E.F.G.

Especially. For. Grami.

We love boxes like this around here- boxes filled with goodies.

The 'goods' will be perfect for staying in and drinking Rootbeer floats and reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow on Halloween. We'll be nice and cozy in our new Holiday jammies. How did Grami know it would rain today and we'd decide to stay in?

Grami's just know stuff like that.

Happy Halloween!

and thank you Grami.

I need my beauty sleep.

This is the second time this week I've had something to say about my nocturnal activities. (That sounds naughty huh?) But it's because I don't like things that mess with a good night's sleep. Weird dreams, waking babies. God knew this about me so that's why he sent me Scrunch. Hate to brag, but the kid has been sleeping through the night since she was three weeks old.

Actually.

I lie.

I love to brag about that.

So when things mess with my peaceful slumber, it tops the list of things to blog about.

Last night I fell asleep with both arms up over my head. (Not the first time I have done this and weird, I know.) I must have slept like that most of the night because I knew what happened the second I woke up. It's not so much of problem except that I'd like to use my arms again at some point today and it's taken them a VERY long time (and kind of painful in a weird, tingly, ants crawling up your arms way) to wake up. At least part of me had a good night's sleep.

What did I say?

If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. This kid L.O.V.E.S. the bathtub.

Dream interpretation.

I dreamed I let my sister wax my eyebrows and she waxed them completely off. What does that mean anyway?

Any suggestions?

Get out the vote and an update on my kid.

Tonight for FHE we are filling out our absentee ballots. That is sad, but hey I think since the Church is so involved in this year's election, I can count voting as FHE. Two birds with one stone. Perfect.

I think you should vote, too. But I don't care if you fill out your ballot tonight (just do it by Nov. 4 and it has to be stamped and received to count). What I want is for you to tell me which planter picture holder I should go with. #1 or #2. Because cute party favors are what really matters right now. If you vote I'll let you count reading my blog as FHE. Hey, it's better than nothing which is what usually happens.

Number One

Number Two

And by the way, Scrunch turned nine months old yesterday, making her three quarters of year old. If we were to pick her rapper name yesterday it would be 75 Cent.

Nine Things about being Nine Months old.

1. Her hair is starting to curl but when mom styles it curly then Papa comes along and brushes it straight.
2. She knows the sign for dog. Which is just panting but she does it to her Stitch, and the bat hanging from some one's car at Trunk or Treat. She has absolutely no fear of beasts with large teeth.
3. She thinks it is funny when Ani and Jedi bark.
4. She will spend up a good forty-five minutes in the bathtub. She absolutely loves it. So we take two baths a day around here.
5. She STILL wakes up with a smile. Weird kid. But it does make six thirty a little brighter.
6. Her favorite song is "Five Green and Speckled Frogs" and she will hold her hand up when we sing it trying to make the right numbers.
7. Saturday she shared a Subway sandwich with mom and ate everything including pepperchinis (sp?) and the bell pepper. Olives are tasty too. There is very little this child wont eat. In fact, I can't think of anything right now. She hates the texture of pureed food so it's a good thing she has all eight teeth so she can chew.
8. Her mom is one of those weirdos who believes in spacing (but still giving) immunizations so we don't go the doc all the time so we have no idea how long she is or how much she weighs. I can tell you however that she is wearing 18 mos. clothes and a few of those are getting a little short.
9. Mom still likes to make booties.


Oh, I forgot to mention yesterday that I "I am my kid's mom" and that I "would swim through shark infested waters to bring her a lemonade."

Dr. Laura Says

Don't hate people who start a conversation with "Dr. Laura says..." She's usually right, thus making the person who is quoting her also right. Gotta love that. If you're a hater more than likely you're doing/have done something that would merit one of her infamous tongue lashings that make you feel about this big. (I'm holding my fingers really close together.)

That being said, "Dr. Laura says you shouldn't feel guilt unless you've done something wrong." People (usually women) will call up, "Dr. Laura I feel guilty because..." And she says something along the lines of "your feelings are inappropriate. You might be feeling sad, or frustrated, but not guilt. You haven't done anything wrong."

So if this is true where does all this "mommy guilt" come from? The 'I'm not doing enough for my kid.' I'm not doing enough for my husband. I'm not doing enough for anyone else. I'm not doing enough for me. Guilt. guilt. guilt. It sucks the life right out of you. On top of it there are days where you look around trying to find a clean pair of underwears because you haven't gotten to washing the whites when you notice the carpet. The carpet that you just vacuumed that is now covered in whatever the dogs (and child) have chewed up and say, "Where did all of this come from? What is it anyway? I want off this ride right now."

I was recently accused of not telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about mommy hood. That it is a lot of work, and your house doesn't stay as clean as it used to, and you lose most semblance of what used to be your routine, and the list goes on and on. Your world is tumbled upside down.

I hear, "Well at least you weren't recovering or were in labor for 17 hours. That's tired." You are right. There are things I do not understand having never experienced them. I understand that so much more now being on the other side of motherhood. There are things that cannot be explained or understood fully until experienced. But when you have a crappy day where the to-do list remains unchecked and you remain unshowered does the thought, "Someone GAVE me this child. And not even God, but another human, living, loving, breathing woman GAVE me this child, making her mine and I'm not loving every second of every minute of every day" Does that cross your mind?

And thinking that, and feeling that, brings "mommy guilt." And adoption mommy guilt is the worst. I worked so hard to get here. Dammit I'm going to love every second of it. And not every second you do. And you feel guilty for wanting off the ride. Even for just a second so you can brush your teeth in peace. But like Dr. Laura says, those feelings are inappropriate. You might feel sad. You might feel frustrated. You might feel TIRED. But you're not guilty. You have done nothing wrong. You are normal. And you're a mommy.

Saturday is a Special Day...

...it's the day we get ready for Sunday.

Mom makes our bows...


and embroiders our booties.

And plans parties. (Even down to the cupcakes.)


And makes (starts) centerpieces.


And does everything except clean the house, shop at the store, wash the clothes, shine our shoes, trim our nails, shampoo our hair or anything else to get ready for Sunday.

So I guess, we'll have to pick a different song.

Flintstones. Meet the Flintstones.

Yabba dabba dooo!

Freakin' weirdos.

Scrunch was not pleased when her momma put on her wig. She still sounds like mom, but she doesn't look like mom.

I don't care if this dude doesn't look like Papa, he lets me play with candy!


Boooya!

Our Mini-Monster.

Crap like this, I mean wholesome family recreational activities, like the good 'ole Ward Halloween party are soo much more fun with a kidlet. She makes everything more fun. In fact, I could play dress up most days of the year and blame it on her. The wigs are staying. I see Ariel, Spice Girls, Beatles- the possibilities are endless.

In a hurry.

Yesterday about two o'clock I realized it was Thursday. That makes today Friday so I have approximately eight and half hours to have transformed our family from plain old us to the Flintstones. Halloween this year is going to rock. Bedrock! Ha ha. I'm so punny. It's from being tired- from cutting out teeth and googly eyes to transform our car into a monster at 11:30 last night. Even our car is getting in on the Halloween action this year. It better work. And there better really be a 150 kids at Trunk or Treat like they said because I have six pounds (Well 5.8 lbs., I found out there's Skittles in the mix) of artificial coloring and high fructose corn syrup and every kind of sugar you can imagine that is not coming back into my house tonight. I could rant about how Halloween is all about commericialism and a mother's worst nightmare, but I love Halloween! Forget eco-concious, avoiding consumerism and organic eating. If we get to dress up, I'm in!

Because I can

Is it a sign that you have too much time on your hands or that you are PMS-ing to the extreme when you knit a uterus complete with cervix and fallopian tubes? It is perfect for smashing against the wall when you realize you need to run to the store or have spotted your favorite jeans. And even better for running over with your car when you feel your insides being turned inside out. Or so I've heard.Now you know what you want for Christmas, don't you? Don't all jump up all at once.

My Campaign Theme Song

Politics doesn't get discussed much on the blog around here because well... I can't usually do it without rocketing my blood pressure and getting all worked up. Not to mention why I do the things I do and believe the things I believe can rock the boat. (Note to self: Don't talk politics at Park Days. They may not let their kids play with your kids.) Plus, there's about a bazillion bloggers who do it for a living. You do not need me to tell you how/what/why to think or to give you an opinion. There are plenty of people who get paid to do that for you.

And then there's talk radio. Ahhh, talk radio. My connection to the outside world. I am a talk radio junkie. My political leanings are not drawn down one line or the other. I'm more of squiggle all over the map. I think I may be one of the few people who listens to BOTH Rush and NPR. If you're curious just ask. I'm not shy. I will tell you how to what I think.

What I will tell you is that I wish someone would pick this up as their campaign theme song. I thought of it while blasting in the car again. It would be so nice to have someone, especially in politics, who would claim this as their mantra. So if I ever decide to run for public office (not likely) guess who is going on tour with me?



I still haven't decided who I want to play me on SNL.

Dumpster Diving

When I was in elementary I remember one move where we were collecting boxes from the dumpsters behind stores. We called it dumpster diving and when I was six, it was cool. I remember running down the street yelling, "Yay! We're going dumpster diving!!!" I was quickly shushed so the neighbors wouldn't hear. There may have once been a social stigma attached to flea market finds and "found" decorating, but today it is totally in. Go figure.

I found this sitting by the dumpster this weekend. It's a perfectly sized doll house. Holy Crap was I excited! I almost wanted to come home early from our Halloween party to start working on it. Only the candy corn colored cheese cake kept me there. Can't you just see little embroidered wall hangings, mini yo-yo quilts, and the little furniture. My dream house. From the dumpster. Go figure.



My fixer-upper.
Check out the cute cellophane printed windows.


If you stare at cheesecake long enough you can almost taste it.

Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!

For all his kicking and screaming, adamant protests about hating 'that dog!'- I have physical evidence that Husband does not hate Ani.

She's only 'your' dog when she's being a PIA.
Well, two can play at that game.
'Your' daughter needs her diaper changed.

A family tradition.

Anyone who knew us when we were little knows us as the little girls who dressed alike. Most of the time my mom made our clothes. Much more elaborate than the dress I made for Scrunch this week. She had to have something to match her Halloween bow. John says dressing Scrunch is my hobby. Like that's a bad thing. How did my mother make FOUR dresses and get FOUR little kids UNDER four to church? How? By the time she was my age my mom had her fourth child. When I think about that, I have to sit down. It just makes me tired. I told John this morning we should seriously think boy for the next one. (Because we actually DO get to choose if we wanted.) I just don't think I have it in me to sew for multiples every time we need matching dresses with the bows. He said I could do it- I would just need to start on Saturday. So maybe getting up early on Sunday morning to make her Sunday clothes is carrying it a little far. It makes everyone tired on Sunday afternoon.

Placebo effect.

Thursday afternoon found me in the Del Taco drive-thru buying a Dr. Pepper that I desperately NEEDED. I instantly felt better. Last night we went outside only to find the still full cup on the roof of the car. Maybe what I really need is just a stack of Del Taco cups.

Random stuff about Fall on Friday.

"Is it grape or Aubergine?" I'll give you a dollar if you can name the movie.

Who cares. It's purple and it's my favorite color, and it is so in this Fall. I will have exercise a significant amount of restraint to not order all my clothes in this shade for the next four months.


And I've finally cast on this sweater with this yarn. Ooh, la la. The pressure is on to finish it for Christmas pictures. Yeah, a purple Christmas. What's it to ya?


And these are on my front porch. Directions are here.


Because unlike you Utahn's, we are having awesome Fall weather. Crisp in the morning, crisp in the evening and seventy four in between. Do you guys really need another reason to move to California?

I'm so excited and I just can't hide it!

'...I know. I know. I want-choo...'

I am so excited it looks like I've been doing the pee-pee dance for two days.

We go our court date AND our sealing date. Scrunch is going to be legally mine. All mine. Well... Ours.


Sing with me now....'I'm so excited'... 'and I just can't hide it'....

Does she crawl?

Yeah. And then some.


My friends call me Scrunch.

Where the hell is Akhaia?

Apparently it is in Greece.

I noticed that someone from this little known province popped up on my Feedtracker and site meter. I instantly felt exotic and a little bit famous. Not really. But hey, a girl can dream. I would love to visit Greece. Sipping (virgin) Margaritas on a yacht with an ultra tan and sporting a bikini bod. Cuz every Grecian has the body of a god, right? Let's be best friends. At least be kind enough to comment. I'll be the only kid on the block with a comment from there. That will almost be as good as spending the summer cruising the Isles. I'm pretty sure. It would go a long way to boosting my blogging ego. In fact, if you've never commented before- today would be a good day to do it.

Score!

I am the reigning queen of bargain shopping and unique finds- just in case you were wondering. I started at a young age- paying only twelve dollars for my Ninth Grade Dance dress. The one and only formal dance I have ever been to. No Homecoming. No Prom. No Girls Choice. And I turned okay. I think. Anyway...not the point.

Point is- look at the stuff I scored this week!!!! Not to brag (OK totally to brag), but how cool is some of this stuff.

Score #1. My sister is getting married and our dresses are oh soo hot pretty. But what was Little Miss going to wear? Eighty-four dollars was more than I wanted to cough up on a dress she will smear wedding cake on. I walked into Costco, on the phone with my mom and had to hang up. "I'll call you back. I think I just found the dress." This beauty- $18 bucks. Sweet.


Score #2. I actually did my visiting teaching and found out one of the chicks I visit has a bow making business. She found out I knit, so we're swapping. I came home with 42 hair bows in every possible color! Yes, I counted. Awesome.


Score #3. I had to go to DI (Deseret Industries). No, I really didn't have any choice in the matter, but I'm so happy with my DI finds that I will spare you the rant. I am a little wary of used items for children's items. It kind of creeps me out to think of all the possibly MRSA infected people who may have touched it. But I figure if it still has the tags on it's no different than the department store, right? And does anyone have anything against Macy's? No. So there's no difference.

Brand new books. Brand, brand new. Every parent should have this book. It is an entire book of alternate lyrics to commonly known songs. My favorite is 'Go, Go, Go to Bed' sung to the tune of 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat'.


A perfect condition, hardback, complete with pretty purple binding, copy of 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' to start a new family tradition.

I've been wanting to make a flannel board for Little Miss for her birthday and I found a book of patterns. It's for foam but the patterns will totally work for felt.

And last but not least these cute clothes. Brand new! The pants, the skirt and shirt, and a cute denim skirt. I was so excited when I got home I dug out matching flowers from her new and improved collection of hair accessorizes and matched them up. Hello animal print!


Beat that!?!?!

Oh, and just because I've noticed I get more comments when there are pics of Little Miss around- I took these at the park last week.

She's not totally sure of the swings. She's thinking about it and will get back to you.

Pumpkin Heads

Two of them.

Maybe four if you count the mommies.
These kids will hate us for this picture when they are older. We'll display it at their wedding.
They have so much in common they don't even know about yet. They won't understand it until they are much, much older but I'm so glad they'll be buddies. For now we'll make them wear matching hats for pictures that will ensure their loathing of both their mommies when they are fourteen or fifteen.



The mommy club is getting good. Even if we froze our butts off. Yeah, the wind was blowing. I'm not going to be Alfalfa for Halloween.

Good and bad of blogging.

I got an e-mail from a long time friend the other day just wanting to say hi. She reads my blog so I didn't know what else to tell her. I asked her a bunch of questions back just to find out how things are going but had to stipulate that it wasn't a tag. How sad is that?

She-Woman Hottie

Did I give the impression the other day as I extolled the virtues of motherhood that it was all a rockin' good time, la-dee-da, and fun, fun, fun? Because that's not what I meant. I meant every word, but not in "life is perfect and we're all having so much fun aren't we? (complete with Crest White strips bleached grin)" kind of way. I'm just looking for a little perspective.

And perspective changes.
Surprise.

I was on the phone with Holly, and the following conversation took place.

"He totally sucked down five ounces. I think I'm going to let him have more."
"Yeah, he's having a growing day. They eat like every two hours one day, and then the next they sleep the whole day."
"I remember when K was his age and she ate twelve ounces and I was afraid she'd barf it all up."

Then it gets quiet.

Holly- "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

So we've lost our edge. Does this mean we're not cool any more? Cuz we used to be. We totally kicked ass.

OK. Who are we kidding? Only we thought we were cool and our husbands rolled their eyes at us. But we came and went as we pleased. Hit the coast for an afternoon trip just because we felt like our favorite restuarant. Ate out. A lot. Kept up on the latest and greatest playing in the theaters. Hung out until wee hours of the morning because we didn't have babysitters to worry about.

Oh, how far we've come. And it is good. And we are happier and more fulfilled that we've ever been, but there's still a little part that misses our edge.

I think every mommy needs to do something every once in a while that reminds her that she is still an Ass Kicking She-Woman Hottie. You can call it something different if you don't like my phrase.

It can be something small.

Yesterday morning I had to find my suit and nylons to go down and meet with an attorney (again). I can't tell you the last time I wore nylons. Oh. It was the last time I met with him. I'm not totally thrilled about wearing the dumb things and driving forty five minutes, but I'm all dolled up and get to drive the little car. So, for an hour I drove around like Charlise Theron in Italian Job rocking out to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers singing and dancing and actually packed a purse rather than a diaper bag. And even though I still had to hit Costco on the way home and go to Park Days later in the day, rocking out and singing and looking hot (and by hot I mean not smelling like formula) was enough to rejuvenate me. Who knew that rocking out to a classic could be such a boost. I came home feeling like I still kick ass.

Procrasti-knit

I made that word up. And the definition is-

Proscrati-knit- verb; finding random knitting projects to do when you already are booked from now till Christmas just so you have to stay up late Christmas Eve to finish that last Christmas present because instead of working on what you've promised you'd do, you're knitting random things for friends, Little Miss, and even a grocery bag. Why a grocery bag? Everybody's doing it. And I ask myself "if everyone jumped off a bridge would you do it too?"

See why I went with Procrasti-knit?

I've been commissioned to knit two Holiday dresses for someone in my ward. And the deal is good. Really good. Details later. But this is what I'd like to do. Part of me hopes she picks a different one because I want to do this for Little Miss, and I don't think I have it in me to knit the same thing three times. Unless we went with three different colors. And patterned tights like these? No wonder I get distracted. It's a rabbit hole. Don't fall in.

Are you rolling your eyes at yet another knitting post? Get used to it, baby. I'm hooked. But for the record when you knit they are not hooks. They are needles. Hooks for crochet. Needles for knitting. Clear?

When I read a review of some fiber on Ravelry and saw, "this yarn is making love to my fingers" I was like, "Whoa Nellie!" This is proof for my husband (and anyone else who thinks I have a problem) that there are those that have way more of a problem than I do.

***Update*** I was on Ravelry again today and read another review "it's like drugs for your fingers." Who are these people?

Sharing

"Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.

-M.F.K. Fisher

But most importantly don't let Mom see you.


This duo has all angles covered. That's Ani at the end of her outstretched hand.

The Ham and her hamburger.

My favorite animal is steak.

Morning Sickness

Oh, what a beautiful morning. It's a great day for morning sickness.

I'm sick.
It's the morning.
Therefore, morning sickness.

This is me.

Minus the blonde hair. Minus the ultra white robe. Mine is dingy grayish if I could find it. Not because it's dirty but because I probably washed it with a new pair of jeans. And minus the bun in the oven. But still. It's pretty close to me.

What did you think I was saying?
Oh.....sorry. Hate to disappoint.

Ha.

What a brat I am. I did it on purpose. I wrote the title of today's post knowing it would bring you here in order to investigate when you saw it on the blogs you're following. I crack myself up.

But I really am not feeling well. When I called work this morning and talked to my boss (who used to not be my boss, is my mentor and good friend) we had the following conversation.

I'm so nauseous I can't stay upright.

Miss Nancy (cuz that's what I call my new boss)- "You're not pregnant are you?"

It's not likely that I would stay that way. Even if I was.

Miss Nancy- I know. I'm sorry. I hope you stay sick.

It's twisted. On one hand you're so sick of being sick you want to die rather than look at the inside of the toilet again. But on the other you hope and pray it doesn't go away.

Miss Nancy- I hope you stay sick.

Me- Thanks. I think.

It's okay. You really do get used to looking at a negative test. I never thought I really was. I just think it's funny that you did. At least you did when you started reading this. I'm not. Maybe I'm twisted because I think that's so freakin' funny. Come on? Relax. It was funny. Lighten up. Some of you think it was funny. Just picture all my friends and family not being able to connect fast enough to find out if it was true. How long and how far could we get this rumor spread? That's a twisted and funny thought.

No. What's twisted is that if I smoked crack and my husband knocked me around a bit it would be morning sickness for sure, and not a just a mild case of the stomach flu.