Camping. In January.

Whose idea was this, anyway?

January is FREEZING.

Jeremy has been determined for years to get us to be a camping family. He took Chelsea out camping in Massachusetts (in walking distance from his lab) and she was immediately convinced.

He has been trying (mostly unsuccessfully) for years to turn me into a nature-lover. I'm just not in love with nature. I like to look at it. Isn't that enough?

He finally got serious, asked for and received a tent for Christmas and booked us two camping trips.

In January.

Yes, this is southern California, so it's not like there's snow on the ground, but it is still pretty darn cold outside. At night. IN A TENT.

I'm trying to be a good sport and go along with this whole "camping family" thing for the sake of the children. So let me be positive for a minute.

The girls loved being outdoors. They played in the dirt with rocks and sticks and were as happy as dirty little children can be. They loved climbing in a tree. Here, look:

We sat around a cozy bonfire. We consumed many s'mores. Jeremy put the leftover chocolate from the s'mores in pancakes he made the next morning. We got to wake up at the beach. My parents, Jeremy's mom, and a couple of friends came and hung out with us. I got to chill with my Dad by the fire.


But.

We had to play musical beds with Savannah all night long. And when "camping" at the beach actually means "lying in a tent and not sleeping" at the beach, I am SO not down with that. Here's the tent where I did all of my not-sleeping. (Nice view, though, eh?)



In addition to the lack of sleep and lack of warmth, there was the lack of bathrooms with dry floors. (Ask me how I changed Chelsea's pants when she peed in her undies in a bathroom where we could not stand shoe-less on the floor. It was super fun.)

And did I mention it was cold?

This upcoming weekend, we're going camping again. Out in the desert. For two nights. And I'm... hopeful.

I'm hoping Savannah will figure out that the tent is for sleeping. I'm hoping Chelsea won't pee in her pants. I'm hoping we don't freeze our wimpy San Diegan butts off.

But mostly I'm hoping Grandma and Grandpa come with us. And bring coffee.
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T.M.S.S

We are suffering from a new disease. A very first-world disease, but a disease nonetheless.

It is called TMSS: Too Much Stuff Syndrome.

(Or, as I like to call it privately in my head, "Too Much Shit Syndrome.")

We aren't hoarders. We regularly donate bags and boxes of our still usable (but no longer used by us) stuff to local charities. We are cheap and on a tight budget.

And yet we're drowning in a mountain of stuff.

Is it the tiny apartment? Do we actually have a normal amount of stuff but cramming it all into a tiny pad makes it appear like so much more?

Is it that we have no garage? So we can't stash things that normal people would put away? Like, say, those two boxes of Christmas decorations?

Or is it the children?

We were excited about all the stuff that comes along with having a baby: the stroller, the highchair, the Pack n Play, changing table, the Diaper Genie even! Even when Chelsea outgrew all of that stuff, we hung on to it, anticipating having Savannah. So now we have all that baby stuff, plus some toddler stuff, and the big kid stuff.

And lots and lots and lots of toys.

I think the toys are really what drives me the most insane. I have a place for everything, but rarely is everything in its place. This morning, I wanted to vacuum the carpet in Chelsea's room, but her floor was like a collage of LEGOs, puzzle pieces, fake plastic food, and Little Einsteins figurines.

When I get really upset, and Chelsea refuses to help me clean it up, I always threaten to just throw it all away.

My realization that we were suffering from TMSS came into sharp focus recently when we visited a house that was for sale. The owners had two small children, the same age as ours. But they had nowhere near the amount of toys and kids' stuff that we have.

They DID have a garage. (Maybe they shoved it all in there?) And a yard. Two things we are sorely lacking.

And perhaps their kids don't stay home? Since I stay home with the girls, our place needs to do triple duty: home, daycare, and preschool. Make that quintuple duty: it's also our garage and yard.

I'm grateful to have this problem. The problem of having too much.

Now riddle me this: how can I donate a large portion of a four-year-old's toys without said four-year-old losing her ever-loving mind?

That is a true problem.
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A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

I was listening to a movie review on the radio the other day, and the reviewer said he grades each movie after he sees it. So when it's time to compile a top ten list for the year-end review, it's already done.

I thought that was a great idea. Although, I'm not a movie critic. And I probably don't even go to the movies ten times in a year.

So maybe not.

But then I thought I could do the same for books. Or at least write down what I thought of them, maybe in a little notebook?

Then I remembered that I have a blog.

Today I finished reading "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" by Betty Smith. I picked it up yesterday from the library. It was (obviously) a fast read. And good.

It's a coming-of-age story of a poor girl in the early 1900s. After reading it, I found that it's considered a classic and a popular choice for school reading lists.

I needed a dose of perspective and this book gave me that. We are by no means poor and it is good to be reminded of that fact.

The book made me cry in many places, although I am weepy and prone to crying at the slightest provocation, so perhaps that doesn't say much.

It also made me laugh out loud. There's one episode in the book where a drunkard father takes three children on a disastrous boat ride. I was crying again, but from laughter.

It's hard to grade this book. I really enjoyed it and I would highly recommend it, but I wouldn't want to read it again and again.

Final grade: A minus.
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Love, Unexpected

Over the weekend, we went to a cousin's birthday party and Chelsea made a new friend. They were very cute playing together and inseparable throughout the party. We talked about having play dates in the future and the girls were excited about that.

As we were saying our goodbyes, I steered Chelsea over to her friend to say goodbye:

I said, "Say goodbye to your friend."

Chelsea yelled out "BYE!!!"

Then I said, "Is there something you want to say to her?" (I thought she'd say, I had fun playing with you! Or, Let's have a play date sometime! But instead...)

Chelsea said to her little friend: "I love you!"

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