It's all about timing. What a time to try and jump back on the blogging wagon. I tell ya, I had visions of grandeur. But living in a hotel for two and a half months does nothing for one's motivational feelings. We've moved out, btw. Spencer is back. (as of Sunday) Families are headed back to Bahrain. We're starting our R&R right now, Bahrain is prepping for our return at the end of June. Wonderful time to arrive! They're ordering some hot, muggy summer weather for us.
Another thing about timing; right when I find the time to be online, we're going to be *very* disconnected. We are embarking on The Great Western Adventure 2011; loading up our rental vehicle, a 15 passenger MAV (mormon assault vehicle), with camping gear, suitcases and 4 kids. The 2011 GWA will loop through Oregon, Washington, Montana and end up where we started in Idaho. Between the good graces of friends & family, camping & the occasional hotel, we will journey through the wonderful & amazing Northwestern Pacific. I'm looking forward to introducing my children to the joys of camping and the singular beauty of this geographic area.
I'm also looking forward to typing with both hands. I've got two of five fingers out of commission. Do you know how long it took me to type this out? Too long.
Pointer finger: Shard of glass, sliced right through the fingertip pad; ring finger: slice on the same place as pointer man, a day earlier on a windowsill. I will update whenever I come into contact with a WiFi signal.
There are plenty of quotes about what a home is; "Home is where the heart is." or "Home is where you drop your bags." or "Home is where they deliver the household goods."
And then there's the "go get 'em" urgings; the "it's not the situation, it's your attitude about the situation." or "bloom where you are planted". Believe me; I've been planted plenty and those blooms came .... eventually.
I am *so* done making a pseudo-apartment 'home'.
I have written & erased countless paragraphs for this post.
Bottom line?
I want to go home to a decorated, organized home. (it's not. we got boxes 3 1/2 months before the evacuation. most is out of boxes, but not everything has a place.)
Can someone follow me around with a camera & capture some of my children's childhood with me in it? And I'd like to be photogenic-looking in them, please.
I really miss my KitchenAid, food processor, and kitchen. Period. Not that I always make great use of them, but the fact that I *could use* them if I wanted to.
I like the show 'Swamp People'. A lot.
That's it. And, uh, yeah, I got nothin' else.
I *would* like to post pictures of the WW2 monument we went to in D.C.
I *would* like to show you pictures of a chance meeting we had while in D.C. We went to the WW2 monument on a whim and happened to run into friends from Cairo that we hadn't seen in 2 years!
I *would* like to show you pictures of my unbearably cute and very pregnant sister-in-law.
But I can't.
My camera is gone.
I don't know where I lost track of it. I may be scatterbrained about a lot of things, but I'm not all loosey-goosey about my camera. It's not a huge, professional contraption. But it's the best I've got & I know it. It's not new. I don't like to accuse, but the only plausible explanation is that it was either stolen out of the car (yes, they chose the camera over the gps?) or our hotel room (chosen over two laptops & assorted electronics). I am as baffled as all get out. But I guess I was in denial because the reality of being camera-less hit me right after I passed security in Baltimore. I was shoving my shoes on and hefting my bag over my shoulder when this random thought bubble popped into my cerebral cortex, "Yeah, you really have lost your camera."
Bright side? I get a new camera.
Slightly less bright side? Not as soon as I'd like.
The dullest side? The pictures I lost.
But the best side? At least I didn't lose the laptops or the pictures on them. It's just one weekend of pictures. Some pretty great pictures, but just a weekend.
Pointer finger: Shard of glass, sliced right through the fingertip pad; ring finger: slice on the same place as pointer man, a day earlier on a windowsill. 
