Turn Turn Turn

The Byrds are in my head. Or Ecclesiastes, depending on your bent. My favorite "Season" song is by The Zombies, but that doesn't capture the trudging through, the holding on, the letting go. For obvious reasons, it lacks the Biblical gravitas and comfort.

R&R number two has come and gone, and though it seems to Husband that he's been there forever and seems to me that time has both gone ludicrous speed and crept to a trickle, we are only halfway through this tour. Or maybe: hooray! we are halfway through this tour.

I feel strange claiming "we" are halfway through anything. As I looked around my kitchen this morning, surveying all the dishes that weren't magically done overnight, I sighed, acknowledging in that breath that it's all on me again. It's all on me, in Denver, with the kids, in our house. With restaurants and grocery stores and family and a friend here or there. I can't complain. I even have a personal trainer. Egads, my life is horrible.

But Husband, in his tiny room, with his kids far away...but Husband.

We've done this before, but the raw and inescapable truth is that leaving your one year old for a year is quite difficult, but leaving your two- and five-year-old for a year is a horribly cruel thing to do to yourself or have done to you. We ask this of diplomats, soldiers, Marines, airmen, and sailors. We've asked this of Husband and I note with no small amount of guilt that we have not yet asked this of me. The sad truth--the pitiful truth--is I don't know if I could. It's sad because it's my job, yes, but it's even sadder because Husband's been asked twice. Girl still wants Mommy above all things and...I can't. I can't tear away. Husband can barely do so, and it is only because of his commitment to so many things and above all else to our family that he did.

It was an R&R marred by epic rainfall and a long and lingering stomach virus all around. It was a vacation into the ordinary, with school pickups and swim practice. As he was gathering his things and his wherewithal to return to Afghanistan, Husband admitted that no amount of sunshine, no surfeit of good health, not even a new motorcycle or a million margaritas would have changed what had to happen. He went back, as he must, and he will trudge on.

And we will be here, waiting.

UT: A Progress Report

This is not our first shot an unaccompanied tour. Last time Husband was in Iraq, Boy and I in India. That set-up had its own challenges, not least of which that was after, er, R&R number two, I was pregnant, working full time, parenting a toddler solo and, oh yeah, in India.

This UT is completely different, and more akin to those faced by most Foreign Service families. One spouse is employed in a warzone, the other is managing the rest of life divorced from OpenNet and any other resources that keep you connected to the Department. As an employee, I've watched my bidding season come and go, and unless someone can churn up a FS position at the closest passport agency (which I'd happily take), I'll likely watch the next come and go as well. We have no idea what resources Boy will need in school next year, so we are in no position to say whether we can go overseas again or whether we can both work full-time in Washington. There are a lot of question marks still, a theme of recent times.

So, three months in, with the first R&R halfway over, where are we? I am still on LWOP, Husband is still assigned to Afghanistan. His professional life is in flux, due to the crossroads of drawdown and tragedy, and therefore has some unanticipated stressors. I miss my work and colleagues. I miss seeing adults. I don't miss the panicked rush to find childcare or the always marriage-enhancing game of Who Is More Important  at Work Today? when the kids are suddenly sick. I don't miss the chaos of getting two kids to separate schools for their ten hour days, then taking separate cars to pick them up so we can get both of them in the narrow window between the end of the work day and the end of their school hours. I don't miss taking phone calls from Washington while trying to dress a screaming, exhausted toddler for bedtime. I don't miss the guilt when we explain that no, both of us can't be at a 6:00 a.m. event because someone has to feed our children, dress them, and get them to school.

On the flip side, at home I'm on all the time. No adult comes to rescue me (except for some awesome aunts*). No one takes duty calls. Boy wakes up by 5:30 (before 5:00 for the past week), and because Girl sleeps later and naps, she doesn't go down until 7:30 or even 8:00 some nights. I put in 14 hour days of full-on parenting more often than not, and follow them up with dishes and laundry. The extent of my adult interaction is some local family members (oh thank Jeebus*) and the great people at the gym. Coincidentally, I'm at the gym A LOT. Well, a lot for me. They have a daycare there and I lose weight. Everyone wins.

I've mastered ___________ to the extent it will ever be mastered. [Choices: Grocery shopping with two kids; Cleaning the house with two kids; Mowing the lawn with two kids; All of the above.]

I quickly learned that the only way to slow the inevitable losing of my mind was to insist that the children help with everything they can. Boy helps with laundry. Girl helps unload the dishwasher. Both dust. Boy cleans up his Legos every night. Girl helps put away toys in the playroom. Boy buckles himself into his carseat. They can both feed the pets. Boy lets the dog in and out. These are little things, but they make me feel like it is slightly less all on me.

I fill out paperwork and add Boy to waitlist after waitlist. Socialization groups, behavioral therapy, IEPs. We're waiting.

Denver was the right choice for us, and a blog post is evolving in my mind reviewing Denver for families. That said, this is the first time I've lived in America, but not in DC or New York, so my friends seem so close and far at the same time. Luckily I jet to my college reunion in a few days. Thanks to Husband for holding down the fort. I want to see my people.

Oh, and I pierced my nose. Sorry, Dad! It won't stay in forever, just for LWOP. Promise.

*When we made the decision not to go to Washington, we flirted with the idea of Portland or Austin. Thankfully flirting was all it was, because without the family that's here I would have been up a sad, frustrating creek. And all our stuff would still be in boxes.

Recuperation

Husband is en route for his first trip home.

THANK THE SWEET BABY JEEBUS.

Originally we were aiming for mid-June, three months after he arrived at post, but four after he left Colorado. The Timing Gods smiled on us in some ways, and it worked out that he could come home now. The theory was he could help me finish off the to-do list for the house (some things just go better with two people, like building a swing set and getting the master bedroom even slightly organized), but everybody involved just needs a break as well. He needs a break, I need a break, the kids need a break.

I had planned to surprise the kids with his arrival, but I envisioned their disappointment every time a trip to the grocery store or the zoo didn't end with a surprise appearance from Dad. That would be a long three months and while they lament their father's absence every day, without fail, I don't think I could bear the gnashing of their terrible teeth and rolling of their terrible eyes when he didn't show up in the dairy aisle. It would not only be heartbreaking, but it would also send me over the cliff of insanity. I am perilously perched on the edge these days. No need to push myself over. New plan: surprise them when he returns for good.

I've stocked up on good wine, ready to resume our late night mutual bitchfests. We preach to each other's choirs about politics, policy, and--I am certain about this--Benghazi and guns specifically. I've always been surrounded by other FSOs--colleagues, friends, and my spouse--but without them I have no safe place to pull my hair out about the former. That's about as much as I can safely type on a blog at this point, because it's not my lane and I'm not a total idiot career-wise (writes the woman sitting in pajamas in Denver on a workday--winning!). As far as guns, I'm sure our complaints will center around a) that Congress is not able to begin to pass a bill supported by 90% of Americans even with a majority of votes in the Senate because of the unholy intersection of the NRA and the filibuster and b) guns marketed to small children because what. the. hell.

It's just been me and Jon Stewart for 3 months. I need my husband back.

She's Here Too

Boy seems to be getting all the attention in this space, no? That could extend to other spaces as well, although Boy would probably point out that he gets all the negative attention. He wouldn't be wrong on our worst days. The Service gets almost no attention at all. I don't know what to say. I'm not used to thinking about the Department from the outside. Husband missed being in the wrong place and the very wrong time a month ago, but the officer in me reminds myself that we never know when the wrong place and the wrong time were a misplaced set of keys, a search for a purse, a last minute phone call away from striking us. Here in Denver. There in Kandahar. Maybe I'm a fatalist, but the other option is to obsess over all the things that could be happening to him at this very moment, and that doesn't seem like a wise choice either.

Girl, though, is here and well and is blooming in that way that nearly-two-and-a-half year old children do. Everyday she's more the child, less the baby. I don't know precisely when it happened, but she became the Great Communicator, mimicking everyone (for better or worse) and verbalizing her needs and wants (trust me: for better or worse). We are starting potty training, though we are still on that awesome stage where she tells me she needs the potty the second pee starts puddling on the floor. Nailed it! Today she made it to the bathroom three times, so we are making progress. In the meantime, she's nothing short of hilarious.

She's mastered the preteen Awww. The one that follows your announcement that no, she cannot play outside because it's bath time or no she cannot have a cookie. Awww.

She calls me by my first name.

She's mastered the preteen histrionics. I no want to take a nap. I no take a nap ever. I no do it. Not ever. (Followed almost immediately by a three hour nap.)

Our bedtime routine goes likes this:
Lights out.
Girl: Cuddle me! For one minute!
Me: Okay, but then I have to go clean.  [often not true]
(a couple of minutes later)
Me: Okay, Girl, I have to clean now [still not true]. I love you.
Girl: I love you too. I see you in the mornin'!
Me: Sweet dreams. 
Girl: Sweet dreams!
Me: Thank you, Girl.
Girl: Oh, you're welcome!

She's made a little friend across the street. Her friend speaks only Spanish; Girl only English, save for the occasional Mis on? or kampsun. They get along great, seeking refuge from the stressors of older brothers.

Only a month or two after calling every color blue, she's mastered the rainbow, showing her grandparents via Skype Candyland cards as they request a hue. Green pink blue red orange, they say. Okay, I try to, she says. Nails it. This time for real.

Girl really isn't ignored. She gets much more attention than she did when I was working. If we have to spend 15 hours a week focusing on Boy's, er, challenges, then we do that even if we only have 20 waking hours with Girl. But now I have all the time in the world. Not all the patience, not all the energy, and not all the confidence, but all the time. And I don't worry anyway, because I know when she's feeling a bit left out, she'll burst in the bathroom and when I ask for privacy, she'll shake her head.

No, I just want to watch.

Kids. If they weren't cute, they'd be total creepers.

Boy makes bubbles. Girl catches bubbles.

Like a Boss

Wow. Three weeks, no blogging. This isn't good, but our brand of groundhog day is unlikely to be particularly thrilling reading material, so maybe it's best. If you don't have anything interesting to say, don't say anything at all.*

This post is full of Foreign Service Top Tips. I bet you are super excited.

We've been settling in and we were doing alright--our behavior management plan is making life so much better for Boy and me--until a week ago. We had already received our license-plate-free cars and on Wednesday last we were eagerly anticipating our HHE, scheduled to arrive at our doorstep between 8:00 and 10:00 a.m. I received a call from the driver, saying they had another delivery and wouldn't be at our house until noon or so. I asked if there would be sufficient time for a full unpack and in response received the typical, "Oh? You wanted a full unpack?"

NOTE FOR FS NEWBIES: When in America, insist on your full unpack. The companies receive a lot of taxpayer dollars to do it for you, and will often try to wiggle out of it.

So I decide to continue tidying to prepare for the avalanche, hurricane, other weather-disaster-related metaphor of stuff that was about to rain down on us (see what I did there?).  And I promptly fell down the stairs and destroyed my tailbone. I took one car for emissions testing and the garage door wouldn't close and Boy had a huge meltdown at the testing station and my butt really hurt and at one point I might have sat in the driver's seat, slammed my hands repeatedly against the steering wheel and screamed, "I hate my life!" Might have.

Our stuff arrived at....drumroll please...at 4:30 p.m. and was unpacked the next day. Once it was unpacked, it was clear that our 1890 sq. ft. house was not equipped to handle all our crap. I despaired for another day.

The village descended. My stepmom flew in from Washington and her sister and brother-in-law who live just a mile from my house became Team Awesome, sorting and tossing and organizing. There was even a margarita in there. I had to choose between Percocet and the margarita, and I chose the latter. More satisfying. In order to make my life easier, I ordered a storage container from 1-800-Packrat, which is now sitting in my driveway and holding all of the stuff that will go on Craigslist or in a yard sale. Super cheap, totally worth it. Consider this a Foreign Service Downsizing HHE Processing Top Tip.

Monday was the Like a Boss day. Emissions testing, VIN verification, registration of two cars? Driver's license? Nailed it. Taxes? Done. Paid. (If you have household staff, like we did for the first 6 months of 2012, you pay a lot come April 15.) Rental car? Returned. IN THE SNOW. LIKE A BOSS. Computer desk? Assembled.

Only Foreign Service Officers and their families might appreciate the atrociousness of international relocation, but its awfulness cannot be overstated.

Tuesday was also successful, though not as much in the conquering of Bureaucratic Forces Designed to Make Citizens Cry. I made it to the gym and did a good lower body/upper body workout. (No sitting though, so in order do bench presses from the balance ball, I had to flop somewhat fishlike on it. Trainer was amused.) Then I showered (! I know!) and took Girl to an affordable, well-reviewed preschool to secure the remaining spot for September enrollment. It's only for three half-days a week, and she pouted the whole way home because she wanted to go to preschool right then (there were bunnies, so can't blame her), but it's a win. It's two blocks from Boy's future school, which we will tour this morning if I can successfully cover up the fact that he's been up coughing all night long.

I'll cover the impossibility of securing an appointment with a behavioral psychologist in our network (at least a three month wait unless I go to the pediatric psych ER and get him admitted), the near miss for our family in Kandahar, Boston, and all things glum some other time. For now, our life is mundane, but each task conquered is a task conquered, so I'll take it.

Oh, also got a haircut for the first time in six months and a dye job to deal with this gray hair. LIKE A BOSS.

*Never stopped me before.

Being Half of Something

Praise Jeebus, I have internet. My eyes and fingertips were near death following a few weeks of ferocious iPhone-ing. As of today I had used 90% of my monthly data allowance (with two weeks to go), mostly Facetiming Husband, who is in Fakistan, aka Indianastan, aka Fake Afghanistan. Hashtag FirstWorldProblems HashtagOhMyGodThisIsntTwitterStopHashtagging.

We bought a house. I signed a lot of documents, twice. They didn't like my finely-honed squiggle of a signature, so I had to write out my full name, and Husband's Full Name by My Full Name as Attorney-in-Fact, about a million times. Still easier than getting my TSP password. HashtagFedProblems HashtagStopIt.

Observations about Denver: WHERE HAVE ALL THE CYNICS GONE. East Coasters please come visit. Also: seriously, they talk about the powder on the radio. The local weather has a segment just for skiing conditions. I'm fairly certain a genuine Mountain Man was driving the luggage truck when we arrived at the airport. Pony sightings: zero, but I still have high hopes. Unlike Mumbai, there are no cattle in the street, but there are cattle in every other advertisement. These people love their beer.

Observations about being a homeowner: Window coverings are hugely expensive and you'll have never seen the price tag coming. Your happiest day will not be closing, but the day internet is installed. Buying a loft bed for your son to preserve usable space in his small room is smart. Adding a slide (yes, really) to it negates the space savings. Don't worry, he can slide into the closet (yes, really). Even if you are just putting up a swatch of paint to test the color, put tape on your moulding.

Observations about the SAHM transition: I almost can't think about my career right now. It's like a break up with someone you love intensely, but you know you can't make it work. Put the blinders on and move forward, lest you become overwhelmed with self-doubt. I'll tackle the Having It All and Doing It All and Being It All or Being Half of Something another day.

Observations about The Children: They both speak with Estonglish grammar, meaning slightly Yoda-like. I thought Girl couldn't count, but turns out she just can't count in English (well, she can, but she starts with five and can only get to eight). She'll easily do an üks, kaks, kolm, neli, viis, kuus, seitse, kümme. Yes, Estonian speakers, she does all that in a perfect Estonian accent, but she still skips eight and nine because they make no freaking sense. Even Girl knows this.

Observations about the Menagerie: Out of the clink and pretty well adjusted. The cats are troopers and expert travelers, and the dog is just too dog-like to get overworked about being in a new place.

As I tackle the main project here, which is Boy, I'll share some of the highs and lows and what works and what doesn't, but I'm trying to do so in a way that protects his privacy. I hope against hope that someday the outbursts and pugilism and mood swings will be unrecognizable behaviors, but I don't want him to stumble across this a few years down the road and think for half a second that I only focused on what's wrong. There's a lot right with him, and I will share that too. That is a narrow and difficult line to walk, but with time I will figure it out.

Onward.

The Transitive Vampire

I am coming up for air.

We made it to Colorado. In the Ledger of Good and Bad--as if it worked that way--it's a wash so far. Husband and I attempted to go out one last time on his final night in town, but between placing our order and the arrival of our margaritas, we got a call that Girl had woken up with a very high fever. Alas. Boy mostly recovered, but woke from a nap screaming with ear pain yesterday afternoon. I suppose congestion plus long flights resulted in too much trapped fluid and a proper ear infection.

On the plus side, fingers crossed we'll close on our house on Wednesday, two weeks early. This is great for many reasons, not least of which is our poor menagerie is languishing in a pet resort (I kid you not, that's what it's called). The kids and I visited yesterday, and young Dali was out of her mind with excitement. Incidentally, I put in an email to a dog trainer who does house calls. Best get started on that soonest.

Ho hum ho hum. Sick kids. Moving.

I'm forgetting something.

Oh yes! The utter fear! That's right. Minor detail, but I'm terrified. Today, as Boy yelled for the millionth time that he hates me more than anyone and tacked on the horrible claim that he hates himself too, I realized how long this road is going to be. I miss Husband, and it's only been a week. We've been married six years, and apart for over two of those. The past two and a half years is the longest continuous time we have lived in the same country and it was nice. I didn't only have my co-parent, I had my friend. A lunch buddy. Someone to watch TV with in the evening. Someone to share a bottle of wine and fret about the state of American politics. While of course we each traveled a fair bit in the past few years, it was never more than a couple weeks at a shot. Now I'm measuring out spoonfuls of time, one day on top of the next.

Boy told me he loves his dad best of all, which I knew. He apologized for yelling at me in Ikea, and matter-of-factly explained that he only did that because he doesn't like me very much. I don't really take this to heart--if you can't blame your mom for everything, who can you blame? It does wear on me a bit, though. In his more charming moments, he confesses that even when he says he hates me, he still loves me. I know that too. He explained that when he becomes a vampire bat--not if, when--he will not suck his family's blood, but rather will only suck the blood of other people's families.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Time Management

We packed out last week. Husband and Boy were to take the dog to Colorado on Tuesday, and Girl and I were to follow with the cats on Wednesday. That didn't happen. OF COURSE.

I didn't have orders until early evening, Tuesday. OF COURSE. Too late to ship my car or confirm the ticket.

But more than that, Boy was in the hospital overnight on Tuesday. OF COURSE. Because that is how we do.

I could have sworn he had the flu, as he was the only one of us without the vaccine and had a crazy high fever (105.4 degrees, FTW). He didn't, but there is a virus circulating that mimics the flu in almost every way except there is no vaccine. At any rate, no more fever, but we do have a surly preschooler with a persistent cough. This might be warping into bronchitis, which means the next few weeks will be fun.

Husband and Girl and Dog left this morning and should be landing in Atlanta soon. Girl is healthy and was so excited to travel that she had an outright fit before bedtime last night. Somehow she was convinced that we were supposed to go to America right. then. and that Husband would leave without her. She was crying and kicking, screaming I wanna go Amurica! because it's just cuter that way. I finally persuaded her that the pilot wouldn't let her on if she didn't sleep. I then persuaded her that I couldn't stay in bed with her because I had to clean the kitchen. Total lie, of course. I had to split a bottle of wine with Husband and eat some cheese.

Boy and I leave tomorrow. In the meantime, he is asleep, as he has been for most of the day, and I am cleaning out all the glurge and leftover stuff from our house blogging.

I'd feel sad and liberated, stepping onto a whole new (temporary) trajectory toward stay-at-home-parenting, unencumbered by responsibilities at work. I still haven't finished my EER, though, so mostly I feel irritated and sad. Liberated will have to wait, if it ever comes.

Emotional Escrow...

...financial escrow.

Life is nuts right now, so let's throw a bunch of stuff at the wall, shall we?

First things first: Ankara. Digger's post over at Life After Jerusalem has gone a bit viral on Facebook, and deservedly so. She nails something that saddens me now and pained me (and others) throughout the Benghazi hullaballoo. For those of us in the field, the safety of American employees is not a higher priority than that of our local staff (in some respects Ambassador aside, for obvious reasons). We're all one team and--as is true in places that experience suicide bombings on regular places--security guards are often the first line of defense, and the most likely victims. Mourn Mustafa Akarsu, please.

Onto less important things: We beat a cash offer and are under contract. At our broker's urging, we wrote a letter explaining what that house would mean to us, and the seller supposedly liked it enough to go through the expense and time of closing on a very-much-so-not-cash deal.

TSP denied our loan for cash for down payment, etc. DENIED. And then, in that very TSP way, the only explanation online was a non-explanation. They sent the real explanation to our address on record, which will of course arrive long after we've left. You can call and ask, but you have to have your PIN, which we do not. This is not the same as your internet password, which we do have but can never lose, as that too will only be sent to your address on record. Why is it harder to get into your TSP account than it is to buy a gun?

At any rate, I'm hoping the problem was that I faxed the app multiple times, as I didn't get a confirmation sheet. This is my hunch, as an hour after it stated we were rejected, a second, newer message said we were in process. If that is the case, I'll bet you $50 they deducted the $50 application fee for each faxed application.

We have assignment notifications, but not orders. I may have to cost-construct to Denver, since as an employee on LWOP I'm assigned to Washington, though once I'm on LWOP, I'm entitled to ISMA as an EFM for all intents and purposes. Don't know! No one knows! This may actually be the first time this has happened (tandem, curtail, one to LWOP not-in-DC, other to Afghanistan, things to ship under both names, kids in there somewhere).

Boy was a bit distraught today packing up his Legos in order to prepare for packout. He doesn't want to leave Estonia. But just in case we're going to make him leave anyway, he put together a Polyvore with his ideal bedroom.

And somewhere, in all of this, I have moments of extreme sadness. I never thought I'd want to stay home with the kids (oomph, that sounds awful). It never occurred to me to do so until fairly recently, and even then it was appealing because it is just so difficult to help Boy from the office. Right now I plan to come back on duty, but we are open to the possibility that--should life work better in the U.S., should Boy do better with a parent home--we'll have to figure out how to make this change permanent. Chances are I'd end up working and Husband would stay home, at least for a while, but I don't know what I'll do for a living if I don't do this.

But! One step at a time. My suitcase is packed so it doesn't end up in a sea shipment, and it's filled with cardigans and knit jersey and leggings. Not a blazer in sight.

Don't Know Nothin' 'Bout Nothin'

I grew up in Virginia--southern Virginia. Taaahdwahter. Well, that's partially true. I spent ages 8 to 18 there, but those are some pretty formative years.

I always attended Catholic school. Always. The habit was hard to break, so even grad school was a former Catholic college.

The nuns hated, absolutely hated, when we said "ain't." Which we did. A lot. It was a struggle to get me in shoes and to actually shower regularly.* My neighborhood friends and I spent our afternoons playing in the ditch that ran behind our cul-de-sac, catching tadpoles, minnows and snails, and not paying nearly enough attention to the location of water moccasins and--of slightly less concern--muskrats. Of course I said "ain't." My dad's dad, who lived in Chicago and wore a suit to church and on a plane and would never say "ain't," regularly accused me of being a downright hillbilly when I ran around the house barefoot.

I was always barefoot.

I started wearing paddock boots when I finally got to spend all my free time with horses.

This did not improve the condition of my feet.

I stopped riding horses when I went to college and I had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees my folks had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees, but I went back to being barefoot as much as possible, often while sitting in a tree. I lacked a certain gravitas. Still do, most days.

After college, I kicked my way to a black belt to alleviate stress, lose weight, and feel bad-ass. This did not improve the condition of my feet either.

Today Girl catches sight of my feet and points, exclaiming in horror, "Boo boo!" This tickles husband to no end, although that quickly ends when I punish him by putting my foot on him. Oh, the squeals! Delightful!

This was going somewhere.

Oh yes. Virginia to ain't to hillbilly to barefoot to horses to college to Tae Kwon Do to parenthood to Don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. The nuns wouldn't have liked that one either, but it surely seems to apply as we navigate the purchase of our very first (as of yet unidentified) house. I would get into the specifics that confuse me, but I don't understand them so I can't.

In the meantime, I pop up to take a deep breath and realize the colossal reality shift we are about to experience. Husband will be back in a War Zone and I won't have to wear shoes. It seems so unfair for him and both so delightful and terrifying for me. Do I really have to do this all on my own? No housekeeper this time? Does he really have to Skype his kids every night? With a bigger time difference? Can we really just take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson? I mean: Can we really just find a pet sitter and then take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson?

Am I ruining Girl? Will she resent this some day? She reportedly stood at the door of her daycare this evening, waving goodbye to each child, declaring Homseni! ("Until tomorrow!") She loves school and is quite good at it.

On the other hand, she was the first child in and the last child out. That can't be good either.

I can't even begin to list the questions I have about Boy. I really hope I don't mess this up.

Oh, the opportunity costs. That's how I'll sum up all of this. Every single bit.

Oh, the opportunity costs.

*Pre-puberty. Figured it out in middle school. Unlearned it in parenthood.