The Clam Dig

For the past year, the top of my Washington To-Do list has been to go Razor Clam digging along the coast. You can only dig for razor clams certain dates throughout winter. So I patiently waited for winter to come so we could go. Weekends would come, but the weather would be so poor that we would decide to wait for the next dig. Then Joe would be on call, so we wouldn't go then. Then low tide would be at 9:00 at night, so we didn't go then, because I didn't feel like freezing my rear end off in the pitch black beachness with three small children. Then Joe would be on call again and so again, we couldn't go. Then Earthquakes would hit Chile, and there would be tsunami warnings for coastal cities, so we wouldn't go then. We were sure that weekend of the tsunami warnings would be the last weekend of the season, and that we would leave Washington without experiencing a true Pacific Northwest clam dig.

Lucky for us, last week, we read that the state had released one more weekend of clam digging. Low tide was set for 5:00pm, and the weather was predicted for a cool sunny and 63 degrees. Jackpot!

We drove the hour and a half to the coast and followed a line of cars right onto the beach. Washington considers the beach state highway, so we drove onto the sand and parked along side the thousands of cars there. It was spectacular! I couldn't believe how many people were there. Thousands and thousands of people all digging for clams.

It was such a fun experience. Everyone there was in waders up to their hips. Except us, we wore Ugg boots and old tennis shoes. People were walking around with nets tied to their belts to carry their clams, but we had sand pails and Halloween buckets with kitty cat faces on them. People had their waterproof gloves to dig in the sand, but we just used our bare hands. Luckily, we went with some seasoned pros who had clamming guns, so we were in business for catching some serious clams.

I mostly sat back and watched as everyone hung their heads and looked for clams. It was funny to see so many people all walking around looking down. Then a big wave would come and suddenly people would run from it because they hadn't noticed it coming. I carefully kept an eye on three little people in particular, because they were busy doing their own digging and not watching out for waves either.

When we got there it was right at low tide, and there were so many people, that mostly we just walked around for an hour not finding much. As the tide started to come back in and people started to leave, that's when the magic happened. We started to see little spouts of water shooting out of the sand like crazy and that's how we knew there would be a clam. We then had to shove that metal "gun" deep into the sand and pull with all your might to get it back out. In the load of sand you dug up would be a gigantic razor clam the size of your hand, from fingers to wrist.

Between the two guns our group was using, we were able to dig up about 35 clams in 30 minutes. Our clamming license only allows 15 clams per person, so we got what we could. Our friends have gone so many times that they let us take theirs home because they no longer have room in their freezer with all their clams.

We built a small fire and roasted some hot dogs, but the wind picked up and sand was flying everywhere, so we just happily left with our clams and called it a night. But we stayed long enough for my hair to smell like ocean and smoke, so that made me happy. Nothing reminds me more of growing up by the beach than that perfectly comforting smell of sea air and bon fire. I loved it.

Now we just have to get creative in ways to cook these babies. Clam chowder, seafood pot pie and clam linguine are already on the menu, but what else?

Discovering Ants

Owning a Rental

Reality is starting to set in. Especially when this little (or huge) sign was planted in our yard yesterday afternoon. The reality is-we're moving. We're leaving this perfect little house in this perfect little neighborhood.

But Joe and I made the decision to keep this house. We're glad we did. It has made the reality of leaving a little more bearable. We hope to keep this house for a very, very long time. It's a good investment. But the reason I feel so good about keeping this house has nothing to do with money (although that is exactly why we're keeping it). I somehow feel better thinking that if we always own the house, then we'll never forget the memories. I know that sounds crazy, but that's how I feel. As long as we own it, we'll still be attached to all the joys we've experienced here. I could never forget our life in this house, but a part of me wants to hold onto this part of our life forever. Of course we're ready to move on, but we've never been happier. Being in this house, with my husband and growing family, has been the best five years of my life. Without a doubt. I know we will make a great life in our next homes, and I will love them just as dearly as I love this house, but, right now, I'm only sentimental for this house.

It will do my heart well, living in Kansas, knowing that we still have this little house on the corner that I love so dearly.

Henry

I didn't understand when people told me I would have a different love for my boy, than I do for my girls. "Love is love. It's all the same." That's what I thought.

I was wrong.

It's not the same.

I love my children unconditionally. I love them equally. I love them individually. But I love them differently. It's true. My love for Henry is different. I am head over heels in love with this boy.

Today he turned one. Where on earth did last year go? I can remember the day he was born like it happened yesterday. Yesterday I gave birth to Henry, then I blinked, and now it's a year later.

I sat here tonight intending to write all the things we've learned about Henry this last year. But that will have to wait for another day. As I started this I was reminded that I wrote a post 3 days after Henry was born. I never posted it...

Our little man's birthday was scheduled for March 10th. We called that morning and were told to come in at 6:00 am. When we got there they gave us the runaround. We were told to get a bite to eat downstairs. I wasn't hungry. So we waited. And basically we only waited to be sent home 2 hours later because there was no room for us in Labor and Delivery. Annoyed and disappointed we went home. We sat around all day waiting for a phone call that we could come back. But that phone call never came. Finally at 5:30pm a nurse called and asked if we were up for a late night induction. Of course we were. She said she would call us back once the lady, who was already dilated to a seven, gave birth and we could come in.

That call didn't come either. So finally at 11:00pm we went to bed. I woke up at 4:15am and realized there still was no call. Super annoyed at this point and not knowing what to do, I sat awake the rest of the morning. We decided that we would just call the hospital again, like we had been told to do the morning before, and hope for the best. They said to come in. We excitedly arrived at the hospital again at 6:15am. The nurse came down the hall and asked us again to go get some breakfast and come back in 45 minutes to see if they'd have room. Umm, why were we just told to come in if YOU DON'T HAVE ANY ROOM!? We slowly walked away. We watched the sun come up over Mt. Rainer from a hallway in the empty hospital. After awhile we went back to Labor and Delivery and were again told they wouldn't be able to admit us and we would have to go.

Well, I was 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant and Joe works at that hospital, so we had a few words for the triage nurse about patient care and just general consideration. We weren't upset they didn't have room for us, but I sure was sick of being told to come in and then to go eat some crappy breakfast in the hospital cafeteria only to be told to go home two days in a row.

But we went. I walked back into our house and was crying. The girls asked, again, where the baby was. Still no baby. Joe just went to work-there was nothing for him to do at home. My mom tried to make me feel better. We sat in the girls room wondering what we could do to pass time. Then the phone rang. Minutes after I had just gotten home. It was the head nurse. She promised me I would not be turned away and to come right in. I gave my girls a kiss goodbye for the third time, still with tears in my eyes, and left for the hospital.

We were having our baby. Finally.

Blink.

It's now been a year. And he still brings tears to my eyes. I will never forget that day. Little Henry. You are something special. And I love you. I always will.

Permanent

Fine. If you won't let me wear lipstick, I'll use nail polish instead.

I Win...

For being the World's worst mom.

We had another beautiful, sunny day today. The girls had a couple friends over to play and we designated outside as our "Henry Free Zone".

Poor Henry. He just stood there and watched. The kids talked to him through the screen. He talked back- for awhile.

But I couldn't let him out. He has officially reached that disaster stage. He's go, go, go and doesn't know what's safe and what's not. Like the stairs down our deck. Not safe. Joe's smoker. Not safe. Propane. Not safe. So I didn't let him out. Because I didn't feel like babysitting him while he was outside.

Then one of the kids noticed a hole in our screen. And they started passing him little toys through it. He was thrilled. And I win for being the world's worst mom. Because he had to settle for undressed Polly Pockets and other lame little things that could fit through that one inch square in the screen. All because I didn't feel like letting him out.

I should be fired.

Post-edit note: I should also be fired for letting him wear these pants that are way too short for him. He is seriously lacking 12-18 month clothes.