We have been living in the A-frame for a year, but Trey has been living on our porch for a month

Last week, when Rob got home from work, he went over to the house to make sure all the ethernet wiring he'd put in was complete. Work was set to recommence any day and this was his last chance to finish up.  He brought our dog, Risa, with him.

Lately, Maya has been fussy in the evenings before bed, so I've asked Rob to check in with me if he's working late to see if I need backup.   I've gotten used to a quick, "Be home soon" message, but this text took me by surprise:

Rob: I'll be home soon.  Met Trey the homeless guy living on the screened porch.
Me: What!?
Rob: Yep. Been here about a month.
Me: Oh my god

I remembered having stopped by the house with Sean the day before to make sure the key was in the lock box for the contractors.  While Maya and I waited in the car, Sean peeked inside "to check for squatters," he joked.  "No sleeping bags," he had reported.

I guess Sean hadn't checked inside our cooler on the screened porch where Trey has been storing his wool blanket for the past month.  While Rob and Risa were inside, with no light but Rob's headlamp, they heard a voice out back, "Where is my blanket?" someone asked himself.

Rob and Risa weren't afraid, just curious.  They walked around back.  There, they met Trey.  Rob and Trey each explained their reasons for being on the property after dark.  Trey assured Rob that he's always gone before any workers get there. He's been sleeping under a piece of plywood that has been propped up against the wall.

The two took a few minutes to talk.  When Rob got home I was, of course, anxious to hear what had happened. With Maya asleep just down the ladder, we whispered back and forth in the dark loft. Rob was sentimental.  Trey was about Rob's age. He's been moving from city to city.  He has been in Austin, sleeping on our porch, for the last month.

A picture of our screened porch as it has been since Trey's been living on it.

Rob had told him that he was glad at least someone was getting use out of the place, since no one had been working for months. However, he'd have to ask Trey to find somewhere else to sleep since workers would be back on site and it wouldn't be safe. He gave Trey what cash he had in his wallet and wished him luck.  When Rob talked to me about the encounter, he pointed out that Trey has never left a trace on the property. He hasn't ever tried to get into the house on a cold night nor left trash or any sign he'd been there. He'd hated having to ask him to leave.


The next day, workmen showed up on site again after about a 5 month hiatus.  We moved off 'The Lot' 13 months ago. Our original contract indicated a completion date of March 2012.  But we kept hitting bumps along the way.  Permitting issues, foundation mistakes, framing mistakes, rainy days, etc.  As is probably a source of tension in many such projects, our contractors wanted more money before making more progress and we wanted more progress before paying more money.  And so, lawyers have helped us to come to new terms so that we can, finally, move forward.

During the year that we've been living in the 'smurf house' (as a friend of Rob's calls it), we've had to constantly revisit our plans.

Each hiccup meant a new move-in date.  I've gotten my hopes up again and again, thinking that I would finally be able to invite my family to come stay with me.

Last February, my mom, dad, and Tracy came to visit when Sean moved to Austin.  They stayed in a hotel since we couldn't put them up.  

Originally, we had hoped to be in the new house in time for my siblings to visit for South by Southwest 2012.  When they came, they saw only a subfloor to the new addition under plastic, rained on day after day.

Here, the leaves were piling up as the site sat vacant.

Though I was disappointed to not be able to host everyone in a new space, we made it work.  Kelly and Joe slept on a pull-out couch at Sean's place. Tracy slept on an air mattress in the loft with Rob and me. And Joe's brother, Michael, slept on the couch at the A-frame. 

Trying on hats at Allens Boots on S. Congress

Next, we thought maybe we'd be able to move in before summer time, giving me the chance to take advantage of having the summer off to get unpacked.  Over the summer, we saw the framing go up and progress stopped again.

In May, my mom came to visit to help pick out tile and flooring. At the time, we thought we were in a rush to get all of the details to the builder.

Over the summer, we thought, Maybe we'll be in with time to set up the nursery before the baby comes. I started taking 'baby bump' pictures, thinking that the house would be changing as my profile changed. 

By the time we took the below picture I had given up on the idea of bringing Maya home from the hospital to a brand new nursery. And I was feeling pretty down about it. But I reminded myself of our blessings and tried my best not to dwell on the fact that Maya's first months would be in the smurf house.

Maya coming home to the A-frame from the hospital

Grandpa O'Brien and Maya

At one point we'd hoped that we would be able to host my family for Christmas, when they were planning to come to town to meet the first O'Brien grandchild. Instead, my parents rented a house near S. Congress and we all moved in for two weeks while the Johanna house sat vacant another month.

Maya in her bonnet from Grandma Jane

Enjoying our last dinner all together at La Condesa

Everyone had to come watch Maya get a bath. :)

We even set up a swing for her at the Christmas house

Now, in February 2013, work on the house has begun again.

The decking to the front porch is being framed out.

The spray foam insulation has gone into the exterior walls and attic.

The batting to sound proof bedrooms has gone into the interior walls.

And the clap board that the original house was made out of has gone up onto the screen porch ceiling, just above where Trey slept.

Our new home is now expected to be complete by May 15.  When I look at the above pictures of my family, I am reminded that for each new expected move in date, we have had a plan B, another option, another home. I have whined about the fact that we have been living in the A-frame, this temporary place, for over a year.  But Trey was living on our construction site for over a month, just grateful for the space.

While I can hope that Trey has found another place to sleep at night, I suspect that it will be yet another temporary spot.  I don't know if the house will be done this May, but Trey reminded me that even an expectation of a move in date is a privilege not to be taken for granted.

Just In Case

Baby McKay was due to arrive 12.21.12, a date predicted by the Mayans to bring the Apocalypse.  In the end, Baby McKay's actual date of birth was much more exciting than the long anticipated doomsday turned out to be. 

Those of you who know Rob, or have been following this blog, know that he loves a close call.  He likes to trim trees with a chainsaw while wearing flip flops. Or give himself stitches with fishing line. I, myself, take cautious steps even up and down stairs. 

Eventually, this ladder in the Aframe  was more than I could handle. In my 8th month of pregnancy we replaced our couch with a bed so that I could just sleep downstairs.

 Rob, however, celebrates such moments as towing my car with a canvas strap to save money.

When my car broke down this week on Valentines Day, I wanted to call a tow truck.  Rob had another idea.

Rob likes to arrive at the gate just in time to walk on to the plane.  I, on the other hand, get to the airport an hour and a half early, just in case.

Rob likes a challenge. He likes an adventure.  I guess I should have known that having Rob's baby would mean I would be forfeiting all predictability and control.

Even months before delivery, Rob found ways to add suspense to our first pregnancy.  First, he convinced me that we should wait to find out the sex of the baby.  How many more great surprises will we have in our lives? he argued.  And so, over the course of the pregnancy we kept two lists of baby names going and constantly speculated, boy or girl?

Second, Rob continued to remind me that November was hunting season.  Years ago, Rob gave up eating meat that he doesn't believe is sustainable. And so, we have depended largely on the venison that he brings home after an annual weekend to his family's ranch in Menard.  This year, Rob planned his trip for November 15-18.  As the date grew nearer, we continued to touch base about whether his trip to a relatively isolated location with limited cell phone reception was a good idea.  As long as I continued to feel well, however, we didn't foresee any reason why being in our 8th month of pregnancy should get in the way of his plans.

Rob was scheduled to leave town Thursday evening.  The first indication that Baby McKay would arrive early came on Wednesday while I was at work.  This being my first pregnancy, I didn't recognize the signs.  I called my OB's office and described my symptoms. "My husband is leaving town tomorrow evening for the weekend.  Should I tell him not to go?" I added.

"No, no," the nurse practitioner reassured me.  This was normal for someone at 35 weeks.  Rob could enjoy his hunting trip.  I need not worry.

Thursday morning I felt great. I even swam half a mile at the Y. By Thursday afternoon, however, just 2 hours before Rob planned to leave, I experienced yet another new sensation.  Could my water have just broken?  Again, I called the nurse practitioner and described the symptoms.

Just another unfortunate side effect of this stage of pregnancy, she explained.
"Should I tell my husband to cancel his trip?" I had to ask.
"No, no," I was told again.  The baby was likely just jumping on my bladder.

While it wasn't exactly 'relieving' to hear that wetting myself was normal, I told Rob that, yes, everything was fine and that, no, he need not cancel his trip. Before he left town, however, I reminded him to make sure that at least someone had cell phone coverage at the ranch. Just in case.

Thursday night Rob checked in with me from his friend, Robert's, phone. His own phone wasn't working. "All's fine. Have fun!" I told him. But I went ahead and saved his friend's phone number to my contacts.  Just in case.

 Friday morning Rob called me again.  I had the day off of work.
"I'm fine. Have fun!"  I repeated.  "Just keep a phone on you."

Friday afternoon I met up with my brother, Sean, to grab lunch and go for a walk.  We swung on the swings at a neighborhood park, carefree and playful, unaware of what the evening had in store for us.  Next, we headed to his place so I could do several loads of Baby McKay's laundry.  At the Aframe, we don't have a gas hook up for our dryer, so we had been hanging our laundry to dry, resulting in some rather stiff clothes. I wanted the baby's clothes to be soft and fluffy. At Sean's, I wondered whether Baby McKay was a boy or a girl as I folded receiving blankets, burp clothes, and gender neutral onesies.  Only about 1 month left until December 21st.

Around midnight, while still at Sean's watching tv, I felt it again, only this time it was worse.  Can the baby jump on my bladder while I'm lying on my side?  I discreetly got up and walked to the bathroom.  This was not normal.

"Ummm, Sean..." I started, as I returned to the living room.  "I think maybe my water just broke."  He looked at me, his eyebrows raised, and then calmly began to do a google search as I described the symptoms.  I grabbed my cell to call the after hours hotline.  My phone was dead.  I borrowed Sean's and realized that I didn't have access to the only number where I could reach Rob.  Great.

Sean drove me to my place to get my phone charger.  En route, the doctor called Sean's phone and agreed that, yes, we should head to the hospital. First, I ran (waddled) into the Aframe and plugged in my phone.  Rob's friend, who I'd never met, answered my call with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Rob?"
"This is Robert."
"No, Rob McKay. Is Rob McKay there? This is his wife. I'm on my way to the hospital," my tone lacked patience.  When my Rob got to the phone, I told him to stay put, keep Robert's phone close by, and I'd call him soon with an update.  I grabbed the hospital bag that I had packed the week before, relieved that it was prepared. Had Rob had his way, we'd have waited another week or two to get ready.  "We've got plenty of time," Rob had said, just as he does whenever we're on our way to catch a flight.

As we pulled up to the Emergency entrance, I tried to remain calm. No reason to worry. This was just a precautionary trip to the hospital.  With my brother.  My baby wasn't coming for another month. And Rob would be there when he or she did.  This was a "just in case" trip.

I was wheeled up to the maternity ward and over the next 4 hours, Sean walked back and forth from the couch to the waiting room while I was examined by nurse after nurse, each of whom was unsure what this leaking meant.  It took several tests to rule out amniotic fluid. The monitors showed that I was having slight contractions (so that's what that back pain was!) and I was told that I was 1 cm dilated.  Dilated? Already?  This could go on for weeks, I was told.  As if that was supposed to be reassuring.  Eventually, around 4:00am, one of the nurses came in and said, "Your labor is not progressing, so we're not going to admit you. You can go home."

I burst into tears. I had started to wonder if maybe I was there to stay.  It had been all I could do to not let worry overwhelm me and with the news that all was okay, I just lost it.  Sean smiled at me, understanding that the tears were of relief, and brought me home.  I let Rob know that all was fine and that there was no need for him to rush home. We could talk again in the morning.  I passed out in  bed--downstairs--and slept in on Saturday morning.

Before I met up with Sean for an appointment with the cabinet makers (no, the house would not be ready in time for the baby), I talked to Rob. I think I was half hoping that he would say that he was going to cut his trip short and come home. But he'd only gotten one deer, not enough to last us a year.  And I didn't want to over-react or sound any more false alarms.  Plus, it was just one more day until he planned to come home.  We had plenty of time, right?

Rob's friend, Robert, had already left. Now, it was just Rob's brother, Jim, and Rob on the ranch.   "I'm fine." I told him.  "But keep Jim's phone on you."

But while Sean and I were meeting with the cabinet maker, I felt more contractions.  They were more intense than they had been at the hospital the night before.  When I was back home Saturday afternoon, I started googling "babies born at 35 weeks."  Such internet searches never serve to ease the mind. I'd had it. I called Jim's phone, planning to ask Rob to come home. Just in case.

Jim answered.  "Can I talk to Rob?" I asked, trying to sound calm.
"He's off hunting for the day," Jim responded.  He didn't have a phone on him!?!?  "Is everything alright?"
"It's time for you guys to come home.  Enough is enough." And I started crying again.  I explained that I was fine, but that I needed Rob to come back to Austin.
"I'll go get him right now," Jim said.

Apparently, Jim then got in the truck, and started driving through the ranch, his hand on the horn so as not to be inadvertently shot.  When he found Rob, he said, "We've got to go. Katie called. She was crying."

"Well, Katie cries a lot..." Rob responded.  Ha!  Later, I laughed when I heard that one.  It's true, I do cry a lot. ;)  Maybe I'd gotten a 'boy who cried wolf' reputation.  But this time, I'm lucky Jim was there to step in.

"Get in the truck," Jim insisted.  They were home by Saturday evening.

Sunday, I continued to feel contractions but they were still inconsistent, and not too intense.  Sunday evening, we were at Sean's working to organize plans and re-negotiation paperwork for the builder.  Even four years and two months after we bought the lot on West Johanna, this house was the center of stressful conversations. Contractors had ceased to work and lawyers were now a new part of the equation.  Even as I was doing child's pose on the floor, stretching and breathing through contractions, our future home was haunting me.

By 11:00pm, the pains were 3-5 minutes apart and growing more and more intense.  Again, I called the MedLink number and heard back from the doctor. Yes, we should go back to the hospital, she said.  Still, we were certain we'd be sent back home.  I got my bag and we grabbed the movie we'd been watching, The Hills Have Eyes.

We'd been on a Horror movie kick and though this flick, complete with baby kidnapping and all, isn't ideal for the maternity ward, we figured we might have a lot of time to kill.

Rob didn't grab anything for himself, sure that we still had plenty of time. We left the house a mess, hunting gear strewn around, dishes in the sink, laundry baskets full to the brim.  We'll be back by morning, we thought.

But, Baby McKay had her own plans.  We arrived at the hospital by 11:30pm Sunday night.  Over the next 12 hours, the contractions continued.  I was admitted and told that though the doctor did not want to do anything to progress labor, I was in active labor and would likely not be going home until the baby came.

I was on my feet throughout the night. Rob walked the halls with me, making a game out of making it to the end of the hall each lap we took.  We watched our horror film, I ate ice chips, and texted our family to give periodic updates.  3cm, 4cm.    Around 1:30pm Monday afternoon, my doctor came to check on me. By this time, I was doing what she called "the death grip" on the bars of the hospital bed. I hadn't eaten and my legs were shaking with fatigue.  Dr. Landwermeyer checked my charts and was surprised to see that no one had checked my dilation since 4:00am.  When she checked me, I was at 7 cm and my water broke. She looked me in the eye and said, "Now the contractions are going to get more intense.  If you want an epidural, it will take about an hour.  So, keep that in mind."

It was only the 19th of  November. Almost 5 weeks before my due date. But Rob was here. And there were no signs that should cause us to worry.  We could do this.

Rob and I hit the halls again. He rubbed my back as I gripped the bars along the hallway's walls.  I didn't last much longer before asking for the anesthesiologist.  By 3:30 I was drugged, happy, and relaxed enough to take a nap.  By about 5:00 it was time to push.

At 5:48pm, as the sun was setting just outside our window, Dr. Landwermeyer said, "She is a little princess!"  Rob grabbed the camera and we held our sweet, sweet baby girl, Maya Jane, for the first time.

She weighed in at 6 lbs. 1 oz. and measured 20 inches.  At each new test or assessment, we held our breaths for the results. Luckily, her early arrival didn't impact her health. She was strong and healthy, eating well and gaining weight.  We hold our sweet Maya, now over 12 lbs, and feel so blessed every day.

Maya is now 3 months old. This week, contractors were back on site at the house.  The new expected completion date is May 15th.  By then, Maya will be 6 months old, sitting up but not yet crawling.    We look forward to moving our family into our new home before long. But I'll go ahead and get the Aframe baby-proofed... just in case!

Sorry, Please, Thank You, and all the things my mother taught me to say and a few things she taught me to not

 Is it possible that I just slept for 6 hours straight?  Unless I forgot to log a nursing session on my breastfeeding app, then it must be true.  I feel clearheaded and, dare I say, well-rested?  So, I must quickly write a post to remember and record this feeling so that I can come back to it later this afternoon when I'm feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion, once again thinking of that special someone who I can call to cry to and dwell in self pity to who won't judge me, worry about me, or think I'm going off the deep end.

First, I'll apologize.  (Even though Rob just reminded me of what my mom has been telling me for years, that  I need to stop apologizing for things that are out of my control.)  Sorry Rob.  Sorry Mom.  Let me take the chance to beg forgiveness to those of you who have not heard from me about the gift you sent, who have received one of the aforementioned phone calls, to those of you who have not received one of the aforementioned phone calls, and, of course, to those of you who have had to see my boob without warning.  And sorry to those of you who just had to read the word 'boob' without warning. Sorry that emails of photos have been so few and facebook photos have been so many.  And sorry, Maya, for any and all shortcomings of being a new mom. I love you and I will learn as quickly as I can what each grunt, cry, stretch, squeak and lip smack means.  And sorry for all of the things that I should be sorry for that I don't even realize I've done.

Next, let me give thanks and appreciation to Rob and my Mom for taking care of me (cooking, cleaning, dishes, laundry, backrubs, read-a-louds, encouragement, hugs, kisses) and for reminding me to take care of myself. Thank you Rob. Thank you Mom.  Thank you, Dad, for the staycation on Newning Street and for staycationing with us. Thanks for getting me out of the house to La Condesa and Docs, Bouldin Creek, Elizabeth Street Cafe, etc.  Thank you, Aunt Tracy, for singing to Mayita 'Lemme kissya' and dancing around the house with more energy than I could give her. Thank you, Aunt Kelly, for holding sweet Maya in the sling when my back was hurting and for the outfits that will fit her now and in a few months.  Thank you, Sean, for all of the great meals you cooked this break... rubin sandwiches, stirfry, mojitos, asian chicken, tofu, amazing salad dressings.  Thank you for giving me the tv room when I needed it.  Thank you McKays for being the perfect in-laws who offer support, send gifts, call to check in, save hand-me-downs, visit just enough to make me feel loved and supported and not too much to make me feel pressured and for letting me know that you'll visit more if I like or I'm welcome whenever I need it.   Thank you, friends, for not judging my decisions and for understanding that we all have our own way. New motherhood is tough and your unconditional support is so appreciated.

Thank you to all of you for the gifts and words of support and encouragement.  Thank you notes will be done ASAP, an acronym that has new meaning these days, but means something just the same. Thank you for all of the things that we both know I should be thanking you for but I have just neglected to say it.  Sorry for being neglectful.

Most of all, thank you Maya, mi Mayita, for your squeaks and your grunts, your cries and your smiles. Thank you for the lip smacks (that's an easy one!) and your stretches, your drunken sailor looks and your hours of listening to a tone-deaf mommy sing "You are My Sunshine" "Boom Boom Ain't it Great to be Crazy" and "She'll be Comin' 'Round the Mountain" for hours on end.  Gracias, mi Mayita por las horas de lectura del libros ?Eres mi Mama? y Buenas Noches, Luna.  Estos son mis momentos favoritos contigo.  Tantos libros mas nos esperan. 

And here are some long-awaited photos and links to more. 
Birth story to come as soon as I can draft a version that gives enough details to add suspense and humor while leaving out details that, of course, must be left out of such public blog spaces. 

Below are a few photos uploaded in haste, not the best that exist, but a peek at this cutie.  Here is a link to more and there will be more and more and more than you'll ever want. Sorry for the haste and thank you for your patience!

The Half-Way House

Unfortunately, the day has come when I am 29 weeks pregnant and writing at 4:00 am, unable to sleep due to my inability to stop drafting an email to our builder in my head.  At 3:00 (after at least an hour of completing revisions in my mind), I quietly descended the ladder from the loft of our temporary home and turned on my computer. Even though I know that the email currently saved in my account will not be sent, it helped to write it.  Seven months ago, it would have been discarded by the builder as authored by a 'sensitive woman.'  Today, if sent, it would still no doubt be written-off, but now, in all likelihood, be attributed to the emotional swings of pregnancy. 

Somehow, writing and saving such an email was not enough to calm my mind.  Sleep will have to wait.  And so, for the first time in more than two months, I post another blog entry.

Prior to the start of construction, we began to, jokingly and lovingly, refer to our house as "The Lot."  The nickname signified a challenge that Rob and I took on a week before we were married and has given us a good laugh when we've needed one.  Since our purchase of The Lot, we have experienced many adventures, have felt proud of each step in progress, and have never regretted the decision we made to buy the 1928 structure.  We've kept the end result in sight and have looked forward to the completion of the home where our future children will grow up.  We've worked together, supporting each other as if through a marathon or, more accurately, like a team in the Tough Mudder Competition that my brother-in-law, Joe, completed just a week or two back.  The Tough Mudder advertises as "probably the toughest event on the planet." Yes, more accurate.

Photos taken from Joe's facebook page without his permission

Clearly, both the feats of The Tough Mudder and home construction "test your all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie."  Rob and I have certainly experienced the uphill battles.  We have often felt as if for each foot we climb, we slide back down two. But over the four years we have been able to mark progress.  And so we know that while the climb is steep and can feel like a scramble, being able to look at the view once we reach the top will be worthwhile. 

When I look through Joe's photos, I am, oddly enough, struck by the similarities in the challenges.  I remember Rob's adventure under the house, plugging up the holes in the floors to save me from the cucarachas. He army-crawled through vines of poison ivy.  This mud can be washed off within minutes, while Rob still bears the scars.

 Yet other photos remind me of our pipes bursting and flooding our walls during that cold winter.  We survived by showering at the Y or staying with friends through the freeze, barely gripping the rungs of sanity.








I envision Rob up in the scaffolding of the frame of the new house, trimming limbs from our trees and painting the sawed off stumps to protect them from oak wilt.  I cringe a bit at this picture of Joe descending the wood planks, as I remember Rob teetering at the top of the cable pole or hopping across the open beams of new attic, planning the space for attic decking or wiring for speakers and Ethernet.

Over the two months since my last entry, my stamina has waned.  I've entered my third trimester and I'm tired. My patience has been put to the test.  A few weeks back I stepped to the side of the course, sat down in the mud, and gave up on a completion date that comes before our due date. 

The new nickname we've been using for the home under construction on W Johanna Street is "The Half-Way House".  This new name is said with more of a forced half-smile than a chuckle.  We continue to try to have a good sense of humor and to pull through, but our attempts at a laugh are less effective.  I've stopped driving by the house on my way home.  I know there are no changes there to witness.

However, what I am blessed to be able to do now, is focus my attention on more significant changes.  

Baby McKay is growing.  He (I'm convinced it's a boy) is as active as Joe in the Tough Mudder.  I wish I had an ultrasound machine at home so I could watch him all day long.

And today, the productive and fun-filled hours before tonight's fitful sleep were full of signs of good health, preparedness, and love.  I ran 3 miles.  Rob and I went shopping together and packed our bag for the hospital.  Rob humored me, accompanying me to maternity clothing stores.

And at about 4:30pm, I headed to the home of a former student, located in a neighborhood funded by the Housing Authority of the City of Austin.  There, Maria and her three girls had spent the day decorating for my baby shower.

Teresa, another mother and now dear friend who I worked with when I was a Parent Support Specialist, arrived with a diaper cake.

 The girls (1st, 3rd, and 7th grades) had hung both pink and blue balloons and crepe paper baby bottles from the ceiling.  They'd wrapped gifts for the guests and many for Baby McKay.

 They had organized at least a half dozen games that had us all laughing until our cheeks hurt.  We saw how many clothespins we could hold in one hand,

 how many plies of toilet paper it takes to encircle my growing tummy,

 who can drink out of a baby bottle the fastest, and ate delicious chocolate cake that read "Welcome Future Baby!"

 

 Baby McKay and I were surrounded by love and support. 

 My dear friend, Brynne, gave me picture books that reminded me of the priorities that trump construction deadlines and nursery decorations.

While I may not be sitting in a comfy rocker in a new house the first time I read "On the Night You Were Born" to my first child, I will surely know that on the night Baby McKay was born he or she was blessed with everything that one could need and more.

Eventually, we will finish this construction obstacle course.  Rob and I will reach out our arms and yank each other up the last, steep, uphills to the end.  We will smile and celebrate with friends and family.

This Christmas, my whole family will be in Austin for the birth of the first grandchild.  My mother will stay to help with the baby and has even reserved the weeks prior to the due date in case we call to say, Baby McKay is coming early!  Maria and her three girls have vowed to help come decorate the nursery when the house is done.

And so, now I'll go back to sleep with a glass-is-half-full mentality.  "The Half-way House" is still a nickname that can bring us a smile.  Half-way isn't half bad! We're closer than we were and are blessed with a baby on the way to remind us of all that we have.