The inlaws are coming. They should be here in an hour or so. I really did luck out and got some decent in laws. Okay, more than decent. Or am I just saying that because I know there are some people who read my blog that know them? Hmmm....you'll never know.

We only see them about once a year, so when they come to visit, the kids get unreasonably wild and excited. So, amidst all of the cleaning and running around preparing for their visit, I'm dealing with hyper active kids. Yippeee!!! That's always fun. For some odd reason the idle threats of, "If you don't shape up, I'll tell Grandma and Papa to turn around and fly back home," just aren't cutting it. Perhaps it's because they know I'll never follow through with it. Perhaps I should actually threaten with something I'm willing to do. Now there's a novel idea!

Today, a package arrived for Ethan. It was his birthday present from my mom. OH MY GOSH, did I forget to mention that my little boy is THREE now?!?!?!? I cannot believe that he's three. I swear it was just yesterday that I huffed and puffed my fat pregnant ass down here to San Diego, six months pregnant, with three kids in tow. Now, that creature that caused so much exhaustion and pain during that move is THREE!!!

Oooh, speaking of that move, let me tell you a quick little story. Drake moved down to San Diego about two weeks before the kids and I did so he could start work and find us a place to live. So, that left me, six months pregnant, with three kids ages 5, 3, and 1, to pack up, move, then fly down to San Diego. Finally, after finishing with the packing and getting things on the moving truck, it's time to catch my plane. Loading the truck took longer than expected, so I was running a bit late. After stopping off at the in laws and them insisting the kids needed to eat before we left, it was a mad race to the airport to catch our flight. My bags made it on our plane...we did not. So, here I am a huge fat heiffer, with three tiny kids, already exhausted from moving, stressed out because we missed our flight, having to scramble to catch another flight and figure out how I was supposed to get my luggage when I got there. I found another flight, found out where to pick up my luggage, and went to sit down at the gate. Problem was...there were no available seats and apparently chivalry is dead...at least at the San Francisco airport. Not a single person offered up their seat to me (remember, I'm six months pregnant at the time) or any of my kids.

So, I'm standing. The kids are restless. They start wandering further and further away. I'm having to corral them back in. I had three hours until my flight. So, here comes the fun part. I start counting kids. One...two...oh crap...WHERE'S THE THIRD ONE?!?!?!??! I look around and can't find her anywhere. I start to panic. All of these awful thoughts of kidnapping and child molestation run through my head. How on earth could I lose my little girl?!?!?! I start screaming, "EMMA!!!! EMMA!!!! SOMEONE HELP ME, I'VE LOST MY LITTLE GIRL!!!! EMMA!!!!!!" I'm totally panicked. People are starting to stare. All of a sudden I hear, "I'm right here, Mommy," and find my little girl...get this...are you ready for it? UNDERNEATH my fat pregnant belly. She was just tall enough to fit under there without her head touching it and just small enough that I couldn't see her. I felt like such an idiot. By this time security had come running over and I had to explain to them that I was so huge and fat that I had lost my little girl under my stomach. Yeah, that was fun. Anyways, the rest of the trip went without incident, so that was good.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, that huge baby that kept me from being able to see my daughter is now three years old! So, here he is modeling the gift from my mom:

He's been wearing it all day, running around the house, pretending to fly, yelling, "Suuuuuuuuuupermaaaaaaaaaan!!!!" He's the cutest little thing.