For the past three years, I have desperately wanted to move home.  From the moment I first rocked Robbie in the same chair where my mother rocked all three of her children, I wanted to be back there.  I wanted Robbie to know his family, to grow up with the same things I had.  Catching fireflies (we don’t have them in Arlington – or, if we do, they avoid our backyard).  Picnics at Ecton.  Swimming in the city pools.  But I never thought it was really going to happen.

Sure, I’ve been working hard towards moving home for the past six months.  Convincing Justin that it will be wonderful.  Getting my teaching certification transferred to Kentucky.   Applying for jobs.  Prematurely looking at houses.  But, as time moved on, it felt like things weren’t going to come together.  Sure, Justin’s company said he could work from Lexington.  But I didn’t have a job, and our house wasn’t selling.

And then Monday happened.  Last week, I had been unofficially offered a job at Crawford Middle School in Lexington.  On Friday I got the official word.  Monday, shaking and trying hard not to be emotional about leaving Lawrence, I went to my boss and turned in my letter of resignation from last year.  It’s a difficult thing to do; you question whether you’re making the right decision.  After all, you don’t have to leave.  You want to.

After turning in my letter, I officially accepted the position with Fayette County.  A few minutes later, one of my students came in.  She has been watching Elmo while our house was on the market and told me there had been a family meeting.  They wanted to permanently keep the cat.  Sure, it’s been nice only having the two.  But it wasn’t going to be permanent; and I’ve had Elmo since he was three weeks old.  And what kind of person just gives her cat way?  However difficult the decision was, I knew Elmo would be happier living with Yerelyn.  And so would Justin.

On my way home, I shared this information with my mom, who has our cat, Grover, and our dog, Barkley.  She said, “You know, if it would help you out, we’d be happy to keep Grover.  Tom has grown really attached to her.”  Just like that, we were officially a two-cat family.

Then, at 6:00, things took another startling turn.  Our realtor called: there was an offer.  Probably not the offer we wanted, but, after a few hours of counter offers, we came to terms both parties could agree with.  All Justin and I could do was look at each other.  It was real.  It was happening.

Slowly, as the events of the day began to sink in, we started talking about our time in our little treehouse.  All the wonderful things that had happened there – the birth of our son, acceptance into Boston College for both of us, Robbie’s first Christmas.  And the sad things, too.  This was the house where the police came to have Justin call the coroner.  It is the last home of ours that his mother would ever see.

But it’s time to pass the little treehouse on to a new family.  After all, there are so many exciting things waiting to happen.

I’m not sure when it happened, but Robbie has turned into a very sweet little boy.  On Saturday, I had a terrible TMJ flare up – one where my jaw spasmed out of control for nearly thirty minutes.  Basically, my jaw chatters and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  It’s impossible to talk and incredibly painful.  Unfortunately, it happened in the car in full view of Robbie.  It was also the first time Justin saw it happen.

All of a sudden, in the midst of the pain, I hear a sweet voice from the back seat asking if I’m ok.  When he heard me crying, Robbie started to sing “Edelweiss” to me.  If I hadn’t already been crying from the pain, I would have from emotion.  It was the first time he realized something was wrong and tried to make it better.  After he finished singing, Robbie told me he and Justin would get me ice and the ice would make it all better.

Robbie comes into our room every night around 3:30.  He quietly climbs over Justin, checks to make sure we’re both OK, and snuggles into the bed.  And then he rolls over and rubs my back until I fall asleep.

I’m not sure what happened to the monster who invaded our lives for the past three months, but I sure do like the sweet boy who replaced him.  I just hope he stays.

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to run a marathon this year.  However, I had no intention of actually doing it.  Ever.  It just sounded like something I needed to do.  After all, I had run two half marathons and finished a 200-mile relay.  But, who in their right mind would actually run 26.2 miles?

Turns out, I would.  And I did.  In early April, Justin registered me for the Vermont City Marathon in Burlington.  I downloaded Hal Higdon’s novice marathon app and got to work.  I still wasn’t sure that I would actually do it.  And then, all of a sudden, it was here.

Justin showed up four times on the course, proving himself the most supportive husband in the world.  Particularly because he ran (full disclosure: walked) the last mile with me.  He made an excellent photographer, capturing some of my more fabulous moments.

The run was brutal; how could it not be?  I hit a pretty big wall around mile 17 and, by mile 22, I was done even trying to run.  Somehow, I managed to pick up my battered feet for the last .3 mile to run across the finish line.  I stepped across the finish line, hands in the air, grin on my face.  I.  Had.  Done.  It.

And with that, I got rid of the person I used to be.  The person who could barely get off the couch.  The person who got winded trying to speed walk.  The person who never had any personal fitness goals.  And, all of a sudden, I became someone new.  A distance runner; a marathon runner.  And I can’t wait to do it again – only better.

Last Friday, Justin headed to New York with some friends for the day, leaving Robbie and me to our own devices after school.  There were no new movies out – our usual date plan – and I couldn’t bear the thought of another night at Chuck E. Cheese.  Without really thinking the idea through, I decided to take Robbie to Fenway for a Red Sox game.  He’d been before, but not since he was really little.  This was the first game that he would actually remember.

The first part of our date was bus and train ride, and that alone would have been enough.  Especially after I took the wrong train, and we wound up at the Symphony stop on the green line.  Eventually, though, we made it to Fenway.  Robbie waited patiently in line for his popcorn and Diet Coke before we made our way to our seats.  I’d been fortunate enough to get reasonably priced tickets on eBay for our last-minute adventure.

Robbie took it all in: scarfing popcorn, looking at the screens, pointing out all of the kids.  And, much to Justin’s dismay, yelling, “Go, Red Sox!  Go!  Go!”

Eventually, things took a turn for the worse.  Robbie wet through two pairs of pants.  He threw bits of popcorn.  The crowning moment was when my phone went flying three rows and hit a very upset young woman in the back.

Justin confided in me later that he never would have taken Robbie into Fenway alone.  It might not have been the easiest adventure, but I don’t care.  He’s still talking about it a week later and cheering on the Red Sox, especially when Justin talks about the Yankees.  What more could a girl want?

I’m not sure how it happened, but I forgot to congratulate my wonderful husband on graduating from Boston College!  He officially finished in December and walked this month.

Sitting in the stands watching the ceremony was a little bittersweet.  It’s just another sign of us starting to wrap up our lives in Boston, and I had just been in the same position two years ago.  And now, Justin and I have closed that chapter.

Congratulations, Justin Manna!  I am so incredibly proud of you!

Growing up, we used to go camping on a farm.  There were so many ticks that we called it Camp Tick-a-lot.  Arlington is getting right up there.  Several weeks ago, there was one on Rob’s head at the park.  I have found two on me – just crawling around.  Tonight, we found our fourth tick.

It was during bath time and Justin had just finished washing Robbie’s hair when he say it, attached to the back of Robbie’s head.  The poor baby immediately sensed that something was wrong and turned around just in time to see me put a bobby pin in a flame.  That’s when the screaming started.

Eventually, Justin was able to pull the culprit out of Robbie’s head, with some skin still attached to it’s greedy little mouth.  Justin may or may to have burned it in an apple cinnamon flame…  And poor Robbie kept crying about the bad bug.  I think we’ll be having tick checks every night.  Now if only I could get my own scalp to stop itching!

My mom sang it to us when we were little.  That and a few other classics that I can’t remember the words or the tunes to.  So, I stick to “Edelweiss”.  As it is, it’s all I can do to get through that without sounding terrible.  But, you know what?  Robbie loves it.  He asks for it every night after we read stories.

In fact, it’s even a little better than that.  He crawls up into my lap and asks to cuddle like a baby.  I know I probably shouldn’t indulge baby stuff like that, but he never wanted to cuddle when he was a baby.  Robbie just wanted to be a big boy.  Given all the bedtime trouble we’ve had over the past few months, I grab onto the opportunity with both hands.

So, up he climbs, curling into me, and gazing up into my face, whispering, “Sing ‘Edelweiss’, please, Mom.”  We sit and rock and sing.  Robbie closes his eyes, and I can feel him relax into me.  Sometimes he asks to move into our bed to go to sleep because he likes the big bed (after all, who needs a toddler bed when you’re almost three?).

At first, he wanted to cuddle all the time.  Now, he just wants a round or two of “Edelweiss” and enough space to get comfortable.  So it looks like we might have found the great compromise for bedtime.  A little cuddling.  A little song.  And a little more bed.

I want to be patient.  I need to be patient.  I am not patient.  Unfortunately, last night exemplified this.  Robbie refused to go to bed.  Flat out refused.  Bedtime took three hours.  At one point, actually at more than one point, both of us were in tears.

I did everything the books, websites, and more experienced parents tell you not to do.  There was yelling.  Threatening.  Taking away of toys.  Everything that I could think of, except being calm and rational.

When Justin finally took over the bedtime attempts, I curled up in bed and cried.  Robbie is old enough to remember this stuff now.  What if this one night, this one (of many, I’m sure) bad decisions sticks with him?

And then Robbie woke up this morning.  He woke up, smiling and telling me about his fun rest and how much he loved me.  That’s when I really knew.  He’s going to love me no matter what.  We’re both going to mess up – a lot.  And that’s OK.  It’s the mess-ups that make the next day that much sweeter.

If I hadn’t been so terrible last night, I might not have taken Robbie on a two-mile walk this afternoon where he pretended to be a pirate, went fishing, climbed a rock, and jumped in every puddle along the way.  I might not have taken the extra time to cuddle and rock him tonight when he asked for it the fourth time.  So, I’ll take a night of being a bad parent if it means I can refocus and come back more determined to be better the next day.

Yesterday, I received a barrage of panicked emails from Justin; he couldn’t find his college ring anywhere.  All day, I followed Justin’s quest around the house as he tore through every cushion, drawer, and stray sock in the house.  Eventually, I suggested that he wait until Robbie got home and ask if he knew where it was.  After all, lately he’s been playing pirate and a ring seems like a pretty good treasure.  My only concern was that it was in the litter box because, you know, you bury treasure in the sand.

Justin was uncertain of the success of any of this, convinced the ring was gone forever.  However, dutiful husband that he is, Justin asked Robbie if he had seen the ring when they came home.  I believe it went a little something like this:

“Rob, son, have you seen Daddy’s ring?”

“QiQi room.”

“Daddy’s ring, Rob.  Do you know where it is?”

“QiQi room.”

At this point, Robbie is halfway up the stairs, irritated that Justin didn’t understand the direction the first time.  Justin, having nothing to lose, followed Robbie upstairs.  Robbie ran into his room, knelt down on the floor, and reached under his train table.  He pulled out his Fisher-Price airplane, removed Goofy from the inside, rummaged around, and eventually produced Justin’s college ring.  Robbie handed Justin the ring, saying, “See, Jus?  Daddy ring,” and walked back downstairs.

He’s smooth; I have to give him that.  Last night, as I was putting Robbie to bed, he looked at me very sincerely and started playing with my hair.  He took his other hand and ran it over my face.  With big, brown eyes, he looked at me and said, “Beautiful.  Mommy so beautiful.”  And my heart melted.  I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and cover him in kisses.  It was the most perfect compliment I had ever received.

And then he continued.  “Daddy beautiful.  QiQi beautiful.  QiQi beautiful hair.  See, Mommy?  See beautiful hair?”