Go West Son.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind...

There was a lot of travel. A LOT of driving. Driving with a 3-year old. In case you don't know what to do with a three year old for 30+ hours in a car...

You do this. This is hide-and-go-seek while still in a car seat. Judge if you will, and you'll get there in life, and do the same.

A summation of our trip involved an insane amount of Dora the Explorer on DVD, uber amounts of Dora the Explorer CDs, and flat out bribery on all counts. In the name of time with precious friends and family I will do most anything.

A quick jaunt to Shreveport, LA to see a sweet lady named Em. Well, actually her name is Emily Lou. Yes, as in the country singer. J complained that her red hair was not actually red. Sorry kid. A brief lunch catchup about our old lives, grad school and our new challenges was a great potty stop. Shreveport, you're kinda cute, I'd like to see you again. You too, Em.

We then drove 6 hours south to the great city of Katy, Texas. Somehow this city got lucky and now houses our best friends. Jacqueline popped out #2, Lennox William Samples, last November. I had played Grandma and came to cook, clean, hold and manage two insane 3-year-olds after they got home from the hospital. I think I did some cooking, wiped the counters down once, told the boys to stay outside and was so, so grateful that the crying child in the middle of the night was not mine. This was the week I had shared a bathroom with two 3-year-old boys. There was a lot of pee that didn't make the toilet. A lot. And this stinking cute oldman baby.

This time around was a little different. Jac could manage more than 4 word sentences that didn't involve the word "boob". She's alive (mostly) and semi-well rested. Moreso, she lives in Houston and the world is warm all the time. The rest of North America is jealous. J and Whit played well together. By played well, I mean nobody drew blood and usually only one of them was crying at a time. They've been only children for the majority of their lives...so who can blame them? These were the three musketeers. I would like to tell you the little one (4 months old) cried the least in 4 days. Best friends and wine and errands together and life. It was so nice for so short of time. In my perfect world we share a cul-de-sac, back yard barbeques and life within 300 miles of each other. Dreams.







We left south Texas 5 hours north for the great city of Aledo. Never been there? Missing out. The future Bogdanoff compound will be located there. My maiden name is Bogdanoff. Matt used to joke that I only wanted to get married to get rid of Bogdanoff. I disagree. Bogdanoff's are beautiful Russian people who like good meat, great conversation, an obtuse amount of food at all functions and a quirky gene that can only be maintained by the surname Bogdanoff. I use to think atleast one of my Bogdanoff family members would be considered "normal" in society, but that has been rescinded as I get older. Everyone should be so lucky to know or love a Bogdanoff, they are the best family in the world.

My first "little" cousin was getting married. We are the youngest cousins on my mom's side and the oldest on my dad's. Daniel was the first of 11 up-and-gcoming young adults to pursue life long happiness. This was the first of many happy, chaotic and food-driven gatherings that we call Bogdanoff Weddings. (My son took this picture, I'd say not bad)
My two "little" cousins are still J's size in my mind. I have fond memories on the beaches of San Diego with their chubby, tan little bodies with sun-bleached hair. They are now becoming men, and that's strange. But good men, and that is sweet.

And of course what would a road trip be without a visit to a giant nose? Science museums are a win for children of all ages. And their children, too. We should have seen how many Bogdanoffs could fit into the nose... Next wedding.

Then began the 14 hour trip home with this joker (see blue hat below). The plan was to have my mother come home with us from Texas to watch J for a birthday weekend away. My grandmother was ailing and my mother stayed with her, and Papa (my dad) stepped up to the plate.

Papa is primo supreme being of the universe to my child, up there next to Elmo, DJ Lance Rock and the ice cream guy at Chick-fil-A. Time with J and Papa involves a lot of playing outside, teaching things (like how to clean car windows at the gas station) and plenty of peeing outside. While we were visiting at my parent's house over Christmas my son walked me over to a bush in their backyard and proclaimed, "This is the bush me and Papa pee on." My mom started laughing embarrassed, and told J that was suppose to be a secret. And then apologized for my father. My father does not apologize. I love him either way.

Matt and I took a birthday trip to Chicago, which I'm sure will make a later post.

March was a good month.