You should see our laundry pile.

Well, I seem to have taken a turn for the totally boring and uneventful. “You were already there!” I can hear the peanut gallery muttering. Whatever. Boringer. Uneventfuler.

I am the kind of person who lives and breathes routine. The chaos of my brain makes my little routines necessary. In a new home, with everything different, everything is off kilter. Changing routines are the bane of my existence. Or, at least, the bane of my ability to function as an efficient housekeeper, wife, and mother.

We think we have found a church. This is a huge relief. I was expecting to have to church-hop for weeks before we found a place we liked. Nope. First (and closest) church we tried. I’m strangely at ease with these people. I’m never at ease with new people. I don’t know what happened. I’m not going to question it. We’ll just hope it’s not something in the Kool-Aid, right?

Emmy is walking like a pro these days. That’s another reason I haven’t written much: walking, teething, a streak of independence a mile wide. She will no longer take a bottle. She has gone from 4-5 bottles a day (plus solid foods) to a few small cups of formula a day, which she will only drink while stumbling through the living room like an intoxicated baby monkey. She’s suddenly picky about food, too, probably a result of the most horrific teething episode I have ever witnessed in my short life as a mother. Four molars, no sleep, and high fevers for three (four?) days straight. I wanted to strangle myself.

This set of molars is also when Grace stopped eating.

The advantage of both children living on air, water, and bread is that our cost of living just plummeted.

And now? We are sick (just a cold, but I like to be as whiny about it as possible). It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?

Another also: My grandma died. This is not as terribly sad for me as other grandparents’ deaths have been. Not because I don’t love her (I do, very much), but because I have almost no memories of her. Recent memories after she came to live with my parents a few months ago, yes. We had semi-regular phone conversations (less than a better granddaughter would have had, to my shame), and she and I wrote a lot of letters back and forth when I was little. So I knew her. But my knowledge of her has always been long distance. We visited a few times when I was tiny. The only thing I remember was nearly drowning in our friends’ pool. A couple Christmases and weddings since then.

She was one of the funniest ladies I’ve ever known. Her wit was still razor sharp until just a few months ago. I remember a few years ago, she wrote me a letter recounting a terrible fall she’d taken recently. I knew she was badly hurt, but the way she wrote about it, I still laughed so hard I almost choked.

She used to knit us sweaters. I remember hating a few of them, but I’m pretty sure if I had them now, they would look gorgeous to me. I was a snotty little kid.

I’m glad I got to see a bit of her before we moved away. It wasn’t much, but at least she got to meet the girls.

I’ll see her again someday, and then she’ll be able to remember my name and which grandchild I am.

I’m going back to Wisconsin in a couple of weeks for the memorial service. I will be leaving the kids with Jeremy for nearly a week. I don’t know if I want to jump for joy or cry at the prospect of being away from the babies for that long. For now I’ll just look forward to it. I’m sure I’ll be busy enough I won’t have much time to miss them. And then when I get back, I will smother them with so much love they’ll wish I’d go away again.

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