Waiting.

Waiting.

I hate it.

We are interviewing for new jobs next year. A job for Dr. Science that will take us far, far away from the life we know. Not as far as Nome, or the South Pacific, but far enough.

cows. 'nuff said.

The main drag.

farm stand. leave your money in the tin can.

the river that runs through it.

This, is Houlton.

Only two states away. Right on the border. So close to New Brunswick, in fact, that if one cares to look at the satellite image on google maps, one sees that half the town is a blur, but the side closest to the border, you can zoom down until you can look in the windows of the buildings. You could see people, if there had been anyone out on the street in the middle of the day. Border patrol has to keep vigilant with these guys. Guess that's whats up with the super focused satellites. So they can keep up with all those damn Canadians trying to sneak into our country over the Houlton border to...what?

Really, there is almost no one on the streets during the day. I noticed this, walking around the main drag with the Impling. She had her meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk and there was no one to cast mean looks in my direction. She freaked in peace. Where WAS everyone? Guess they are all at work, on the fields, in the hospital, or at home, drinking a cold frosty one over the classified. Or just drinking a cold frosty one.

Hell. Now I want a cold frosty one. May as well. It's not like I have a JOB or anything, right? Right. I want my $300,000 in SAHM back pay RIGHT now. 2 years. And 8 months.

Things are going to change. We will have a house. The Impling will have a new bed, as she has already outgrown her little toddler IKEA confection of a bed. I will have my own car. (Yes...I am actually getting my license). Shudder. New...everything.

IF we get a good offer. This is what we are waiting for. This is what has been absorbing my attention, distracting me from writing, and reading, and being, well, present. Wondering...where the HELL will we end up? Will...

Damn. I was all ready to go off on a major rant about the suckitudiness of waiting for shit, and we get

THE CALL.

THE OFFER.

Dudes. We are going to be TRIPLING our income. With benefits. And relocation help. And something else I can't remember because I am JUST SO GOBSMACKED.

I get wet just thinking about it.

I just taught the Impling how to scream into pillows. She thinks it's hysterical.

So...we know. Next year, this old MA resident will be posting from Houlton ME. The border lands. I have something solid to work towards now. A house. Preschool for the impling. A community. A neighborhood.

I could cry.

If I wasn't slightly drunk on cheap wine, I probably would be. The yoke is beginning to break away. By next June or July, it will be gone. A new life. A new home.

Possibly, a new yoke.

I welcome it.

Practicing Our Accent

Dedicated to all of my New England friends! Enjoy!

It's Almost That Time

I know it sounds crazy, but next month I will have to sign up my older son for preschool. "Registering in November for the next fall is crazy," you might say because it seems so early, unless you have an older child, in which case you may be surprised that I didn't have to register him earlier.

A couple years ago when I started looking into preschools, I was surprised by how early registration occurs. I had certainly heard about it, but I thought that it was happening somewhere else. Fortunately although I registered my son in December since we were a new family (returning students register in November), there was no problem getting him a space. In fact for those fall babies like my son who just miss the cutoff, there didn't seem to be too much of a rush for registration. Things were different last year when we registered him for the 4 year old classroom. Fortunately none of the returning students seemed to have trouble getting a spot, even if it wasn't their first choice spot.

I was shocked by the irony of parents shelling out money to teach their kids basic life lessons like following directions, when they themselves insisted on lining up in the school before the official registration start time. Maybe there should be a refresher preschool course for parents. We can learn things like how to follow directions, say please and thank you, and be courteous to people in the grocery store! In the meantime, both years my son has been in preschool he's had kids join his class last minute. People move. As much weight as we put on ensuring the we register for the right school on-time (or in the case of those who don't follow instructions, early), it seems like our children still get into the classes they need even if they aren't the first choice ones.

Childless Dining

My husband and I didn't have a whole lot of time together without children. We dated through college, and then got married in the middle of grad school - I was 22 and he was 24. We got married six months after the whirlwind which is Emily touched down onto our lives.

I realize, now, that we squandered an awful lot of evenings out. Dinners at Pizza Hut or northern New York's answer to Red Lobster (and a weak, spineless answer it was, to be sure), a quick lunch at places that pronounced au jus "oh juss." We were living in the middle of nowhere and were far too casual about our dining-out choices.

Even after we moved to Salem, about a year before we had Emily, we didn't take adequate advantage of our quiet, childless evenings. A few nice dinners, but as a general rule we went out once a week to a mediocre place rather than saving our measly grad-school dimes to go to places with cloth napkins and wine lists.

And then we had a baby, and we realized our culinary mistake.

We lived hours and hours from any family at all, and knew very few people in the area; I still, seven-plus years later, don't know how people find sitters. Every once in a while we would hit the jackpot, and find someone willing and able and not scary to hold down the fort and let us go out by ourselves, but not often enough.

It's still not often enough. Last year, we had two reliable sitters that we could call on; then they had the gall to graduate and go away to college. Way to keep my priorities straight, girls. Education, schmeducation - you were my ticket to a dressy evening and uninterrupted sentences!

But we've managed, a time or two, to escape, now that my father lives with us and is occasionally willing to set us free, while our please-help-us ad grows ever yellower and lonelier at the high school's Early Childhood Education program. My dad has his faults, here and there, but he's a far sight better than our previous ideas, of setting the children at the curb with a sign reading "Dear Pedophiles, Come Spend Time With Us," or cramming them into a box in the closet with some Gatorade and a handful of Cheerios.

We've taken to skittering down to Portsmouth, about a 20-minute drive down the Spaulding, because that town has enough quaint to make up for the soulless genericness that is our town, and have had truly wonderful meals at The Library and Jumpin' Jay's Fish Cafe. And we'd love to do this more... we're just waiting to figure out how people get babysitters.

Globally Conscious/Locally Delicious Dining Experience

A couple weekends ago Hubby, Sweetie and I went to So. Western CT for a family wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception. Even the weather and perfect New England autumn landscape helped to make for one gorgeous event.

Hubby and I especially loved it all because the fall wedding theme reminded us of our own wedding day - which we celebrated just two days later with an 8th anniversary dinner out with Sweetie.

Since we considered the weekend away as our special anniversary trip, our dinner out on the actual day was considerably simpler - but still very delicious and fun.

So where'd we go? To the Flatbread Company in Bedford, MA.

The Flatbread Company is a pizzeria at heart, but that's not all. It's a pizzeria with heart. They use only local, organic produce and free range, clean meats and poultry. They truly care about the world around us and, because of this, they reward their patrons with out-of-this world pizzas.

Tuesday nights at the Flatbread are fund-raising nights - and that's another reason we were there on Tuesday, Oct. 9th. We were there to support my uncle's new company, GWEN, which works to educate the public about the effects of global warming on the environment. What a worthy cause to get out of the house for and enjoy some yummy pizza too!

The Flatbread Company is also a great place to take the kids. Sweetie thoroughly enjoyed playing with her complimentary ball of raw dough as we awaited the arrival of our pies. And with all the fun, colorful artwork around and the kitchen right in front of you where you can watch as your pizza cooks in the open flame oven - there's never a wont for something to entertain both the little ones and yourself.

Alas, we didn't sample anything from their seemingly large wine or dessert lists, but that's definitely in the plans for next time. And believe you-me - there will be a next time.

See, the Flatbread Company is just about two minutes from Whole Foods - Hubby's grocery store Mecca. Admittedly, a trip to Bedford MA for us, a family in So. Western NH, is quite a journey. But now we'll more happily make the trek as we have two reasons to head on out in that direction.

You better believe that, forevermore, our grocery trips to Whole Foods will include a lunch or dinner stop at the Flatbread Company.