Mother of the Year

As if it isn't bad enough to walk into daycare, and feel like every other parent is judging you. What I am wearing. . . what Mikie is wearing. . . is his face covered in syrup from breakfast. . . is he bouncing off the walls. . . what sugary breakfast did I pack him this morning. . .

The other day, I go to pick Mikie up from daycare. As usual, he doesn't want to put his coat on. Since the car was still warm, and parked two spaces from the front entrance, I figured he would survive the short walk in the cold to the car.

Of course, as soon as we step outside, he starts crying "I'm freezing. I need my jacket". Immediately, someone turns to look at me (their well behaved child was bundled up). So, I respond in a loud enough voice that others could hear "But you didn't want to wear your jacket. We'll put it on when we get to the car."

Not a minute later, as I am struggling to force him into his carseat, he starts screaming "I WANT MY MOMMY!" Now, you can imagine the whiplash people got as they turned to see what was going on. In a desperate attempt to act like this was a normal interaction for us, I laugh "I AM you're mommy, silly".

Obviously, no one at that daycare is nominating me for mother of the year. I just count myself lucky that they didn't call the police.

Why doesn't he pull these stunts when Mike picks him up?

Love,
The Trahans

"You're a good kid. . .

Now make me some eggs." - Mike Cowper

Oh how those words made me laugh evertime I heard them. Mike, four years my senior, was the most entertaining boss I ever had. A Penn State grad, he knows how to party. And so, I dedicate this post to him.

Ever the helper, Mikie decided he wanted eggs for breakfast. So, in a moment of sheer insanity, I let him make his eggs. Right down to scrambling them in the hot pan. Obviously, I was standing guard, reminding him every 30 seconds not to touch the stove or the pan itself.

Luckily for me, he enjoys cleaning even more than he does cooking. Now, if only I could get him to listen to directions, I would have the model child.

Love,

The Trahans

The New Yankee Workshop

Watch out, Norm Abrams. There is a new kid in town:

I don't know how much of a threat he can actually pose with a tape measure that only measures up to 8 inches in length and a wrench shaped like Cookie Monster. But, he looks like a force to be reckoned with, standing in his khakis and flannel shirt. Can we fix it. . . Mikie can!

If your looking for a civil engineer, we may have your man (give or take 19 years and a degree).

Love,

The Trahans

Mikie and the Balloon

We like to eat at a restaurant called "Red Robin" from time to time. They basically serve burgers (that is the majority of the menu) with unlimited steak fries. And, best of all, they give you a stack of onion rings that looks like a kids toy. . . you know, the donuts on a stick. They are also relatively kid friendly.

After a quick dinner at Red Robin, Mikie cajoled the hostess into giving him a balloon. Everyone is deceived by his cute appearance into thinking that he is well behaved. Especially when he says "Please" and "Thank you" without being prompted (it makes every 20-something girl go "Aww"). No sooner do we get home, then he releases it in our family room. . . you know, the room with the 18 foot ceiling. After the fourth or fifth time of jumping up to grab the tail end of the string, Mike ties the balloon to his jeans. That works until Mikie, playing tug of war to get the balloon back, pulls the string off the balloon. Unfortunately, our cat like reflexes are rather slow by 8pm, and neither of us could grab the balloon in time. . .

Fortunately, the balloons are made of latex, not mylar. So, it lost it's helium by the time we woke up the next morning and floated down to the floor.

Love,
The Trahans

The Long Road Home

Mikie has grown to like his new daycare so much that he doesn't want to leave. The same child who, last week, told me "I no play with my friends ANYmore" had to be carried out of school kicking and screaming last night. For almost the entire 20 minute ride home he screamed "I no want go home". Makes you feel loved, huh?

Having read my copy of the Super Nanny, I opted to ignore his fit in the hope that he would calm down. Half way through our ride, he stopped. I turned to him and said "Are you finished?" To which he replied, "No".

He resumed screaming until we pulled into the driveway, at which point he was ecstatic to be home and see Mike.

He is too smart for his own good. Luckily, he's cute, and gives the best bear hugs ever. But, you can now see where he gets his nickname from. . . he is Trouble.

Love,
The Trahans

Dumpster Diving for PJs

My mom will never forgive me if I leave this story out of our website. Over his two years of life, my favorite pictures of Mikie are of him in his Christmas pajamas. His first Christmas he wore these cute green velour PJs with "Santa's Helper" written across the behind:
His second Christmas, he had cute fitted pajamas that accentuated his rotund belly:


This year, I found red long johns (the ones with the butt flap) at RedEnvelope.com. As an added bonus, you could personalize them. On December 1st, the night before we moved, I received the Christmas PJs. Mike was in Maryland for his last day as an employee of Northrop, so I was alone with Trouble. I opened the box to see they were there, then tossed it aside, figuring they would be safer in the box until after the move. By the end of the evening, thanks to Mikie, the box had been kicked into the dining room near the trash can.

The next morning was moving day. We woke up, dropped Mike off to pick up the moving truck, and started loading stuff into the car and driving it to the new house. On one of my return trips, I realized that I couldn't find the Christmas PJs. I called Mike, and he told me he threw the box in the dumpster when he took out the trash. Well, since there was no way I was going to shell out another $40 for pajamas, I raced back to the apartment to see if I could retrieve the box before anyone else threw out their trash.

Luckily, the dumpster was mostly empty. Unluckily, it did not have one of those sliding doors in the side. After setting Mikie up watching cartoons in the apartment, I carried a chair out to the dumpster. I leaned over the dumpster, using a coat hanger to flip the box over with one hand, and trying desperately to grab the plastic bag out of the box with the other. No sooner do I have the bag in hand when I hear something fall "clink" to the bottom of the dumpster. I reach for my pocket, just in time to realize that my keys had fallen out of it.

Being that the dumpster is taller than me, there was no way I could reach those keys without someone dangling me over the side by my legs. I could't even get close to them with the coat hanger. Sacrificing Mikie's step stool to the cause, I threw it into the dumpster and lowered myself onto it (because, with my luck, I figured that I might not be able to get out again without something to stand on). I grabbed my keys out of the puddle they were sitting in (I kept trying to convince myself it was just rainwater) and quickly made my escape.

Amazingly, the pajamas were completely unscathed (although, we washed them a couple times before use just to be safe). And, after a ton of antibacterial hand soap and Chlorox wipes, my keys and I were too.

It was all worth while to see Mikie running around Christmas Eve and Christmas morning in these:

The moral of the story (according to Mike): don't put a box by the trashcan unless you want it thrown out. I think it should be: Send your husband into the dumpster to retrieve what he threw away!

Love,
The Trahans

Belated Christmas Stories

Okay, so I am not only behind in sending Christmas cards, I am also behind in my blog. So, to pacify my mom (who calls to remind me I haven't posted certain stories), I am now trying to summarize "Christmas at the Trahans". . .

Here comes Trouble, awake at 7:30 after only 6 hours of sleep (he usually gets 10), venturing down the stairs to see what all the commotion is about. What you can't see is Mom (me) cheering and trying to drum up excitement that "Santa came" as I simultaneously try to take the pictures. I suffer from insomnia on Christmas Eve. . . I can't sleep from the excitement of seeing everyone open their presents. You also can't see Dad (Mike), Grand Da (my dad) and Pookie (my mom) waiting anxiously at the bottom of the staircase for Mikie to descend. As you can see, the pressure of so many people watching got the best of him, and he had to sit down.

Fifteen minutes later, we finally made it to the family room to see what Santa left. You can see everyone standing around, waiting anxiously to see Mikie's reaction to all of the presents:

Evidently, it was not as exciting as we thought. In a sleep deprived stupor, Mikie surveyed the room full of presents, and immediately attacked the Elmo Tool Bench he got from Gram the night before.

We gave up, and started exchanging presents amongst ourselves. Eventually, we cajoled Mikie into opening some presents too (although the first few were opened with the help of his Elmo Tools). By the end of the morning, Mike inherited the task of assembling the Thomas play table. Unfortunately, Mike's knee is all that appears in the picture. I know my dad took pictures of Mike assembling the table, but they have mysteriously disappeared.

Mikie, later arrested for drinking dairy products while operating a train, puffed over the bridge and around the living room on Big Thomas. He kind of reminds me of a young Richie Rich.

Merry Belated Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

The Christmas Hotdog

When you think of Christmas dinner, most people think of having a ham, turkey, duck. But how many people can say they feasted on a Christmas hotdog. . . anybody?

After a drawn out morning of present opening, a delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon, and homefries, my mom and I prepared a delicious Christmas dinner. We had a honey baked ham, au gratin potatoes, pineapple, corn, crescent rolls (because Mike has issue with holiday meals that do not include breads). And what did Mikie want for dinner? Yes, a hotdog. Complete with ketchup and mustard.

On its own, this would not be an amusing story. However, in the middle of our Christmas feast, our good friends Chris and Christine Ryan called. And Mikie, and their son Matthew (who is also two) had a conference call. You can imagine a conference call between two year olds. For those who can't, it went something like this:

Chris: "Matthew, say 'Hi' to Mikie."

Matthew: "Hi"

Mike: "Mikie, tell Matthew 'Merry Christmas'."

Mikie: "Merry 'Ristmas, Matthew."

Matthew: silence (because he is thinking about his new motorcycle)

Mike: "Mikie, tell Matthew what you are having for dinner."

Mikie: "I eat hotdog with ketchup mustard." (that is an exact quote).

Thankfully, we have unlimited long distance, otherwise I wouldn't have been two keen at the thought of two toddlers running up my long distance to say hi and talk about their dinners. However, with a couple of glasses of wine in my mom and I, this conversation (which, like all conference calls was on speaker phone) was hilarious. My dad kept joking that our friends must be wiring us money at the thought of us being so broke from buying our new home that we had to eat hotdogs on Christmas day.

Rest assured, we are not filing for bankruptcy. We just have a two year old who would live on nitrates if we let him.

Hopefully you all had a scrumptious (and hotdog free) holiday feast.

Love, The Trahans

Merry Christmas!

With good intentions, Mike, Mikie and I dressed nicely one weekend in November and went out to two different photo places in an effort to have our family photo taken for our Christmas cards. We had the cards made up before Thanksgiving so that we could send everyone their cards well in advance of the Christmas holiday. Unfortunately, in my effort to hand write a little message on everyone's cards to personalize them, I have now sent out 14 Christmas cards. Yes, only 14. And, even those 14 were only sent on the 20th, so the odds of them arriving before Christmas are slim. Which means that the majority of people who sent me a very nice Christmas card think I am a Scrooge or don't really care enough about them to send them a Christmas card. My excuse is simply that after getting the Christmas cards, we moved. And, in spite of my good intentions, I just had very little free time. So, I am now sending the electronic Christmas message via our lovely blog.

Here is a glimpse of our Christmas card photo:

We hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love, The Trahans

The Big Boy Bed

For anyone who just read the title of this post and assumed I am pregnant, let me state for the record that I am not. Mikie, weighing in at 35 pounds and 3 feet tall, has outgrown his crib-turned-toddler bed. So, at Thanksgiving, we drove to the nearest Pier 1 Kids (which, incidentally, is located only 300 miles away in Delaware) in search of a twin bed to match his existing dresser.

Well, we got to the store and found a nice twin bed with similar styling and color to the existing furniture for the low price of $299. But then, Mike noticed that for only $399, we could get bunk beds. The bunk beds had a cute tent set up around the bottom bunk which I figured Mikie would love, so I gave in.

Somehow $399 became $1100. Mostly because the $399 bunk bed didn't match as nicely, so we upgraded to the $549 bunk bed. Then add in $269 per mattress set (don't forget you need two, one for each bed), $79 for the cute tent, plus delivery fees (since the closest store is 300 miles away). Not to mention buying bedding for two beds. Needless to say, it was more than the $299 we originally anticipated spending.

Four weeks later, the Fedex truck delivered the infamous Big Boy Bed. As you can see below, Mikie LOVES it. Although, he prefers the top bunk. . . of course, since he isn't allowed to sleep in it:

Mike is still recovering from carrying the bunkbeds up the stairs and single-handedly lifting the top bunk onto the bottom bunk and assembling them by himself. You can find him residing in the bottom bunk (although Mikie and I rolled him onto the floor so that we could put the sheets and blankets on):

Sweet dreams.

Love, The Trahans

Mikie & The Swingset

I have never seen anyone so happy with a swingset in my life. Here is a picture of the world's happiest toddler on his swingset:

A few days later, we found the bucket and shovel for his sandbox. . . and he hasn't been on the swings since. I think if I let him, he would be outside digging in the sand all day long.

Oh to be two again. . .

Love, The Trahans

The Top Sign You Live in the Middle of Nowhere. . .

. . .You have to fill out a "Route Card" so that your mail carrier knows to drop off your mail!

I have moved seven times (excluding changing dorms in college). Each time, I either pick up a change of address card from the post office and mail it back, or pay the $1 processing fee and change my address online. So, almost 2 weeks after buying the house, I was wondering why I still haven't received any mail at the house. It isn't at the apartment, so I know they processed the address change. And, according to all the companies I have ordered from, I should have gotten packages, not to mention bills, mail from my mom, etc.

Since I left work early yesterday to take Mikie to the doctor's, I had time to stop by the local post office before it closed. The first question they asked was "did you fill out a Route Card?" I assumed they meant a Change of Address Card, and I informed them I filled it out online. The teller then explained that a "Route Card" is different. It lets your mail carrier know that he/she should add you to the route. I unwittingly assumed that, like every other place I have lived, the Post Office automatically added me to the route when I filled out the "Change of Address Card." But, I guess it would be too confusing to deliver mail to every mailbox you happen to pass along the way.

After filling out the "Route Card" and contact the local Post Master, we are now successfully receiving mail at our new address. Just in time to pay the bills.

Love, The Trahans

The Trahan Family Christmas Tree

With the holidays inching ever closer, we spent this past weekend searching for the perfect Christmas tree. Taking after my dad, I like to find the largest, fattest tree that will still fit in the room. And, since the new family room has a vaulted ceiling, I was looking for a tree more than 8 feet tall.

So, off we go to the first Christmas Tree farm. We headed to a place about 30 minutes south of the house which also had a petting zoo for kids. After walking the majority of the farm, with Mikie in toe, we left. There wasn't a single Douglas fir that was taller and me and was full.

On our way back to the house for more directions, we pass the second Christmas Tree farm. This one was less than 15 minutes from our house. Unfortunately, they had a sign hanging across the entrance saying "Sorry, Sold Out for the Season". December 9th. . . sold out for the season? Either everyone is cutting their Christmas trees down in November, or they didn't have a lot of trees to start with.

I remembered the year my dad went out on Christmas Eve and bought himself a 10 ft Christmas tree for $20 at a lot. Maybe I need to go to a lot to have any luck finding the perfect tree. And there we found "The Trahan Family Christmas Tree".

We get the tree back to the house and set it up in the tree stand. We have (or rather, had) a commercial tree stand where you screw an insert onto the tree. The insert that sits inside a base. You can easily adjust the tree to make sure it is straight, and then lock the insert into place. Amazingly, we get it straight on the first try. . .

15 minutes later, it falls over, spilling hot sappy water all over the carpet.

We put it up a second time, but realize it is crooked. And, in our effort to adjust it, we broke the locking lever.

So, with Mike holding up the Christmas Tree (and Mikie scolding Mike not to knock it down and scolding the Christmas Tree not to make a mess), I head out to the store in search of the same tree stand.

Unfortunately, each one of the six stores I went to sold the same, $9.99 cheap plastic tree stand with four screws to hold the tree in place. If my tree fell over in a commercial stand, some plastic thing is not going to work. Luckily, store number six had a heavy cast-iron stand with a wide base. Armed with the new stand, I return home, 90 minutes later.

For the third time in one day, we put the Christmas tree up in a stand. Now comes the decorating. . .

I failed to realize that being only 5'3" tall, it is difficult to decorate a 10' tree. Especially when your ladder is sitting in Pennsylvania, 300 miles away. Mike ended up precariously balancing on top of a stop stool positioned on top of a bar stool in an effort to put the angel on top of the tree. And, I, his loving wife, rather than be concerned, was in tears trying to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the situation. With the help of Mike's cousins we had the tree decorated by Sunday night. You can see the results of our hard work:
And, as if the whole experience wasn't reminiscent enough of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, the tree truly is full with "a bit of sap". We have been scrubbing it off our hands for days.

Merry Christmas!
Love, The Trahans

"Is your house on fire, Clark?"

One of our favorite Christmas movies is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. When we moved into the new house, we realized that they created that movie because of people like our neighbor. If you drive to our house any evening between Thanksgiving and Christmas, you can't miss this house:
There are lights stapled on the roof, lights on the front, blow up figures, a nativity scene, countless tacky decorations which look much nicer when it is dark and everything is lit. The most entertaining part is that there is a sign instructing you to "Tune your radio to 92.7 FM". They broadcast christmas music intermixed with amusing jokes about making sure National Grid (the electric company) has a happy holiday. But the best part. . . all the lights are programmed to blink in sinc with the music! For example, if they are playing "Frosty the Snowman", Frosty is lit while most of the other lawn ornaments are turned off. And, the lights on the house blink on and off with the song.

The first time I saw it, they were playing the song from the beginning of Christmas Vacation, and I could not stop laughing. Now, having to drive through the mass of cars that stop to watch every night during my commute home, the Scrooge in me has taken over and I just find it annoying.

Merry Christmas!
Love, The Trahans

A Spiritual Awakening

When we put the house in Maryland up for sale, a number of people told us that if you bury a statue of St. Joseph upside down in your yard, your house will sell. While I originally thought this sounded sacreligious, after almost a month on the market, I figured it couldn't hurt to try. So, I ordered a St. Joseph Home Sale Kit (yes, they make kits for this) and buried him in my front flower bed. We ended up with an offer on the house the next day. . .

Once you have sold your house, you are supposed to dig up the statue and give Joseph a place of honor in your new home. Afraid that I would jinx the purchase of our new home before it was complete, I made Mike retrieve the statue from Maryland. And, Joseph has been sitting in our office (which doubles as our master bedroom) in the apartment for the last four weeks.

Evidently, if you are two, this 3" tall resin statue looks like a mini action figure. Every once in a while, I find Mikie in the office playing with Joseph.

Fast forward to last night. Mike and I climb into bed after a long day of working and packing, and an even longer evening trying to convince Mikie to go to sleep. I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, when I realize something is digging into my shoulder. What do I find laying hidden under my pillow but St. Joseph. Evidently, similar to our son, Joseph wanted to sleep in "Mommy's bed".

Mike and I had a good laugh before returning Joseph to his perch on the desk. While they said give him a place of honor in your new home, I sincerely doubt they intended him to have his own bed.

The Trahans

One Fork Down and Two Days to Go

With only two days left before we close on the new house, we have been trying to pack everything in the apartment. We don't have too much to pack, mostly clothes, but we did have to pack up all our dishes. I had the genius idea to purchase paper bowls, cups, plates, and utensils to use for the week so that we could pack most of the real dishes.

Unfortunately, my genius plan has failed. Tonight, we were enjoying meatloaf (one of Mikie's favorite meals) when I heard a crunch. Now, while I may not be Emeril, I pride myself on being able to cook a tasty meatloaf. So, I know it does not go "crunch". Suddenly, I hear Mike saying "Spit that out" and realized what happened. My super strong toddler bit right through the prong of his plastic fork. And, true to his headstrong personality, Trouble swallowed the prong.

Since he didn't choke. . . didn't cry. . . laughed at the horrified looks on our faces and ate another slice of meatloaf, I assume he is going to live. He may not enjoy it so much tomorrow when it exits his body, but for now he is amused. And, he has earned the privledge to dirty real utensils while the rest of us use disposable ones.

Ah, the joys of parenting. . .

Love, The Trahans

Our Soon-to-Be New House

With 11 days left until we close on the new house, I figured I should finally take the time to e-mail details. It has nine rooms total: living room, dining room, kitchen, family room, office, 4 bedrooms, and 2 1/2 bathrooms.

I have dubbed it one of the "Christmas Tree houses". A Christmas Tree house by my definition was a house that could accomodate the Griswald Family Christmas tree. Since our family room is a) twice as big as the old house and b) has cathedral ceilings, it falls into this category. So, once we are moved in, we will begin our search for the Trahan Family Christmas tree. Mikie, who is slowly learning about Christmas traditions, is very excited about the idea of a big Christmas tree living in our house.

My favorite room other than the family room is the kitchen. It has everything I wanted to change about our old kitchen. . . Hardwood floors instead of vinyl (so that I don't have to spend nights scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees trying to get it to look clean). . . Granite counter tops. . . Stainless steel appliances, including the new refrigerator with freezer on the bottom. . . A ton of recessed lighting so that I can see when I am cooking. Basically, the only thing it didn't come with was a live in chef. But, sadly, I imagine that would have cost a lot more.

Mikie, who has been happy living in the apartment (especially since we were too lazy to put safety locks on the cabinets), is excited about the outside of the house. Our lot is a little over 0.6 acres, which is HUGE versus what houses were built on in Maryland. You could only get a new construction with that large a lot if you had a sewer and well water. So, there is plenty of space for him to run around. In addition to being bigger, the backyard comes complete with a swingset.
Mike is just happy that he can park his precious car in a garage again. And, that he can stop listening to me complain about the apartment.

So, if you are in Massachusetts any time after November 30th, stop by and visit us in our new home.

Love,
The Trahans

The Family Photo

I have resigned myself to the fact that by having a child, I now have homework again. Yes, selling butter braids to raise money for the daycare. Finding obscure supplies for art projects. The latest assignment was to send in a family photo for the Thanksgiving art project.

Normally, this would not be a difficult task. Except that being in limbo, all of my photos are packed safely in photo safe boxes inside cardboard boxes inside a storage facility 15 minutes from the apartment. And, since neither Mike nor I wanted to unpack an entire storage unit looking for a box that probably was all the way in the back, I decided we would take a new picture.

So, while in Providence for the baptism of Mike's godson, Arcangelo, we asked Mike's family to take a picture of the three of us. After much battling, here was the result:

This picture epitomizes our family. . . Mikie struggling for his independence while Mike and I try desperately to win the battle and get him to cooperate. Not 15 seconds later, Mikie was running lose again, doing laps around the interior of the church.

Last night, after another reminder from daycare that we still had not turned in a picture, we took a second family photo. With Mikie mesmerized by cartoons, we were able to set the timer on the camera and get Mikie to sit still long enough to take another picture:

While not as "true-to-life" as the first photo, I think I prefer the other parents to see this one hanging on the school bulletin board. That way, I can continue deluding myself into thinking Mike and I have the upper hand.

The Trahans

Another Reason Why I Hate the Apartment

As if the people upstairs who slam their doors while getting ready for work at 5am every morning wasn't bad enough. . . or the dishwasher that melts all things plastic. . . we have a very cozy living room. The living room/dining room/kitchen does not typically bother me. But, because it is so "cozy" (aka, small) there is not much space between furniture. So, our son turned acrobat has taught himself some new tricks.

He begins with a vault over the ottoman and onto the couch. After which, he somersaults head first over the arm of the sofa and onto the recliner. As you can see in the picture, the recliner is strategically positioned next to the fireplace turned DVD storage shelf. By balancing himself on the arm of the recliner, he can now successfully retrieve whatever movie he desires.

Luckily, we have only 16 more days of "coziness". Once we are in the new house, there won't be any furniture near the shelf with the DVDs. So, until he learns to climb the vertical shelving unit, we will be free from the reign of "Nemo" and "The Lion King" for a short while.

Love, The Trahans

The Countdown Begins

Today, we officially closed on our house in Maryland. Actually, Mike officially closed for both of us, while I stayed behind with Mikie. So, for the next 3 1/2 weeks, we are no longer home owners. If I didn't curse our apartment multiple times a day, it would be very liberating to know I don't have a mortgage. I think Mike and I agree that it will be more liberating to be out of the apartment and in a new house. Preferably, one where no one lives above me who likes to wake up at 5:00 am and slam things. I feel like knocking on our upstairs neighbors door and letting them know that I barely tolerate my son waking me up at ungodly hours of the morning, so they may want to talk more quitely. So far, I have restrained myself. . . mostly because it is too cold to get out of bed to yell at anyone.

Don't get me wrong, our apartment is cute, and would be a great first apartment. But, going from a house where there is a laundry room and separate pantry to an apartment where both are shoved in one closet is a bigger adjustment than we had originally convince ourselves. Not to mention the fact that the "master bedroom" couldn't accomodate the small desk Mike needs for working from home and our queen sized air bed. So, we have been living like we were back in college, on a full size spring mattress. It's not terrible, until Mikie has a bad dream and climbs into bed too. . .

So, now that settlement is complete on the Maryland house, the coutdown begins until we close on the Massachusetts house. I'll save the details for another post, but here is a picture of what will become our new home. . .

Barring any complications, we will be closing on November 30th. . . 24 days from now. . . and moving in as quickly as possible. We'll keep you posted on our progress.

The Trahans