In Lub with Lubbock

1490 miles and $400+ dollars in gas later, we have arrived at our new home in Lubbock, Texas.

Thank you to everyone who fasted and prayed for, or otherwise thought good things about the QB on this trip. She was feeling as good as we could have asked (and we DID ask!) for the entire trip. She even felt good enough to dance along with the radio. (She's not feeling so great today, but that is another story. We are glad the traveling went as smoothly as it did)

Thanks to Grandma and Grandpa Franklin for flying to Ohio, helping us load up and clean up, For driving the Penske truck 1490 miles, for unpacking, and organizing and playing with grand kids and telling them so many Navy stories that all they talk about is Navy ships and Mr. Baseball tried to jump into the pool "Like a sailor" with his feet crossed and his arms around his neck, for running errands and making meals and just being there when we needed you.

Thanks to everyone who helped load the truck on Saturday. It only took about an hour and we had the apartment cleaned so early that we contemplated catching a movie to celebrate how smooth everything went. We didn't end up going to the movies, but the fact that we had the option was great.

Thanks to everyone who watched kids, brought meals, or otherwise helped us out while I was trying to finish up teaching, pack the house, and get our new life in order.

Lubbock is hot, frequented by colossal thunder storms, and very friendly. Everyone wants to talk to you, and they seem genuinely interested.

I took the monkey's Sunday shirt off today before feeding him some watermelon in his booster seat and while I was getting his bib and the watermelon in the kitchen he kept repeating over and over: "Bib on my nip--ples," "bib on my nip--ples." In fact, just about every time he takes his shirt off he informs us that he has "Nip-ples."

Mr. Baseball lost a tooth tonight. Or, rather, he yanked it out with a piece of dental floss. He discovered the tooth was loose last night and all day today he walked around with his finger in his mouth, wiggling the tooth. By bedtime he was so distracted by the wiggly tooth that he couldn't go to sleep. I told him his options were 1) pull it out, 2) have me pull it out, or 3) ignore it and go to bed. He chose to pull it out himself. So I tied a piece of dental floss around his tooth and he gave it a tug. The tooth came easier than I was expecting and when I cheered as it came out, he gave me a big smile and jumped into the air. He was asleep within ten minutes, disembodied tooth tucked safely under his pillow.

In the car, somewhere on I-70 on the way to Oklahoma, we were playing the "I'm thinking of something..." guessing game and I said, "I"m thinking of something squishy," and Mr. Baseball said, "Is it your meat?"

The Monkey has taken to hitting and kicking a lot lately. When I ask him why he does it, he usually answers something like, "Because brother/Daddy/Mommy is Stup-pid." Its really hard to be upset when he says "stup-pid" that way, but we're trying to ween him off the word without giving him too much attention for saying it. Yeah, right, that's going to work.

Lubbock has more Christian radio stations than the Vatican has stone pillars. Christian Rock, Christian talk, Christian preaching, Christian fundraising, Christian cooking, Christian financial advice, Christian parenting advice.

Lubbock does not have a dedicated NPR station. Morning Edition is over before I wake up. All Things Considered in the afternoon, sure, but the rest is classical music, Opera, and Irish folk singers. No Science Friday. No Talk of the Nation, period. No Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. No This American Life. I. AM. GOING. TO. BE. SICK. At least we have the Internet (or, at least we will have the Internet, on or about the 5th of August. Why does it take five days to process something like that? I don't understand. Oh well. I am grateful for the "Business Center" here at the complex).

I don't start any real school for a few weeks so we've got some time to adjust. Which is good, because the QB is still not out of the morning sickness cycle yet and the boys need a lot of attention.

I am a writer, by the way, or at least I am supposed to be. It's funny, this "write about real life," stuff that I do. Life has to be interesting if I want any new material, but sometimes when life is at its most interesting, that's when it is the most difficult to write. When I've spent all day unpacking boxes, making phone calls, running errands, wiping rear-ends, paying bills, making meals, dumping out pails of throw-up, mopping up spills of oatmeal, pulling out loose teeth, hanging pictures, and folding clothes, the energy to sit down and think critically about the world completely escapes me. All I want to do is throw in a movie and eat a half-carton of ice cream.

Is that healthy?

Writing is SUPPOSED to be cathartic. It's supposed to channel all my pent up energy into streams of earth-rattling prose--"language charged with meaning," and "spontaneous overflows of powerful emotion recollected in tranquility." Meaning for me, meaning for you, meaning for ALL MANKIND!

I'm supposed to NEED to write.

Right?

Well, right now, what I NEED is some sleep. The writing will come later. And so will some pictures of the boys and a video of all of us dancing in the car somewhere in Missouri.