Homework is lame.

A select few have our home phone number. The Bishop and the telemarketers. So we never answer the phone. I forgot this little house rule yesterday afternoon and sure enough..."Hi, we have an important message from your child's school.."

Um, really? That's weird. My kid doesn't go to school. But while I've got you on the phone...

What is with this I hear about kindergartners and homework? I've already been to kindergarten and I think homework is lame. Lame. lame. lame. If you still believe in Santa, pick your nose, and need help tying your shoe, you should be exempt from homework. And unless this is a phone call regarding a petition to band homework from kindergarten I'm really not interested, but thanks anyway.

Homework is lame at any age and I still fit two of the three categories above, so I should be exempt too. I'll let you guess which two.

Happy Monday in the morning! Back to school sorta sucks for some. Say that five times fast.

Nurse Ratched is back.

Some days I think a trained monkey could do my job and I feel a little guilt about healthcare costs.

And then, like today, I see patients.

I get sexually harassed, splashed on, a faceful of nasty stinky feet, lost in the ghetto, bawled out by a brujaja of a wife- all of which have nothing to do with much with the nursing care that was provided. I then feel like I've earned every last dime and then some. And frankly don't quite care if the whole system goes to hell in a hand basket. I'd like to propose a measure where I can bill Medicare for my pedicure, quart of ice cream and pizza, or at least the tattoo across my forehead which explicitly states to leave me alone or get out my way.

You don't care. But I really do.

My twenty-buck sofa never made it down the hall to the crap craft room.


My obsessing is going to pay off, I can feel it. Come on. I watched The Secret.

Husband has agreed to paint the kitchen sometime before Halloween.


Benjamin Moore Pear Green

The next DIY project and trip to IKEA.

Alexandra Ferguson on Etsy

Ikea Gorel

How good at this wishful thinking can I get?

Inspiration for our bedroom. It's a sign. I know it. Our bedroom has this exact set up. We even have a ceiling fan. This must be working.

Picture courtesy of none other than BHG.

Today's most exciting work conversation.

Me- Ooooh, Sarah! I got into my Econ class!

Sarah- Since when did you decide to take an Econ class?

Me- Last Thursday.

S- Are you still horseback riding?

Me- Mmmmhmmm.

S- And now you're training for a half marathon?

Me- Mmmmhmmm.

S- Jeez. You've got a lot of hobbies.

Me- Yep.

You'd think I'd have something better to do right now than sit on my butt in front of the computer looking for just the right inspiration room for our bedroom. I'm obsessing over pear green walls.

These Things are True

Here I go probably propagating urban legends... But sometime (I think last year) Pres. Monson encouraged somewhere (I think in Conference) to take yearly family pictures. Please let it be true. It's counsel we've actually followed. And I would like to bear my testimony about the truthfulness of this doctrine.

Take family pictures. Lots of them. And cute ones. And hang them everywhere you are. Laundry room. Kitchen. Forget HGTV and all their tips about appropriate placement of family picture walls. Just hang them and do it now. Because one of these days your kid is going to get a mouth on them and then you will be able to look at the pictures and say, "Remember when they were cute?"

Cuz the "Nooos" and the "make mess" and the tantrums over who is holding the grape bowl or over where you can run naked are not so very cute right now. And make sure to include your four-legged kids. Because when they get into a tuna can and slice their lip and get blood all over your new rug, you'll want to remember that they were cute once too.

I know these things are true.

And I love my roommates.

I take comfort in knowing that if she doesn't shape up there are plenty of embarrassing pictures in the archives that can just as easily be blown up and hung on the walls when her friends come over and she turns 16.

Part of this years pics can be seen here.

Done and Done

The sinus pressure that is building and undoubtedly causing my eyes to bulge and brain to explode is also creating an inability to put two coherent sentences together. I am taking comfort in stuffing my face with Taco Bell while sorting buttons and watching Gilmore Girls on Netflicks. God bless my child for asking for "night-night" at 7:15.

Oh, yes. I am the very picture of domestic loveliness right now. This should be a fashion blog rather than a adoption/infertility/craft/knitting/all-about-me-and-what-I-want-blog. Me in my paint speckled scrubs and purple flip flops and a roll of toilet paper close at hand. I'm going to quit being so damn cheap and buy Kleenex- the REAL thing. In fact, let me add it to the Safeway list right now. Done. To be delivered on Friday. Oh, and lemons. Let me tell you how irritated I am that it is too hot for tea.

Oh, crap. I just watched the cat eat a button. Why is that so funny? Vet bills aren't that funny. Ask me how I know. I must be out of my head. But I already knew that.

I lost my keys today while getting gas. Don't ask. I still don't know. I knew I had to have then though because obviously I got to the gas station. Losing my keys and taking a cat I don't even like to the vet would not normally crack me up. There's also the thought of watching my posterity fight at my funeral over this shawl. I want to knit this before I die. Unless my head actually does explode in the next twelve hours, in which case I'll only blog about it before I die. Done.


Isn't there a law against having a cold when it's so bloody hot? There should at least be one about blogging while having one. I'm not even on Sudafed. Yet.

I love to be right.

Yesterday was as good as I knew it would be.

That's all.

As Good As It Gets

I've got to do it now because tomorrow I'll be too blubbery. Tomorrow is a big fricken deal. As good as it gets. A baby is going to be sealed to his mommy and daddy and in a few hours we're getting in the car so we can be there.

It is hard to explain so that people can understand. And I apologize to my friends who are not members of the LDS church because this will make no sense. I'll explain it if you're ever interested, but basically a temple sealing is as good as it gets. And even if you are a member and have even been through the temple, it is still hard to understand unless you've been there or experienced it.

As we sat waiting for our own family sealing my Husband leaned over to me and said, "You know, being born under the Covenant sucks." That's not what he meant, but if there is anything that can be placed on the Pro side of the list when it comes to adoption, it is going to the temple and having that child sealed to you. It hands-down trumps just about every other experience in this life. Even giving birth. It's like a special bonus for those of us who will may never experience that. A gold star from Heavenly Father so you know you haven't been left out. It is the entire point to everything. And it is totally cool.

Congratulations Brad, Holly, and Grady. I can't even think of three people I know that I am more happy for right now. We love you.

'A No Good Very Bad Day' Ain't Even Close

I learned a new word last week.

And just in time.

Shi-poopie!!

My day started shi-poopie and ended shi-poopie. And if my dog dies we'll be able to write a Country song about it all. Listen to your local Country station for Mayor's Major Shi-Poopie.

Movie Review- The Time Traveler's Wife

Because who doesn't have time for a movie? And if you watch the movie you don't even have to read the book. The theory has proved true with me for Memoirs of a Geisha.

The Time Travelers Wife-

A perfect chick flick to take your sister to. You will love Eric Bana. You may not realize that you already do. He played Hector in Troy. We both started crying about half way through and didn't stop until the end. Every chick needs a good cry every once in a while. I opted not to take any movie theater knitting since my sister's laugh is distraction enough in a theater, but I was glad I didn't. Had I taken it I probably would have missed every time travel and been thoroughly confused. This is not a science fiction movie. If you're going to analyze time travel, forget it. You'll hate it. It's a love story. If you take your husband it's not likely you'll get him to watch another chick flick for a very long time. Unless his favorite movie was The Notebook in which case you should really start encouraging belching and more time in the garage. I'm ranking it right up there with Charly and The Notebook. Especially good for sleepovers and to watch during certain times of the month. If you're going to be crying anyway, you might as well put on a movie.

My Happy Place

Second only to my continual struggle with controlling what comes out of my mouth, comes my constant inability to turn off my brain. It rapid-fires in the middle of the night waking me up and leading to needless worry over things I have little to no control over. All day long I am making lists and plans for things I need to/want to accomplish as a mom, a wife, a nurse, a woman. As a talk radio junkie the narrative in my head is perpetuated. What are they thinking? Are they thinking? Why can't I stop thinking?

This is why people hike, and run, and exercise. To take a break. Relax. It doesn't work for me. It turns into only scheduled thinking and scheduled worry. I struggle to find that zen-like space where you are totally relaxed and think about nothing. A Happy Place.

I've always been attracted to horses. Whether it has been because it was the one pet I've never owned, or just something in my genes- horseback riding has always appealed to me. And so I've found my happy place. I think about where my feet are at while I groom, keeping my heels down, not squeezing with my knees, knuckles up, weight in my feet, balance point, prepping for the turn, letting him walk out, and fifty other things all at the same time. But nothing else.

Martha Stewart makes this look easy. It makes me look tired.

We've got new bows, travel buddy, tissue paper flowers, and tomorrow we'll do the caramel apples. Getting ready to leave for a vacation should not be this much work.

It's not enough.

I wasn't a very good mommy yesterday. Or the day before. I was sick. And tired. And sick of being sick and tired. And somehow even though I am young, healthy, educated, make a good living- there are times I lack the physical energy and emotional strength to be everything that my daughter needs me to be. I can't do it all myself. And I don't. Yet I remain confident that she does not lack in any way.

Saturday I fell asleep for several hours to the sound of Scrunch and her Papa doing puzzles in the next room and hearing him ask if she could say certain words. I slept knowing that when I woke up she would be fed, clothed (but maybe not in matching clothes), and running around happily.

When people ask me why our Birthmother chose to place, the answer is very simple. She wasn't that young. She was healthy, working on her education, able to make a living, and completely supported by her friends and family in single parenting. And yet she still chose to give her child more than she could offer. A family with both a mom and a dad. In her wisdom, she knew that just mom isn't enough.

Who needs one more thing to do?

I would like to write a book review, but that would imply that I've read a book lately. And I can't remember even the title, much less the details of the last book I've read enough to write any report of substance. So lets start a book club, shall we? I know there are lots of sites like Shelfari and Good Reads, but I'm too lazy and don't need one more place to log in, check, update, etc. You can even pick the book. Once a month I'll tell you what I think. And you can tell me what you thought. It doesn't have to be publishable review for the New Yorker. You can say, "I thought the book was dumb." And I won't even come back with, "Well, maybe you're dumb." I promise.

Ready? Set. Read.

Aw, crap. We need a book. Suggestions? I'll let you know on Monday what I (we'll) be reading. I know I can at least count on two of you.

Dad. Miqui. That means you.

* Post Edit- I can count on Goose too.

Happy Birthday to me!

I was going to clean the vacuum today, but decided against it when I realized that when people asked me what I did for my birthday I'd then have to say, "Um, I cleaned the vacuum." Instead I ate half a birthday cake. But I guess that's okay. It was only half the cake. It's all about perspective. I'm either very young or very old depending on who you are. As it was pointed out by my sisters, "Holy crap! You're half way to fifty!!!!" and then overhearing the conversation a few co-workers responded with, "You're HALF way to fifty???"

And just for my total bragging pleasure, because it's my party and I can if I want to...my sexy black high school graduation dress still fits. I try it on every year just to make sure. I will stop eating half of my birthday cake the year that it doesn't anymore. That's where I'm at on this discussion, this year. I clearly lack a testimony of sleeves as well. Just typing that makes me chuckle.

Never say never.

Today was a momentous occasion. For several reasons actually. One of which being that I started running uh jogging uh walking. I mean, come on. How many times have I blogged about how much I hate running? And look. Here's one more. I will never be a runner. That's what I said. (This is where you look back at the title of the post and say, oh I get it! Never say never. Catchy.) The activity hurts and gets you right back where you started (if you're lucky). I fail to see the point unless you are being chased. 3.8 miles later I still thinks it's lame but I plan on doing again on Friday. Plus, the chick I'm going with seems quite normal and I'd like to corrupt her find out why.

***Side story...want to know how you know you've watched too many episodes of NCIS on Netflicks? As you leave your house at o'dark thirty you realize you don't have your cell phone and you contemplate going back to get it. Why do you need your cell phone? So you can call the authorities when you discover a body. It's always a runner, a biker, or a hiker who finds the bodies.

I also said I'd never bribe my child with chocolate chips. That didn't take long. But after trying on the dress I made (without a pattern btw) about twelve times, she put her foot down on the thirteenth. Rather than engage in the wrestling match, because quite frankly I'm afraid she could beat me, I told her I'd giver a chocolate chip if she would put the dress on for mommy. She prompting said, " Yesh." and put the dress on. She then proceed to wipe her hand across the front. No, it's not my crappy camera. It is a water spot. Because today God smiled upon me and made chocolate chips water soluble. And that brings us to the moral of this rambling story...yup, you guessed it... never say never.

Legitimately Busy

This is what I did today.





There are about a hundred tutorials for making DIY Baby Legs. So just Google it and I won't have to link it.

I'm almost done with Scrunch's dress for our family pictures later this week. I cast on a toddler version of Liesl. And I got a sliver in my foot.

Excuses, excuses.

Some people manage to get away without blogging for weeks, even months. I'm gone for two days and I get the text, "why haven't you blogged?" "Busy" was my response. It was a lie. Not that it worked anyway.

But if you don't believe me, maybe you'll believe Dr. Phil. Anyone else notice that Dr. Phil is only a slightly more classy Jerry Springer? Slightly. If you never watched at least part of an episode of Jerry Springer and were not totally entertained then you're a liar. No one doesn't love five minutes of Jerry Springer. There's just something about 'HOLY CRAP I'M NOT NEARLY AS SCREWED UP AS THESE PEOPLE!' that does something for your psyche.

Anyway, I happened to catch five minutes of Dr. Phil. a few weeks ago. In that five minutes the man said something that changed my life. I swear. "Taking care of a toddler is like trying to catch a spider monkey." No wonder the man is makin the big bucks. If I had a nickel for every time I thought that today, I would be raking it in too. Instead, I'm just now able to pause and catch my breath. Even spider monkeys sleep.

Love a Fair

Nothin' I love better than a good old fashioned Country Fair.