Creating costumes and making memories

I was asked to write this post as a guest contributor for the Diocese of Arlington's blog Encourage and Teach. I'm sharing it here as well, since I don't come here too often anymore!

I love making costumes. I like sorting out who my kids want to be... the creativity of sewing, gluing, painting, taping... seeing my children's faces light up when they put on the finished product.

What I don't love is the process of finding the time to make them and getting myself sufficiently motivated to do so. Take this year, for example. Time is running out and not one costume has been completed. It's as if I didn't know the dates of Halloween and All Saints Day all year long. 

Despite the stress it brings, I do it not only because I love it once I eventually get started, but also because of my own wonderful childhood memories. My parents made costumes for my sisters and me when we were kids. My mom was great at finding pieces at the local Salvation Army, while my dad created from cardboard, foil, or paper mache.

I loved those costumes and the memories we made with them. And while my kids would be just as happy with ones bought at the store (which would also probably cost less!), I feel some kind of duty to carry that torch.

 

They're not perfect by any stretch. I don't follow patterns, I sometimes glue when something should be sewn, and I try to use what we have around the house. And that can be part of the fun. Especially when making costumes for All Saints Day.

Have an old brown t-shirt? You're half-way to being St. Teresa of Avila. A dress-up doctor's coat and stethoscope? Have your child hold a baby doll and you have your very own St. Gianna. Have some cardboard you can put to use? Cut out some armor and there's a whole slew of saints you can choose from.

We've gone with my children's patron saints in the past. My oldest, Clara, was first St. Clare of Assisi when she was three, and she still uses it for her feast day.

The costume might get a bit shorter (I know, nuns don't usually show their knees!), but in many cases you should be able to get a few years out of them. Especially if your chosen saint wears a flowing robe.

I copied a prayer card image of St. Maximilian Kolbe when putting together my son Luke Kolbe's costume, which is made almost entirely of Goodwill finds. And those blue stripes on his shirt? Painter's tape.

My little St. Therese - otherwise known as Esther - wore an old tank top of mine, along with various pieces of white and black fabric I had in my stash. I did make her a cross and roses out of felt, but you could also use silk roses and a real crucifix.

One of these years I'll get my act together and not wait until the last minute. Or I'll encourage my kids to dress up as saints for Halloween. Or find a costume that can transition from secular to saint overnight.

But sometimes they have their hearts set on being Thomas the Train and a ladybug, and you make it happen. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be so appreciative they'll share some of their candy with you.

Sharing my family and our joy

My life is kind of an open book. From back in the days when I would post our very emotional struggles to conceive on my infertility blog, to today as I share daily photos of our intimate family life on my Facebook photography page, I have always been pretty public.

We could have gone in the opposite direction. My husband is a television news correspondent and sometimes people in the public eye go out of their way to shield their families from exposure. I know some who do, and I get it. Sometimes I even question whether we should be doing the same.

But then I'm reminded of why we do it. We have a story to tell. Ours isn't unique, or special, or different than many other families. We're just a family, living our lives and struggling just like everyone else. But while the struggles are often the same, families are unique and special. All of them. And sometimes the world needs to be reminded of that. Sometimes our fellow families need to be reminded of that.

Pope Francis calls us to do as much. Just last week the Pontiff said that the unique joy that God gives to families and couples, in moments of joy and suffering, “must be witnessed to, announced and communicated externally, so that others, in turn, take the same path." And in an address to the Philippines earlier this year, he said, "Do not hide your faith, do not hide Jesus, but carry him into the world and offer the witness of your family life!"

My first thought upon hearing his words are, Me? I'm no witness! I can barely keep it together most days! Have you seen my house? But the truth is we can all be a witness and there are so many ways we can accomplish that. Right now, my attempt comes in the form of my 365 Project, where I share a photograph of my family's daily life each day with followers of my public photography page.

I definitely didn't set out to promote family; I'm doing it to hone my photography skills. And, naturally, my subjects are going to be those who are around me the most. But I include the good (daddy's home from a work trip!), the bad (the daily messes, or those adorable pouty faces we all see so often), and sometimes the suffering (we've gone through three miscarriages, two of them just since starting this project in January).

The feedback I've received has been very positive and commenters often remark about how they just love seeing our family. And when I post about adoption, it gets people especially excited. I love that. It's an added bonus.

No, we're not perfect. But when looking back at the 250-plus days so far, there is beauty in the mess. And I hope our joy comes through.

Honestly, it would be hard for me not to share our joy. God has blessed us with two beautiful daughters through adoption, and a son conceived after many, many years of trying. I am so in awe each and every day of God's work that I want to shout it from the mountaintops.

It's like the words that hang in the middle of a yellow paper sun on our home school room wall - "Let your light shine." The verses read, "Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father" (Matthew 5:15-16). I'm not so sure about the good deed's part (I need to work on that!), but I think of our light as God's abundant blessings. He has given us so much brightness, and I feel like I have to let it shine, to tell our story, so that it may glorify God.

After all, I'm a photographer. I love light. How could I keep that hidden?

Another baby, another loss

I had another miscarriage in January. I got the news, via ultrasound, one year to the day after hearing the same news at an ultrasound last year. Two miscarriages, one year apart. Imagine that luck. I'll never again make an appointment for the seventh of January.

No two miscarriages are exactly alike, but these weren't terribly different. And, once again, I felt God's presence very closely throughout. Our Lady of Guadalupe was also instrumental in this pregnancy, just as she was last year. This time I got the positive test on her feast day.

We were also again blessed by the help of loved ones. We were lifted in prayer by friends and family around the country. And despite living in a new town where we know practically no one, we were still brought several meals. One generous friend came by to help with the kids and cook us dinner. And another out-of-town friend sent pizza delivery long distance and arranged for her family members who live nearby to bring us food. I was blown away by the kindness, and on a practical level it was just plain helpful. And, by the way, if anyone reading this knows someone who is miscarrying now or in the future, send them food. Just do it. Even if they throw it away, they will know they are loved.

Today was the burial service. We traveled back to Richmond for it, and Francis Mary was laid to rest just a few plots down from his (or her) sibling. What a beautiful ministry the Knights of Columbus offer. I wish all families had such an opportunity for burial - a ceremony to help with grief, the acknowledgment that your child was real and matters, a place to come visit.

Obviously, I am so blessed. These two kids (plus their little sister who stayed with a sitter during the service) bring so much joy and busyness to my life, and I'm sure that makes my broken heart heal a little faster. But looking into the eyes of my living children also serves to remind me of what these two babies would have been, had they just lived longer.

No one will ever replace their siblings who aren't with us. Theirs is a void that will always be present.

So we go on (with me, in the short-term, dreading the due date of course) and we remember. I hate miscarriage, but I love my babies. And I'm thankful they were here at all.

After the Diagnosis

My younger sister Amy needs some help, and she asked me if she could use my blog to reach out for it. Of course, it was the least I could do. I will let her tell her story, but I will say that I love her and her family very much. They are incredible people who are incredibly special to us. Regular blog readers may have seen her pop up in posts from time to time over the years, most recently when she and her husband Joe traveled nine hours to take care of me and my family when I was miscarrying. They are awesome people. The kind of people who deserve to receive as much help as they have given to me and to others. 

Not only does Amy share her story below, but Joe does as well. Read them both, and then please - if you have any prayers, advice, or support you can share, do so in the comments. 

Amy
I’ve sat down to journal about what is been going on with us about 5 or 6 times in the last two weeks. Every time I write, a different story is told. Whether I am in the throes of worry and pain, or having intense moments of gratitude for the bountiful blessings that we have been given…a very different picture is painted of what we have been experiencing.

This morning I am feeling intense gratitude for a number of blessings in my life, big and small. I’m grateful for my dream house that I am sitting in and for the mug of pumpkin coffee I am drinking as I write this. I am thankful for my sweet daughter that I hear singing in her bedroom as she waits patiently for us to tell her it is time to get up. I am grateful for the happy sounds I hear coming from my son’s crib. I am grateful that my husband, Joe, happens to be the strongest man I know, who takes such better care of our family that I ever could have dreamed. Over the last 2 weeks, our lives have completely changed in so many unthinkable ways…and it is safe to say, we were not prepared for any of them. Well, I suppose we have always been preparing for this…we just didn’t know it at the time.

Almost two weeks ago, my 21 month old son Joey was diagnosed with autism. Although the days and nights spent crying almost nonstop have been replaced by shorter bouts of occasional tears, my eyes still well up every single time I speak or write those words.

God sure does work in mysterious ways. I mean, when I applied to Syracuse University 17 years ago, I knew I wanted to be an elementary school teacher. I was immediately enrolled in the Elementary and Special Education Program. "But I don’t want to be a special education teacher," I said. "That’s not how it works here," I was told. "You will get dual-certification because we prepare our teachers to work with all types of students."

Despite the fact that my program at SU completely changed my life and the way I would forever view education, I still had no idea what I was being prepared for.

When I was 27 years old, I met my husband. I was basically single my entire life until we crossed paths. I am now completely certain why my life played out the way it did. God did not want anyone else getting in the way. This man was undoubtedly meant to be by my side during this lifetime…I’ve always known this, but after the last two weeks, there is absolutely no question in my mind.

Early on in our relationship, we spent four of our happiest years together in California, experiencing so many new things and learning to depend on each other being totally on our own. But after we had our daughter four years ago, we started to have this nagging feeling like we needed to move back to New York…we knew it was time to be closer to our families again. Only now is it completely clear how important that move really was.

As I am sure you can probably guess, shock, deep sadness, fear, and worry don’t even begin to describe the range of emotions we felt as we’ve dealt with this diagnosis. I feel like I have so much to say and I don't know where to start and I feel like I don't have the time to get it all out. But so far, the only thing that has gotten us through this has been the unimaginable support of those around us and being able to talk about it.

So I also have felt completely compelled to write about it publicly, for a number of reasons.

1) My sister Karey’s blog is followed by many faith-filled and prayerful people and I am looking for as many prayers as possible in this moment. Prayers for Joey and his continued development during this critical early intervention time. Prayers for Joe and me to be filled with the grace of God and to have strength to continue moving forward finding the best services, therapists, programs, etc. for our son and being the best advocates that we can possibly be. Prayers for Caleigh…that she can find her own balance of understanding and loving her brother, and sticking up for him and wanting to care for him and protect him…while always knowing that we support her living her own life and pursuing her own dreams and not feeling held back…that she does not become the forgotten child who resents her brother due to how much of our time he inevitably will consume. Prayers that we can find just the right balance as parents that both of our children grow up feeling loved and supported and most of all, happy. 

So thank you in advance for all the prayers!

2) For the same reason, I know Karey has hundreds (maybe thousands?) of followers around the world, and I am fairly certain that some of them will probably have amazing resources, contacts, articles, books, or stories of their strength, experiences, and hope for me as we pursue options for Joey. We are open to anything at this point. The more public with our experience that we go, the more resources we can learn about, then the better it will be for Joey.

3) I also am finding it incredibly difficult to break this news to people, one on one. I have started to move to a place of acceptance and no longer cry nonstop. Yet each time I tell someone for the first time, I break down, especially when they naturally become emotional about it. Even envisioning myself telling the story to different people makes me cry…every. single. time. It took me almost a week to talk to my own family about it. I still haven’t told many of my best friends. But I am finding that, once it is out in the open, I am okay. I am able to talk about this rationally and logically, and without tears, for the most part. 

4) And probably the biggest reason I am writing about this publicly - we need support. Plain and simple. I think I need people to know about this situation we are going through because we can’t go through it alone. I am terrified that people are going to start hearing this news and will privately share it with one another and will talk about it without me there. I won’t know who knows about it, but inevitably people will find out. They might think they shouldn’t know or shouldn’t talk to me about it. Or they might not know what to say. But I am here stating that I WANT you to ask about my son. I WANT you to ask how we are doing. I don’t want this to be some secret, private thing that people are afraid to talk to me about. I’m going to need to talk about it in order to make sense of it all…so I’m here to tell you, PLEASE ASK.

It’s amazing how your life and its trajectory can completely change in one single minute, and at the same time, be exactly the same as it was just before. It is such a paradox. My son is the same child. Nothing happened to him as Joe and I sat around a giant conference table at the Yale University Child Study Center, hearing life-changing news. When we came out of that room, there he sat, eating goldfish and looking up at us with a bright smile, deliriously happy to see us. Our sweet boy, with the same strengths and weaknesses that he’d always had…yet somehow that meeting changed everything.

Well, I should say, it was only OUR lives that have changed dramatically in the last two weeks.
We know more about autism than we ever thought possible, since we have spent every waking second researching on the internet, reading books, and visiting local schools.

I now understand and believe in the power of intensive early intervention therapies and that we need to do absolutely anything to get the best for our son, whether that means me leaving my job to be home more, moving somewhere where those resources are available, or becoming certified in some of these intensive therapies myself.

We truly realize the power of family and friends. It has been hard to talk about what we’ve been going through, but to those we have been able to reach out to for support, we have been blown away by the love and understanding we have been shown.

The fear when thinking about the future is indescribable…so we have forbidden ourselves from focusing on that for now, as much as we can avoid it anyway. One day at a time.

I doubt my strength and resolve to do this, every single day. We are on a roller coaster that is exhausting...and I am not sure how long I can endure the ride. And it just started. To say I feel overwhelmed does not cover it. But everyone keeps saying to just keep putting one foot in front of the other and just do it…so I guess I will for Joey.

We go back and forth between acceptance and denial daily, though each day we move closer to that place of acceptance. Some may think that researching different treatments might be a sign that I am in denial… And honestly, I am okay with that for now. My denial is not preventing me from doing what is best for my son. If my denial made me continue my life as it has always been, then I would say it would be harmful. But I am not acting like he is a typical child... We are doing everything we possibly can for him, as recommended by the specialists at the Yale child study center where he received the diagnosis.

As a special education teacher, I’ve always been an advocate for students with special needs and ensuring that they get the best education possible. It’s always been incredibly important to me as a teacher that all children learn to treat one another with kindness and respect. But that has been brought to a whole new level now. It is so much more personal. 

Our long-term goals, in a single instant, have been altered. I was a few months away from getting my certificate to be a school administrator. Those plans are now indefinitely put on hold, as that career path is no longer in line with what is best for my family. Just a couple of days before we left for Yale, I was planning my internship for the spring semester. How quickly things can change. 

I have an intense appreciation and gratitude that my children are safe, healthy and happy. While this diagnosis is unquestionably life-altering, it is not life-ending. There are many other diagnoses that parents get every day for their children that are a million times more challenging than autism…and the gravity of that is not lost on me.

Ways that my Joey is still exactly the same boy: He loves to giggle and snuggle and play with his sister more than anything else in the world. He loves jumping in his crib and playing peek-a-boo. He is a great eater and a great sleeper. He absolutely loves Poppa, my 90-year-old grandfather. He loves to snuggle on him and always has his eye on him. And the feeling is mutual. He loves to pet and chase Frankie Moons. He still can’t talk yet (though this week, with new strategies from the specialists at Yale, we FINALLY got him to be able to consistently sign the word “more” independently!!!). He is loved unconditionally by his grandparents and all of his aunts and uncles and cousins…and basically everyone who knows him. He has the best smile and laugh you could ever imagine. Everyone constantly comments on how sweet he is. You can truly see it in his eyes, even though he has never uttered one word.

One of my biggest struggles in life and with my faith has been acceptance. I grapple with it - accepting God's will for me and accepting those around me. Saying the serenity prayer is an integral part of my every day routine. However when I think about the serenity prayer – "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference," there is a section about having the courage to change the things I can. Why not do absolutely everything I can for my son during this time when his brain is able to develop the most? 

 I ACCEPT that my son has a severe disability that will most likely impact the rest of his life.
 I have the COURAGE, or at least I'm struggling to find the courage, necessary to research the best therapies and to develop more of my time working one-on-one directly with him to increase his engagement and social interaction in order for him to learn how to imitate better. All major research shows that it makes a difference.

As time goes on, I will develop the WISDOM to know what therapies are best…and also the insight about what parts of my son are just going to be who he is. 

I just don't want to have too much acceptance, where I let a label define that.

I don't want a label to let us to make excuses for my son…that he is able to do something or is not able to do something, because he has autism. I don't want acceptance to let us rest on our laurels too much. What if it was a misdiagnosis and we just said, oh well that is because he has autism, so we can't expect him to be able to do that. Think of how much time will be lost where progress could have been made.

Don't mistake this for false hope. I love my son for who he is and what he is able to do today. I will let him show me the way. I will get to know him even more closely over the next two years than I have over his first 21 months. I will spend less time on my phone and less time working. I will spend more time at home and more time interacting. That can't be a bad thing. So in some ways, I am thankful for this diagnosis. It is going to make me be a better mother to my son. 

Everyone who has been through this tells us that having a child with autism is, in fact, much like a rollercoaster. The highs are going to be higher and the lows are going to be much lower…and no part of this will be easy. But we’re choosing to focus on the fact that nothing has changed. My son is still the same sweet boy he always was…and God has done all he can to prepare us for this journey, together.

*********

Joe
Being told that your son has autism, by someone who isn’t invested in your life, is a difficult moment to describe.  Here is this professional at Yale, one of the top Autism research facilities in the nation, telling you your son has Autism, as just a matter of fact.  For you, you feel like your life just changed.  The expectations that you had of your son going to a regular preschool like his sister, high school, college, marriage, kids, grand-kids...your son learning to be a man who protects and cares for his family the way that you were taught by your father and your grandfather….they disappear in that second.  They are replaced by fear, sadness, and a variety of emotions that the written word can’t even describe.  Those emotions are then replaced by doubt and disbelief.  OK, I heard you, professional at Yale, but I don’t believe you.  Do you see my son?  Do you see this sweet boy who runs to me with outstretched arms? Do you not see his eyes?  How he looks into your soul, with this sweet caring understanding of you.  Do you hold him tight in your arms, when he is scared?  Do you comfort him when he is sick?  NO!  You don’t do any of that, so I know him. You don’t.

When we left Yale, the three-and-a-half-hour drive home could only be compared to how I imagine it feels to be locked in a box and wanting to scream for help. Here we were, three-and-a-half hours away from anyone who cared, driving through traffic, taking wrong turns because Amy and I were too busy fighting away tears than paying attention to signs or traffic.  What do we do now? My first reaction was shock, then it turned to hope.  We’re working with Yale. Yale shows an interest in my son’s development. Can we ask for more?  The drive home was filled with every emotion possible.  Our minds raced in a million different directions. But our main goal was to get home, hug our daughter and hold our family tight in our arms.  

That night when we put the kids to bed, I kept reassuring myself that “nothing changed.”  Joey is the exact same boy now, as he was a few hours ago. Autism? What is that anyway? So he will have some delays, no big deal. Amy is an amazing teacher, surely she can cure this, right?  I mean…everything has a cure, doesn’t it? I am the type of person who thinks that way, in every single avenue of life.  I feel there is nothing that I can’t handle. 

So the research began. I think I read more articles on autism that first night than I can even count. A common theme I was reading was that Autism can be reversible if caught at an early age. YES!!!!! That’s what I needed to hear.  I can do anything in life. I don’t fail, I refuse to. Autism, looks like you messed with the wrong family. I know Amy won’t give up…she’ll fight you, and I’ll take you on. Looks like you met your match. 

I had so much hope going to bed, it was really nice. I was still emotional, but in a “the hell with this, let’s go! You want some of this Autism, you just got it!”
 
That night, I went to sleep around 11:30. I woke up at 2:30 a.m. and couldn’t stop crying.  I mean, literally, couldn’t stop myself. I laid in bed for an hour, sobbing, uncontrollably. Finally, around 3:30, I went out to our kitchen, sat on our bench and stared out the window.  Cried some more, then some more.  I couldn’t stop the thoughts that were haunting me. When Amy and I first started talking about having children, I remember my goals as a father for myself.  Make sure you raise him to be strong, independent, caring, hard-working.  Make sure he values his family…being faithful to his wife and above all…protecting everyone he loves. 

In a few seconds at Yale, those goals were replaced with fear, a very real fear in my head.  Will my son die alone? Will I lay on my death bed someday and look into his eyes and know that when Amy and I are gone, and our parents have long since passed, our sisters gone...what is to become of my only son?  I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Will he be in an assisted living home, by himself...alone? Alone forever?  

 I know, as I type this, that those thoughts could not even be close to what Joey experiences in his life.  It is a fact, that if caught at this age, a lot of therapy can really improve his ability to learn and adapt.  I also know that the following Monday morning I was on the phone with every professional I could find, every single person who knows about autism was contacted and a plan is being put together to best help Joey. I know I won’t let this affect me for much longer. Amy and I are going to fight for what is best for our son…it’s what we do, we don’t give up.  We will fight for Joey harder than we have ever fought for anything in our lives. He will become the best Joey possible and God has a plan for us all, we know this and soon I will embrace it and be the champion he needs me to be.

My family is a gift from God. Starting with my wife. She is the most caring, compassionate person I know. I am so blessed to have her, through this journey and every other we have been on and will go on in the future. My daughter – she is amazing.  Funny, smart, beautiful, as caring and compassionate as her mother, but as cocky and know-it-all as her father. My son is the best. He laughs deep belly laughs that would make even the most hardened and sad on this earth smile.

Hope is an interesting word. By definition it means “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.” I find this interesting because I really don’t have a desire for a certain thing to happen.  I have a desire for us to get all the help that is needed for our son to progress as far as he possibly can. I have a desire for him to continue to smile and laugh as much as he does. I have a desire for my daughter to accomplish everything in life that she is meant to accomplish and for her to always make me laugh and smile. I have a desire for our family to continue to learn from all of this and be better from it. So, when I read the definition of hope, I have no certain thing that I want to happen, but a list of things that perhaps could happen. Really, I have learned, it is all in God’s hands.  If we find all the tools necessary for Joey to succeed, then perhaps he will, but also, perhaps he won’t as we once imagined. But it’s all going to be great. This is a journey that we are on. This trip isn’t drastically different from the journey we were on before, but now it is more focused. There are more gas stations and pit stops, maybe a detour here and there, but we will put a map together, follow it and re-route when needed.

The strange thing about this trip is that our map doesn’t have a final destination.  We know that wherever we end up, is the place where God wanted us to be. Along the way, we stop for food, play games, read, laugh, and love each other. When we get to where God wants us to go, we look back and smile at what an amazing trip it was. Filled with laughter, learning, love and just a great fun trip we all took together. The car is not just filled with the four of us, but all of you as well. It is filled with friends, family, professionals and everyone we love in this world. We are so blessed to be surrounded by so much love in our community, so many friends and family. We want everyone to come along for this ride…and enjoy it as much as we will.

DIY Costumes

I love this time of year. It's not Halloween itself, or all things scary, or even pumpkin lattes.

It's costume-making.

Oh, how I love it. I like everything about it. I like asking the kids what they want to be, which is always followed by disappointment when it's not what I envisioned, which quickly turns into my acceptance of the challenge (this year it was two ninja turtles and one Cinderella).

I like plotting out my plan for the craft store; just thinking about going gets me excited. Then I get to actually visit the craft store... this year - all by myself! I didn't even mind that I lost cell service and all access to lists and images of their characters. I was still on a high. Oh my goodness, walking around JoAnn's, shopping for costume fabric and various sundries is my happy place.

I love tackling the costumes - with no real plan to speak of. I don't use patterns; I make it up as I go. This is apparently how my mind works best. I thrive on figuring it out, which isn't always pretty.

I love finishing and presenting the costume to the child (or, this year, trying it on them every two minutes while they whined about the pins sticking out of it - kids these days!).

And, perhaps my favorite part? Seeing them wear them year 'round. At least when it's a costume I haven't deemed worthy of preserving in the attic and then end up throwing out when we move.

Now what you may not understand, is how perplexing all of this is. I am not someone who has ten craft projects going at all times. I don't need to be busy. Some days, I am so fatigued that it takes all my effort just to make everyone three meals.

But thanks to the magic of Autumn, I come alive in October. And if I'm lucky, it carries through to December and I bang out three birthdays that delight my kids.

Then I'm done. Until next October.

This year, Clara wanted to be Cinderella. Not Elsa or Anna, like every other four-year-old in America. She's a Cinderella girl. In the name of creativity, I tried very hard to convince her to be Cinderella "before the ball." Original, adorable, easy to throw together with some beige and brown fabric.

My sweet girl eventually even agreed to it, but I knew her heart wasn't in it. So I let her have her first choice, and tackled a ball gown.

I ordered the gloves, headband, choker (totally could have made that, but it was part of a package deal with the headband), and the pettiskirt she's wearing underneath. But the dress is all me. Who do I think I am making a dress? Well, clearly someone who doesn't know fabric very well. Because the darker blue material on her chest stains when it comes in contact with anything, even water. PERFECT fabric for a child.

Also, if you see her in person and look closely, you'll see green sharpie lines on her skirt from where I thought I was going to cut. Classy.

Aaaaand I left not one - but TWO - threaded needles attached to the dress for a while. I swear I just could NOT figure out where I put them!

And then I have my ninja turtles.

Luke was always going to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. And the costume was pretty easy to make (notice Essie's signature backwards jammies).

I even had a helper. Luke had some very specific plans for how he wanted his costume to look (he definitely takes after his mother). The "R" on the belt was his demand idea.

If it were up to Luke, our entire family would be dressing up as all the turtles and their instructor guy. That was not to be, but he did get a Leonardo to go along with his Raphael.

As soon as Luke settled on a ninja turtle, I knew Essie would be the same. The only way my wild child would agree to dress up in something would be if it was the same as her brother.

The hand she's holding here, at the neighborhood Halloween parade last Saturday? Not her father. No, this would be a complete stranger. Don't worry, we were close by, although she sure didn't care.

They'll put them on again tomorrow, of course, for the big day (although I'm kicking myself for telling them that last weekend wasn't, actually, Halloween). Our plan is to visit the embassies, many of which are right out our doorstep, and who apparently open their doors to trick-or-treaters.

Hopefully these three don't cause an international incident.

Adventures in the city

I had big plans to document our little two-month adventure living in a high-rise apartment in the city, and then I remembered I am a combination of busy and lazy and that never ends well. But I have taken pictures with every intention of sharing them here, and we do have a little over a month left until we head out to the burbs, so there's still time. I'm going to get caught up tonight and then hopefully I can share quick little stories here and there in the days ahead.

Or I could post again sometime in 2015. It could honestly go either way.

I was also about to transfer about a gazillion iphone photos from my phone to my laptop to share with you all, and then I remembered that lazy thing. I also remembered they're already up on my instagram. No need to expend any extra time and energy doubling up on social media sharing. So check it out if you want to see our daily life in the District.

And that means you're stuck with the few images I've taken on my big camera. Like this one...

That's our hotel-like bedroom (but with our comforter). Seriously people, I could get used to this bedroom furniture thing. There's a dresser and two night stands!!! I feel so grown up here.

It is like a hotel. It is completely furnished, down to the towels and linens. Or are towels actually linens? I don't know, but you get the picture. There was toilet paper and dish soap and little shampoos and even tooth paste when we got here. There are plates and utensils and pots and pans. Although I did have to buy a whisk today. They aren't perfect.

The kids love it here. They enjoy looking in the windows of the building across the street (the "worker building," according to Luke) and run to the windows every time they hear a siren below. They get to ride in an elevator every day (who am I kidding... I never leave the house/apartment every day) and fight over who gets to the push the buttons. It's so cute.

Although they are slowly starting to become less than enthused about all the walking we do. For Ryan and me, the fact that everything is walkable is the best part. We're all about being city dwellers, walking to Mass, to dinner, to the Whole Foods (don't be fooled - it's our closest grocery store so we just make quick runs there while throwing our money away; and they have amazing apple fritters). But our double stroller only seats two and the odd man out (usually Clara, since she's my best walker), grows weary very quickly.

Like the day we walked to the White House.

It was hot, and five city blocks is longer than you think, for a kid. And they might have thought the park in front of Pennsylvania Avenue was going to have a playground. Which it did not.

But they were excited to see the much-talked-about president's home. Although Luke was perplexed as to why there needed to be two fences between us and it. I told him it was to keep the president safe, which he did not easily accept. What did he need to be kept safe from? Later on he and Clara together decided it was lions and tigers.

One place they're always up for walking to is the playground, which is just two blocks away.

That makes it sound like we go all the time. They, technically, are always up for a walk there, but due to a combination of my low energy and irrational fears of ebola, we've only been once. In my defense, though, watching three kids at a playground is hard. Right? You can't possibly see them all at all times and that means momentary freak-outs on my part. Not good for my adrenals.

We had some visitors last weekend, that we were all very excited about.

Clara took the move very hard. In fact, she was just sobbing once again tonight about leaving all her friends behind. So it was very cool that she got to spend an entire day with one of her best friends, who requested a visit to the city for his birthday. How cute is that? 

So, what else? Well, Ryan loves his new job. And I seriously cannot believe his hours. For the last seven years (and even more before that), he has worked afternoon until midnight. That's been our life, and I figured that would always be our life, with him working in TV news. But he now works days. Days, people! Bankers' hours! He also works some early mornings (like tomorrow, which is why I found time to blog since he's fast asleep next to me), and he'll be traveling a lot. Just as my good fortune at his amazing hours hasn't sunk in, neither has the realization that he'll be gone for days at a time. But we'll deal with that when it comes. And in the meantime, pray for no hurricanes.

Oh, and I can't leave out house-hunting, which takes up most of my time lately. This has got to be one of the worst places to look for a home in the world. Of course, the commutes are ridiculous here, and expensive doesn't even begin to describe it. But we're plugging along, going to see homes for rent, and praying that St. Joseph comes through.

Now I'm all caught up, and I will be back. I'm not sure if that's a promise or a threat. I'll leave that up to you.

I'm back, with some changes ahead

I decided to temporarily make my blog private last month and I thought absolutely no one would notice. I thought I'd simply change the setting, disappear for a few weeks, and pop back up with a new post, and no one would be any wiser. After all, I've only posted once since May. May! Not to mention that blogs have been pretty much dying a quick death thanks to the demise of Google Reader (which I never used myself, but have heard was pretty popular).

But, it turns out, I was wrong. Lo and behold, people do still actually read this little blog of mine. You emailed, texted and facebook messaged me, asking where it went and if you could read it. You made me feel so loved!

The truth is, no one had access to my blog while it was private except for me. And I didn't post anything (I don't post while it's public, so...). And now it's public again. And maybe I'll even post on a somewhat regular basis. I just hope I didn't lose all the readers I had left by getting rid of my blog for the past month.

So while I'm here, I guess I'll share some news. My husband has accepted a new job and we are moving in a couple weeks. It's an amazing opportunity. A huge answer to prayer. He'll be a national correspondent for one of the cable news channels. He'll be working for their feed service, which means you may see him pop up on one of your local channels reporting on national news. And you may see him on the actual network at times too. (As I re-read this, I sound all calm and collected. But imagine me doing a little jig and jumping up and down and that's more like how we feel about this dream situation, okay?)

We'll be living in corporate housing for a month or two, so I'll hopefully be posting about our adventures in the city. And then we'll be moving to the suburbs, which will be an adventure all its own. I'm excited and nervous and slightly overwhelmed. But mostly just thankful for this opportunity. And super proud of my hard-working husband, who is so good at what he does.

You know, being a dad. But he's pretty exceptional at the reporter thing too.