cinco de estos

2010-08-08T21:22:00.000-07:00

www.cincodeestos.com

Up And Running

2010-08-05T22:29:00.000-07:00

After calling go-daddy tech support at least 3 times, speaking to one guy who audibly rolls his eyes somehow at people who call themselves "not very techy"... to another guy who NICELY goes, "Oh! You purchased your domain thru google.apps - that's not something I can access - let me transfer you now to google" - back again to bad music on hold.

And then *swoon* - very geeky voiced JEREMY gets on the line. I explain in my newly found techiness, I "want my DNS" to "map" to wordpress, but also have the "forwarding" "mask" my wordpress URL with my domain - because this is how techy you get in 24 hours after reading and reading troubleshoots and racking brains silly. Ahhh... and so. He "maps". But then I had to call back, spoke to a very nice girl in Scottsdale - who assured me we all have to get our techiness start somewhere - and then I was connected back to JEREMY to have him "mask" the URL. Ya follow?

And after proposing marriage, offering a make-out session in the back for fixing the mess I made in the first place - we agreed a. we were both already married b. miles and miles away and c. had Brent 10 feet away feeding the Bunny some veggies... I hung up, felt a load off and we can now sing our lovely Mr Rogers song. Zip your sweater up too far and then back down just right. Toss your sneaker from one hand to the next and SAVE THIS TO YOUR FAVORITES!

It's official like a referee with a whistle baby! I'm my own lady. I march to the beat of my own drum for $10 a year. How ya like them apples! You can subscribe to email alerts when I ever write a dad-blasted note. You can look on there however much you want. And it makes me feel all sophisticated and stuff.

www.cincodeestos.com

New Address

2010-08-04T23:17:00.000-07:00

Talk about a holy headache. This domain techy bizz is rather complicated and irritating - especially when I'm a fixater, yet not that techy, and neglect my children's needs. Only their board game-needs, okay? I'm not starving anybody.

SO. I'm finding I genuinely like wordpress as a "hosting" agent for my blog address. Lots of reasons. But here's that address below. Until I figure out the actual cincodeestos.com situation on-hold with tech-support with kids yelling in the background, I might as well send you there. Save it. Erase it. Use it to wipe - I don't care. But here it is.

http://cincodeestos.wordpress.com/

Really. The same deal with wordpress instead of blogspot in that place.

However, if you'll notice at the top of the new site - all the lovely linkies you can click the "About Me" - About Brent - or even about the dog, Andy, and such... it has taken way too much of my time, so if I never write again, don't email me privately, Jeni. But you can sign up for email alert when and if I ever do think of something I need to put to paper... err... keyboard.

PS: Verbatim's there too on the right. So is the Cook's Club at the top. All in one-stop-shopping ease (for me). So, until next time. Won't you please. Won't you please. Please won't you be my neighbor... Goodbye, neighbor.

To Polish a Turd

2010-08-03T13:07:00.000-07:00

Do you know what would be nice? Winning the lottery. That's what. I'd even share some with you. But I'm not going to hold my breath. You go right ahead, though. In fact, I'm not even going to buy a ticket. So, how this is going to happen for me, I don't actually know. But, I'd still love to win. I can't imagine I wouldn't love a fun find even if I had all the money in the world to spend. I'm talking about a bargain here, people.

I recently saw this picture and immediately wanted a gumball machine.

So, to ebay I went. I found loads - and fell in love with a particular yellow antique machine listed for $130. Yeah. My eyes fell out of my head too. I contacted the seller via email and asked a few questions about it. I mean, it said feel free to contact the seller with any questions. I wasn't actually thinking I was going to get away with spending that much on a gumball machine without being at least resented for approximately 4 years.

I'm not some vintage vending enthusiast, after all, and neither are any of my friends. I'm not going to have someone over who is going to gasp and fly across my kitchen to closely examine the authenticity of the original color, glass and key. Because of course... those features are to be expected when acquiring such a specimen. No need to have those be the biggest selling points, Dear Ebay Seller. And I realize maybe asking Ebay Seller a few questions about it when I had no intention of really buying it might have been a little annoying, perhaps a waste of their time.

It could be why after an email or two the tone went from "Thanks for asking; I'm taking offers." to "Maybe you should shop more often at The Dollar Store if you're going to be so insulting!" after having made the comment I was only interested in spending $30 tops [an unofficial, off-the-record thought, not an actual low-ball offer over ebay]. And maybe it was unnecessary to smart off with "$130. Good luck with that." and "Oh, for the gumballs! Thanks for the tip!" in response to the Dollar Store suggestion.

And so... I went on with life. I called a few local places. No real luck. Then, I called one last place. The lady had two. She agreed she would put my name on BOTH until I could make it out there after the baby's nap as it would be at least a 20 minute drive without traffic. I got all geared up. I headed over. I walk in and low and behold! A gumball machine in the shape of a mallard duck with a giant glass globe coming out of its hind end as if the thing farts gumballs. Hmm... can we see the other one? She lead us around, up a step, down a step, stroller barely fitting thru the place. And then - I could hear a crescendo of angels in glorious harmony as we happen upon The. GUM. BALL. MACHINE.

It's yellow.

It's... old.

It works.

And.

Guess how much it was.

Go ahead. Guess.

Thirty bucks.

And all I have to say to Ebay Seller? La Dee Frickin' Daw!!

I've also decided the dealy bop in our room I got from my mom's might be better used in the living room for the dad-blasted toy situation I've got going on. We'll see, but I did already go back to the same gumball machine place to find a fantastic dresser for under $100! It needed a little dust-down, but otherwise I LOVE it and it's going to either be in addition or just instead of the other thingy. See, design has to change with the needs of the client like that. Pictures later.

It Rolls Around So Quickly

2010-07-31T09:19:00.000-07:00

So that plan? The one where I scheduled fun things to do tucked in there around baby naps and grocery trips and, ya know, the random "quality" attention devoted to the other two children that were HERE FIRST? Yeah. That didn't quite go as scrupulously as I'd intended. In fact, the actual lay out of calendar events might have helped had I done one.

But, so here we are. Two and one-half weeks away from the beginning of the school year. Eighteen days to be exact until we have our informal "Meet & Greet" come-and-go. This day last year was here and gone in a flash - it really doesn't seem very long ago at all, certainly not a whole year.

But my gosh, could these people look any younger in that old post pic? I miss those two front teeth missing on the Jingleheimer - and the stick-legs on Murph in his little "skinny jeans" make me miss his little self. They have both gotten rather large. Not like we need to go to fat camp, just growing up. Gone are the days of skinned knees with a swift scoop-up of the injured to supply the TLC. There are injuries - but typically, communally inflicted between the male minors - making me less T L or C. But those instances I am needed for a "Dang! That smarts!" - the picking up is more of a lugging toward - and the cuddle time is more like a back-breaking stunt.

And well, summer is almost over. Lame as it may have been, it was nice to have the breather. 3rd and 1st and carpool and routine here we come. But first... haircuts.

Fraction Thingies

2010-07-27T21:13:00.001-07:00

Turns out, our favorite "Cheryl Show" hostess is a bit of a semi-professional photographer with a knack for making people feel okay about calling shutter speed "fraction thingies" when asking for help. I am also aware that these aren't anything to submit to a famous gallery of photographic art, but I played a little today with a spastic, moving target, and here's what happened. Or at least what's recognizable:

In this one I hear "COOOOOKKIIIIEEEEE" super grunty my head. It's the lens cap that dangles from the camera not the antenna connected to the button that bombs North Korea. Thank you, Jesus. We'd have a real problem.

I just love the back of this kid's neck. It's so foldy in all the right places and scrumptious too.

And then I took this one a week or two ago with my phone - it's grainy, I know. But I think she's so pretty.

A Little Production

2010-07-23T06:59:00.000-07:00

Do me a favor. Somebody. Fast. Get a thumbtack. A sharp object. Something. My ego is a tad inflated. Much. Inflated. Friday night was the premiere of the very first "Live Cooking Show"... which ... I wish we could somehow call "The Cheryl Show" for reasons beyond my control - it rolls right off the tongue, for one. But it's just really a cook's club now - or - well... is in the making. Could I have gathered my thoughts before composing this? Apparently not. I think maybe my head is still spinning from all the whilry girly Oooo and Ahhh and dotes and spankings. Well, there were no spankings. But still. Might as well have been - the kind you get from teammates after a home run. 'Cause that's what this was. A homer on a bed of greens.

The idea I might like doing this all got started a really long time ago when - at a friend's house - I watched her heat and eat what looked like a particle board chicken patty with spray-paint grill marks. And look, if you have to make things work with what you have, I am not about to snub that. She was a single mom at the time, had to maintain a heart-rate, ya know, and the mitochondria of her 6 year old son. It just made me want to help the situation with a few ideas. So... I [not at all controlling and take-overish] decided to show up with ingredients and tools in-hand to give her a what's what on a simple, delicious meal or two.

[and... time lapse]

Then, it seemed I became a tiny bit of a go-to on what to make for this or that. I'm not talking about masses here, people, just a few friends. One in particular was in charge of lunch with her family at a reunion - and apparently the mother-in-law is a bit of an intimidating cook, only because her everythings are flawless, I hear. So, Reunioner wanted an idea on how to wow her peeps. Snazzy mayo on some nice sandwiches and the crowd went wild. So, ya know - that sort of thing - an idea, not necessarily full on culinary school on the DL in someone's home kitchen.

[cut to facebook a monthish ago]

Someone claims to need serious tutoring on the cooking front on her "page". I guess she can cook all sorts of Paula Deeny blankets on weenies, but needed to know how not to drown vegetables in butter - inspired by her experience at Cool Greens. I offered to come over. Lots of people chimed in. One gal shot her tons of recipes on email. And then silence. No reply. But then I get a personal "Were you serious about coming over?" message from an entirely different gal. And there you have it. The ball rolleth.

So, in front of 8 gals, in the hostess' unbelievably fantastical kitchen, I demonstrated [ie prepared, showed, talked about, served] three items plus one cheesecake already done ahead of time - by me - don't be getting any ideas I showed up with some picked-up cheesecake, you guys. I'm all about the baked goods. It was a blast. It was a trip. We laughed and then laughed some more. I made a warm goat-cheese and red pepper sandwich, a panzanella green salad with chicken, and orzo with lemon and parsley. Everyone raved. Everyone overate. And now I hope nobody catches on I'm trying to make them all fat as hell.

Gap Dot Com

2010-07-20T13:14:00.001-07:00

I ... really might be super smart. Not even kidding you right now. I am so excited. About being a possible genius. And about being finished. Completely finished. Done. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I'm yours - full-on finished shopping for the boys' school clothes. I did it all online apart from the shoes we got yesterday buy-one-get-one half off plus a friendly swipe of a $30 coupon the check-out gal had. I told her I'd tackle and kiss all over her face for giving us the random coupon if it weren't weird. And believe you me, she looked like she might have been okay with that. I don't mean she looked gay. Just affectionate. Since you can tell both simply by looking at someone. Or at least I can. I have gaydar and affectionate. Dar.

The school clothes part's true. Probably the genius part. Maybe the affectionatedar part. But the gaydar part is a misnomer presumably. It's still a funny word [funny ha ha] and funny [funny weird] when people claim to have a legitimately flawless set of gaydar skills. I'm not talking about pointing out the chubby dude dressed in a rainbow flag-turned-strapless-dress at the gay pride parade. I'm talking about hanging up from a political campaigning robocall convinced the automated voice's owner is gay. Like you can just tell these things.

I don't even know how I got here. I usually can't tell you how I get most places. But I was going to say how wonderful this is having thought to save myself the migraine and days recovering from several shopping trips with these people. THESE PEOPLE! Dear Lord these people. They are iiiiiin to the way they dress - something I'm sure I've addressed here before.

But this morning, I hear them talking at length about something. Then, they stormed downstairs with a firm plan in place to change into pajamas to wait for the UPS truck delivery as the tracking info predicts today the day of the school stuff arrival. I dashed those dreams with a quick reminder - the UPS truck usually arrives around 5pm when it arrives. And I have things to do. Places to go. People to see. And pjs are just all wrong for that sort of thing. So, they got dressed for real.

30 minutes later, JHeimer started changing his clothes. Why? Why!? Please tell me WHY you change clothes at least once a day! Because these BRAND NEW JEANS aren't comfortable. Were they uncomfortable when you tried them on? Yes. Then why didn't I return them before you 1. liked them 2. agreed to wear them 3. pulled the tags 4. said nothing about their comfort being on the dreadful? Don't know. Well, tell me what's wrong with them - are they too tight, scratchy, too stiff, what. They are too "boot cut" and not "straight cut" enough in the leg. Um. You don't get to change your clothes today - I guess until we have to try on the new stuff if it comes.

I'm still excited I don't have to shop for backpacks. Or lunch boxes. Or socks. Or anything. Let's all pray these things fit flawlessly. And not too boot-cutty.

Alright! Fine!

2010-07-20T08:04:00.000-07:00

I admit it! I found this dress for Bunny so marked down I ordered it in a size 4! It was the only one left. Sue me.

Like The Sun's Face

2010-07-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

I would completely understand if every last one of you were to collectively, unanimously and in unison flip me the bird. I realize declaring this summer not as hot as last may not have thrown the whole universe into a tailspin straight for the gates of hell. But it may have. I'm tight with the Lord like that. And He likes to show me who's boss. So, probably. This is out of control. This kind of hot makes swimming really miserable. Might as well take a hot bath outside in this weather with broken salivary glands in a wool coat. Careful. Don't drown.

Wanna know what else is out of control? Shopping for girl things. Look at these. Could you just fall over? They're in the mail headed for Bunny's feet.

And speaking of Bunny. She said her first full sentence the other day. It was "Could you pass the ketchup, please?"
Not really. She didn't say "please". Uh... hello. Rude.

Fun With Adjectives

2010-07-16T07:40:00.000-07:00

I'd be more than happy to spend a day in the life of an 8-month old baby. Maybe that way I could gain a little perspective on what on EARTH the freakin' deal is with the sleep situation. I'd definitely get just as much accomplished being an 8-month old baby for a day as I am right now. You should see my house. Wait. No. You really shouldn't. It's a wreck.

And maybe I'm spoiled, but the first two people I ever had were both pretty good sleepers. I followed a rather Hitlerish book's advice and had them both sleeping through the night by like 8 or 10 weeks. No lie. I mean, of course there were little windows of time there where they'd either be teething or growth-spurting, and wake up at 3am for a week until I laid down the law and got them back on track... because teeth and growing aren't reasons to throw our whole system out of whack.

But this time around I'm admittedly less rigid. I've just kind of let things revolve around whatever naps are needed. On one hand that's been a lot less stressful. But on the other, it has made me rather non-committal about quite a lot of goings-on. If I'm to be at the mercy of a baby, it makes being planned at all pretty unrealistic - which - has made for a rather hermitish, anti-social kind of me that I don't really like. And that might make me start getting a little resenty except for the fact that the boys were both on lots of baby foods by now. It has only been a new thing to have the Bunny unclench her jaw and open wide like a starving chipmunk for the spoon. And with breast-feeding, there's no way of knowing how much she's actually getting. So, making sleep-allowances for a hungry baby has been just fine so far.

Until we go to bed with a tummy full of sweet potatoes, blueberry-pear and two boobs-worth of milk. I'm kind of at my wits end. And kind of should not be around actual people. I think maybe this child knows what she's doing.

This One Has A Soundtrack

2010-07-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

So, Murph is a bit of a major blood phobe. I guess my med-school dreams are lost on him. It's too bad for him, too, because I really had myself backed into a corner the other night when I told him I'd get him a puppy if he let me pull his dangly tooth. I never said I was normal, okay? So you can wipe that look off your face.

I was at his complete mercy, though, because I would have been in SO MUCH TROUBLE with Brent for promising a LIVE ANIMAL as he's typically the one who ends up with pet duties - just by default. He's who wants the dog to point, retrieve, and ya know... obey. But lucky for me, it only barely tempted Murph. The idea of blood at all was just way too powerful.

But I DON'T GET IT! Why is he not even tempted one bit to wiggle the hell out of it himself? I'm a picker. I'm a puller. I yank. I tweeze. I shave. I trim. I wrangle. I floss. If I were ever in one of these

I would figure out a way to use my teeth, inevitably and definitely needing one of these around my neck.

More than the blood phobia, I probably need to worry more about why in the world I don't seem to be able to just let it go - let the dangly tooth fall out in his sleep or on a deep breath because that's how far he'll go to save himself from the risk of blood. I don't know why it drives me INSANE. And I'm the resident physchologist, so you'd think I'd be able to figure it out. But also being the resident dentist, esthetician, barber, chef, baby-toenail-polisher, bather, dish-doer, bus-boy, tidier, lactation consultant (ie *her pretty much) - it just ends up being a total conflict of interest. However. She would put away her laundry. Maybe this is the problem. I'll go put some away and see if it helps.

*a reference I realize I've made before. But, I mean I bet Lynda Carter puts her laundry away...

The Master Plan Stan

2010-07-12T12:32:00.000-07:00

I haven't decided on window coverings - and still looking for a thing or ten.

I had [e'hem... Brent had] to majorly secure this cabinet thing I confiscated from my mother. It was as secure as the piece of gum Dennis The Menace used to plug the leak in his fish tank. I painted and scuffed the inside, found baskets the exact dimensions needed for all the yoga pants, and stuck a few other random things inside. It's not exactly finished. It needs the latch I found online, and maybe another fun find or three. Maybe a picture or two inside. Something else on top.

Ideas:

These are two of the pieces of art hanging. I painted the 5 pair of shoes. The other was a gift from Brent.

"You're the strangest person I ever met, she said & I said you too & we decided we'd know each other a long time."

Framed and hanging:

I used Olympic Zero VOC paint from Lowe's in Almond Paste.

And I'm looking for a chair to re-cover and something else to throw random stuff on - like keys - loose change... ya know, your usual space-taking suspects. Something like this.

Covered in maybe a wide brown and white stripe or something geometric... a pillow like this on the seat. When I get around to it in my free time. In like. 2 years.

Hard Knocks

2010-07-10T11:56:00.001-07:00

Sitting in front of a fan is not my idea of a great way to lower energy costs. Nobody suggested I do this. I just wanted to share that. It does somehow seem less hot this summer than last. That may be the case, or I may just not be toting a carry-on in my uterus. I did think, however, last summer I'd be just as hot pregnant as not pregnant. I may not have needed to pass out after 15 minutes laying in the sun on my stomach had the womb been empty, but a gal's gotta get an even tan somehow. And if that meant cutting off the circulation to the upper portion of my body for a quarter-hour, que sera sera. amen. goodnight.

Really though, I truly may never lay in the sun on purpose again now that I have a daughter. How can I ever ground her for life for setting foot in a tanning bed if I'm saturated in vegetable oil during peak burn-risk hours? I seriously used to do that when I was 16 in the backyard. My brother too. No joke. My brother would tan in the backyard covered in Wesson.

Dear blonde-haired, non-Italian, Bible-beating guido... how I don't miss the old days. We get along so much better now. I'd even venture to say I could room with him again and not get in scissor-wielding fights yelling, "I'm going to cut you with these!" tears streaming down my face after being punched in the stomach. I swear I'd only trimmed the long fringe from my cut-offs and threw it in my brother's floor to deserve the punch. He swears I'd kicked him in the nuts.

We may never know. I guess unless we contact all the macho guys that were in his room in the first place I was showing off for by being the little sassy sister. Surely that'd make them ALL want to be my boyfriend. Uh'huh. Yep. I knew what I was doing at an early age. Or at least I knew to fly down the stairs crying to tell my mom the whole story, even including the part about calling him an a-hole before he could tattle. That way she'd understand he provoked the whole thing, and it was obviously his fault I had a filthy mouth.

God help us all. I have one of these now. Let's hope she's got a lower setting on the drama dial. So far so good.

Have I Got News For You

2010-07-07T08:31:00.001-07:00

Working with bananas is officially tricky. Diagnosing what's going on with my face is too, but for different reasons. The banana issue is a bit more case-specific than the face rash, because I can follow the same recipe every time. I can't recall if I drank something new a week and a half ago, touched a strange plant, ate a new something or switched a toiletry. But when a recipe calls for 4 over-ripe bananas and you've pealed, chopped and frozen your over-ripe bananas, there's no telling how many frozen banana pieces would be the equivalent of 4 over-ripe bananas - unless of course you remember how many bananas you cut in the first place. So, come to find out, too many bananas doesn't make your muffins better. More banana-y maybe, but it also makes them more dense and sticky to the wrappery.

I can adjust the banana situation. I can't adjust the weird rash I've had misdiagnosed as poison ivy. No change with the round of roids... steroid "roids", not hemorrhoid "rhoids". Have to clarify. Apparently if this were bacterial, it would have responded to the steroid. It doesn't look viral. And fungal things make shapes. Like rings. So, we're talking about an allergic reaction, most probably. And the heavy-duty antihistamine stuff is working, finally. But I still don't want to run into you by the bananas at Target.

Happy 4th!

2010-07-02T15:25:00.000-07:00

"But I need the floor to be picked up more than I need you to pretend to be a penguin," I said. I'm trying to vacuum here. I've completed the kitchen floor with a baby on my hip and now I'm too pooped to care about the dog-hair on the carpet. And before I can even start caring again, I need two jedi knights to put down their sabers and PICK THIS PLACE UP! There are three tennis racquets, table tennis paddles, a tennis ball, plastic practice-baseball, nerf guns, Oprah's voice saying, "Jessica Simpson is ready to open up. About... The mom jeans. Next Oprah." in the most serious voice ever... and some other stuff going on behind me.

Plus, I've got a case of poison ivy on my FACE. This day would seem unable to get much worse, but I wouldn't say that. It really could. It's just taxing trying not to itch while I wait on the nurse to call me the heck back for an okay or no-way on taking the series of steroids I've been prescribed by the PA at the after-hours who refused to give me a shot on the spot last night as I'm nursing a baby and can't send my milk to a Nazi human lab to be sure The Bun won't get sick.

Turns out, breast-feeders can take steroids for their miserable rashes and other funny bumps. Or. Well. I guess it matters what kind of funny bump we're dealing with, but anyway... probably not if your funny bump is going to be a boy. *wink wink* Or a result from touching your bottom to a public restroom toilet seat.

But, we're on to a better weekend ahead. I love the 4th of July! It's not even so much that I'm some fancy patriot. I just love to be festive and dress my family in red, white and blue head to toe once a year. Except I forgot to get the boys anything. So, they'll more than likely be in skinny jeans and flat-billed hats I've had to get over and just accept; a hat is not a ticket straight to rehab. The skater look is alive and well at our house. And I just hope it fades. But it's not looking too promising.

Oh, I found an old cotton SEWN American flag. It's in really great shape and came in the original box! No telling how old it is, but it looks at least my age. Eh'hem... which is kinda young unless you're 18 thinking of being this old - then you think I'm lame and mommy-ish. At least I did pick up a cute dress for myself. So, yoga pants are losing their tight grip. Oh, and I went from Jerry Garcia, got a little tangled with Carol Brady and then ended up somewhere between this and this. By that I mean I took scissors to my own head. I've done this sort of thing since high school. It's kind of a compulsion. And, if I do say so myself, I'm not that bad at it. Trial and error tends to be my M.O. for most things.

If I'm sick of the length and have no patience to wait on a stylist to get me in - it's out with the skeezers and lop lop lop. Or in this case... after having been given a cut a bit different than the one I thought I was super clear about - ending up about 3 feet to the left of THE BOAT - my bathroom mirror and I got super acquainted and I ended up with a cut I like. It's surprisingly curly. Thank you, RunBun - and I'm not having to fight it anymore with an insanely hot, professional flat iron. I'll keep it handy, ya know, if ever I want to look all... straight and such.

And we're due some pictures, I know. After the weekend, I promise. That project - the master bedroom - it was never photoed. Sorry about that.

*scratchy scratch*

Bunny Like

2010-06-30T14:59:00.000-07:00

Just. Ya know. Havin' some sweet potats.

Grand Ole Times

2010-06-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday we spent our afternoon with Brent's parents. Just about every other hour all morning, Murph asked when Grandma and Grandpa were going to be here. And with a few minutes before their ETA, he sat by the window and lit up right when they pulled up. Brent's mom brings these windmill cookies for the boys every time. They're Murph's fave. And I could certainly pick them up myself at the store, but that's "her thing". M will remember her bringing those for the rest of his life.

It makes me think of all sorts of favorite things about grandparents. My grandpa would say “Poiple” is Grandma’s favorite color… Brent and his granny's chicken fried steak [which, I found out was not, in fact, fried in bacon drippings - Thank heaven]. But Brent would have me believe other absurd stories about his childhood because I'm gullible enough to call and ask his mom.

Nevertheless, I have such fond memories with my grandparents or even my elderly neighbor, Francis - going next door to eat all of her red-hots... or Kaye Tankevich - where Bunny's middle name came from. She was this tiny Greek lady with a "larger than life" personality - transcending her lot in life to deal with a horribly painful, diseased body - always such a beacon of joy and spunk. We used to pen-pal. And after she died, one afternoon I got a 2"-thick manila envelope from her husband. It was every last letter I'd ever written her. Good Lord, the content. It was incredibly 11-year-oldish.

I recently found this sugar bowl. It wasn't "cheap" as sugar bowls go but it was the only one, and I had to have it because it reminds me of my Grandma's ceramic pie plate with a lid shaped and painted like a cherry pie with a big red cherry knob on top. And while this is a strawberry, it's also tied in to the strawberry percale bed sheets on the bed I would sleep in at her house if my parents were away. I loved those sheets. I would pretend I was Strawberry Shortcake sleeping on them.

And something about GranMary's house - it smells like Tulsa. Fresh and clean and even something about the water there tastes better than anything bottled. We had 4th of July parades on the bikes she kept for us at her house. Mine had a giant pink daisy print on the vinyl banana seat. GranMary's mom, Nana, lived in Oklahoma City. So, we would go over quite a bit when she was alive. You could find me upstairs giving Barbie a ride down the laundry chute to the dark, creepy basement [very "Good Dog Carl"]. Since she lived close, we would pick her up on our way to Tulsa for Christmases - where - Nana would invariably eat far too many Russell Stover's chocolates and then barf all over the guest room duvet. This may be the missing link to my ultra-sensitive gag-reflex. I hadn't thought of that. I have, however, developed an iron stomach against tooth-paste spit. So, that's good.

Total Frump

2010-06-24T14:40:00.000-07:00

I know this may be a real shocker, but black yoga pants, tanks and t's are a firm foundational staple of my wardrobe. I like comfort. I like ease. And I like having a reason to STAY HOME even though I'm not really home all the time. But, it is probably high time I learn to be more social after hibernating under a rock with my new baby for as long as she's been alive.

I haven't turned in to some recluse or anything. I'm running around getting things done. I'm just not having lunch or dinner out or going to see a movie here or there. Yesterday I spent my morning with a favorite pal for the first time in... well, 7 months, kidless. Sure, summer's a slow season for lunch out anyway. Taking 3 extras along sounds more fun than a root canal, but not by much. They at least give you drugs for that and sometimes just knock you right out. I'm for being knocked out.

It does start making me wonder - maybe what I have on puts a kink in my willingness to be seen more often by people I like when Murph asked me one evening... did I just stay in my pj's all day or what.
Me: "These aren't pj's."
Murph: "Oh."
Or when I came back out into the living room after getting ready
Murph: "I thought you said you were taking a shower."
Me: "I did."
Murph: "Oh."

Yoga pants, tanks and t's are the new mom's black. And I admit I don't mind looking like a mom as long as my pants don't go over my belly-button. Criteria, people. It's all in the belly-button. And since a belly-button is relatively small, it can't contain much of anything - certainly not a lot of criteria. I can always sleep in what I have on... that's a two-for. And people might think I worked out. That's a three-point buzzer beater.

However, here in lies the problem: Getting ready for church with a wide array of yoga pants and t's to choose from makes a gal want to stay home. Or being asked... or volunteered... or more like my feet held to the fire when I say I'd be glad to start a cooking club - where I'm the one coming up with and demonstrating the items to cook, showing people they don't have to rotate spaghetti and meatballs, chicken and green beans, casseroles or take-out every night for 365 days straight is - well - making me lose sleep. Apart from taking on an idea I should feel more confident about, I'm kind of realizing I can't wear yoga pants every time. Or at least, I'm not going to want to.

Yes, the most famous GranMary took me shopping, remember? But I can't wear a darling ruffly Ann Taylor top with yoga pants! I won't! I just won't do it! So, I guess I'm going to have to put more thought into it. I am on my way with a new hair-cut, though. I wanted something I could wear wavy. And well, I'm having to get used to channeling Jerry Garcia curly or Joan Jett straight. So, a return to cuteness by rounding out the new me minus the old duds may be a boost for my hair's inner psyche. Or it may exhaust me to no end. I'll let you know.

That Lady No Nice

2010-06-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

Do you even know how much I hate having to take the baby for immunizations? They really ought to provide strong medication for mothers at the door. However, strong meds usually require a stamped warning not to operate heavy machinery and that would be where I'd "fold" because that's like my favorite thing ever. Tractors and skid steers. They're not my passion... operating them is.

We had to have three shots, and yes, I know, she's 7 months. I'm a month late. But I was super tardy for the shot party with Murph, rounding out the final 3 or 4 just days before Kindergarten, and he is as healthy as an ox. I don't know. I guess it's nice to avoid Polio and chicken-pox. But still. I'm rightly sad when that lady slow-pokes my baby and NO SHE DID NOT JUST SQUEEZE R's FAT THIGH WITH A LOOK ON HER FACE LIKE SHE'S HAVING CUPCAKES FOR DINNER claiming they'll feel fine with thighs like that! And then she told me RunnyBun "Did great!" and "Barely cried!" Uh... she wasn't making any sound because she WASN'T BREATHING! But when she finally did take a breath - oh honey. That's not what I'd call "barely".

But we'll survive.

It seems I've got reason to believe my niece will be over in about 5 minutes. Well, my brother called and asked if I could keep her at my house while he works out. So, it more than seems I have good reason, I guess. But that means I need to click "publish" and go on with life.

Hugs not drugs.

Peas Please

2010-06-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

She's a much bigger fan of my peas vs Gerber's. I'm not sure who wouldn't be. Have you tried Gerber's? Our's are the color of actual peas. Gerber's are of what comes after eating them.

A Head Case

2010-06-18T06:07:00.001-07:00

In an [extended] family this size, there are bound to be a few nuts. I say that in the nicest way - as I know in the world of psychology, the word "crazy" is like dropping a smutty "F Bomb" on Mother Teresa's grave. So, I'm not making fun of private struggles with addiction, eating disorders, depression or otherwise obvious vices you might be in denial about. I'm just intending to demystify the neuroses we really all have, history or no family history - big family, no big family. We're all stark raving mad. So, unless you harm children, murder people or puppies, go ahead and embrace it. Hug it. Smoosh your nose in its fat, whiskery face. There is no such thing as normal.

So, of course at least one of my children is out of his ever-loving mind. Or as it seems the case - unable to be reasonable, calmed, bargained with or TALKED DOWN OFF THE LEDGE when it comes to having his hair cut. It would make sense to me - after the hundreds of trims I've performed - there would be evidence supporting the idea we should hold it together. Crying causes tears. Tears attract little cut pieces of poky hair. The nose starts to run. The compulsion to sniffle only vacuums those hairs straight into the face... which begs the question... Where's a straight jacket when you need one!?

How we get from needing to hold still so I don't cut huge clumps of unwanted hair to believing I maliciously ram the electric trimmer into his head so he's left to deal with the ridiculous "new look" is where I have not figured out my escape from the trip to Crazy Town. He seriously thinks I'm out to get him, trick him, or just screw up whatever he wants from me. I think it's a lose-lose. But we'll see. Maybe I'll just start him a separate savings for the professional help he's gonna need.

Yum Yum

2010-06-17T10:47:00.000-07:00

I've officially been inspired to try cooking things I've never cooked before. Indian. Chinese. Mediterranean. Persian... But I'm talking about real, authentic [as authentic as a white girl from Oklahoma can be] - not drowning in fatty sauces and MSG. But fresh, flavorful, full of spices yadda yadda. Yadda yadda's not really anything you make, just whatever you want to fill in the blank - except for Turkish Delight - I will not be making any Turkish Delight. I hate Turkish Delight.

But I am really hoping to introduce Bunny to foods at an early age my boys would otherwise snub. I suppose if they get hungry enough, they'll try new things. So, my approach will be through starvation of ordinary fare. I'm not a big huge fan of pork and beef anyway, but lamb is certainly something these folks haven't had a lot of. Chicken is favored around here, but it's not as if I'm having to completely rearrange their diets as I'm not referring to dinosaur shaped chicken byproduct.

I've had several cookbooks - one of my favorite being Silk Road Cooking - but half of what is in there either sounds weird, is very hard to find, or I've had NO IDEA what ingredients were or where to begin looking for them.

But thanks again to the Cooking Channel I can see these things being used and can finally know what I'm even looking for. But, Lord help me find some curry leaves, please, 'cause I guess they are just "pertty rare around these here parts" [said filthy-woman-in-a-stained-wife-beater-barefoot-and-spittin'-her-chewin'-tobaccy-style]. We have a pretty awesome Asian Market I found TONS of 99 cent spices today - Indian and Asian. Not sure why anyone would buy spices anywhere else. I'm told there's a pretty great Indian grocer I need to check out. Oh, and I finally found Semolina flour! Hallelujah! Aren't you thrilled for me!!? Now I need a pasta cranker thingy.

Feeling Thorta Thilly

2010-06-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I think I may have bitten through my tongue a little on the side, but it's still sort of numb, so I can't tell you for sure. But when I find out, you'll be the first to know. Or maybe you won't be if we're realistic here, because you'd all have to be present the very moment my mouth wakes up. So, probably not. But I had a cavity filled this morning. I can't recall the last time I had a cavity. I did crack a tooth about a year and a half ago, maybe two - but the cavity issue had been a thing of the past until I became pregnant this time around. Apparently it's fairly common to have dental problems while pregnant.

The things nobody talks about. The boob growth, the water retention, sciatica, poop issues prior, during and after child-birth. We can call it a movement malady if you want, sometimes requiring surgical solving. I'd really rather be in a fiery crash. No, I take that back. But I'd rather be cleaning up the oil spill while listening to death metal.

Fun Funny Run Bun Bunny

2010-06-11T17:16:00.000-07:00

Really?

2010-06-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

I have a brilliant idea about what to write next, I just don't know what it is yet. I really need to be removing tons of rocks from another front flower bed so I can plant these azaleas I found at Lowe's on sale for $8 a pop! I love a bargain.

And well, I was just looking thru some images online for a picture of the azaleas I got and came across this. What on earth do you suppose is going on here?

Poo Pop Pow!!

2010-06-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

I had a post about pancakes and this deal was disabled. So... so much for that. I'm not retyping it. But can I just say I think I've perfected the pancake. Trust me. I know.

But now that we're on the subject of cooking - have you checked out the Cooking Channel? I'm sure it's a production of Food Network, but it's not the same thing. And they show several old [some new to me] British cooking shows. I've always loved Nigella Lawson and Jamie Oliver, Two Fat Ladies... But PEOPLE! They are running old Julia Child episodes! Holy Bok Choy, Gilbert Gottfried! Food Network has been TRUMPED!

When I was 10, I used to wake up Saturday mornings to beat my brother to the television so I could watch Julia, Bob Villa and then New Yankee Workshop on PBS or I was doomed to a morning of Saved By The Bell and Full House. Oh the humanity!

Like A Fish To Water

2010-06-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

She only lasted 30 minutes until I wouldn't let her take her hat off that bald head. Then, WW III irrupted and we went home. But what a glorious 30 minutes it was.

It's French For Anal Retentive

2010-06-02T10:42:00.000-07:00

Have you ever broken [or exploded] a pyrex any something'r other? Let me take a moment to highly recommend avoiding this. I decided to make Murph pancakes Saturday morning. Bad idea. Well, not initially. I had my pan preheated, my batter lump-free, going along all swimmingly with the good ole' "Mise en place" [meez on'plaus - things in place - rigid, orderly preparation and cleanliness around your area]. I went to return the milk to the fridge, barely brushed past the big pyrex dealy I use to pour the pancakes... and I swear time started ticking slow-mo. I saw the whole thing go down and was screaming before it busted violently against the floor. I would not be shocked at all if the neighbors found glass in their kitchen. It was that all over everywhere. And it took a good half hour - maybe forty five minutes - to clean up completely. Loves it.

We had no pancakes on Saturday.

Memorial Day, we'd gotten an American flag to hang, but couldn't figure out where exactly to hang it. So, it's inside. In the corner. I decided I'd paint the front door that afternoon. I went with a darkish royal - sort of saphire-blue - not because it was Memorial Day. I'm patriotic, not idiotic. Really, it was truly a beautiful color. But it simply was not doin' it for me. I've always had a red door... from the very first house I rented to the last we moved from, I'd ask the landlord [or in the case we owned the door, simply decide] and paint the thing red. So, it would seem natural to go with red only that everyone and their dog on my street has a red door - seriously, the dogs. Anyway, I ultimately decided to repaint with a coral-ish, terracotta red. Loved it. Looked great. Woke up Tuesday to a hot pink door. True story. Nothing had changed but the sunlight. So, ya know. Square one. I found a can of darker crimson-red left over from another project, thinned it out and sort of brushed a brushy brush brushed layer over. I love it. I love it. I love it.

It's bright. It's fresh. It stands out. And my dog can fit in with the others now.

JHeimer has baseball day-camp [I just typo'd gay-camp] this week. It's six hours long. Hecka-long. But he enjoys it. And I have one-less "Mom, can we? Mom, can I? Mom? Mom? Mom?" for a little while... and absence makes the heart grow fonder. Naw... I love this gig. But it can be a juggling act, ya know!

The RunBun is an official sitter-upper. She really wants to crawl. And my life is about to shift [I just typo'd again, but I won't put what - just remove the f there in that word before this]... which makes for a funnier sentence as it's about to hit the fan, really. Kids, this girl KNOWS WHAT SHE'S AFTER AND THERE IS NO STOPPING HER. Already, she rolls and rolls and rolls to get from point a. to point b. 30 feet away at break-neck speed. If she could roll up stairs, I know she would. There's a sock monkey up there yelling for her to come play!

And well - that's all for today. I've got stuff tu'DO!

Trix Really Are For Kids

2010-05-27T17:17:00.001-07:00

The latest trick [still working on the tightrope]

Knock Your Block Off

2010-05-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

I'm really enjoying having the boys out of school. We have Super Mario Brothers sessions during the R.Bun's naps where we all three are playing at once and jump on each other, fight over "bigness" mushrooms, pick up and throw each other, or simply shove our "guy" off a ledge. On the video game, people. We aren't shoving anybody off of real-life ledges, only wanting to. We get nowhere. We never "pass the levels" unless I kill everyone off and advance without Luigi. It's great fun and only occasionally gets violent.

May I Take Your Order In The Court!

2010-05-19T07:04:00.000-07:00

Here goes NOTHIN’. You can say that like muffin with an “N” if you want – because sometimes toddler-talk is fun. And because it reminds me of my childhood dog, Muffin, who my mother wanted to name “Asta”. She had epileptic seizures and ran away every other time the door opened, ultimately getting hit by a car dead – my mom… not Muffin. It was weird.

Joking aside, I’m coming up with a “Things I Expect” for cash chart – or just a “Things You’d Better Do If You’re 8 And Under And Want To Live In Peace” list. And that includes the baby. She’d better pony up if she knows what’s good for her!

This will be the first set allowance the boys have earned. We’ve had prior reward systems, sticker charts, and goodie boxes. The latest “incentive” charts are filled with little round dot stickers, each worth one quarter. The guys can either save or cash-in any time they set their minds on an item they’d like to eventually have or see in passing and have enough to spend. The idea really does work. It’s amazing what you can get out of a kid for twenty-five cents. The quarters add up pretty quickly… AND seem to get their attention when faced with losing 4 or 10 if they don’t comply with the CEASE-AND-DESIST order at bath-time with the splashing. Lord Jesus, the SPLASHING!

But, do you know how hard it is to be concise enough to fit everything on an eighteen-by-twenty-four piece of poster-board paper? Boys are seriously horses of a different color. They pee on toilet-seats. They leave granola-bar wrappers laying on desk-tops. They spit toothpaste directly into the bathroom mirror, leave soggy bath-towels in the middle of the floor, shoes littering the living room, and dresser drawers open and disheveled like they’ve been digging for buried treasure. And even now, I’m not doing anything to remedy the situation for them. So, it’s not as if I’m trying to untangle a whole host of maid-services I haven’t provided. But why must I remind them EVERY TIME, “If you sprinkle while you tinkle, be a sweetie, wipe the seatie.”… “Where does that go?”… "Um, excuse me, no. Fix that."... “Why is that on the floor?”… and on and on and on 'til the break'o break'o dawn.

I know how much they have the potential to earn. I know how they can lose anywhere from a quarter to a dollar per job undone. I just don’t know how to wrangle these beasts into submission without having to remind them of every single detail for every single set of circumstances. Must I micromanage their moves? A friend of mine with 4 boys suggested I adopt their household rule that no one stand at the toilet, no matter the job. Sitting down solves all her problems. I mentioned the idea to these folks and you would have thought I was recommending castration as an appropriate answer to all bathroom predicaments. I just want this place to run like a well-oiled court room, that’s all. Err uhh... Ya know.

So, here we go. ALL RISE!!! Court is in session!

Rain Rain Go Away

2010-05-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

Good Monday mornin', y'aaaaall! [again with the Paula Dean voice]. I'm happy to say the good part is a fact for me as well. Golly. The last several days... holy dip down, Dolly. I'm sure the weather and several other factors were at work [not whistle-while-we-work kind of work] 'cause uh... yeah. I coulda punched somebody out if I were the type to resort to violence.

It wasn't really any one thing in particular; and I've had a licensed professional tell me I'm not bipolar. How much I paid her to tell me that is none of your business and beside the point. I'm just glad to say the fog has lifted. Luckily the guys were out of my hair Saturday with a big soccer tournament in the mud most of the day - and then gone overnight with their cousins for a little birthday bash at a downtown hotel with a pool as the outdoor party was rained out. It was a good time had by all.

The RunBun (R.Bunny) was 6 months yesterday. And I can already sense things are shifting - not in a bad way - just in a I know what I want and I'm not afraid to get it kind of way. Don't even think you'll hold her, take a swig or bite of something AND get away with it. The girl is STUH-RONG. I bet you thought I was gonna say STUH-RANGE. No. She's not strange. But what was strange was when she came out, she went around to all the surgery techs slapping high-five, chanting "Good game. Good game. Good game..." Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'll have a real need to tranquilize - or uh... baby proof - and soon. I wouldn't doubt she'll be crawling next month. Maybe I'll just keep the tranquilizers to use on these guys.

Motor Mouth

2010-05-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me in the car today, and again when I was trying to hear something on the Today Show about a murder, again in the car, and then when I was on the phone with the insurance company, again in the car, at lunch, in line at Hobby Lobby, and just now while I vacuumed... I'm going to wish my child talked this much when he's 16.

We're a little over 24 hours in to summer break [well, for Murph - J.Heimer has another week] - and I'm already tuning out the third and fourth reports of Jeff Green, the NBA player who is ACTUALLY THE BEST FRIEND of my Kindergarten classmate, and HAS BEEN TO HIS HOUSE, he promised! and do I remember that commercial about those babies talking and that girl says "That's not nice!" with LOTS OF um's and then's and more um... and Why don't you remember, Mom!? with the commercial scenario told over and over as if it'll jog my memory hearing the same recollected version again - even after I explain I've seen a lot less television on NickJr than he has... how it WASN'T MY RULE and I DON'T KNOW why the powers that be had us give back their little graduation "mortar board" caps to use again next year after our Kindergarten program last night... because two hours have passed and maybe he thinks I'll just suddenly KNOW WHY.

I'm going to pull this up and read it one day when I ask him how his day was and he says, "Fine." and walks off.

My Little Protege

2010-05-12T08:06:00.000-07:00

Today is the last full day of Kindergarten for Murph. And as the year comes to a close, things like dilapidated red and blue rest mats are coming home to stay, flashcard boxes - and the most fabulous and amusing is the personal journal he has kept since the start of the year. His writing ability has definitely grown over the course of the 9 months from simple titles to descriptive sentences about what his doodlings depict. Here are some of my favorites: [click image to enlarge]

"My Dog Andy" -

"Sweet Ride" -

"The Weirdo" -

Rather than Emperor's New Clothes... perhaps we should call this one

"The Pants New Emperor" -

Little Girl Buddha

2010-05-07T06:23:00.000-07:00

Plush Carpets

2010-05-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they vacuum a room. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they bathe too – like – how often. But that’s neither here nor there. Right now I’m talking about housekeeping habits, and we can talk about hygiene later if you want. How you really aren’t kidding anyone if you don’t smell good. And how washing your hair every day really doesn’t do anything for the health of it. But now I’m getting side-tracked. Seriously, how can I go on without addressing oral hygiene now, though? Folks, it’s an easy remedy. So, I really don’t even need to bring it up – other than to say, brushing and/or mouthwashing before huffing and puffing on a treadmill really does do a lot for the environment. Or should I say MY environment.

Okay. Now that I got that out – sheeeww sometimes I need a nap – let’s talk about the way we vacuum. Not everyone cares about this, but I find it important [or aesthetically pleasing rather] to vacuum OUT of a room… starting in a far corner and then backing away toward the door. Let me explain. First of all, it looks more like you DID just vacuum and second, third and fourth of all, you go over any footprints messing up the carpet pile. Unless of course you have Berber. Then, I guess none of this even matters. And truth be told, none of this really even matters at all except that it reminds me of my best pal, Erin, and her online dating conquest once.

Wait. I’d better have permission before continuing.

So. Without further adieu… Erin? Can we talk about that dude one time with all the pictures of his apartment, the 10 Axe body wash bottles in the shower and obvious vacuuming habits – Oh, and what about Scrapbooky Von Huxtable? I think I just did talk about it. So, that’s all, I guess. I was just now reminded of those boys while vacuuming in reverse. So...

Yep

2010-05-06T09:07:00.000-07:00

Pretty sure my "ring" toe is broken. Maybe just injured. Injured bad.

Like A Drill Sergeant

2010-05-05T06:03:00.001-07:00

If you can even believe it... I'm actually sort of looking forward to the boys being out of school for summer. When I'm less crazed and rigid about bed-time, it seems we all feel less like herded cattle and more like fast friends. And I guess it's not as if I'm yelling "Move! Move! Move! Brush! Spit! Rinse!!" two inches from their faces. It's more like 6-8 inches, but if my kids don't get good sleep, the result is just too evil to speak of in public... kinda like saying "Beetlejuice" three times.

So, having some relaxed government around here might be nice. I might be less likely when told "it isn't fair" - to reply, "This isn't a democracy." I mean, taking a vote is still highly unlikely, but I might be more chipper about my authoritative tactics. "Pick up your dang shoes." might do without "dang" and have "please" at the end, for example. But just for the summer. I like to keep a level of seasonal mania. It makes being a control freak a little more authentic. But, see - this child even knows when I'm kidding.

An Exhausted Green Thumb

2010-05-02T13:32:00.001-07:00

If you never hear from or see me again, it's because in less than 24 hours, I've single-handedly ripped out grass, wrestled tons of giants Oak roots out of the ground [okay, Brent helped with that part a little bit], extracted 2 rather large Laurel shrubs, removed 6 big boxwood, turned 5 bags of Back To Earth into the soil, planted a Weeping Japanese Maple, put in 3 Yews, 6 Heuchera in 2 groups of 3, and one Camellia [all youngish plants because it's less moolah that way] - finished off with 5 bags of pecan shell mulch... all while fitting baby needs between things. I'm tooting my own horn. Get over it. Kumbaya.

Before [may induce yawning]:

After [not a very good pic]:

I still need to get some stones for the edge of the bed and some annual color and ground cover, but it's Sunday and I doubt the rock place is open today. And even if it were Tuesday, I'M not open for any more business. More than likely, I am going to be hurtin' for certain tomorrow. It's simply unnatural for me not to be a do'er. But I might be getting too old for this. And well, I did have help from Jingleheimer and Murph... if you consider mud-fights and digging random holes "help".

Back when I had energy and could move... like Friday - we were staying up late to watch the OKC Thunder lose to the Lakers by a point. We were 3-2 by game 6 with the Lakers needing only one more win for the 4 needed to advance. And even with 10 seconds left [Thunder up by 1] I still had a feeling we were going to lose. Then, L.A. scored 2, and with HALF a second left on the clock, Thunder shot, missed, and lost by 1. Pretty exciting game, really.

And Saturday, Murph had a soccer game and then we all met for lunch with my Dad's side of the family. May 1st marked 5 years since I got a call from my Dad to notify us about my Grandpa. He'd had a heart-attack and passed away early that morning. I'll never forget what a ton of bricks that felt like. I've got a rather young family - and while that doesn't always matter - I haven't had a lot of experience with death in my life where family is concerned, or otherwise, I guess I should say. Up until then, my great-grandmother died when I was 6, I think - and that is about it. Or. Well. That is it. Of course I've known people who've passed away, or have been related way down the line or by marriage.

But anyway, I'm not very well schooled in the realm of what to do and say when there is a big loss like that. I wonder if anyone feels like they are. I always come away feeling like I've dropped the ball, or at least wondering if I somehow could have said something or provided some comfort where I hadn't. Still, I remember there being swarms of people who cared very much about my Grandpa, all descending on their home with food and company - and ultimately, things started feeling [at least for me] as if we were celebrating the life of someone dear to all of us rather than dwelling on the giant void left gaping wide open. I'm sure the experience was different for my Grandma. She had lost her most natural of all counterparts. But as life goes on, and the sun keeps coming up, I know who sustains her, whose hands her life is in... and what a legacy my grandparents on both sides have paved for generations.

Plus, I look exactly like my Grandma and get my brute, plant-plucking strength from my Grandpa. BONUS!

7am for 200, Alex

2010-04-30T08:31:00.001-07:00

I don't know about you, but I can't believe it's Friday again already. I've spent my week just sort of flying around kind of trying to batten down the hatches and get some tasks done. It's not as fun to multi-task with my niece around every day so far except today, though. It's much more entertaining to hang around watching her perform little ballet moves and giggle at the baby cooing. But there comes a time in every post-partum venture where I'm flat-out ready for some normalness. The last two times it hit way earlier and with much more gravity. Rather than "WHEN THE *H* ARE THINGS GOING TO GET BACK TO NORMAL!?" and fighting against change, this time I am just eager to have a regular wake time in the morning, honestly. That's all. Can we just get up at the same time every day and maaaaaaaaybe go to bed around the same time? Huh? ... Huh? It sets the day in a good direction to have the same amount of daylight to accomplish things.

Right now I'm on hold in our room. My mom has a thingamajig in her laundry room she said I might be able to have. I'm not sure what you'd call it. A chest. No. A smallish armoire. Eh... Let's just go with thingamajig. But she's currently trying to sell her house, so I need to wait for her to pair down and figure things out before springing any thingamajig removal on her suddenly. And we still have the baby in our room. So, I'm not really ready for an upheaval, because that might really be necessary to configure things how I envision in there.

I'm also getting the bug to garden. I've planted a new big pot full of shade-loving plants where a smaller one stood, but that one was just full of dirt because I'd pitched the dead stuff - and that meant, well... everything. I'd given up on the thing, really. But now we have a fresh start. I'm not sure when I'm going to redo the boring arrangement of shrubs and foundation plants in the front beds, but it needs to be soon. I've just got to carve out a few days I can be on my rear in the aftermath. Digging and planting large things will knock me right out if I'm truthful. And I need to mentally recover from stepping in fresh poop between the yews at TLC in strappy sandals the other day anyway. Not kidding, it was human dookie.

I'm sure I've got a lot more to talk about, but I just might put away laundry instead. Go ahead and scoop your jaw off the floor, Brent.

Ramblings

2010-04-23T18:59:00.001-07:00

It seems I always think of what to write at 3am while nursing an incoherent baby. Then I forget all of it by morning. Somewhere in one of those early mornings was something about names I could use for my kids on here - Jingleheimer, Murph & Rabbitbunny - appropriately contrived under the influence of sleep deprivation. I think of television shows I'd highly recommend... Scenarios that go on over here. I intend to have that pencil and paper handy - and then there's real life.

I don't think it's all that reasonable an idea to be poised at the ready to jot every whim. I know people who do this - lay awake at night unless they can scribble ideas, dreams they've had, thoughts on to-do lists. But for me this task seems exhausting enough to put me to sleep. I'm not writing a book here, people. Although, every time I complete a book, I am truly inspired to write one of my own. But about what? I can't think of ANYTHING interesting. That's like saying I have nothing to wear, I know, but still. It's a daunting idea. One I need a nap after pondering. No matter what, I think the first sentence would be, "I always burn the first pancake."

The latest read: People Are Unappealing: Even me by Sara Barron. I read that this week. It's not about parenting, self-improvement or how to incorporate more God into my life. So, the recommended audience might have decreased by a third, at least where grandmas and in-laws are concerned. There is crude subject matter and cussing, but I have not laughed so hard in as long as it has been since I read Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris... another absolutely repugnant collection of comic genius. Judge me if you must, but I would be sure I'd emptied my bladder before beginning either of these if I were you.

Jingleheimer had his "Land Run" celebration this week. I guess if you aren't familiar with Oklahoma history, you might have no idea what I'm talking about. Or - perhaps you could rent Far and Away. I'm not entirely sure that movie is that accurate. I guess there were 7 land runs in Oklahoma - 2 of which my great-great-grandmother's family took part - accidentally claiming "School" land during one [which meant you were out of luck, Chuck], and something unfavorable happened during another. But my grandmother has a recorded account told by her grandmother she will be copying for me. [I'm so sorry to have thought of this after the fact, Mrs. Bass - as I'm sure it would be a fabulous thing to have your hands on]. But for as long as I can remember, quite a few Oklahoma schools remember the Land Run of 1889 every April 22 by reenacting the event.

Here are some pics. I'm not sure how long Nike has been around, but clearly since the late 1800's.

Murph had his bowling birthday party last Saturday. That was fun. My mom gets hitched tomorrow. And Rabbitbunny is strongly considering sitting up on her own. I'll take pictures ASAP. By that I mean - as soon as I think to. And I don't think these names are going to stick around. Jingleheimer. Really?

License Registration & Identification

2010-04-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

Let's get something straight - I get tired of writing out "My oldest" - "My youngest" - "The Baby" - "My neighbor's mother-in-law's step-child" - "The Lady Who Cussed Me In My Driveway And Threatened To Beat My Pregnant A** And Lives 10 Houses Down I Found Out The Other Day"... but there is something fundamentally wrong with using real names here, for me - at least those of my children.

Truth be told, if I could post that crazy lady's name all over everywhere with the words "Stay Away From Psycho" somehow juxtaposed seamlessly within and not be potentially sued for defamation, I would. But I otherwise have an irrational fear of kidnapping or possible stalking. I just do. I can't help it. Ask my brother. But that doesn't mean I like not calling them by name.

And a long time ago, as random as being flashed the wiener of a strung-out junkie on the other side of a Paris, France Metro platform [that happened], I came up with two names I started calling the boys. Irka De Licker and Irka Del Wicker. I'd love to use those names here, but I can't just use Irka. How will you know exactly which Irka? And De Licker is the younger, which - you'd think - would be listed later than Del Wicker, but it just didn't happen that way. Del Wicker simply fits better after De Licker. And then when the baby came along, I had to come up with something for her, so Inga De Linga it is.

This is spiraling out of control. And I might be the only one who can keep it straight. So, for now - it's all going to just stay the way it is. I apologize if I've made you carsick.

5 Months

2010-04-16T06:16:00.000-07:00

Something about having kids in school makes time fly even faster than it was flying otherwise... 'cause I CANNOT even believe this chunk is 5 months old already. She's rolling all over the place, napping on a more regular schedule, and waking up in the middle of the night again - at least one, sometimes two times. She's starving. I'm dying.

I was trying to hang on until the 6 month mile-marker to start cereal... among other reasons, I read somewhere that holding out can decrease the instance of food allergies in people who might be sensitive to that sort of thing. We don't have any major allergies over here - which reminds me "Have you had any PEANUT BUTTER today, lady!?" - but my brother is allergic to tons. So, I figure I'm doomed at some point. My oldest already needs allergy shots to avoid his seasonal, sinus migraines. But we eat peanut butter on a regular basis and don't need shots of adrenaline to avoid anafilactic suffocation. So, that's good.

But anyway... she hates rice cereal.

This has been such a different experience, having a girl. I know I keep saying that [or do I] - but since I've had her, I've noticed a bit of a mental gap when I was dealing with only boys. I don't really know how to put it into words, because I have always felt I relate to boys way better than girls in any past nannying situation. I don't do "drama", so you can have your fit in your room and put that ice cream sandwich in the trash.

Of course I can't completely relate to what it's like to be a boy. When I was little, I didn't need to categorize hot wheels by color, make and model... or ram things together. But I did love to smoosh my toes in mud, climb trees and catch frogs. Still, I didn't need to throw the frog up as high as I could to let it splat all over the driveway like the neighborhood boy. I bet he's incarcerated now. Violence toward frogs is a gateway to violence toward women. Makes perfect sense.

And I know these things have deeper meanings. Boys - logical - compartmentalizing - bonkers - from Mars. Girls - passionate - nesters - vocal - entirely sane and intuitive. Oh, and - ALWAYS RIGHT. [Actually, if ever a particular girlfriend needs to vent about an argument she's had with her husband, nine times out of ten, I usually see it the guy's way] but I don't tell her she's a total basket-case, I just judge her in my heart. Just a little. And no, it's not you... Or... well, I'm pretty sure she doesn't read this.

My point - it'd be nice to have one [a point].

Simply put: it seems this baby brings to mind what I was like when I was little - or just what it was like to be a little girl. Aside from the mud and frog-catching, I wore cowgirl boots with shorts and no socks. I liked to dress the dog in doll clothes; and I was always up to something. I'd march over to my 80-year-old neighbor, Francis', house to invite myself in for red-hots. In fact, it seems I've always had a really good old friend. Literally. I'll have to tell you about Kaye Tankevich sometime. My daughter's middle name is Kaye. And I'll be lucky if she's anything like her namesake.

Bottom line - I hate how quickly this has gone by!

6 Whole Years

2010-04-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

I was awake this morning at 4:30 with a baby - and six years ago I was also awake at 4:30 with a baby getting ready to join us. I was just uncomfortable enough not to be able to sleep with the first signs of labor. But, really I don't honestly know how well I was sleeping by that point anyway. I had gained probably 80 lbs or something like that. I'm not even kidding you right now. Putting shoes on feet I could not see was a problem. Shoot, breathing was a problem. And I don't even know how on earth someone grows that much. But I did. And I have pictures to prove it.

Get real, I'm not going to post them here. You can use your imagination. Something like that could be used against me in a court of law. But by now [back then], I was shaking wildly coming off of anesthesia. It was so cute, my shaky chub. Not really - but my little family was more like a real life one. We had a complete table settings worth of members. So, I didn't guess I cared about the jell-o'ness of my deflated tummy. And what a cute, sleepy little hunk I had in my shivering arms.

I wish I could say the same for last night - the sleepy part. He's still a hunk. But he was so excited about his birthday, he got out of bed at least 5 times. And I don't know for what. We had a lengthy talk about how he would only be getting the ONE big item he requested because it was all the money I planned to spend. So, what was the big deal? Open one thing and go to school to take standardized tests all day long. Lame.

But no. I had to go and decorate his room with a "Happy Birthday" banner before big bro was completely asleep [I didn't know this until later]. And of course I had to come up with a scavenger hunt so that ONE gift wasn't as lame as ONE gift can seem to someone who had rather big birthday celebrations when she was little.

First clue taped to the door: "Just for you - a birthday hunt - you need to go downstairs. Check the drawer with all the forks and other silverwares."

And what big bro can hold it together without getting out of bed to check it out, [of course waking the birthday boy]? Not the one who lives here. That's who. So, finally by 10 or so, everybody was asleep. And thank God I did all of this last night! Because I just said I was up at 4:30 with Her Majesty - who - tee'teed all over herself. And that'll wake you all the way up... until 6. So, when we finally went back to sleep, I guess the coma took hold and I slept ALL THE WAY thru the morning, thru birthday pancakes on our special birthday plate, thru the hunt...

Clue two: "I bet you thought this was it. This is where it stops. But you'll have to check Mom's closet under her flip-flops."

Lastly: "You don't really think your gift will fit under my shoe! I think the thing you are looking for comes in black or blue. I know the one you wanted. You showed me every day. Go look back under where you sleep; I bet you're on your way!"

I slept thru it all! Thru trampling up and down stairs - thru thank you Mom! and thru the loudest husband opening and shutting dresser drawers and closet doors getting ready for his day. What a lame deal. But M didn't care. He is 6! And he has his little blue Nintendo DSi and that's all that mattered. "Just what I was wanting!!!" *Sigh* He's so great. This pretty much sums up what it's been like having him around:

Can't Help Myself

2010-04-09T08:11:00.000-07:00

I'm tempted to take a few pictures of things I've finished around here. But, I just sort of... I'm indecisive is what I am. I hung every picture and took them all down. And ask anybody I shop around with. I haven't been shopping with Em in a while, come to think of it. And I don't know if my sister-in-law really means it when she says it doesn't bug her. Because it would bug me if I were shopping with me. I hung on to two little outfits for the baby the other day and ultimately left the store without either of them because I couldn't decide if I really wanted to buy something white, but I liked it better than the pink. Like she needs anything to wear. People, she could be a single-handed baby department, that kid. Don't judge me. I can't help that she has such striking features [thunder thighs] to accessorize with little leg warmers.

Who knew they'd be so ridiculously cute? It has to be witnessed to get the full impact. And a picture just can't help anybody gain a real understanding of what it means to need a tiny, silver pair of gladiator sandals for $7.99. Honestly though, quite a bit of her closet is full of things that once belonged to my niece. In fact, her outfit today was given to us. So, I'm not having to sell off possessions on ebay or drive around in a death-trap just to have another tiny cardigan. I've toned it down, and that's a real difficulty when we're only getting cuter by the minute.

For Maya

2010-04-06T11:17:00.000-07:00

SICK
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.

And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There's a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

~ Calling out an APB to that woeful heart! It's Saturday, BEOTCH!

Easterish

2010-04-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

I've gotta say... this was a rather uneventful Easter. Typically, we're either having brunch at Southern Hills or hunting eggs in my mom's back yard. But my mom is a little overwhelmed with all she has going on. She's getting married soon - and while it's good stress for her, it's still stress. And a trip to Tulsa just wasn't on the agenda.

So, someone suggested going to the park, bringing our own food, and hanging out in the wind with all the other Easter folks without a sufficient-not-my back yard to hunt in. It was actually pretty nice out. But nothing really came together like it was an Easter Sunday. I never hemmed any khakis that needed hemming. The little, yellow linen dress I found was too big on the baby - and I could tell she just wasn't having it... not because she stopped fussing after I changed her out of it - just because I'm a mother and I know these things. She told me, okay?

I got myself ready - I asked Brent if my shoes looked ridiculous [because I typically buy the funkier shoe, and end up wearing the same black pair every day because I won't tell you what Brent calls the kinds of shoes I like]. Anyway, I was all together. But Brent was still flipping pancakes by the time I would have liked to have been heading churchwardly. Still, there was time for him to be ready and on-time on any other not-Easter Sunday - and I only found this out after I decided to go ahead with the baby as I was going to have to leave the guys to themselves in order to secure a spot in the private nursing room [closet] anyway.

They've got a monitor to watch the service, but there is one glider-rocking chair in there that is of the devil and refuses to glide. And I don't want that one. And there are only three to choose from total. So, I needed to get an earlier-than-usual move on - for prime nursing seating, not because a vast population decides to attend church on Easter Sunday only. Of course I didn't leave early enough. There was a GIANT line to even enter the long driveway leading to the parking lot. I was able to see the gravity of the situation from the other side of the highway - where - I decided, entirely impulsively, to make a U-Turn and go home.

I kicked off my shoes and changed the baby out of her God-forsaken get-up to put her down for the nap she was yelling about. I smeared peanut butter and drizzled syrup over the pancakes Brent left for me. And then I finally met up at the park with my brother's family who went home 10 minutes after I arrived to take the niece for her nap. I still received the traditional pair of flip-flops. I cannot even remember an Easter I didn't get flip-flops. I haven't the foggiest idea where the custom came from, but at this point, not getting any is simply against the law.

Speaking of law - who on earth started the Easter Sunday chant "He is risen!" to be replied with "He is risen indeed!"? I used to think it was an ancient Presbyterian in a long robe. But when people use the word "indeed" around me or expect me to yell it back at them - I almost feel like I should be at some Medieval fair or drinking from a pewter poison chalice. Why can't I say "Yep!" or "AND HOW!" without being corrected? "No, it's He is risen indeed." It's just so rulesy and we all know how I like to break rules one right after another.

Rather Warm, Dan Rather!

2010-04-01T17:34:00.000-07:00

It's pretty hot in here. Something in our furnace wasn't working - and so the guy we have come fix these things came and took a giant fan from inside the unit to take to the trade you a fan for one that works place. But he had a golf game yesterday, so we have to hang on. I'm so glad we keep using this guy.

Had you expected me to know the heating unit thinga-ma-jig had anything to do with cooling, I would have had to explain how you don't know anything about it and don't make sense. But I guess it's true - something about the thing blows the cool air as well as the hot. So - it's burning up. It snowed 6 or so inches about a week and a half or two ago and now it's 80-something with hurricane winds.

Try playing baseball in that! Better yet, try being the mom watching you play with a baby in tow getting giant gusts of sand grit embedded in your lip gloss. It's not working for me. I don't typically "rough it" anyway - and this is beyond having to camp out barefoot without a bathroom. It doesn't really look that bad until you step out and lose your breath with a swift gust of wind to the face wondering if God is trying to smother you with an invisible pillow. I wouldn't put it past Him. He's a real prankster.

Other than that - everything is just dandy. I like the word dandy. I like the words doohickey, booby-trap, and situation also [context: It depends on your... (long pause)... situation]. The baby is happy and healthy and is my number 1 fan. She just really is. I'm the only one she finds hilarious. But what am I supposed to do? I am.

The Deficit Is Definite

2010-03-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

About the last time we were here... the shower. We started in there; and then we were painting bedroom walls from the shower - completely clothed, of course. I am WAY too modest [Jeni, shut your mouth] for shower painting with anything less than a jogging suit zipped all the way.

But what I originally wanted to go over is the amount of hair I'm losing every time I wash it. It's unreal. I'm talking about fist-fulls. Several people have said they've also lost a ton of hair after pregnancy, and it later grew back in. I'm just nervous it won't come back. Am I going to wake up tomorrow morning looking like I've got a bad case of mange? Let's hope not. Really, let's all close our eyes and hope. Together. Right now. Do it. Squeeze your hands real tight. It helps.

Anyway - that's all. I just wanted to revisit the shampooing in the shower subject. It's typical of me to start a thought and end in a 10-foot ditch of random ideas and incomplete thoughts. This feels normal to me. I've got a constant stream of consciousness. It's a wonder I ever make sense or fall asleep. You can bet I'm working REALLY HARD to pay attention to you when you're talking because the mirror border around the restaurant booth is shiny and flashy and making me notice the giant piece of parsley in the girl's teeth across the way. And do you have to repaint your nails every single day or what? I've been tested for A.D.D. I flunked.

School Is In

2010-03-22T08:49:00.001-07:00

I do most of my thinking in the shower. I do most of my bathing in there too. I'm a real multi-tasker. If I could finish painting my bedroom from the shower, I would. Come to find out - painting walls really is a cure for the snow-day boredom. I guess I should say "painting wall". But that's one wall closer to a room completely painted. Really, it's all Candice Olson's fault. Reruns of Divine Design can really kick start a match-lighting ceremony under my rear. I literally jumped off the couch and sprang into action and had one coat on the chosen wall within about 15 minutes, not including edging and windows. But, by the end of the day yesterday, I had the whole one wall complete.

More importantly, this brings up the topic of budgeting. I see Candice do all sorts of great things with these undisclosed, but probably giant, allowances for the spaces she is redesigning. And I'm sure things would go much more smoothly for me if I weren't the type that is willing to hunt down exactly what I want for exactly what I want to pay no matter if it takes me weeks. Are the home-owner people on HGTV just rolling in it, or turning a blind eye to what something truly costs? I might develop an extra mental disorder [to complete my already disorder set of 6] if I had to think of all the things I could have done instead with the extra thousands left over had I just done the work and bargain hunting myself. This project I'm working on will fit comfortably within the $1,000 I've accumulated over birthday and holidays - and that's including the bed - which - by the way - was twice as much from Pottery Barn for the SAME BED. And bedding? Tuesday Morning, people. TJMaxx. Target. They all have CUTE STUFF. Work it. Is it worth it? Missy Elliot [don't go listen to that song if you haven't already, Grandma - it's nasty]. But now I have to yell "Lllaaaaaaaaaadddddddddddiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeessssssssssss!!!!!!"

Okay, I feel better. And I do believe you get what you pay for. But not always. You can get away with A LOT of things on the cheap. But by cheap I mean inexpensive, not poorly made. Still, if you want a good parachute, you'd better shell out the cash money, honey. You don't really get the chance to learn that one twice.

And, I really should be vacuuming. So, that's all for today's lesson.

Ten Thousand Maniacs

2010-03-19T10:57:00.001-07:00

What I don't understand is what size pillow I want along the back of the - ya know - bed pillows. I don't need four-and-a-half feet of pillow arrangement from the headboard out. But 2 Euro pillows just isn't going to cut it... width-wise on a King. I'm looking at shams online, and I really just feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I have the idea - it just isn't translating. I may just end up sewing my own shams to accommodate the whole deal.

Do you know - the words "Please" and "Stop" just came out of my mouth together for the thirty-second time today - and it's only 1 in the afternoon. My dear friend, Aaron, told me I should have sent the boys to art camp with his kids this week for $175 per kid. But my idea was to drive them out to the country and drop them off with a few vague instructions like, "You're welcome to camp out. Here's a blanket. I'll be back in a week; and in the mean time I'll drop space food via helicopter at 11:50 and 6:20 every day. Bye now." [not really, just kinda]

Okay, so - back on track here. It's apparently going to get up to 70 degrees outside today and then dump around 14 inches of snow starting at 8am tomorrow. I'm feeling the need to get milk, yes, but more importantly, have something to do for 24 hours while I'm held captive by 5 foot snow-drifts. Painting walls may not be the answer, but sewing pillow shams might. I guess we'll be back up in the 60's in the days following, so melting is going to be rapid. Still, if I have to spend my day on lock-down with these bored kids... I just might lose it. Summer is a real possibility - meaning - certainty... and I'm going to need to buckle down and plan this out. Oh. My. Gosh. Would they please. Stop. Bickering... lots and lots of nanny nanny and boo boos.

4 Months

2010-03-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh, you guys. The baby had her 4 month Dr visit this afternoon - and she had 3 immunizations. Oh the cry. It was bad. It was sad. It was uncontrollable... like the time I inadvertently whacked her in the head with the television remote trying to reach across to change the channel as she nursed. This time I didn't cry with her or heap a ton of guilt on myself like I did when I bonked her. But the nurse really should have. I thought she said she was fast. That was not fast. You have to poke with a short, sharp jab - the more swift and stabby the better. Not kidding. She was a slow poker. And that gives the brain enough time to realize you've got a giant needle mid-muscle. No bueno. At least the baby won't remember it when she's 5 - AND - she won't have to deal with Polio. Bonus.

So the bed came. At noon. Today. The delivery window? Ten to noon. Of course. I was literally dialing to chew somebody out when they pulled up. And they set the whole thing up for me. So, that was nice. It makes waiting this long a little less irritating. Instead of being at poison-ivy-on-your-face irritating, we're around about ring-worm-on-your-arm irritating. And I would know. But, I really like it - it will look even better once things coordinate in there. But I'm happy with it.

We're on day two of Spring Break. It's going really well. And by that, I mean, it's not. It's not awful. It's just kind of boring, I guess. Why we must make messes and break things as a coping mechanism for boredom, I'll never know. I've really got to come up with a plan for summer. This is not going to cut it. Right now, one half-pint is removing page numbers in the corners of his workbook with a hole-punch. Why? "So we won't know which page we're on."

Kiss 'N Tell

2010-03-15T15:42:00.000-07:00

Well, Hello! You seem nice.

And so cute too!!

I think. I'll just. Oh. Well. Okay. Let's kiss.

Tisk Tisk This Task

2010-03-11T07:26:00.000-08:00

Does anybody out there know Ethan Allen? Are any of you... Ethan? Allen? See, I ordered a bed from you in January. And it's. not. here. It's not even down the street stuck in traffic, hitting light after red light. I didn't get a call saying it'd be late for the party. And I'm beginning to think I've been stood up. I don't handle rejection well, okay? It's just rude. Ethan? This is rude. I've got all sorts of ideas circling in my head and I'm just kind of pent up up there until I get the bed and see what it's like; do I even want to return the dang thing; and where does it look best in the room?

Hang on - my phone's ringing. It's not Ethan. In case you wondered.

Okay, I'm back. But so anyway... with this springy weather, I'm just starting to get an itch to project. Not vomit, but maybe. Project as in the act of projecting. Not an image on a pull-down screen. Project as in beginning a task by using the ideas in my head for an end product - which is - a bedroom with a new bed.

Wordy enough? It's because I can't think of much else to write about right now. And I have a guy doing the "draw it out" motion in my head - ya know - that guy - at the edge of a television studio-set... motioning to the show host to keep it going - elaborate. It goes something like putting your hands together and drawing them apart in a slowish motion as if you've got pulled-taffy strung between your fingers, and you're doing the aerating - or whatever it is that makes it turn sorta cloudy and soft. And he's got a head-set with a microphone sort of like Madonna, but clunkier like a head football coach.

And now that guy's doing the "wrap it up" motion.

One Smitten Kitten

2010-03-10T08:28:00.000-08:00

If someone told me nine years ago who I would become, what things would come to pass or what this marriage is now - I know I would do it all over again - minus a thing or ten. But if anyone had told me I could be this fond of Brent, I might have sat scratching my head - because I thought I already did love him back then.

But as we enter into our tenth year, the way things have unfolded and deepened, I can only explain this in a way as if to say I am more of myself - who I truly am - awake - alive - familiar like coming across a childhood favorite treasure; and finding it again reminds me of so many marvelous things. It's because I'm with the right one. I favor him.

For all the ways you love me, I am amazed. I am changed. And I am all yours.

Happy Anniversary, B.

There's No Place Like Home

2010-03-06T08:37:00.000-08:00

So, I'm going to head straight for the framing department. My cousin, Kyle, found this print to hang in the baby's room. Kyle is a girl - so when I say she thought it was the perfect find, it's no typo... and I could not agree more. Every pair of red shoes I find just aren't a reasonable purchase for a child who isn't even walking. Plus, not knowing what size she will be when she is walking, these just make more sense and will last a lot longer.

Yesterday, my grandparents came over from Tulsa with Kyle and my aunt, Kathy (Kyle's mom). My brother's family met up with us as well to celebrate GranMary's birthday. We had dinner out and then returned for strawberry-banana cake from Leo's. This cake. It is so good - in all it's glorious simplicity. My great-grandmother, Nana, used to drive to Oklahoma City just for this cake at least 40 years ago. If I were talking to a girlfriend right now, I'd drop the B word it's so good.

Buy Them Both

2010-03-03T06:18:00.000-08:00

If you don't own "Waiting For Guffman" then I don't know how else to help you. There are just too many great "one-liners" it's hard to pick a favorite. And there is not an adequate "I hate you..." clip online. So, these will have to do. "Best In Show" is as good also.

To: Brent

2010-03-01T17:17:00.000-08:00

Would you get a load of this! My first attempt at Chicken Fried Steak wasn't a total bust. Just partial. You are, indeed, looking at the dog bowl, however. And I can say there were several variables that call for improvement in the future. Less oil. Lower heat. But y'all? I don't fry stuff. I grew up with a passionate nutrition enthusiast who is my dad. Reaching for something in the kitchen cabinet would usually be met with, "Did you read the label?"... "Is there a healthier choice?"... "Are you really hungry or just bored?"

And we didn't have coke regularly, Lucky Charms, or Twinkies in the house. So, any food label I should have read, I felt rather secure it had already been heavily scrutinized by my father's content-filtering judgment. He calls hydrogenated oil the "H Bomb". He'll hold up order-taking traffic to have servers ask if the cedar-plank salmon is, in fact, wild or farm-raised. Cheerios, Shredded Wheat, and the rare bag of Famous Amos were highlights of my childhood diet. Honey on those Cheerios felt like I was getting away with something. And I say all of this as a matter of fact. It is something that simply matters a great deal to my dad. I don't necessarily adopt every single tidbit of information as gospel truth; but I give ear to his interest because I believe the driving force behind his passion is the depth of love he has for those he wants to enlighten. Food can play a MAJOR role in the health and wellness of all of us.

So, I admit I have a bit of a bias toward certain foods - particularly fried and heavily processed foods. For example, I simply Will. Not. Eat. Cool-Whip. But that also means I disregarded a birthday favorite from Brent's childhood this entire time until now. Was it lack of know-how or simply snubbing breaded cube-steak fried in a puddle of what I recently found out was typically bacon-drippings saved by his Granny Blanche. Still, if we put things into perspective, Brent's grandmother ate a vast and wide diet of fried foods; and she lived to be 100. Seriously. So, why is Chicken Fried Steak once a year on Brent's birthday that big of a deal? It's not. It just isn't. So, I decided to whip out the very very old, gorgeously seasoned, cast iron skillet his granny used to use and invest in this guy's favorite birthday memory. Besides, he deserves my best. And like I said before - I'll resolve to improve myself, my Chicken Fried Steak, and my best efforts - not just due to another January 1st, but just for being overdue.

Happy Birthday, Brent. I'm glad your tummy could take it. And I'm glad it tasted like what it was supposed to taste like. I tried "wicked hawd".

Quiet Riot

2010-02-28T13:47:00.000-08:00

If anyone has captured the noise a dark force makes when it dies, it's Brent when he vomits. It's so unnatural that when he was getting up to barf every thirty minutes from 3 until 6 the other morning, I truly thought I was having a bizarre dream. Had I known Satan was trying to exit Brent's body through his esophagus, I might have gotten up to offer a cold, wet rag for his forehead... because nothing helps Satan escape faster than something cold and wet. It says so in my medical dictionary... right next to curing hiccups and cancer.

But so... we've had a rather lame weekend with waves of nausea and, ya know... other stuff. And that sort of thing is lame on its own apart from this being Brent's 38th unbirthday. UNbirthday because he's only 9 if you count non-unbirthdays. And our being married would seem rather statutory unless you consider every year is actually three-hundred-sixty-five-and-one-quarter days long, but we only lump the 4 quarters into one day every leap year... which is Brent's actual birth date - somewhere between six hours after February 28th and six hours before March 1st.

So, join me in letting out a giant sigh at the idea of shopping for George's Aloe Vera and Pepto Max on what should be the last day of Brent's 38th year. Who can blame the sweet fellow for not wanting any birthday dinner or treats except for birthday pie!? Still, I can wish him a happy birthday and a cool head so not to throw the Wii remote through the television as frustrating as his new birthday game is to figure out. Yay for birthdays. Getting older is a riot! A real riot.

Turning A Page

2010-02-23T07:32:00.000-08:00

In the middle of whipping up some dinner last night for la familia, the baby put her hand on her hip, waved her index finger in the air like a Maurey Povich guest finding out her cheating boyfriend indeed cheated and told me she'd be having none of the waiting game I like to pull on her every once in a while if I'm half-way through tasks of importance during her becks and calls. [That wasn't a run-on or anything.]

So, I got the bright idea to melt one of the frozen, pumped milks I stored a while back. And voila. She took it from the biggest bro like it was a little strange, but went along with it. I think I might be able to get her to try sushi on her first birthday with that free-bird attitude. I like it. I like it a lot. And this very well may open a whole new set of possibilities for me... especially where church is concerned. I have the most fantastic hooter hider I can sit in the back and nurse the baby under - but I cannot even begin to explain how hot it gets under there. Try sleeping all night with the sheets up over your head. It's impossible unless you've taken NyQuil. A lot of NyQuil. Too much NyQuil. So, yay! Maybe we'll get to stay past prayers without having to step out to walk around with the motor mouth baby and actually listen to what people have to say about what's going on in their lives and such. It'll be a laugh a minute. A laugh... A... Minute.

I still can't leave her in the baby nursery. Not with germs. No way. Gross. RSV, people. It's everywhere - even in relatively new, clean-seeming church buildings. I want my child to live, thank you. So, don't be getting any bright ideas about me dropping her off and turning to leave like I'd even be able to pay attention to anything anyone is saying without getting a twitch in my right face.

And here's a pic of the fantastic event

These brothers. It's so sweet how they want to be shown how to change diapers on their own, pick up and hold the baby on their own and drive a car on their own. They are going to be seriously fantastic daddies one day after the age of 27. Literally. 27 and one day. But they'd be fantastic all on their own having had Brent for a dad. He is seriously more than I could have ever dreamed of - the most ideal and perfect-for-me partner to have a family with. We are not without our mess-up moments - both of us - but so many things cause me to fall in love with him more every day - his fathering our children being one of the top on the totem pole. This man - "love" is such an inadequate term. I treasure what he has added to my life. Laughter is a close second. He's the kind of funny where you think later of what he said and laugh just as hard all over again.

Bullseye

2010-02-18T21:11:00.000-08:00

Just hanging out in the back seat having a little milk in the Target parking lot (my windows are tinted) after having pooped up the back again today. 4 for 4 days this week, folks. Yep. Had my boobie not been out, I would have rolled down the window to tell the old lady next to me, "Yes, I saw you SLAM YOUR DOOR INTO MY CAR! WATCH IT!" but instead I just called to vent to Brent a little and went on with life. There was no real damage, but we live where it's windy, people. Hang on to your dang door! And invest in some hair dye.

P.U.

2010-02-17T14:10:00.000-08:00

Behold. Thoughts are surfacing. Brains. The synapse fires once more. Hello thinker, my old friend. Has it been something like two weeks? How could I!? What is WRONG WITH ME!? Well, how much time have you got?

So, back up - let's see where were we?

The baby is three months old. The oldest is 8 years old. And I have a catch in my get-along. Not really. But these shoes make my feet reek if you really must know. We're talking pile-drive to the nose. I do not know what on earth I ever did to the thing that died on the assembly line of the shoe plant in China, but they really should be treated with hazmat precision. Whatever it was died a slow, painful death. In China. And that's just no way to go. I hear it's pretty dirty over there. But really, who wants to die? I can't honestly think it would be a fun experience. But it is part of life. Nobody can stay alive forever. Except for my children. They had better. But the disgusting, demonic, probable animal-byproduct lacing the inserts of the shoes I have on really wants to haunt someone from the grave apparently. I wash my feet, okay?! This cannot be my fault. It simply can't. Lever 2000. It's not to blame. And neither is China. But what dies in China should stay in China.

Moving on.

We had a party for my son. We rented a limo, invited 8 friends, but had to keep it a secret from all of them. My son and his friend's parents were in cahoots with us; and the whole idea was to show up in pjs the morning of the party to either wake or simply surprise each of the guests, whisk each of them away to have breakfast at Pop's... a funky gas station with hundreds of different kinds of pop from all over the world. But by "gas station" I really mean a funky diner that happens to sell gas out front. Anyway, my son actually kept the whole thing a secret. It was my middle stinker who told one of the friends, but somehow the message was turned into a golf-cart ride to IHOP or something like that. And he still didn't know when or what or who else was invited, so the cat stayed in the bag, pretty much. What a blast.

What else? I got to spend the afternoon yesterday with my most wonderful grandmother, GranMary. She took me shopping for my "baby" gift - because it's really me who needs new stuff in her humble opinion. The baby has things to wear once and never again until she's ten. I didn't argue. We had a great time. She wanted to dress me like a giant Easter egg; I said no. She let me have black and gray on my own dime, but we were still able to find things I would wear and she wasted no money. She truly is one of the funniest people ever. I love her so much - and I'm her favorite. But she possesses the ability to make EVERYONE think that. And I'm okay with it... but I know the truth. It's me.

And then today, before our third-for-the-week explosive poop out the diaper and up to the shoulders, we had our typical twice weekly hang-out with my sister-in-law and niece, two of my most favorite people. I truly would be dear friends with my s'inlaw even if she weren't married to my brother... because she gets it. It's kinda like Tuberculosis, but Tuderculosis.

What Dreams Are Made Of

2010-02-02T09:32:00.000-08:00

I keep having this dream about one of my best friends, Erin - but this time it was longer and more detailed - about why she didn't ask me to be in her wedding. After all, she'd been my maid of honor (false in real life) and I had every RIGHT to be a dad-gum bridesmaid! So, this dream I keep having seems odd as I was not only at her real wedding - I was in it.

This time in the dream, I decided to get drunk and crash the rehearsal dinner at some convention center painted white with lots of rickety lattice work and fake ivy. Naturally, there was a covered circle drive and a fountain where I came upon her mom, Linda, greeting people at the front door. I was crying, totally sloppy, ranting at her about not being invited - completely hurt and deflated to find special, hired security to keep me out of the party. Linda explained with a sharp, aloof tone, "Ashley, different people are governed by different laws according to where they live! I can't help you! You'll have to leave."

So, after several failed attempts to get inside the rehearsal dinner, where Erin was wearing a dreadful, cheap, lace wedding dress (to rehearse in) with one of those giant wads of tulle affixed to the side of her hair circa 1981 - I somehow ended up being escorted straight into the fountain in the middle of the circle drive. But being soaked head to toe didn't mean the driver of the limo parked close by knew I wasn't an invited guest. So, at least I rode home in style.

I don't know who these people are in the photo, but I'm sure they were there. And I bet the next time I have this dream, Erin will reconsider. Nobody wants me to show up to crash the party with a loaded pistol. But I will do whatever it takes to be in the wedding, apparently.

Doldrums in D Major

2010-02-01T11:14:00.000-08:00

I’m in the kind of funk that can only be remedied by the chirping of birds outside. Here’s the scene out my back window. And even though I’m not dealing with crazy, cooped up boys out of school for the day, I myself am cooped up, folks. I’m cooped up. And that can only mean bad things for someone who eats when she’s bored. Listen, I know better – so don’t even start advising anybody. But when they’re miniatures, I can tell myself that ice cream sandwich after ice cream sandwich will make me feel like summer. So, can it. Really, I only ate two. This time.

I could clean a little – it’s just not that untidy around here. I’ve been on top of vacuuming especially with the dog in the house more with this weather. His hair, dear Lord, his hair. I guess I could read. I love to read. Or I could get dressed. I love to get dressed. I can't play the piano. The baby is sleeping. I could go wake her up. Sometimes I miss her when she sleeps this long. I just don’t feel like another ice cream sandwich. So, what is a girl to do!?

ZZzzzzzRrrrrrrPpppp…

2010-01-27T07:54:00.000-08:00

… goes the sound of life in fast forward. How odd to be living a purposefully calm, cucumber-cool stretch of time only to be astounded we’re here already. The baby is two and a half months old. Thanksgiving happened. Christmas, New Year, I’ve already planned an 8th birthday party, and we are sleeping through the night!

Thanksgiving was somewhat of a nonevent. The boys did all the cooking – and what a treat! So, that was an event, but not in the traditional big deal sense. Our Christmas celebration at my mom’s – the one I made the cheesecake for – was a little on the frazzling side… nothing to burst into tears over, but I was ready to leave by 8pm on the DOT… and started counting down exactly twenty minutes prior like I was trying to disarm a bomb. So, had we stayed any later, I might have cried. Not really.

But, something about having a new baby reveals just how much NOISE there is around. The grandkids were psyched about new toys, of course. So, it required a new level of volume to hold a conversation above the hype. And somehow, there’s an urgency to want to hush everything even when the baby sleeps through it all or is awake during normal waking hours. Or maybe I’m just a Sleep Nazi. Either way, now that Brent blinks too loud, he sleeps out in his car. Kidding. Really, we had a great time, not too overwhelming, and simply ready to return to normal decibels.

As we enter in to February, we have birthdays and Valentine’s to think about [even though I really could not care less about Valentine’s with a child who was born the very day after, Brent’s birthday every four years, a wedding anniversary only a month later, and a blah opinion of the cut flower industry and the pricing of flowers that only sit and die] Valentine’s usually passes with a card and conversation hearts… maybe a high-five if I’m in a good mood.

Other than that, spring sports are on the way. Spring itself is on the way! I couldn’t be more excited when our forecast for the week includes 4-10 inches of MORE snow. And in other not-so-fun news, we’ve seen an ENT about the frequency of tonsillitis with our oldest – who recommends removing tonsils and adenoids. So, we have that to look forward to – and by "look forward to" I mean DREAD. But once we’re over that hurdle, the payoff should far outweigh the sacrifice of nasty throat tissues. So, I’ll be glad about it.

And that pretty much sums it up in rather boring email form. I’ll get back to my rich hilarity soon. Oh, and a master bedroom project. Spackle and Paint and Pictures… Oh my!

Sometimes I Fixate

2010-01-26T06:38:00.000-08:00

Emily, I've had the word "doppelgänger" pop in to my head for a few days now.

Introducing Verbatim

2010-01-23T20:49:00.001-08:00

On the advice of good counsel, I've started another blog dedicated specifically to the things the boys have said that I've saved for quite some time in a word document. Some are random. Some are hilarious. And some make absolutely no sense at all... but are worthy of remembering. You might not think so, and that's okay. I'll be one of those people who think my own children are the best, most fun and quick witted - always making me laugh.

Here is the LINK you can click or

go to http://thestuffmykidssay.blogspot.com/

Enjoy.

The Berby Dirl

2010-01-22T13:48:00.000-08:00

It might be what it would sound like if I were two years old saying "Baby Girl".

Zabaglione

2010-01-12T06:50:00.000-08:00

That's pronounced "Za-Bo' Yyoh-neh" with lots of nasal like this guy, but Italian. That's what I'm making here in a little while to smoosh between layers of espresso soaked lady fingers [actually, flash-dipped - because if you soak, we're talking soggy soggy nasty party].

Another side-note, I'd like to take a minute to address anyone out there reading who calls espresso "EXPRESSO" as if we're paying extra to mail a package fast-like... There is no X - it's "ess-press-OH!"

Wheeew - that's a load off. I'm okay now.

Anyway, for those of you foodies who know what I'm about to concoct... Ding! Ding! Ding! Tiramisu! Eh!!! In the form of a question, Alex Trebek! "What IS Tiramisu!?" Well, I'm glad you asked. It's delicious espresso dipped Biscotti Savoiardi [lady fingers - bi: twice, scotti: baked] layered between the most delicious pastry cream you've ever eaten. I make mine with rum rather than Marsala. And I feel mine's the best you've ever put in your face. Why? Because.

Why else would someone be making a batch of Tiramisu? No reason. That's why. Maybe to share with one of my besties who just had a birthday I slept straight through? Perhaps. But I'm not teeellllllling...

It's A Puzzle

2010-01-11T06:58:00.000-08:00

I wonder how many people follow-thru with resolutions they've set out for a new year ahead. I guess if you've decided to breath every day or drink more water, that might be something you could do without really having to pay much attention - unless, of course, you hate water and only ever drink Dr Pepper or Fanta... only... Dr Pepper or Fanta. I don't actually know anyone who drinks only those two things. I like water just fine, in fact. Besides, I'm talking about real goals here. I'm talking about, say, making a big decision - one that will change one's title, identity or existence in a pretty big way. No, I am not talking about gender reassignment surgery. Golly!

But as I reflect on where I was this time last year - having no idea this would be ahead for me - just about to start the second half of my second semester back to school, I wonder what else will be ahead. I don't make resolutions, really. I don't set myself up for a kick-start only to put things off until the start of yet another new year. I like to be all sorts of spontaneous... keep people guessing. Nice and wacky, that's how I roll. And if you know me at all, you know I am nothing short of passionate about several trillion things. So, resolving to pick a new thing, focus on just one thing, or even pair down that list is a feat I already know I'd mess up.

So, to stick with the trend, I have to let things constantly change. Goals are realized and some are even extinguished all together. For example, my idea for this child would be much different than when I had my first two. I waited until both boys were in school full time before returning to school myself. But I don't think I'll wait nearly as long at all this time. However, now that I know her, what exactly the action-plan will be, I have no idea. I loved Psychology. I loved being able to dive right in, having completed all necessary prerequisite courses. And I did really well. But we're talking about an eight year track with that... at the very least - AFTER I begin again. There isn't much you can do without a masters in Psychology. So, it's starting to seem like such a something I'm not sure I would even love once I'm there... not to mention driving Brent NUTS with the "Let's diagnose them!" game. [yes, that probably includes you.]

But did you know I already know how to cut hair pretty well? Hair school sounds fun - and it's only 9 months long. But that's Monday thru Saturday, 9 until 4. No room for sick-days, kids. Sorry! Don't cough on your friends and, here, take this Tylenol every four hours on the dot so we don't get caught having fever. Lay your head on your desk and just tell your teacher you're praying if you need to rest up. You can stay home in 9 months. Uh... yeah, no.

Then there's culinary school. What's that like for someone like me - a full time mom of 3? And is our local school even worth it compared to being able to say I've been to the finest school in the world? I don't want a restaurant. I don't want to be a chef in the back of some hotel. I'd love to teach people how to cook, conduct cooking demos or even be a private chef. Do I hear an Oklahoma City Thunder basketball player? Huh? Huh?

No, that's a baby. But that's okay. Do I love too many things?

Weddings? Bakery? Landscape? Nursing? Teaching? Therapy? Organization skill lessons? Gaw, I feel like I'm 18 again about to declare "undecided" as my major. Thank God I don't have to choose today, but let me tell ya... I may never know - and that bugs me. Luckily I can be just what I am right now and not have to lose sleep over it. But, still... I am so much more. Maybe too much more.

Twenty Ten

2010-01-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

This year sounds like a set of vision test scores. 20/10 vision is still pretty good, right? Existentially speaking, I feel like I have a pretty clear vision on where I am in life, but on an all new level of certainty. And as I sit here, I truly wouldn't even be able to put into words what that means if I tried. I just feel as if I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing, surrounded by people I need with a sense of the right kinds of insight and tools for life at hand.

It has taken me quite some time to get here - all while knowing for sure I have not and will never "arrive" - and with the awareness that things will not always be this easy. But, when life feels this nice and in place it makes me stop and take notice. It's cozy. And I don't mean comfortable as if I'm not after growth or improvement. I'm just glad I'm right here right now. I don't even know how this all happened. All I can say is God is merciful and gracious and has brought me in to a new season of life that feels like a breath of fresh air. I have experienced the kind of peace, calm, contentment and satisfaction that truly could have only come from Him - and without my doing anything to deserve it, trust me.

Of all the ideas I had on what was going to be best for me... of all the plans I made for myself... the direction I thought I'd head in - nothing compares to having a God who loves me, wants good for me, knows best and blesses me with what is right. My God has the 20/20 vision. And I am so glad for it, because I'm blind without it.

"Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best thought by day or by night
Waking or sleeping Thy presence my light."

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T12:05:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve Blizzard dumped 14 inches! No need to call animal welfare - I let him in right after I snapped this.

Christmas Morning

One of my presents - an Ebelskiver pan and mix

What sweet boys. Everything was "Just what I've always wanted!" right down to the color-by-number pictures they never knew existed and DVDs they've never seen.

Ahhh... Twix for breakfast.

Nothing like a 4-pack of power tools to bring out your inner NUT at 7 in the morning.

There's no other sense of belonging like waking up with my family Christmas morning. I certainly wish the same for everyone out there. Merry Christmas! Happy birthday, Jesus!

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government will be upon his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace." - Isaiah 9:6

The Cinnabutton

2009-12-23T07:35:00.000-08:00

Sugar and spice and everything nice... that's what little girls are made of. And I can prove it. Check out the bellybutton on this girl. See? My daughter is officially made out of cinnamon roll dough and she's fun to nibble, and not too high-calorie.

Cheers Beers Christmas Is Here

2009-12-22T10:24:00.000-08:00

We're only 2 days in to our Christmas break from school and we're already bored out of our minds... or I should say the boys are. My oldest said something to me like, "Sometimes it stinks to be out of school. You just aren't that entertaining and things have gotten a little worse now with the baby." I assured him things would not always be so slowed down and on hold for everything baby every waking minute of every waking day of every waking week of her ever loving life. But I'm in no hurry for that. I like holding the tininess of her little self and when she bobs her head on me rooting around to nurse like I'm going to run out of milk in an hour and this is her very last chance to drain me of my powers against her cuteness, rendering me useless for anything but her sneaky plans.

Certainly this has been a less stressful holiday season as I'm just simply not committing to anything or really even involving myself in much. I was in bed well before Brent was half-way in to his office party. But this is good. I'm still Christmasy, don't be mistaken. I've got Christmas music playing softly. I'm baking a cheesecake to take to my mother's tomorrow night for our Christmas dinner with her. And I'm ready to spend the next few days in my pjs. We finished up Christmas shopping today. It is supposed to be wet and cold tomorrow after the kind of weather today where you could have perhaps overdressed your sweet newborn and THAT'S why she was so mad for the larger portion of the shopping trip? I dunno. I got her out of her car seat and she was moderately clammy with sweat. Doh! It's been so wishy-washy outside here, so it's not like I could trust the forecast even after watching the weather man at 5, 8, and noon.

At any rate - Merry Christmas to you! If you didn't get a card from us this year, it's because I didn't send any. I have a 7lb 11oz excuse. Make that around 10lbs, really, who are we kidding?

4 Weeks In

2009-12-14T13:51:00.000-08:00

I have three kids. This dawns on me every once in a while. Oh... say... at 3am every day - and again at 6 (am or pm - take your pick).

I had a thrilling birth experience. After finally resigning to the idea I'd have this baby right on time, leaving no room for spontaneity, she decided to come on her own mere hours before the scheduled c-section. There were bumps in the road. I hadn't planned on having anybody but Brent with me until well after we were settled. That didn't happen. I planned on having a "spinal". That didn't happen. I had to be given enough anesthesia to numb a herd of woolly mammoth when I was still able to move my legs and feel soft touch after syringes-full of happy juice. I planned on holding down my cookies during the operation. That didn't happen. And I planned on being pretty overwhelmed and stressed out right off. And that didn't happen. I decided to be unapologetically selfish with my time and sleep. And that has truly been the biggest favor I've ever done for myself. I feel great!

I was just telling Brent last night how happy I am and what a great experience this is. I really feel like I'm floating on air. He asked if maybe it has everything to do with the part about being medicated. I don't think. When I turned 30, something happened. I decided to grow the heck up. I feel like I'm an adult. That means reacting like one - and having a bit better understanding of how FAST this will fly by. I will soon have six straight hours of sleep, and then eight, and then maybe even ten on a Friday night. One day she'll buckle herself into the car. And then one day she won't want me to walk her in to school in the morning. I don't know what it will be like to have these guys go off into the world on their own, but I will wake up one morning and it will be real for me... and it will seem as if it came way too soon.

I have slowed down. I am taking it all in. And I'm just really cut out for this job. And I don't think this photo even looks like her.

Hey Jeni

2009-12-13T11:07:00.000-08:00

COOL IT
with your "GOLB" requests

My Life Is Complete

2009-11-24T14:50:00.000-08:00

I may never blog again.

Not really.

But until I have complete thoughts, I'll let you in on a little conversation I had last night at 4am.

Me:

Getting back to bed after another baby feeding - astounded at how much milk I'd LEAKED ALL OVER THE PLACE in the short window of sleep I'd gotten. So, I said to a sleeping Brent, not even sure I was being heard - mostly just thinking out loud - "Man! I'm going to have to wash all of our bedding tomorrow!"

Brent:

in a sleep-drunk stupor - "Why?"

Me:

"Because I've leaked a gallon of milk all over my side of the bed! And it smells faintly of popcorn jelly bellies!"

Brent:

"Too bad it doesn't smell like popcorn shrimp."

The Inevitable

2009-11-13T07:25:00.001-08:00

As awesome and exciting as it may seem to wait with baited breath, on pins and needles and white knuckles for the arrival of a baby… wait – I want to know who on earth thinks it seems awesome or exciting. And then I want to tell you your seemer is broken. What I seem to do best is handle things really well when they’ve been sprung upon me. Whatever the case may be, you most probably want me at your wedding. I don't know what it is with me and weddings, but I typically deal with something or someone I hadn't counted on remarkably well without much of a ruffled feather by the bride most importantly.

But I’ve also had several instances – at least three now – where the idea of having another child was sprung upon me. I can’t say we’ve ever flat-out TRIED to have these people. I mean, sure – we know what causes them and the risks involved when regular doses of hormones aren’t popped every day at the same exact time in hopes of preventing their conception. I’m just not willing to get on board with the idea of having any strand of pasta snipped and tied shut, not even now! And, um... I didn’t think I’d ever say this [so don’t quote me] but there’s something about being shoved off the edge of the cozy two-kid-ratio cliff to MIGHT-AS-WELL-HAVE-HALF-A-DOZEN that doesn’t freak me out. Shoot, you just find a way and you do it and most things after a newborn are springy and upony and if you can’t be flexible, you just end up bald for having torn your own hair out by the fist-full. So, anyway.

I really thought this baby was on her way last Saturday and in to Sunday. I really did. I was in lots of labor-ish pain – all the textbook signs and symptoms – the kind of pain, the location, the way it radiates, the inability to sleep thru it… but no. The only “not labor” sign was its irregularity. Well, that and my water hadn't broken or anything, but that only happens to 1/10 women anyway. And well, I went Monday and was told all was the very same as it was the previous week. So, boo. And now that it looks like she’ll be staying put until her actual, scheduled date, I will probably need to call and get some heavy-duty Valume. Like I said, I deal best when things are sprung upon me. Having to wait, seeing the bus headed at full-speed my way? Yeah. No. I don’t do that well. I was made to be completely thrown.

"That" Kid

2009-11-11T07:14:00.000-08:00

This school-year is now the fourth to have one or both boys in school. And while it may be shocking, I’ve never had a single incident with either of them needing any major discipline… while at school [let me be clear]. Their teachers have always reported what kind people they are, what great help, good friends to their classmates, and well-behaved. And I can’t say it’s a big stunner with my oldest. But the Kindergartner has issues. So, hearing great things about him, in particular, is a bit of a nice feeling. It’s official, he does have a soul.

But then. I get a call from the elementary principal Monday. She has my youngest in her office, prepares me to listen to his side of what went down, and hands over the phone. His upset, hiccupy voice tells me his little friend told him he didn’t want to sit by him – and so… he “accidentally” BIT HIM. Now, I’m one who tries to give my children the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he lost his balance and fell teeth-first into this kid’s back. Maybe he was trying to quietly enjoy his lunch and the kid’s back got in the way of the ferocious PBJ-bite my son was taking. But my intuition told me this was rather on purpose… or as we like to say at our house… “On PERBISS”.

I spoke for a second little while with the principal and we came up with what I would imagine would be incredibly nerve-racking and mortifying for a kid… we had him apologize to this child’s father – who happens to be the high-school assistant principal. Yeah. Great. We know how to pick'em. But I was on board with however appropriately we could DRIVE THE ISSUE HOME… We are almost 6. We do not bite people. We say, “You’re being rude. I’m going over here now.” or even, “Weirdo!” is better than Hmm… what can I do to make this kid regret not wanting to sit by me? I know! I’ll bite him. THEN he’ll be sorry and want to sit by me every time.

Anyway, I talked to Brent and another mom about how to further handle it… and decided to let the resolution remain at school this time. I didn’t want to lambaste him, or even have him feel that I couldn’t understand how his feelings might have been hurt by his friend. But in talking to him about it later, I made PERFECTLY CLEAR that we do not handle our issues with friends this way, asked how he can better handle it in the future – and told him if ever ever ever it happens again, we’ll be in MAJOR trouble at home too.

But this isn’t really what this post is about. It’s about this incident striking a worried nerve about the fact that I WAS NOT A NICE KID every time I could have been… and now my son has done a compulsive, reactive thing when he otherwise isn’t sure how to find a healthy outlet for how he feels. I mean, I had friends. I was invited to slumber parties – this didn’t become the case of the outcast who couldn’t be befriended. I just did some mean things I’m sad to admit - one of which might involve jabbing a classmate with a pencil. That favor was returned. Believe me; the lead mark is still under my skin.

So, what is a mom to do? [That’s rhetorical]… I think these things follow people. I became a bunch nicer by the time I was in Jr High; but still, my brother came home one day - several years after the fact - and asked me why I’d bent Jeff Mold’s fingers back when I was 10 – because Jeff apparently remembered and struck up the conversation with my brother at their high school track practice about what a mean person I’d been to him. What do you say for yourself? I don’t know why I did it. I still don’t. I mean… I know why… he wouldn’t get his clompy feet off the back of my desk. But I don’t know why I handled it with the hyperextension of his index and middle fingers… on PERBISS.

A Yabba Dabba Doo Time

2009-11-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

And well… I feel about a day or two older than I was yesterday and the day before. Birthday madness is a thing of the past after 25, I think. Typically I’ll have a little fun something with just my immediate family or just Brent, then my whole family: parents, brother’s family, etc, and then a girl’s night – and typically spread over a birthday week. Birthdays have always been a big deal. I have a mom who is super glad about celebrating birthdays. Admittedly it gets old hearing the story of my birth every single year. I was rear-first breach. I was huge. I was ultimately a c-section and that meant for one gorgeous, perfectly round noggin. The nurses called me “Pebbles” in the hospital because I guess I looked like a Flintstone and “Pebbles” is nicer than “Barney Rubble” for a new baby girl. Who knows.

Last year’s big 30th was to be a great-big deal with a bowling party including a bunch of friends at Red Pin – a little trendy bowling alley downtown. That was a bust all together having my oldest in the hospital with pneumonia. So, 30 floated right past without as much as a blink. That’s no complaint. I didn’t really have to feel the weight of a new decade having never celebrated. But this year, even being asked what I might like to do, what I might want, or what sounded like fun – I was all “Uhhh… duhh… uhh...” – because I’m either one-big-thing-at-a-time or I’m a million-miles-a-minute unable to really get a grip.

So, with the latest upcoming events, I’ve been preparing all baby things, not birthday things and have gotten myself on a Christmas kick. It dawned on me – I like to put Christmas up the day after Thanksgiving. That’s 10 days post-giant-abdominal surgery!! Maybe I’ll just be directing from the couch this year. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want each of my children to have a new stocking with their name monogrammed to be a keep-sake… or that I don’t want to be making paper-mâché giant pieces of candy… or knitting hats… or putting together advent calendar items. I ordered these. They're not in yet. But having a baby who'll have her first Christmas at 6-weeks-old, her stocking sort of dictated the need for the others to match.

And so, this birthday was nice and simple. I was blasted awake with three dudes singing “Happy Birthday” (each in their own key, at their own pace and volume). Brent set fire to several cupcakes and had gotten a pretty funny card with some earrings. And then I was vacuuming crumbs off the kitchen floor by 7:30am. Nice. We thought we might have dinner together Tuesday night and I went to hug my littlest dude and he was BOILING with 102 fever. Clearly we went nowhere. And now it’s just any other day. I think this means I’m a real grown-up. I’ll always like to jump on the bed though… not eight-and-a-half months pregnant, people chill out. Wait… that might not be a bad idea.

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-31T22:28:00.000-07:00

Before we got ready...

Against Every Fiber

2009-10-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

I have either done the most genius thing or the most idiotic. I've put aside the belief (just a little bit) that children who spend much time playing video games are either dumber for it and/or contribute to the childhood obesity problem. I’ve purchased a Wii gaming system. We’ve already been over the issues I face when we “pretend” Super Bowl or somehow incorporate tackling into pretending World Series. All that roughness goes hand-in-hand with loud crying in the aftermath. And like I’ve said before, this is not conducive to my sanity. Throw in a sleeping baby who can't sleep and we’re headed to the psych unit for at least 3 days. At least!

So, with that in mind – I need a babysitter. Yeah, I said it. If this baby isn’t able to sleep because her ding-dong brothers can’t handle bonks that come with rough-play without taking it personally, then well… I can’t very well lock my kids in the backyard in the middle of December. We’re not in Australia, folks. [that's a weather-related idea... not because they lock their kids in the backyard in December there]

So, the Wii will be a privilege to be earned. It will be something to do when we have to "time-out" for baby naps. And it can be taken away if need be... not to mention having to get off the couch in order to play. I can just see this meaning I can be less medicated in the long-term.

If any of you want to play doubles tennis, BRING. IT. ON.

Mensa for Dummies

2009-10-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

I often become so astounded at what geniuses my kids are. I know – like you want to read about my smart kids when everyone thinks their kids are smart [except for the checker at WalMart who offers up the info about her daughter who has "a little M.R. in her" the last several times I've accidentally entered her lane] – and if I keep it up, I’m going to start sounding like one of those hob-nobby-full-page Christmas letters about Derek and his 9 MLB offers straight out of high school and Alexandria and her National Merit Scholar brains and thesis on such’n such smarty pant-pants accepted to 3 Ivy League schools by the end of her 5th grade year of home-schooling.

But really, my small people catch on to new concepts in math, read and understand giant words, and are learning to be more responsible with where we keep our homework assignments, what needs to be signed and returned, and even things as simple as completing all morning routines unsupervised before sitting down to cartoons if time allows. I met with my Kindergartner’s teacher for our parent-teacher conference and she really had nothing to say except to show me his fantastic work. And you really should hear some of the tender-hearted prayers my 7 yr-old says at dinner-time with a thankful heart for “the opportunity to play team sports with his friends”. The quotation marks mean he said that very thing… just so you know.

So, I’m left scratching a hole in my head when the same 7 yr-old comes SCREAMING down the stairs right after I’ve officially declared “lights out” because he has stuck a small piece of rubber down into his ear canal… only he simply claims his ear is hurting and he suddenly cannot hear out of it, but with the panic of an imminent bear attack. The information about it being HIS FAULT was not offered. So, I was left to do my own deducing. First, he was able to make it down the stairs without tumbling end over end… AND he was not projectile vomiting. So, I figured it probably wasn’t a burst eardrum. I thought maybe it was stuck water from the bath he’d taken, but Brent arrived with a flashlight and found the exact culprit of his sudden deafness. It wasn’t too far lodged, so I was able to tweeze it out with one, slow, steady attempt. I’m an Operation board-game champ. These things come in handy; I’m not even kidding.

Okay, whatever – I can see how maybe – the thing was shaped like the much larger, much more reasonable ear-plugs Brent uses for hunting and shooting. And I honestly don’t think we’ll be dealing with this again. But two days later, sitting at the kitchen table coloring, a sudden “Aaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!” caught my attention. Same kid. New problem. He “accidentally got a staple stuck in his thumb”. Let me explain something. The fastening of two or more pages of paper was NOT what was going on. This only involved a stapler – and a thumb… and a kid who’d just stapled his own thumb. In my head I was laughing in shock, but I couldn’t outwardly be laughing at my crying child. So, I couldn’t even talk. I just kind of blanked out and stared at him like he was a never-before-seen species of mammal. He pulled out the staple himself and ran water over it and I looked at him and actually had to advise my genius child not to staple his fingers.

Oh well – I’m pretty sure on more than one occasion I put a thing or two into my ear or nostril when I was little. I think it may have involved a screw and perhaps a pinto bean a different time, but I don’t know. I can, however, tell you for sure this is not a reflection on my IQ or the IQ of my offspring. I and my pinto beans could be members of Mensa International. I’m kinda serious.

Frrrrench Kiss

2009-10-25T06:58:00.000-07:00

By a show of hands - how many of you know about the mustard on a burn home remedy? Last Christmas we had a small dinner party with my parents and brother's family over here. And I was making a sugar concoction I found in Barefoot Contessa's cookbook - it involves melting sugar to a nice amber-brown in order to pour it over a little wheel of brie. And by either mistake or on purpose, my finger found its way into the molten lava sugar syrup and I mean... immediate blistering went on... and yelping.

My dad's wife [I have no problem calling her my step-mom, only that I'm 30 and this is a recent addition to our family - and - I might as well be calling my own mom by her first name at my age]... anyway, she told me to put yellow mustard on it. So, I did because I'm truly pretty gullible, but she was serious, and it worked - immediately. I blobbed it on and eventually had to take it off to resume use of the hand, but I'm not sure all that much is needed. Last night I reached into the shade of a lamp to turn it off and burned my arm on the bulb. I put just a light layer of mustard on it and it felt better right away - and I was able to get in bed without smelling like a fresh, steamy hot dog.

I've honestly tried it on a sunburn. That didn't work.

I Wasn’t Made For Central Heat & Air

2009-10-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

Surely by now you’ve seen either the commercial or QVC time slot for the “Sleep Number” bed. You can customize firmness/softness for each sleeper in this kind of bed – unless of course you’re those people who sleep with your children. And then you’re just out of luck… and your mind. But what I want to know is – when can we find a way to heat and cool the room specific to the likes and dislikes of the inhabitants? Don’t even think a space-heater is a great idea. Because it is. But it’s not.

Somehow, it’s hard to regulate the temp in our room alone. I think it’s FREEZING. But adjust the entire thermostat and the living room is boiling and the heating bill is then really dumb. Maybe the thermostat is the issue. Maybe the windows need to be caulked. But really what I’m trying to say is – the worst suggestion would be to “bundle up”. When this happens, all things get better. But then I break a sweat. And then I have to throw my covers off violently. And then my damp self joins the Polar Bear Club and I freeze again. This goes on all night and I don’t sleep – and then we all pay. Or should I say everyone around me does?

Today I found a HUGE down blanket sewn as a giant parka… think: down "Snuggy". I didn’t buy it and now I’m sorry.

A Laughing Matter

2009-10-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard recently as I have the last couple of days. I don’t even know if these things will be “had to be there” things and I don't care. You're going to laugh whether you like it or not. I live with funny people.

The boys love to share their favorite part of the day when we’re winding down for lights-out. Last night, however, the theme was “favorite memory”. My 5 y’old came up with that idea and thought the Mustang Shelby GT my brother-in-law rented when he came in town for Thanksgiving last year was the best ever. And my 7 y’old started out by saying, “A long long long long long long long long time ago – I remember like it was yesterday… [long pause]… because it was yesterday…” and I don’t even remember the rest I was laughing so hard. I later told him what a funny guy he is, and my youngest sighed really loud and said, “Man, I’m so romantic.”

I’m not sure he knows what that even means. But I truly think the girls in all of kindergarten think he’s the cat’s meow. The way they say hello or goodbye to him… I am a girl… I know what the tone means. And to say anything to him about it turns his face bright red. I hope we’re not in trouble. So far, he’s only had a major crush on one girl for quite some time. I’m pretty sure it’s mutual. She certainly gets two thumbs up from me – I absolutely adore her. And I know kindergarten is incredibly premature to keep fingers crossed. But my grandparents have known each other since 4th grade – so you just never can tell. At least I can hope maybe he’ll be the guy that doesn’t go for the types that make anything easy.

He was super “huggy” today after school – which is not normal. He has never liked being held much… not even as a little baby. My oldest is the snuggliest person ever. So, I asked him if he was feeling okay – and why he was so affectionate. He told me I’ve just gotten so comfortable. I’m pretty sure that means “soft”.

And then I was all frazzled because I couldn’t find my cell phone. So, I asked Brent to call it for me so I could hear it ringing while I looked around. And he started yelling, “Phone!! Phooooone! Where are you, phone!?”

Even the dumb dog is cracking me up. He gets all prissy as if he’s going to melt – crying and whining like… “Don’t you see me out here under the COVERED! PORCH! with this drizzle going on behind me!? How dare you leave me out here! My fur is going to kink!” What a diva. He's super metro. He might even be gay - or at least "confused".

This is for sure “had to be there” – but my sister-in-law made the mistake the other day of putting shoes on my niece that squeak when she walks. I’ve seen the shoes in the store before, but not on… and I truly could not see why anyone would want more noise than their child already makes. Fortunately, the squeaker can be removed, but oh my gosh – to witness my tiny niece fall in love with, run, jump, stomp her feet laughing hysterically, and panic at the idea of taking them off was truly one of the most hilarious things. I no longer hate the squeaker shoes. They’re worth it. I’ve never seen a girl so young be so sure she’d be sleeping in new shoes in my life.

And speaking of babies – I went to wash my hands the other day and saw the cutest little baby lizard hanging out under the rose rock we have. He's hard to see - and he wasn’t there very long. I have no idea how he got in, but he’s a reminder of tiny new things to come.

It May Be Tourette’s

2009-10-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

I’ve become so fixated on just the one bit of major, upcoming life-changing news-worthiness that I truly can’t think of much else. So, if I become insanely boring for – oh – say – LESS THAN THREE MORE WEEKS… then, well, you can always just check email.

But let’s back up a minute to that word “insanely”… route word: insane… right there before “boring”. I’ve given a lot of thought to the idea this new child might be cuckoo. You just never know. She will be female, after all. And let’s all face it – women are known to have a certain bit of drama attached to our nature to varying degrees. So, when I tell you about what happened the other night, you might see where I’m coming from. We’re talking nature vs nurture here – and truly – where the HECK people get their freaky chemical imbalances.

Let me think… this was Monday night… like that matters. But I’d just gone to my child’s ballgame in my own car, planning to leave early if I needed to. My best childhood friend and her husband had come in from Arizona to spend a cabin weekend with her family – and were on their way back to her parents’ (here locally) to prepare to fly back out the next morning… not before stopping by for a short visit to mi casa.

So. I got her call just as we were leaving the field. I headed home to meet up with her and Brent took the boys for a quick bite for dinner. As I pulled in to my garage and got out, I noticed my next-door neighbor out front with her precious two-year-old. So, I said hello – chatted for one bit. And then… here comes… this giant SUV… BARRELLING down the street. I saw it coming, yelled (not screamed - and I’m not even kidding… with a tone like Yoo-hoo? Hello? Anybody in there?)… “Slow down, please! Slow down!” – which – I feel is perfectly reasonable when A. I live there. B. I have children who like to play outside, and C,D and E. I don’t want them or anyone else hit – not even a mangy dog. Okay, maybe a possum but that’s it and that thing will play dead anyway.

And so, back on track: the driver passes – doesn’t slow down at all… even hits a dip in the road with a loud THUD – I assume it’s her tail end hitting the ground – and this is a tall car, people… a Lincoln Navigator… pearly white… license plate 603 DPQ. But anyway. It seemed like a good 2 minutes pass. My neighbor and I share a thing or two about how we feel when people speed like their heads are on fire down our street. She, in fact, has had her mailbox hit three times – one having been a nice, big, brick mailbox when they moved in, and now it’s not even worth fixing the dent in part of it. It’s like a good-luck charm. Having left the dent, the thing hasn’t been hit again.

Okay – so – we’re standing there a minute or two later and this car pulls up slowly. Enough time had passed to not really recall the speeding SUV exactly and I assume the best friend is driving someone’s car I haven’t seen before. But no. This was a RAGING LUNATIC who rolls her window down, has basically climbed into her passenger’s lap in order to hang her head out the window to yell, “Did you just tell me to slow down, B**CH!?” – and, of course my inner mouthy teenager came out and said, “I most certainly did!! Because you needed to slow down!” and then holy hell broke out of this lady’s face… right around her mouth hole. “You don’t know me! I wasn’t speeding, B**CH! You don’t know how fast I was going! You’d better watch your back, B**CH! I will come over there and beat your G.D. A**!”

I’m standing there with my neighbor being verbally accosted with our mouths open in shock – neighbor defended what I’d said with “Well, just slow down. You were speeding.” And I’m all, “You need to calm down.”… returned with “YOU calm down, B**CH! You don’t know me! You’d better shut the F*** up before you get your A** beat, B**CH!” and then… oh my gosh… she pulled into my driveway, threw her car in park and said she’d get out of her car right then and “F*** me up”. My neighbor held up her phone and yelled she’d be calling the police. I calmly fish around in my purse for my phone – hoping to God she thinks I’m looking for a WEAPON – something small, maybe black, metal, and full of ammunition… Ring a bell [by bell I mean bang]? And we were so close to the neighbor’s front door, there’d have been no way she would have reached us before we could have gone inside.

She took off. And of course, I yelled again “Slow down!” because I can’t keep from smarting off sometimes. It may be Tourette’s, I don’t know. I got her license plate # and went home and called the police. Weird they can’t really do anything but call and warn this lady… and warn me not to... uh... tell people to slow down… which… I feel is a tiny bit ridiculous – in my own neighborhood. I hear about road-rage, but this was truly surreal.
And if she returns – which I highly doubt – she’ll be met with an injury I don’t think she’ll have counted on. It’s just odd. We live in a very safe area. The crime here is extremely low. I seriously doubt she lives anywhere near. She did turn toward the high school. So, I assume she may have been going to a sports event there.

But my point, I guess, is where on earth do some women get so angry and hostile… and MENTALLY UNSOUND? Is it a product of environment, completely innate, or something to do with culture and bias? I am not feeling conclusive here or even hope to start some debate. And I honestly don’t have issues against different races or ethnicities. But I wanted to (and didn’t) tell that lady, “Way to add fuel to a stereotype a lot of people still have.” And I do sometimes wonder if there’s a small sect of people who weren’t even alive during, say, slavery – but somehow feel entitled to carry a chip on their shoulder about it – and it makes me wonder further if those few people somehow believe now that their president is black, they’ve been given a new freedom to feel somewhat “vindicated” and spiteful. Well, my president is black too. And… cover your eyes and ears… I voted for him. Gasp!! I know. Shocker.

Just don't ask me if I'm thrilled with him. This isn't about that. This is about the possibilities I have a nut-job child... with Tourette's or road-rage... in her battery-operated Barbie jeep.

Step AWAY From The Brother

2009-10-16T07:48:00.000-07:00

I love a cold, drizzly day. The sun was out a little bit yesterday and this morning for the first time in about a week and I just want to say… I was a little disappointed. I would FOR SURE get depressed if every single day was dark and dank, but I have so many great memories surrounding this kind of weather. First of all, most of my birthdays have been cold, wet days. So, the first time I was let loose with my brand-spankin’ drivers license, it was really chilly and misty outside. But at the time I also had a horrible case of poison ivy on one entire side of my face swelling my eye shut. I had it in my license picture for four years. It was fantastic. Not really. But funny when I arrived at the surprise, roller-skating party my brother threw together [? I guess he thought I’d never figure it out since so many sixteen-year-olds are in to roller-skating?] … the cake was a giant license and my photo-copied icing face was messed up with pink frosting. It was a blast!

And this year the weather will be associated with a new baby and all the fun surrounding that. Last week my small group girls from our church threw a dinner-party/baby shower – and it was so much fun.

We've actually only recently started attending this particular group. I already knew around 1/4 of the girls – either from junior-high or because our kids go to school together. But it truly is moving when girls you barely know show up and bring your baby something they spent time shopping for. Aside from the most darling cake...

and personalized child’s rocking chair, some of my favorites included a little onesie that says “I am not a boy”… another onesie with a little owl… several warm-cozy things and a little Kicky Pants dress. I’m learning all the girl trends and I’m not in to any as much as that one. I mean, Baby Gap and their $1.99 leggings I’ll find on sale can’t be beat; but most trendy girl things are holy-smoking goofy-looking except for any and all Kicky Pants. This brand is organic cotton and/or bamboo – which – if you have never put to your face and felt how soft, you’ll never understand.

So, I am feeling set. If she stays put, I’ll have her a month from today. It finally occurred to me – I might want a little travel crib “pack n play” to keep downstairs and an area to change diapers so I don’t always have to go up to her room for everything. The crib will be handy to take to my grandmother's for holidays too. Most of these contraptions have a changing table attachment dealy-whopper. But most also have SO MANY OTHER unnecessary bells and whistles, and are also more expensive than when the boys were little because of it. Either that, or the thing is rickety, simple, and inexpensive because you have to buy an additional 50-dollar padding system so the support rods aren’t poking your child in the back. I finally found a happy-medium. It was reasonably priced, soft and sturdy and didn’t have GIANT pink polka dots I’d have to resist the urge to gag myself in order to be around. All I have left is a bag to put together for the hospital stay. Holy crap! This is going to get here.

We're on fall break this weekend. I'm a little worried about the amount of drop-kicking already taking place between brothers as we'll be out for the entire week of Thanksgiving right after the baby comes home. And by drop-kicking, I'm including taking the boxy alarm clock and hurling it right at your brother's unsuspecting head. Weird they really do love each other and laugh harder together than with anyone else. Still, I'm pretty sure I'll be finding a new level of what it might mean to flip my lid. Maybe I can find a Thanksgiving camp. In Missouri.

For What It's Worth

2009-10-12T20:49:00.000-07:00

I can’t really breathe anymore. And Oreos are becoming a problem. So, if I make no sense in the coming paragraphs, we can blame lack of oxygen and saturated fat.
I think today is my last bimonthly OB visit before we head to weekly visits. I may have one more, I don’t know. And I don’t think you care which it is. It’s just heavy ON THE BRAIN… and lungs.

But for now, let’s move on to more random topics. I have Jon & Kate Plus 8 on pause in the living room. I don’t know why I recorded it.

I have a real fear of swine flu.

I cannot stop nesting. I want things to be well-put-together before I go into hiding for months. I leave the house to go find something and come home with NOTHING. I can’t make up my mind – I really have no idea what it is I need, but I can’t stop looking for it.

I’ve gotten way more emotional and way less demonic. Sunday morning I was running behind and planned to catch up with the guys at church. But I accidentally stuck myself in my own eye with the mascara brush, had to rub the eye watering terribly... of course ruined my makeup… started crying… ruined more makeup… had to wash my whole face, got so ticked off I couldn’t stop crying… called Brent crying… said I wasn’t going to come to church… hung up… cried some more… watched lame church on tv with dudes in robes… cried some more… ate too much cereal… had a tummy ache for the rest of the day because of it…

Brent found a few fleas on the dang dog. How the heck did he get fleas!?

I want to start crying.

I’m turning 31 in a about 3 weeks. That’s weird… not really cry-worthy, just weird.

I’m not even going to tell you what I had for lunch today. I can’t even remember. Really, I’m racking my brain. And I can’t remember.

Brent just brought in the wet dog after having flea-dipped him. Gross. I’m so grossed out. I want to panic and then I want to cry after that. Nothing in the world makes me panic more than getting lost in an unfamiliar city like San Antonio – where – they can’t tell me how to get back to the highway because I don’t speak Spanish very well. And fleas. Oh my gaw. Oh. My gaw.

Maybe She'll Look Like Me

2009-10-06T08:44:00.001-07:00

Double U-O-M-A-N

2009-10-04T20:06:00.001-07:00

Brent is home after a weekend-long hunting trip to the far recesses of the Oklahoma panhandle. I expected to be so much closer to driven insane here all by myself, but I wasn’t. I can’t say every single moment was delightful beyond measure, but I also can’t discount the sense of humor each of my boys has. I think I wet myself laughing at least twice. Bladder-control has become a thing of the past for now.

So... I’ve been participating in a small group reviewing a study written about the book of Esther in the Bible. The history is pretty interesting… focusing on the selection of a new queen by King Xerxes of Persia. We’re talking – a mid-400’s BC “Bachelor” selection-process after the king deposes his queen, Vashti. That part is engaging enough even though I truly can't watch the “reality show” – reality used loosely.

So far, the author has concentrated on the selection process itself. And when I say it was like an ancient-day season of “The Bachelor” – I’m putting it mildly. These young, virgin women were forced to leave their mothers and fathers, and perhaps those to whom they were betrothed. I’d imagine the confirmation of their virginity was an invasive and humiliating process. Think: Memoirs of a Geisha… the book… not the crap movie. They were given about a year of lavish “beauty treatments”, and were later presented to the king. But there is no indication a rose-ceremony was involved [darn], that there was any narrowing the number of contestants over time, or that any of the girls were allowed to visit their families. Long story short, King Xerxes chooses an unlikely, Jewish, young lady, Esther… and the story continues from there.

More specifically, at the center of the selection process is the idea that no matter the day-in-age, it is “tough to be a woman” in a sea of other women. Just as these women at the time were competing against each other to win the throne, women everywhere today seemingly compete or compare themselves against each other for one reason or another. This would explain the rivalry, threat and insecurity around prettier, more fit, more successful women all around us. But… the issue I’m having with the idea is… I’m not so threatened by other women. I love – and in fact, TREASURE – what other women add to my life. Maybe I’m fixating on the wrong point. But, I just think the club I’m in is FANTASTIC.

I’ve known catty, mean girls. Sure, I’ve had a terribly horrible boss. And aside from that, there are certainly things I don’t particularly love about myself or my body. But I don’t feel bad about the junk in my trunk because I think my brother’s wife has the greatest rear-end I think I’ve ever seen. You would agree, I promise. Still, I don’t know a single person who LOVES everything about themselves. And I whole-heartedly believe there is not ONE person who has “arrived”. We are all a work in progress.

Being comfortable with who I am doesn’t mean I have all things figured out. Far from it! But, I don’t need to be perfect or be everything to everyone to feel complete. I have best friends who have other best friends. I’ve had lonely periods of time. I’ve felt a wide array of insecurities. But I love girls. I love what being female means – and what other women have meant to my foundation. If ever there was a whole, huge chunk of time I didn’t or felt inferior, I was in seventh grade. So, maybe that is the point. Save the drama for your momma and enjoy what makes being a girl so great!

I just plucked two whiskers from my chin. If that isn't a total blast, I am miss-ing-some-thing!!

What is YOUR DEAL?

2009-09-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

Irritable is an understatement. I am so grouchy it's not even laughable. I guess the grumpy hadn't had the opportunity to really be released over the span of the last 8 months. I’ve just been so stinkin’ excited about this “bay-buh”. At one point, Brent asked if I was sure I was pregnant because I hadn't been that emotional yet, and I think that was around 5 months along. But something happened in the last month or so and it’s not “emotional”. It’s like I’ve grown fangs. But I haven’t. Still, be certain I need to exercise the demons (link).

Clearly, I'm going to deal with some mood-swings. But I don’t know if school starting and the resulting drain of my children’s painfully slow adjustment to it are what trigger this wish I could STOP ALL THE WHINING… AND THE TALKING… AND THE GRIPING… AND THE BICKERING… AND THE DRAGGY HOMEWORK… AND THE FALL SPORTS PRACTICES… AND THE RIGID BEDTIME NECESSITY… AND THE TALKING BACK… AND THE CRYING!! THE STUPID CRYING that has gone on in the family in the 7 and under crowd because we can’t find the spelling word-list SOMEONE is responsible for keeping track of, or because we can't find socks! I CANNOT KEEP UP WITH THE SOCK DEMAND! And so again with the crying. I'll put five pair of the guys’ socks away the day before and it seems they must be those people who sleep-eat, but they’re eating socks.

Really, what is WITH SMALL PEOPLE WHO DON’T KEEP THEIR IMPORTANT THINGS IN THE SAME PLACE EVERY TIME SO THEY’RE IN THE SAME PLACE EVERY TIME WE GO TO FIND THEM IN THAT SAME PLACE!?!? Every time. I know this is what kids do. I know. Who are we kidding - this is what grown men around me do. It just doesn’t make me any more patient when there’s CRYING AND DISRESPECT AND STORMING OFF about it [not including Brent in that part].
I guess I should stop here. It’s probably more draining to be the one reading my venting, but it was so necessary. I can’t seem to find much to keep the steam from spewing forcefully out of my ears sometimes.

Okay. I feel better. We have Oreos. I never buy Oreos. But I did. And they’re going to taste great.

Let Me Help You with Your Jaw

2009-09-28T21:22:00.000-07:00

Like every OB visit, I asked if I could please tinkle before stepping on the scale. Why this isn’t a customary routine, I will never know. I’m always directed toward the [might I remind you] out-in-the-middle-of-the-road scale until I ASK if I may head to the potty first. Nobody ever argues with me. I just wonder why every nurse doesn’t automatically assume all women, pregnant or not, wouldn’t rather first weigh 2 oz less. So, that is what I do every time.

However, unlike every OB visit, today I asked what weight they had on my chart from day-one to calculate how much I’ve gained. We did the math. And the first among two digits is a one. Let me repeat that. A one. Yes, that doesn't count the first 8 weeks prior to that initial visit, but folks, it's not an eight. It's a one. You might know me. And you might know how totally BELUGA I become when pregnant. And this first digit may leave you with a bit of an open-mouthed expression.

But let me assure you, mine is still on the floor. However, I don’t think my jaw has ever wanted so much to jump off my face, run screaming down the interstate [thumb extended in royal hitch-hiker fashion] to find a ride to the nearest world-wide, public platform in order to let everyone watching know: YOU NEVER ASK A PREGNANT WOMAN HOW MUCH WEIGHT SHE’S GAINED!!!

This happened. And has. Usually just once. Every. Time. I’ve. Been. Pregnant… typically with a “I only gained __ lbs when I was pregnant.” and typically the blank can be filled with world-record lows... dating back to the land-run.

Uh... *blink... blink... blink*

Offended isn't the word. Not hurt. Not failed. Just totally in need of help scraping my jaw off the ground. I don't think I'd be as shocked if I were asked what color my poop was this morning.

More Like a Flood

2009-09-28T18:58:00.000-07:00

What a whirlwind week behind me… the weekday part was sort of uneventful; it just flew by really quickly. But Saturday. Oh man. A baby shower. Not just any baby shower. The best ever baby girl baby shower. I’m not even kidding when I say these girlfriends have been on it since May. The one right before June. The one that was going on 5 months ago. I mean, I can’t say the planning was full-on back then, but the spear-heading happened even before we were out of school for summer! And I truly have no words. I, of all people, am speechless. These girls have been so hush-hush and googly giggly in their high-pitched, grinning-faced “I don’t know what you’re talking about” tones when asked ANYTHING about it. And I don’t guess I “let go” very often. I offered all kinds of help. I offered homemade cheesecake, but the only place I was told I’d be allowed to serve it would be from the front porch if I brought it.

Enter center-stage: Saturday morning. I walked in the front door of Jackie’s home to the most breath-taking display of darlingness and delicious goodies. I just wanted to fall all over it gushing. And so I did. There was a clothes-line on the mantel with some of the cutest little outfits on the face of the planet. But the clothespins holding everything were no ordinary clothespins. Em covered each one in little bits of darling papers matching the darling hand-cut R’s sticking out of each of the darling cupcakes from Cuppies and Joe. Did I mention all things darling? Darling I tell you! As if that weren’t enough, so many people we invited came. I guess that’s not that odd, but I’m used to being the one throwing the party. I hadn’t ever thought about being the one on the other end.

With my oldest, my gracious friend and I planned the shower on the same date as the OU/Texas football game like two idiots. Around here, one MUST adjust any wedding dates or big party planning around Sooner football. True story. But somehow that completely slipped our minds. Four people came. Count them. Four. That includes me and my own mom. And with my second, my best childhood friend and her mom threw a shower that was truly so, so wonderful. But there really was something completely angelic and fluffy-cloudy about this baby girl shower – the very first baby girl shower I’ve ever been given… and the love put into it was so overwhelming. There truly is something so touching about having the depth of admiration for a friend validated. Sure, we tell each other we love each other. We count on each other. But this was just such a quiet labor of love – the depths of which are truly harder to find as I get older.

And I still haven’t gotten over it. Really above everything, it was the group of people – able to attend or contribute in one way or another. Everything felt so well-balanced and meshed. Talk about a warm-fuzzy!

“Thank you” is simply not an adequate expression.

Me with Hostesses - Casi, Jackie & Emily:

Fit For a Little Gem

2009-09-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

After some rearranging, hair-pulling, changing of heart and plagiarizing, things are coming together nicely in my opinion.

The bumper needed to have the pattern side exposed. I couldn't quite put a finger on what it was I was a little "eh" about with the white side outward facing until Emily offered a “Boomer Sooner” observation - [even though we're all about OU in our hearts and minds] - white red white was a tad locally collegiate.
I loved the flip-over suggestion; it feels perfect now… but I don't really ever disagree with Em 'cause she has great ideas and a cattle prod usually. *not really

I decided not to order some of the things I’d posted pictures of, and instead copied a few little cut-paper designs I found on an artist’s website, but for way less than she wanted for them... and much cuter if I do say so myself.

The boys also each colored a picture I cut out and applied to a canvas.

I will not be keeping the fake model family photos included in the frames hung on the walls. I just need pictures of an actual human who’ll be claiming the space. So, no worries. And, I will probably have something to rearrange at some point; I’m just like that. But as far as I know, this is what her room will look like until she has an opinion.

Roly-Poly Roll

2009-09-19T19:04:00.001-07:00

I am starting to become too big for comfort... literally and photographically. Comfort levels push boundaries when we cross whale threshold. I'm not complaining so much as just saying. With both boys I was [even more] Gi-Gan-Tic. So, I'm doing pretty well to be able to be asked by total strangers when it is I'm due rather than [I'm sure] have people wonder if I'm pregnant or just in need of MAJOR calorie overhaul. I've been able to wear my wedding ring this entire time. That's five months longer than with my first. I can't recall when it started leaving pink dents the second time around. But the first time, I was at a mall kiosk two months along picking out a fake ring from a Pakistani man that didn't last me to term - the ring, not the man. I don't know what ever happened to that ring, but I'm sure the stone fell out or something. I was so concerned about looking like the knocked-up slut, I needed to "make a deal just for me today only" with that man at the kiosk.

Man, time flies. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I know... cliche. But, I feel like I was just a baby when I had my first baby. I had no idea life would be like it has turned out to be. I'd had quite a bit of experience too. I started babysitting when I was 11. Apart from my older brother, I was oldest among my 17 cousins except for one. I hogged the babies. I'm not kidding, there were fights about my hogging the babies. I worked after school all throughout high school at a day-care in the infant class. I later worked exclusively for a family I connected with through that facility, having taken care of their youngest from the time he was 6 weeks old. And the list goes on from there. Still, there is nothing that can prepare you for life with a day-old baby, at least not the first time around... and certainly not when it's YOUR child.

Now I can't even recall what the heck we ever did before having kids. I think it was something like: work, dinner out, tv or movie, day off, work, work, OU football game, tv, tv, movie, work, tv, tv, dinner out, work, buy another pair of shoes, bake something. Boring. And again I say... Boring. I CAN HARDLY WAIT for this baby!! I can't wait to see her face. I want to know what she looks like. I finished the crib bumper today. It looks great. I have her baby shower next weekend given by some of the most wonderful friends a girl could ever ask for. Then I can focus on what we'll be for Halloween. I have plans for myself, but I think I'll keep it under wraps for now. It entirely depends on the weather forecast.

But holy shizzies, we are down to the wire here. I'll turn 31 soon after Halloween and then we'll have a new baby. That's where my plans stop. Realistically, I might be kinda overwhelmed with nearly six years between my last new-born and this one. Do my old skills come back to me or do I start back over? At any rate, I'm not making further plans until I know how things go. The only thing we can count on is regular sushi after I have her... and most certainly on Thanksgiving.

Writer's Block

2009-09-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

I’m just going to call this what it is… a rock-hard turd on the brain. But what’s new? I need Miralax to function properly anyway – but have recently, accidentally but mostly on purpose started calling it Microsoft. Isn’t that a better name for a stool-softener? And even better yet, thebump.com recently predicted I might be noticing some mild constipation with as big and space-consuming as my womb is becoming. What they did was call it “mild”, underestimating the wide-spreaded-ness of the issue. The blocking has ensued in more ways than one.

I really have nothing to tell you people except things that may cause yawning. We finally used a gift-certificate we’ve had far too long to a camera specialty shop. I won’t tell you how long we’ve had it, because you may feel like hunting then beating me for not using a perfectly giant gift-certificate on a new, not-broken camera when we’ve been counting on an iphone cam to capture all sorts of moments in the time it takes to fish it out of my purse, slide to unlock, open the camera app and say, “Hey, do that again, except like you just did it for the first time. And have no idea I’m taking your picture! Dude, No! Don’t wink and point!!”

I still feel a bit tangled up about the baby nursery. I felt one shelf was wobbling a millimeter too many when I pushed firmly. So, I took it down, went to tighten the screw only to have the anchor somehow cause the wall to crumble a tad surrounding the anchor’s spot – which makes the anchor unstable – and the screw completely useless as none of it would be supporting the weight of a floating shelf or its contents. And I’d like to say I DIDN'T try ripping the anchor out of place with all my might to be met with an anchor having more than my might – to answer that with a sharp stab stab stab with the screw-driver in order to drive the stupid thing into the wall – leaving an even bigger gaping hole than I cared to deal with… but then I’d be lying. So, instead of calmly saying, “We don’t throw fits to get what we want.” like I typically do daily to people around me, I just went about filling, drying, repainting, and drying the spot before re-hanging said shelf a bit higher than it originally hung. But if things would just play along and go EXACTLY HOW I HAVE IN MY HEAD in the first place, there would be no need for any kind of melt-down or childish act of hormonal hardware-rage.

I won’t even share about the mirror. It’s hung, so that’s all you need to know, okay?

I went today to another OB appointment. That’s what I did while the wall-patching dried. I’d been reading about VBAC birth. That’s Vaginal Birth After Cesarean. Because of certain risks – which aren’t that realistically high for most people – Tort Reform laws have now made it nearly impossible [aka ASTRONOMICALLY EXPENSIVE] to insure OBs who perform VBAC births. So, in the state of Oklahoma, once a c-section - always a c-section… unless I want to have this baby at OU Med and change Dr’s this late in the game. I'd read about what makes someone a good candidate for VBAC [having had a previous, successful vaginal birth: *check*, having a horizontal CS incision rather than vertical: *check*, not having had a long labor and subsequent emergency CS: *check*]. Still, I honestly hadn’t read enough about it to really feel one way or another whether VBAC was right for me. So, I was told I basically have that right if I feel it’s what I should do – and my OB would set me up with someone over there who’d be more than happy to let me push this puppy out. However, I do think I’m forgetting what kind of pain I dealt with after needing my pelvic floor re-tiled due to stubborn muscles down there in the months following my first puppy pushing endeavor. It must have been super fresh in my memory when I INSISTED ON the elective CSection at my first OB apt with my second, and nearly passed out with anxiety when my Dr sort of *shrugged* and said "we'll see". I’m pretty sure I’d snap my ACL over and over if I could have traded… both being some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced... ACL tear and reflooring surgery… but still… a working bottom is a luxury, I assure you.

And now – I haven’t really had many moments to capture yet. So, here’s just a nice crisp picture with bad lighting for your enjoyment.

A Mess of Fish

2009-09-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

Brent took the guys to his family farm to fish Labor Day, giving me a much needed day of total boredom. I had no umph to really do much after driving around to several places I'd put on a mental list categorized "kidless ventures". They were all closed. I wanted fuzzy-ball trim for a pillow, an old wooden chair, and perhaps one of those pink, depression-glass sugar bowls I thought I might use for either cotton swabs or other useless filler I may not ever need. Hold your horses, I do clean my ears. I just - ya know - don't necessarily need another container for something that COMES IN a container. But why not be cuter than the Q-Tip box, yo?

So, the boys had a blast. I had a... day. And we're on with the short week.

The Beej Vacs Again

2009-09-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

I guess it's simply part of the way he operates. He is so thorough! He moves things out of his way, whips out the attachments and sucks the corners and edges. I don't even vacuum as well! There is a Sonic in store for this stud-muffin later, no doubt - maybe even a banana split. Whoa pony!

By Thursday this week I was getting a little frustrated with a few things. I'd completed primer, paint and clean up in the baby nursery. I love the color; it's "LIKE BUH'DUH"! I like the set up. I need a few more accessories before the big unveiling; but sometimes when I have an idea in my head and think it should be no trouble locating that exact thing... it's the last thing on earth available.

For example, a plain white cotton crib-skirt [I would think] would be a relatively easy find. No. No, it's not. The Land Of Nod has a white eyelet crib-skirt for $49 I sort of liked. But I'm pretty sure I just said I wanted a plain one. So, I finally resigned to return to a local store I loathe. It's not really the store's fault. It's the lady who works there. I want to shout from close-range, "Dear Lordy, please stop riding me like I'm the hamburglar on a coin-operated McDonald's merry-go-round! I'm only looking at what you have. I'm not here to be interviewed about what things I still need, what I like and don't in a stroller or other items I may or may not even want. I'm only curious, does this infant carrier fit inside this stroller? I didn't need you to climb up on the display, risk your life and limb to get it all down and demonstrate how I'd give my baby serious whiplash in order to get the thing in and out. But, yes, I do see... it fits in ten minutes or less. You were right."

Eureka! She wasn't there Thursday! Things were already looking up! After some looking and considering their crib-skirt options, my brilliant sister-in-law asked if the soft creamy one could be ordered in bright-white - and after giving my name and info, we were finally told they had one on a display. So, I just bought that one since I wash everything right off the bat anyway. And it was only $23.
I love when things work out.

Aside from shopping for an actual *thing* I expect exists no problem, I do often also underestimate what goes in to creating exactly what I have in my head... on any given creative/crafty venture [especially on my first attempt] - unless it's a paper mache wedge of cheese. That just went exactly like I planned.

So, anyway, I do still like the wooden letters people hang on the wall - typically the first name or single initial. Y'know what I'm talking about? I, however, wanted it to look like a monogram - with our last initial larger in the center and two smaller first and middle initials on either side. So, I set out on a mission to find wooden letters to paint and then "mod podge" a cute paper design on the front surface. You'd think there would be various sizes of letters available at craft stores... and there are, but not the same "font" or thickness. Low and behold, I finally found some at Michael's. Guess what they were out of. Go ahead, guess. "The big S" - they were out of "The big S". Did you guess "The big S"? 'Cause if you did you get a high-five! Beeenneeneeerrr neeenerrr [that's a little Guns N' Roses on the air guitar for guessing "The big S"].

Aaaanyway, I kept stalking both Michael's locations and finally found "The big S" and all other things necessary after almost 2 months of searching. I set out to make them, and of course took all day. But they're made. And I love them. But I won't be making more for a long time, unless of course I love you and you want some. But you run the risk of asking and being turned down - which - I guess lets the cat out of the bag. Or you can just hate them and go on living in denial. Truth be told, I more than likely love you to death whether you like my letter creations or not.

For now, here's a sneak peak:

This will have the changing pad and a few other things. I'll take a bigger pic once complete:

Next up: Bedding. Here is the fabric.

For the bumper: white giant seersucker on the outside, rose-red piping edge and coral little flower print on the inside with red ties.

These few things will be in the mail shortly and then I'll take real pictures.

Throw pillow for the bed I'll sleep on so I can just be in there for 3am feedings:

A couple pieces of art: