fell near the old, stinky, still open diaper. In my rush I must have grabbed just the edge of the diaper in such a way to send its contents into a perfect trajectory above my head.  As soon as my brain computed what it was seeing in the air, I was screaming like a girl, and I continued to do so long after the poo patty, roughly the size of a mushed grapefruit, landed on my thigh.

Max stood in front of me with eyes wide in an effort to assess what was happening. He looked from my face, to my screaming mouth, to my leg.  And finally said, "What is that?!"

I stopped screaming to tell him, "It's your poop! Poop does not belong on my leg.  Poop goes in the potty!"

I try to not to push the whole potty issue with him because he is not only not ambivalent, he is ANTI-potty.  He absolutely refuses any bribes, suggestions, encouragements.  He tells me he's "too busy" to use the potty.  He will not go near the toilet at all.  It's not an issue I want to make a battle, of course, because he's the only one who can control his bowels.

But I'll tell you, when I sat there with crap on my leg, I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

I finished my explanation and Max looked at me again and began one of the biggest belly laughs of his life, "That is sooo funnnyyyyy!! Hahahahaha!"  He laughed all the way to the car.

And then we took Luke to school.

Max wanted in on the picture action

I finally managed to snag one without him.

Luke especially wanted a Mario backpack this year.

I actually love how you can see the edge of Max's face looking up at Luke in this one.


Luke walked into his classroom before I could give him a hug and I fought the urge to chase after him and ask for one. I went to the parent orientation meeting with a lump in my throat and a heart filled with surprise at how sad I was.  I really didn't expect any of it. Another year of preschool seems pretty low key compared with starting kindergarten, I didn't mentally prepare myself at all.

He had a great day.  And has had another great day since then.  I expect a year full of great days.  I'm happy for him.  And I miss him when he's gone.