Crazytown

High Gear

2012-01-25T09:29:00.000-08:00

There is nothing that strikes fear into the hearts of many like a TIT with a list in company mode. (And that's not a typo for twit. I'll explain later. My mom, sisters, and dad will get it. O.K. Almost all of the people who read this will get it. Aunt Marti, you can FB Miqui for an explanation if you just can't wait.)

So anyway, I'm blasting, BLASTING Roxette this morning. Toy Story 3 is on repeat, and I am armed with my list and dangerous. My home visit from the midwives is tomorrow. And so is Scrunch's birthday, and my parents will be here on Friday. So here's what I've got...

Hoy-
15 minutes cleaning out the car (especially the middle seat) because the car seats are out.
Wash 3, THREE! carseats. Crazy. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this. But I will turn one of them into a booster. My baby girl can be in a booster per the state of California and the National Institute of Highway Safety as of tomorrow. Boo! Sniff! Whatever.
This is going to tell me if the carseats will fit three across the middle. I've haul too much crap in the back to lose it to the third seat.
15 minutes in my closet. 27 thing fling. This will also tell me if there's room enough for a baby in there. Probably the quietest, safest spot in the house, so that's where it'll stay.
Bump the laundry up to 3, maybe 4, loads. Carseat covers, then whites, then the kids' bedding, and a
load of gender neutral baby clothes. Husband hauled the bins down from the attic this morning.
15 minutes in the kids' room.
Caulk the (new AND free to me) toy chest. This will make it so I can move it out of the middle of the kitchen floor.
15 minutes in the garage. Sweeping up the crumbs from the seats and loading the crap for Goodwill.
This should bring me to this afternoon.
Drop off at Goodwill on the way to Husband's work.
Swap cars and the kids.
Haircut and brows waxed.
Pick up flowers. She always gets flowers on her birthday.
Home Depot for grout cleaner and black spray paint.
Home again.
Caramel popcorn, print the birthday baggies, blow up balloons.
Work.
Schedule Email to Birthmom.
Sleep.

Tomorrow-
Up early for donuts and pink milk.
Drop K and Papa (the parent volunteer for the day! haha) off at preschool.
Crisis clean.
1030 Home visit.
Pick up Scrunch and Papa at noon.
Birthday Date
Home again.
Bedtime, Husband heads to Stake Training, and I will work.
Sleep.

Friday-
Fridge
Finish cleaning the grout
Clean sheets on guest bed.
Run through the house.
Vacuum.
By midafternoon my parents will show up (with strawberry cupcakes ???) and my house will be sparkly and we'll be out front planting bulbs in a skirt and pearls doing the parade wave while my kids don't fight over whose turn it is to go down the hill in the bike trailer.

I will collapse into bed. My parents will help roll me into a wheelbarrow haul my sorry butt to breakfast where I will feast on cinnamon rolls and Eggs Benedict.

A TIT with a list in company mode. Fear! Fear, I tell you!

Or maybe fear a 5'4", badass, highschool teach in heels.

Happy Birthday Goose!

Don't let the nickname Goose or the heels fool you. She can make gansta's cry. That's how we roll, us TITs.

Gender Neutral

2012-01-24T20:24:00.000-08:00

Among the phrases I'd like a quarter for every time I have to hear is, "Oh, I forget... What are you having?"

And I say, "It's either a boy or a girl."

Up until about last week I was totally cool with not knowing. I was convinced it was a girl. Absolutely convinced. My sister even started calling her Juju.

And then it donned on me. What if it's a boy? Oh, crap. This could totally be a boy.

And I told Scrunch, "We will love it even if it's a boy."

And she said, "No, we won't."

And I said, "Yes we will!"

And we went on like this for about five minutes. And I still don't know why I even bothered to argue with my pre-schooler for anything more than a minute.

But now it's killing me!

So I Googled some boy names. I got nothin'. Except the backups we didn't use for Porkchop.

But I'm betting it's a girl. And not just because I'm about three seconds from casting on these matching sweaters for Easter...

Camilla Babe and Camilla Girl by Quinco & Co.

Loose Ends

2012-01-22T21:19:00.000-08:00

I can only think in bullets. I have mom brain, or am tired, or suffer from Squirrel Syndrome. (Think Up)

I can't be the only woman whose nesting involves glass etching cream. I'm not, right? There's just these projects that I've been meaning to get to, that I NEED to get to, that I haven't gotten to. And so that's what I'm working on. Stuff like re-painting the birthday tree, staging the hutch, and finding a good use for last year's Sunday School manual. I found it. It's now a wreath that smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg. You'll see it. Later.

I haven't taken any pictures lately. I waddle slower than my kids move so by the time I get the camera the moment is over and they are off on their next adventure. I've taken to just forgetting the camera, closing my eyes, and trying to sear the memory on my brain. My top three today were Porkchop lounging on the couch "reading" a chapter book with the most serious expression. Scrunch's face when she gave me thumbs up that I could leave during her first day as a Sunbeam. Scrunch's face again when I picked her up and she showed me her very first birthday present. And Scrunch yelling "Help me! Help me, Sir!" at Porkchop wearing his firehat.

Scrunch's birthday is Thursday. She was given a choice and chose a date with Mom and Dad and her brother rather than a party. (Good girl.) And when I asked her what she'd like to do she responded with, "A rock wall." When I asked her what she wanted to eat..."Shrimp." (That's my girl!)

I dream about my Valentine's Day present. Papa will go to my favorite sushi place and bring me two Blue Ravine Rolls and a side of edamame. He will then take the two older kids to the Children's Discovery Museum for a few hours while I lounge on my bed watching trashy t.v. and nursing a new baby and making myself sick on sushi. And then I will take a nap on my stomach!!! Ahhhh....

The comments I've received this pregnancy have been classic. Last week I got, "I didn't know you were so far along. I just thought you were getting huge!" Which is funny because today at church I got two "I didn't even know you were pregnant"s. My personal and all time favorite though was from my parent's always drunk neighbor, who we love, Jay..."She looks like a python who swallowed a pig!"

Tomorrow Porkchop has an audiogram scheduled. I'm anxious to see how they pull these things off with a child his age. How accurate can it be when he is going to deliberately do the opposite of what you just asked him to do and then scream "No!" just because he can?

Last Sunday I was cool with the baby staying put for a minute. This week I'm totally fine with it falling out tonight or Tuesday. I don't want it dough-y in the middle and halfbaked, but man I'd sure like to have a lap again. So would my kids. But I have plans this weekend. My mom and dad are coming and we have a breakfast date on Saturday morning for waffles, cinnamon rolls, and California Eggs Benedict at my favorite breakfast place. Maybe early next week? Groundhog day? And if it's a boy we'll name him Phil.

2012 Resolutions Betty White Helped Me Write

2012-01-18T21:43:00.000-08:00

“Why do people say "grow some balls"? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding."

Things to make me a better wife and mom...regular family dinner, read together more, sit down and play, regular family night.

"The older you get, the better you get. Unless you're a banana!"

I want to be better at remembering and acknowledging important people's birthdays.

"You gotta use everything you possibly can."

Gotta stay within my grocery budget. Don't buy something unless I love it and would like to either look at it or wear it every day.

"I have a two-story house and a bad memory, so I’m up and down those stairs all the time. That’s my exercise."

Need to get back down to my optimal weight for height.

"It is very silly. You've had such an overdose of me lately. I'm thinking of going away for a while."

Going to read a book and knit a project per month.

"I've been the luckiest old broad on two feet to have all the jobs that I've had."

Keep up the pace and keep working from home 12 hrs per week.

"Oh, I don't need sleep. I just went to my hotel and had a cold hot dog and a vodka on the rocks."

Go to bed early, get up early. Get dressed to shoes. Damn that FLYlady, because it really works.

All the quotes have been attributed to Betty White.

No-nos no more!

2012-01-17T10:56:00.000-08:00

The kids had been fed breakfast before I got up this morning. I was up too late working, but long enough to get the midnight reminder on my phone that today marks No More No-nos!! Like I needed the reminder.

So, what does Husband feed the kids on his first day of freedom from gruel? Oatmeal. Of all the things he could have made them, oatmeal? Oatmeal!?!? Why don't you just give the poor kid Cream of Wheat after two weeks of nothing but mush?

Don't worry, Mommy is giving him Doritos for lunch.

Time I get started.

2012-01-15T19:59:00.000-08:00

Husband is actively involved in the day to day routine around here. He does bedtime and bakes the bread. We divide and conquer with the kids. I wash, he dries. You get the idea.

This is only a problem when he is gone.

The upside is that when he comes home I feel like my load has been lifted exponentially. It is magnified by the fact that the last two weeks have been nothing short of craptastic. Suddenly the day to day shlepping is not only bearable but a welcome break.

Huzzah! Life is good again!

L'chaim! (Cuz he was in Israel after all.)

I feel like I have so much more time, so much more energy. This new baby might get something Made by Mom. If it's lucky and stays put for a minute.

Scrunch is very concerned about the fact that the baby is nekkid. It will need some blankets and stuff to cover it up.

These are a few of the things I have in mind.

Chevron Chenille Blanket by Aesthetic Nest

Nursing Cover by Diary of a Quilter

Purlbee's Bulky Blanket

Button-up Baby Wrap on Ravelry

Mushroom Pulse Warmers modified by Stripesandpolkadots on Ravelry

Toadstool Rattle by Purlbee

Blackberry Salad Bobble Baby Blanket by Moogly

Random ...What day is it again?

2012-01-14T17:36:00.000-08:00

We're eating soggy fishsticks and smoothies for dinner. Sick. But I'm running out of ideas and the inclination to make gourmet soups for my still pureed diet sucking toddler. He is so over it. He stands in front of the pantry screaming "MEEEE!!! EEEEEAAAT!!!!" I would have loved it had my kids been the ones who only eat Gogurts the last two weeks. But not so. They eat the peppercinis off a Subway sandwich. "Beef, it's what's for dinner" could be stenciled on a sign in my kitchen. They come by it naturally. Three more days!!! And we will eat, and eat, and eat until I start puking and have a baby.

I puked in labor last time. Have I mentioned that? It was very glamorous. My plastic bowl swaying on the waves of my heaving. I only thought of that because I watched the video of Porkchop's birth last week. I'm glad we have it, but I don't like watching it. It makes me really uncomfortable. And it's not even graphic.

I would not have made it through the week without the help of my Grandma. She's the only person I know nuts enough to volunteer for helping us out while Husband was gone.

Scrunch is a trooper. Someday I will buy us a pony.

Husband comes home tomorrow. Good thing. As of tomorrow I am 36(ish) weeks, and I could theoretically have this baby. I don't think I will though. I think it will be another couple of weeks. February 12th or 14th would be kind of funny since the 13th is my Mom's birthday. Scrunch was born the day after my sister and Porkchop the day before my Dad's. Let's go with the 12th because I think naming a Valentine's Day baby Juliette must be some kind of love curse.

Yes, if it's a girl we will probably name her Juliette. Scrunch has decreed it. And since neither of us hate it we've kind of let her go with it. If it's a boy we'll have to Google something because it has not crossed anyone's (especially Scrunch's) mind that it might possibly be a boy. Her exact words in response to, "What if it's a boy?" are "I don't want to talk about it."

If it's a boy we might have to name him Ezra, like my nephew. She really likes him. They have matching llamas and jammies.

Oh, and can you people not read? There were explicit instructions that if you were to check 'LMAO' about those Grandma shoes I want, that you were to give me alternatives.

But if you were ever to listen to me, now is the time. Cross your fingers for us, would ya? We have some big plans in the works the next few weeks that I'm not as of yet at liberty to discuss. Like besides international business trips, surgery, dental implants, and a new baby. Besides that. Good stuff. Exciting stuff. But I can't say another word. Not a single word.

I don't care if I ever see "WOOOODY!!! MOOOOOVIE!!!" EVER again.

Cuz this is what's weighing on my mind right now...

2012-01-13T09:48:00.000-08:00

Are these shoes too old lady?

I need shoes I can walk in every day, all day, with support. OK. I need old lady shoes.

Give me an "Amen" if you think I should buy them. A "LMAO" if you'd LYAO if you saw me wear these. Oh, but if you're going to LYAO at least give me some suggestions on what else to try.

2012-01-11T19:27:00.000-08:00

When Porkchop's surgeon came in the room this afternoon and said, "I've just got to tell you...You are one good lookin' pregnant woman" I almost offered to make-out with him if he would just release Porkchop from the no-nos and puree a little early.

He didn't.

And I didn't.

Just thought my Husband would like to know.

One more week.

You so wish you were me right now.

2012-01-10T20:55:00.000-08:00

36 week pregnant hormonal hippo. Check.
Pre-schooler with the stomach flu. The bouncing puke kind. Check.
Super active 18 month old with arm restraints and a pureed diet. Check.
Helpful Husband on the other side of the planet. Check.

I am looking forward to natural labor and a newborn as a bit of a vacation. I haven't blogged about it because I hope to block it out completely. I hope Porkchop does the same or I will have lots of years in the old folks home with my own restraints and pureed meals to look forward to. May all that remain be memories of smoothies. Lot and lots of smoothies.

Recap

2012-01-02T14:46:00.000-08:00

I have deeply profound thoughts regarding my reflections on the past, and even greater ones as I think on the future.

Dear 2011,
WTH, yo!?! Didn't you just get here?

Dear 2012,
WTH, yo!?! Who let you in?

No, but really, 2011 is over?

Let's recap...

January-

Scrunch turned three.
Hairlines saw a significant improvement this year.

February-
We started on the backyard.

March-

After a long sabbatical, I got out the paint scrubs and started on the laundry room.

Porkchop had part of his soft palate closed...

My Mom officially gained the title of One Crazy MotherClucker!

April-
I stopped pumping. Can I get a "Woot, woot!!!!"

My Husband went to Jerusalem, I got down with my bad paintin' self (again), and Scrunch changed her name to 'Fern'.

May-

Porkchop turned 1!!
Finished the backyard.
Traveled SOLO to see my dear friend.

June-

Found out our family would be growing.

Husband did a training hike.
Spent a lot of time at the lake.
Found out that you should really pay attention and listen to all those signs in Yosemite about NO GAS!

July-

God Bless America!
Finished the kitchen (for now).

8 Years baby! And he still knows what makes my heart go pitter-pat- Lowe's flooring sales.

August-

I turned 3 * 3 * 3!
It was hot and heavy. I was sick, sick, sick.
Ez-ah-wah!!!!!! My favorite nephew was born.

September-
Scrunch started pre-school. Giving Mama some time to work on a project of her own.

Husband walked, and walked, and walked like a little pioneer child completing 160 miles of the John Muir Trail in nine days!!

October-

I got less sick. Attempted my first world record.

Porkchop went in for a quick change of the old ear tubes.
And the whole family Mutated. Temporarily.

November-

Get to meet Ez-ah-wah IRL!! I proved my love to him by making cute owl cupcakes, banners, and balloons.
We ate, drank, and were merry with an entire houseful of our biggest fans.
We were grateful. Scrunch especially for getting to meet all the Princesses.

December-

Feels like it was just yesterday. Or two days ago.
The end. We partied parent style by putting the kids to bed vegetating in front of our laptops.

2012 is looking to be a bore. Um...not. This week Porkchop has surgery, Husband goes to Jerusalem, my grandma comes to stay, and in a few weeks we'll have three monkeys jumping on the bed.

Dear 2012,

P.S.

Bring it!!!

Love,
As always, the Mayor of Crazytown

Christmas 2011

2011-12-31T23:43:00.000-08:00

It is a bummer that my kids are probably too young to remember this Christmas. It was a good one, minus standing in line for two hours at the mall to see Santa. I wore stupid shoes that day and by the time we were done I thought I was going to birth a baby right there in the Santa line. I was dissuaded by the fact that it is not time to have this baby yet, and how white trash can you get? Topped only by birthing at Wal-Mart.

What I am not above is going to the McDonald's play place for Christmas Eve (along with every other racially diverse single father in town). We had so much fun! I'm thinking about making it a tradition, white trash award or not. We were tired and it was perfectly low key after finally settled on opening presents Christmas Eve morning. This was finagled by our asking Santa the day before to come early. Santa on Saturday. Jesus on Sunday. We had our turkey dinner on Monday. Yeah, I don't know the rationale for that one, but it worked. (It might have something to do with a certain someone being stubborn about how long it actually takes a turkey to thaw, but, well, I'm just sayin'.)

I'm afraid we could only get away with our wonky scheduling and random activities because my kids are in a limbo stage when it comes to Christmas. Old enough to be excited and have fun (again, minus the Mall Santa part), but young enough to have no expectations whatsoever. As adults having no expectations can make you a loser and may land you at a dead-end job and married to a useless jerkwad, but as a kid, no expectations makes for the greatest Christmas ever! As long as you find a furry pink cat under the tree. Which she did. So I guess there were a few expectations.

Brain Drain

2011-12-27T19:59:00.000-08:00

I can't stand to lose things. It makes me feel like I'm going nuts. And it makes me nuts at the same time.

That three weeks the strawberry piece on the meals puzzle was missing was a killer. I know because I regularly put all the puzzles away to make sure we have all the pieces. I notice if Mr. Potato's ear is gone. I have to bargain with myself that I will not count certain toys. Like the army men Santa put in the stockings. I just throw them in the container with the marbles. And I don't count them. They seem to multiply anyway. I think this might make me a freak, but no one hates it more than I do.

When something does go missing, I go bonkers. I obsess over it. Go ahead and Google what that means...dropped on my head as a child? starved for love and affection? control freak? Go with #3. When in doubt, always go with #3. I know, I know. I'm working on it.

This afternoon on the way to the park I realized we can't find Scrunch's pink puffy jacket. I have looked EVERYwhere. Did we leave it at school? And if we did leave it at school, did I remember to put her name in it? It didn't end up in the bin I took to Goodwill, did it?

I start feeling like my house is out of order. That I need to clean and organize. It is like nesting times a thousand. And add that I might be nesting and...Whoa Nellie! I'm twitching. I can't think. I definitely can't blog. The only reason I'm here right now is that I'm waiting for my steamer to heat up. 3 minutes. I can type fast.

Then I realized I can't find the funnel that fills the steamer. Oh, for the love!!!

And yes, I've checked the sandbox. For both of them. But I did find my vacuum piece.

2011-12-24T00:11:00.000-08:00

The To Do list is still longer than the Got Done list, but at this point I'm kind of "meh" over it all anyway. The I Did list isn't looking so shabby. And just when I started to feel guilty over having my kids eat three or four (or more) chocolates from their Advent calendars (we were totally hit and miss in the beginning. Then they caught on and Porkchop asked for his chocolate first thing in the morning.) So just as I start to think we're the lamest Christmas providing parents ever, I read this post my Aunt linked to. I laughed so hard I might have peed.

But back to the list.

It might have taken me a few days but I...

Hung the gallery wall in the dining room.
Took Porkchop to his pre-op
Stood in line for two hours to see Santa.
Grocery shopped.
Finished all the wrapping.
Unveiled the newly painted table not as a picnic table, but a train table.
Finished the dinosaur tails.
Picked up the batteries and tension rods for random gifts. Like the awesome puppet theater my sister made.
Signed, sealed, and almost had to hand deliver the Christmas cards. You should get yours by New Year's.
Decided we'd do the Santa thing early. Long story. Short version...no more arguing over Santa vs. Jesus with my Husband and we get to spread the Holiday cheer over the entire weekend.
Baked Santa muffins.
Wrote him a letter.
Packed oats for the reindeer.
Read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" (Even though it really isn't. Shhh...We told the kids we asked Santa to stop by early on his way to Tokyo. Like they care.)

And tomorrow I might upload all the pictures that go with this post.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Another project closer to Christmas...

2011-12-20T19:11:00.000-08:00

Oink, Baah, Moo

2011-12-17T23:33:00.000-08:00

My vegetarian friends need look away.
Ugh, forget the picture. I'm far from being vegetarian and the picture kind of makes even me queasy.

The stars aligned and I scored amazing, like uh-may-zing!! deals on meat the same day Santa delivered my freezer. After two hours in the kitchen my freezer is now stocked with...

4 packages chicken drumsticks
1 package pre-seasoned chicken
2 pans Salsa Chicken
2 pans Sesame Ginger Chicken
3 Seasoned Boneless Beef Chuck Roast
1 package pork sausage
1 package chicken sausage
2 packages of Italian turkey sausage
1 17lb. turkey
12 packages of hotdogs (25 cents a piece!)
3 packages of lunchmeat
4 meatloaves
2 pans of Chicken Teriyaki
4 pans of Chicken Enchiladas
4 lbs of shredded chicken
1 7 lb. pork shoulder roast (currently in the crockpot)
1 package cubed pork for posole
1 3lb. pork shoulder roast

All for.....$115.00! No coupons necessary. Just be in the right place, at the right time, that one time.

I have plans for the next few days of freezer English Muffin Sandwiches, Breakfast Burritos, Rice and Bean Burritos, Chocolate Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies, Sugar Cookies, and Freezer Slaw. On husband's list is about eight loaves of bread so we can make a couple pans of French Toast bake, two loaves of PBJ to keep in the freezer, and two extra loaves to have on hand.

I am feeling like a calmer, saner, person.

Almost.

Maybe.

Random Friday Stuff

2011-12-16T22:09:00.000-08:00

I plead hormonal insanity, if that is a legal plea. If it is not, it should be.

Want to read something funny...it was my sister.

"So um... I know who marked "lame". It was me. But I didn't mean "what you wrote was lame." I meant that you have to go through the crap is lame. You know like...wow, that is lamesauce shit and I am really sorry you have to go through it. Next time I check a box I will be more clear. Oh, and please apologize to John for me. I am sure he got an earful over this... I know Jordan would have. :)"

At least now you know not to cross the Mayor. She'll get craaaaazy on you. But not so crazy as to be able to see Russia from here. That chick still has me beat.

Santa came early. He's a swell guy. He even bought me a laptop so I could work more hours from the comfort of my bed to help pay for it all. Just kidding. I love Santa. And the goodies.

I had this weird, outta body/deja vu experience where for a few minutes I became my mother and became extraordinarily giddy over a steam mop. It even makes me want to clean the garage floors tomorrow. If I can walk. I cleaned the garage today. It was disgusting.

Do we like my $5.00 Christmas mantle or what? Dollar Tree pine cones, ribbon from the dress up box, Dollar Tree Styrofoam, garland from forever ago, green glitter floral picks at 70% off, stockings out of all scraps including an old fuzzy pillow case, and jute twine from The Home Depot. OK, so maybe $7.50, but next year it will be free. It needs more, but Christmas is in seven days.

I got the Legos out for Porkchop for the first time today. He did not try to eat them. I was so proud. Then he ran himself over with the bicycle trailer with his sister in it. I could write an entire blog with daily entries of the kid's bumps and bruises.

I could write an entire blog about the things his sister says. Maybe I should. A few of this week's highlights include...

Shouting "Police! Police!" in the Post Office parking lot when I buckled her in her carseat.
"Wait! Mom! Don't leave. I need to practice." "What do you need to practice?" "Hopping on one foot." "Why?" "What if I turn into a kangaroo?"
"Mom, I don't think robots have bums."
"When's my birthday?" "It's coming up soon." "What's the name of it?" "January 26th." "That's just like last year!!"

Tomorrow I'm going to address our Christmas cards.

I make this up as I go along.

2011-12-13T11:56:00.000-08:00

Someone (I don't know who) thought my last post was lame. I don't know what they thought was lame about it, but I have some ideas.

Lame because I should just shut up and enjoy every puking moment of the damndest most difficult job I've ever done? Oh, and I worked in a nursing home. Just so you know.

Lame because I should be grateful that I am pregnant at all? Yeah, cuz it's soooo easy to forget a failed adoption, five years of infertility, a parent to child sealing, and a homebirth to a baby with a little extra. Not saying I deserve this pregnancy, because God does not dole based on deserved-ness, but come on, like I could forget how I got here!

Lame because I am weaksauce and am tired with only 2.75 kids?

Lame because my grammar and spelling peaked in fourth grade?

Lame because I should be grateful for my own crap because there are plenty of others who would like to trade? Aware again. I'm BFFs with a chick who has the worst luck ever! My scrambled eggs in a new rug is her heart's great desire.

Maybe they were offended by my flippant comment about wanting to kill my toddler. Mandated reporter here folks. It was a joke! A little sarcasm helps the medicine of life go down.

Maybe they are overdue for an appearance at the opthamologist and mistakenly clicked it thinking it said 'love'.

Perhaps they would like to chastise me regarding the importance and health of child spacing? Fertility docs ain't got nothin' on God. And I did a internship developing family planning resources for the State Health Department. Preachin' to the choir sista! (Assuming it was sista only because I don't think many men read my blog. They have their own wives to listen to. Why would voluntarily listen to me? Don't they have a game tivo'd or something?)

I don't know. They didn't say.

Normally, I wouldn't give a monkey's uncle, but it rubbed me the wrong way. Because looking at me cross-eyed these days rubs me the wrong way, but still. I'm honest about the fact that I'm tired, overwhelmed and parenting is hard and sometimes I overthink it making it harder than it needs to be and you think that's lame? Forgive me if my first inclination is to respond with, "Well, I think you're lame!!" But that would demonstrate that maybe I didn't really pass the fourth grade or learn anything the last twenty-seven years on this planet.

Instead, I will impart to you something I've learned. When we desperately wanted kids, I thought that no trial was as bad as being lonely and living childless. I'd hear someone complain about what seemed a minor point of life and think, "But at least you have kids!" I was selfish and so inward focused that unless someone was experiencing the exact same trial I was, then it wasn't as bad or didn't count. Since then, time has passed. I've been on the other side, I've met people with way crappier lives than I pray I will ever have and I've seen that lumps and bumps come in different sizes and packages. Our trials will not be lined up next to eachother and compared. We will be compared against ourselves and how well we endured, responded, and what we did with them. Nine times out of ten my response is to get snarky, sarcastic, and then blog about it. Then I feel better. If you think that's lame well, "Your Mom!" "Bite me!" and "You're not invited to my birthday party!"

Wise Words

2011-12-11T21:40:00.000-08:00

No matter how unique, how individual, and how independent you'd like to be, really everyone just wants to feel normal.

Magnify this by a kajillion and everyone just wants to think they're kids are normal. That this "stage" is just a stage and it will pass. And with any luck the whole drama and worry and angst of it all will drop out of your head and you wont remember at all what it was like to be tired, and worried, and stressed.

You'll then become completely useless to other young moms only adding additional worry and stress to them when you run into them at the park, in the pre-school parking lot, and especially at church. Because your children always slept through the night, never had public melt downs, signed five hundred words, always say please and thank you, and most especially sat through an entire hour of Sacrament without screeching, pinching each other, or loudly commenting on where to find Jesus. They aren't entertained for three hours with three crayons and some lined paper? Sheesh.

With all this not-so-helpful advice from perfect parents raising perfectly behaved kids, it is easy to slip into a "Man, I suck at this" state of mind. This can quickly morph into a "Man, this sucks!" state of mind, when really it doesn't. It just is. And most of it is normal. And even if it does for a little while, it passes and you completely forget. Have you not ever gotten parenting advice from an empty nester? Their minds are wiped.

At some point, the zombie years end and you are slipped a magic brain wiping happy pill that only lets you remember sweet first words and chubby cheek kisses. Overnight they become "the best years of your life."

There are a few women who (blessedly) retain their honest, and realistic approach to parenting. It is one of these skillfully imparted and actually helpful!! bits of wisdom that I've been clinging to as I look on my near future and think, "How am I going to do this?".

"Having a toddler in the house is a perfect time to have a newborn. The newborn keeps your heart soft so you don't kill your toddler."

Amen.

Can you hear me now?

2011-12-05T18:55:00.000-08:00

I talked to God while I got ready for the day. I would drop off Scrunch at pre-school, then drop off her carseat at the friend's who'd be picking her up, then go home and bathe Porkchop, and take him to his follow up with Dr. Gere. Easy enough.

And as I got ready to head out I remembered how much I did not miss heading down to see Dr. Gere every week since Porkchop was 16 days old. I remembered pumping in the car. Good glory how I hated pumping. I scheduled him another follow up and an audiogram and was so relieved that this would just be a quick follow up. He would do a fitting of the appliance and maybe take a new impression and we would come home and pick up Scrunch. Man, I'm tired. Ugh, I hate appointments. Which reminds me, I need to schedule him a speech eval. I told God all of this in my bathroom and I cut a deal. Please, please, please can this next baby be boring? No court dates, home visits, drs. appts, or surgeries. Can next year be boring, boring, boring?

On the way home, we talked again in the car. My side of the conversations went like this...

"DID YOU NOT HEAR A THING I SAID?!?!"

And it was quiet. He heard me, but has other plans.

I had four milestones that needed to be met.

Halloween.
Thanksgiving.
Christmas.
Scrunch's birthday.

And then I could have this baby.

Now, I will be adding my husband leaving the country and the biggest, baddest of them so far- surgery for Porkchop. Because who doesn't want to put their 18 month old in arm restraints and syringe feed them for two weeks just weeks before giving birth?

What would I do with boring anyway?

Sunday Memories: Does Santa Deliver?

2011-12-04T22:07:00.000-08:00

I remember wanting a troll doll sooo badly one year. I wasn't the kid with forty-three of them. I probably had a couple of them already, but I wanted a big one.

Santa delivered. And she had bright pink hair.

It is this memory that softens my disappointment over Scrunch's latest declaration.

I asked Scrunch what she wanted to tell Santa she would like for Christmas. Since I'm sleeping with Santa, I already told him and it is packed away with the other packages she didn't even know she wanted, waiting to be wrapped. Thinking I was doing myself a favor, I am almost done with all the Christmas shopping. Yesterday she saw Santa for the first time and she did NOT ask him for a crab. She asked him for a furry pink kitty. Call me a slacker mom, but that one was not on my radar.

I tried to talk (o.k. trick) her out of it.

"So....What did you ask Santa for?"

"A furry pink kitty."

"But I thought you wanted a crab?"

"No, I want a furry pink kitty."

"But you said you wanted a crab. Now what if Santa is confused?"

"No, no Mom. I've got to tell you something. He can't be confused. I only told him I wanted a furry pink kitty."

Damn. She's good. And right. She only told me she wanted a crab.

"But Scrunch you have a kitty. Remember? What about Marie?"

"No. She's white. I asked for a pink kitty."

"Marie has a pink bow."

"No, her skin and fur have to be pink. I will go get her and show you." She promptly returns with Marie.
"See?" picking her up by her fur. "It's white. This is not pink, Mom."

"But Scrunch, kitties aren't pink. Kitties come in lots of colors, but not pink."

"That's why I asked Santa for one."

***
I lamented this to my Husband in my It's the Holidays and I'm Seven Months Pregnant Hormonal Way. You have to love him because very matter of factly he came up with a solution. "She has a white cat right? I'll go buy a red towel and do the laundry."

C is for...

2011-12-02T01:20:00.000-08:00

In Scrunch's pre-school class they rotate being assigned a letter and then taking something in to share that represents that letter. She was assigned the letter 'C'. (Yes, it's December and they are on C. They don't go in alphabetical order. Who knew there was a developmentally more efficient way to learn letters based on their shapes than just sequentially like traditionally is done? Not me. And that's why I pay them the big bucks.)

Sharing at school is a big deal. At least in her little three-year-old world. We practice over and over what the letter is and what it is she is going to share. And then even though it was supposed to be 'C' she was hell-bent on taking her Mickey Mouse from Grami and Gramps in to share. I had three seconds of clarity that morning and we made it work.

C is for Character.

And then, because I am a Mormon woman and my mother's daughter, it's not done till it's overdone.

C is for Characters riding in the Car to get their Christmas tree and Cider and then putting it up while they eat Churros.

What is it about this time of year? Crazy? Not yet. Closer? Most definitely. Crunch time? Um, yes. I'm not even going to try and play Catch-up. Thanks to my Aunt for posting the recent trip pics.

Itinerary

2011-11-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

We ate, drank, and were merry (most of the time).

We also took our first trip to Urgent Care. Met the new soon to be in-laws. Stayed up too late. Woke up too early. My faithful and die-hard blog reader finally met Scrunch and Porkchop in person and discovered that oh, yes she really does have that much personality.

And the highlight of the trip?

Scrunch finally got to meet her "Ez-zah-wa!" She likes him more than popcorn, more than Gwen, and sometimes more than Mommy.

I will be gathering up the pictures over the next few days. In the mean time, this is my reminder. There's also a menu that went with each event. Oh, did we ever eat!

Tuesday- Travel Day

Wednesday- Kids's Pictures, Set up for Thursday

Thursday- Thanksgiving

Friday- Disneyland

Saturday- Ezra's Blessing

Sunday- Forgo the nap and came straight home.

My Apologies

2011-11-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

To Porkchop:

You really didn't stand a chance.

Your mother was a nerd. Now she's just a mom in purple glasses.

Your father is a nerd. He's an engineer at a company where they play speed chess in the cafeteria. No, really. I've seen it.

You have an older sister who likes pink with sparkles and asks mom to buy clothes with 'that pretty spots' (Cheetah print).

Don't expect to be voted Mr. Popular in High School or anything, but we really like you!

I love a list.

2011-11-15T13:36:00.000-08:00

I am in the camp of those who feel that if you're already blasting Christmas music you need to get a hobby. Trust me, if you had more hobbies you would know that IT'S NOT TIME FOR CHRISTMAS! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR IT TO BE TIME FOR CHRISTMAS! But then again I have an Elton John station on my Pandora list. What do I know?

Oh, I take that back. I could listen to a good rendition of 'Oh, Holy Night' just about any time of the year. These guys can even come sing it at my birthday party.

Try as I might, even I am not strong willed enough to resist the gravitational pull of the Christmas Craziness. So I've started my lists and I'm checking them twice...

To Do Before I Leave Town Next Week
Finish the computer armoire
Finish painting the end tables and hutch
Clean out the fridge so I can put the bulbs in
Make the Pilgrim, Indian, and Turkey hats for the kids
Wrap presents for the exchange

December 3rd Deadline
Sew up these stockings.
Tree up and lights on the windows
Mail out of town packages
Mail Christmas cards
Plant winter garden

Before Christmas
Caramel Apples
Make the tree ornaments
Finish the collage wall in dining room
Sew dining room curtains
Begin craft room overhaul

Kids' Christmas List
Finish the train table
Order the trains
Sew capes, masks, dino tails, and crowns
Order Scrunch's book
Buy Porkchop's jammies
Needle felt the frog
Knit the turtle
Come to grips with the fact that as much as I love handmade, natural toys, Scrunch really, really, REALLY wants Santa to bring her a pretty pink hermit crab with polka dots.
Cave and give Santa the go ahead on the cheap, made in China, plastic crab with itty-bitty pieces that I will loathe, but will keep the belief in Santa living in a child's heart forever.
Wrap it up and call it good.

2011-11-14T07:16:00.000-08:00

A wise man passed along some words of wisdom through a friend.

"A woman has one of two problems in this life. She either has children, or she doesn't."

And Boy! Ain't that the truth!

In the same week that Porkchop had the stomach flu, an ear infection, and teething right into his cleft, I started working from home. Both a blessing and curse. I wanted to flip out. And blog. I could tell you a story or two about my vericose hooha veins and lack of sleep, but I also finished listening to The Dovekeepers that week and was reminded (as I folded my laundry while these women crossed the Dead Sea) that I could have it so much worse. That my life is easy.

I know I'm not the only mom among my friends who walks the line between "keeping it real" and constantly moaning and kavetching over the little realities of life. I am still baffled by the amount of my capacities that are consumed by cleaning up poop. Who knew there would be so much poop?!

Over the weekend I learned of the passing of two acquaintance's children, one at twenty weeks and the other four years old. I felt sick and wanted to cry. Both for their loss but also because I was a beast trying to get ready for church on Sunday morning to the extent that my sister reminded me it actually was a rarity for even tigers to eat their young. I cried for their loss, but also in guilt for my ingratitude.

As I sat in Relief Society I felt it hit home. The universal truth. This life is a preparatory state where we are called to endure trials at different times and of different magnitudes so that we may learn those things that will be essential to our salvation. Who knew that the summation of these trials as a woman would fall into one of two categories. You either have children, or you don't.

2011-11-11T05:30:00.000-08:00

I remember watching Barney as a kid.

OK, I admit it. I watched part of it last week.

And I still remember some of the songs!

"Sally, the camel, has two humps! And two chins!" "Sally, the camel, has two humps! And two chins!" "Sally, the camel, has two humps. And two chins!" "So ride, Sally. Ride. Boom, boom!"

Clarity

2011-11-10T23:39:00.000-08:00

My prayers of late have been that my mind might be clear. That I might be able to focus.

(Yes, Annelle. I pray.)

The "no one is talking to me right now" "no one is crying" "no one is asking me why? or what will happen?" or "what's the guy in the check out lane's name?" moments are few. And when I get them I want to zone out and do something fun like Google Christmas present ideas and blog surf. Or do nothing.

Instead, I bargain with myself over my free time. If I work for an hour or read a chapter, then I can wishlist on Amazon. And I am very generous with myself. I even let myself eat too much Halloween candy for breakfast. Definitely too generous as I'm not as far along on my History class as I would like, but my Christmas shopping is almost done. It is easier (and more rewarding) to work and get paid for an hour than it is to write an essay on how Greek thought influenced our Puritan founders.

As the months get closer to my self-imposed deadlines, I am getting smarter. If it is quiet, get to work. This is how I learned my lesson...

As we drove to Church I thought I might write part of my essay in my head. Then Scrunch broke into my thoughts.

"Mom, are you pumping?"

"No. I'm not pumping."

"Why is it quiet then?"

"Mommy's thinking."

"How come you don't pump any more?"

"Uh. huh."

"Mom! Why don't you pump?"

"Porkchop doesn't need the milk from my body anymore."

"Oh. Cuz he drinks regular milk."

"Uh. huh."

"Yep. He drinks regular milk."

"Uh. huh."

"So, did the milk man's move out of your nipples?"

"Huh. What?"

"DID THE MILK MAN'S MOVE OUT OF YOUR NIPPLES?!?"

And so, you see, without my prayers I haven't got a snowballs chance in Hell in writing an intelligible essay.

Out and About

2011-11-08T05:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we get dressed in something besides our paint scrubs and go places. I don't know what the point was. At least the paint scrubs are comfy.

Occasionally, we kick it up a notch and put on tights. I would have done my hair, but I worked that day. I don't get fancy for the sickos. Hair and tights are reserved for Sundays.

Scrunch's favorite outing was to see Beauty and the Beast. The look on her face while watching was the reason I wanted kids. She was just so happy.

"What did you do today?"

"I played, and played, and played, and went to a play."

Butcher Block Dreams

2011-11-07T07:25:00.000-08:00

This one time, someone listened to me.

And it totally worked!

Wait...

Hold that....

No. It not only worked, it looks awesome!

A new dishwasher led to new countertops. New countertops to the backsplash (my idea), the new backsplash to painting the island. Ahem, my idea again. Painting the island to the butcherblock. What's that? Another one of my ideas?

What I'm trying to figure out is why they are still giving me a hard time about re-hanging the wallpaper, finishing the living and dining room painting, and making two Craigslist pickups in a single weekend. Just because my version of simplifying my life includes working more hours, from home. I needed an office space.

Sometimes, some of my half baked ideas work out. Obviously. I have a track record. There was that one time... butcher block was brilliant.

I don't have any pictures of my parent's update. But I liked it so well, it's what I'm hoping I get for my next birthday. That's why I suggested it. I wanted to see if it would work before I took a sledge hammer to my own kitchen island. My husband is very tolerant of my painting anything I want, but he is a little leery of me with a sledgehammer. And who can blame him, really?

Text

2011-11-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

When my sister Erica got engaged last week, the text went out. "It's official. I've got a ring! And I texted you all at the same time."

Within two minutes I got a call from Jess. "Have you heard from Erica? She's not picking up."

"No. I just got her text. Have you talked to mom?"

"Yeah, but it's not her. I wonder where she is."

We chatted for a few minutes. "If you talk to her, call me."

"OK." and continued chatting.

"Oh, hey! I'ts Erica. I'll call you back."

So I called Mom.

Then I talked to Erica and got the story from her. She had been on the phone with Miqui.

Then I got the story again from Miqui, The Youngest.

The following morning I heard it again from Jess, just to make sure I'd talked to Erica.

And that's how we roll.

I hope Derrick knows what he's getting into.

Congratulations Aunt E and soon to be Uncle Possum!

You have some shoes to fill. My other brother in law lets me dress his son and Great Dane for Halloween.

The Aftermath

2011-11-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Halloween.

I love it because...well, it's Halloween. You can decorate with purple glitter.

I hate it because...well, let's just say no Mother invented Trick or Treating.

Still, it has it's benefits. The high fructose corn syrup and artificial food coloring has done wonders for Porkchop's vocabulary. In the last week he's picked up "Pleeeeeease!" and "Tank-ou!" consistently, "Treat," and "Cupcake."

***
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

Heroes in a half shell. Turtle Power!

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T14:45:00.000-07:00

Jack and Sally.

These are not their costumes, just what they wore to school this morning. And Porkchop only to school and the store, but not since. Apparently there was a hidden piece of chocolate in the door. He found it. Ate most of it and then fell asleep on the rest of it.

Happy Halloween!

And may all your chocolate stains and Nerdy drool dribbles make it out of your laundry!

She's got spiders in her hair.

October

2011-10-30T23:59:00.000-07:00

The anxiety set in when a nurse at the surgery center asked me how old Porkchop was.

"Just shy of seventeen months."

"How much space will there be between him and your next one?"

"Twenty-one months."

And then it kind of donned on me. I have four months. Four months?!?!?!

We have Halloween. Check.
Then Thanksgiving.

Then Christmas.

Then Scrunch's Birthday. I have to make it to Scrunch's birthday!

Maybe, just maybe I will get to see David Garrett in concert and Valentine's Day.

And then I will fall into the black hole of newborn-ness.

Holy Crap! I only have four months!!

All of sudden I got itchy and twitchy.

We've got to get things done! I've got to get things done!

I sat down with my husband and we talked about what we could realistically accomplish on the house. Starting with tearing out the last of the tomatoes. Yes, we still have tomatoes in October. I hate tomatoes.

I am (so help me!) going to get my internship credits counted and the two classes I have left finished before this baby's head crowns. So help me! I will no longer be a BYU statistic. A woman who left college before completing her degree to have a family. Before I need a Minivan, I will have the piece of paper that qualifies me for ten dollar an hour jobs that are no-where to come by. You can see why it hasn't exactly been on my radar. But I'm going to do it. So help me!

I have timelines and to-do lists. Christmas shopping and crafting is carefully plotted. I keep swearing that I am going to sit down and put my feet up. I am going to spend more time knitting while the kids color. And then I hear myself say, "Sure. No problem. I'll take care of it." Then I stay up until midnight watching NCIS with Miqui and John. It is always on and neither of them like House Hunters International. We're tying leaves to the eighty invitations I have just committed to drop off by 8:00am on my way to work.

Self-imposed madness. I am a professional.

I smarted off on Facebook that I did not understand people who did not want to live in California. I don't take it back. I can't picture ever regretting saying it. While the rest of the country is carving pumpkins in their turtlenecks, sipping cider, and stockpiling wood for the winter, all things that I love, this year I opted out. There is not a price tag on my sanity. Ask my husband. For a few hours last weekend we had the option of running away to the beach and pretending it was still Summer. I've still got all the time in the world.

Bunkbeds

2011-10-27T23:38:00.000-07:00

In my dream I was trying to line up Elvis' eyebrows on two stencils so I could paint them onto a tote for Relief Society. Yup. Not sunning on a beach with the King himself, but stenciling a tote bag? Pathetic excuse for a dream. I woke up when I heard Miqui announce, "Your son is wandering around the house."

I opened my eyes to find Porkchop at the side of my bed grinning. "Hi Guy!" he says.

You can gauge the likelihood of returning to sleep by Porkchop's vocabulary. "Mo milk, mama." means there's a chance I might finish stenciling the remainder of Elvis' features. "Hi Guy!" means we're going to be up for a while.

I would let him climb in bed next to me, but when he cuddles he places his forehead right above my belly and wraps his arms around me like a tree. This morning when I layed down with him for a nap he reached up, grabbed my nose and yelled, "Honk!" Oh, and the baby doesn't respond to anyone like she responds to Porkchop. If everyone and everything is a phase then I am in the "Please, don't anyone touch me!" phase and He is in the "Just hold me!" phase.

Last week I decided that Scrunch and Porkchop will share a room. Since Saturday they have both done really well. As far as I know. His only clue is the stash of multiplying spoons.

These pictures are mostly terrible, but please note that Scrunch picks her own books to proudly display. To the right of 'The Old Woman Who Swallowed a Shell' is her favorite Spanish/English dictionary, and to the left of 'The Puppy Book' you can barely make out her Mandarin one. She can now tell her brother to 'Keep Out!' in three different languages.

Next year I make Halloween costumes in August.

2011-10-26T00:03:00.001-07:00

Friday Random

2011-10-21T16:03:00.000-07:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year. I've downloaded two audio books. The Dove Keepers and Little Bee, for twenty hours of listening pleasure while I sit at the sewing machine and turn out four costumes. Hint: Cowabunga Dude!!

I would love to get to these this weekend.

In the spirit of full disclosure you should know that I am much better at planning menus than carrying them out. We had Del Taco one night after going to get our eyebrows waxed and Husband and I had Chili's for date night while the kids and Miqui got enchiladas. They were good leftovers though and I fully endorse the shrimp tacos at Chilis.

Scrunch wanted to go in with me while I got my brows waxed. I learned my lesson. Playing 20 Questions with a three year old during a wax job is torture certain government agencies should consider.

Scrunch has been full of all sorts of little comments and conversations lately. I need to write a post about them so I don't forget. As a reminder to myself.. she asked me if the Milkmans moved out of my nipples and told me the GPS lady didn't know what she was talking about.

Don't buy real pumpkins. Porkchop thinks they should bounce. They don't.

My husband is going to be so excited to find out that I would like the new bunkbeds I got on Amazon put together this weekend. At least he will be if he reads my blog. He should really read my blog before he comes home, just so he's not taken by surprise. I think a Saturday football game is a perfect time to put together bunkbeds, don't you?

I wish my HOA would let me have chickens.

Wearing a muumuu makes me do weird things.

2011-10-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

This was my weekend outfit.

I know, I know. It makes you want me more. But I'm very married.

I do mean all weekend. Does that add to my appeal? I can almost put my hair in a pony tail. With about a bazillion bobby pins and if it's just greasy enough. Se-xay!

To complete the picture of utter domesticity, I cooked. Weird I know. And painted the front door. Some of the cooking was done while I painted the door. In my blue muu muu. Cheetah flip flops. And pony tail.

Crockpot pozole with homemade enchilada sauce made with homemade tomato paste. Sausage corn muffins for breakfast, and a tray of cheese enchiladas with more of my enchilada sauce.

The week's menu...

Monday: Kale, Broccoli, and Tofu stir fry served over rice. The kids gobbled this up. They like tree stars and tofu. What can I say? They've been born and raised in Northern California. Bound to eat at least one vegan, gluten free meal at some point.

Tuesday: Cheese enchiladas. I used the remaining enchilada sauce not the creole seasoning.

Wednesday: Tempura pork medallions with tempura veges

Thursday: Spaghetti Night

Friday: Sweet and Sour Meatballs in the Crockpot

Saturday: Bean and cheese tostadas with tomatillo green sauce

Sunday: Peach crepes. I like having breakfast for dinner on the weekends. It feels like less cooking.

Sunday Memories

2011-10-16T21:13:00.000-07:00

Remember getting ready to go out at 9pm? Staying out till the next morning? And then being ready to do it again the next night?

That seems like a lifetime ago. I've been ready for bed since 7:15.

Night.

Beat the Doldrums

2011-10-14T15:07:00.000-07:00

I am in a bad mood.

I blame Caillou's mother mostly. Because I don't really have any other reason.

I walked into the room in time to hear her say, "Congratulations Caillou! You've found your first fallen leaf. Here, let me put that in your scrapbook."

And I thought, "Well, apparently I suck." I haven't scrapbooked newborn pictures from the hospital and I would tell them to keep the leaves outside. Never in a bajillion trillion years would scrapbooking enter my mind. But then I thought, "No you suck. Your kid is the whiniest, baldest, most annoying five year old on the planet, so what do you know anyway?"

"Scrunch! Do you want to watch Aristocats instead?"

That was three days ago.

It must be something in the air because Miqui has them too. We tried combating them with shopping last night which turned out to be the most pointless excursion ever. If HomeGoods and Target can't deliver what's a girl to do? I came home with a Sprite and nausea. I wish we'd gone for a pedicure instead.

What I really need is a good book. A really good book. Nothing beats the doldrums like a good book.

***

What I've read lately and if/why I liked it.

Tina Fey's BossyPants- I liked it, but mostly I think because I listened to it. I might not have liked it as much had I read it. No one does a Tina Fey rant like Tina Fey herself. Oh, and I thought some of her perspectives on homosexuality and feminism were pretty brilliant.

Sarah's Key- Meh. It had some good parts, but mostly..meh.

The Tailor's Daughter- Good until about two thirds through and then I didn't care about the characters anymore.

Between Husband and Wife- Great book. A must read, but it is non-fiction and not the best for escaping let's say...a bad mood.

Ponies- Eerily true and profound. It'll take you less than ten minutes to read.

Match Me If You Can- Totally trashy read. But I laughed and liked it. Shamefully, I liked it a lot.

Follow the River- Best book of my entire recent reading! Read it in two days. But then again Dances With Wolves has been my favorite movie since I was six.

Currently on my Going to Read list...

Bubba and the Dead Woman
Modoc
One Thousand White Women
The Thirteenth Tale
Little Bee

Any other suggestions? I'd take recommendations for a decent chick flick too.

Perks

2011-10-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

Raspberry creme filled chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting as a mid-morning pick me up. Which I didn't have to bake or do the dishes for.

Afternoon naps as needed.

One on one combat help when taking the kids to a buffet.

She only rolls her eyes when I ask her to get the latest Craigslist acquisitions out of the car, but does not drop them.

But maybe most importantly...she taught me short cuts to zippered box cushions and encouraged yards and yards of piping.

Everyone should have a Miqui. And a twenty dollar sofa slipcovered with a paint tarp. Go ahead, spill that chocolate cake, should you be so lucky as to have some. And maybe a couple of newly refinished bentwood rockers, a witch pillow, and some dog pillows because you can't get enough of sewing piping and zippers.

I've been sitting in front of the sewing machine rather than my computer. Should be done soon.

2011-10-11T21:12:00.001-07:00

Check-in

2011-10-06T23:57:00.000-07:00

I joked on Facebook that the next Disney sequel should be Stitch Goes to Surgery. I could write the screen play. It looks a lot like this...

17 month old boys should be exempt from any sort of surgery. It is hell. Because there's a lot of expensive stuff in those surgery centers, and if they aren't sick they are running at full speed. So you hold him down with one hand, and then completely ditch the idea of the camera. And then comes the Happy Juice.

Tuesday, Porkchop had new tubes put in. It is a minor procedure, but he has to have general anesthesia and be hungry most of the day. It was really no big deal. I even had Husband stay with Scrunch and I just took him down by myself. The worst part of the whole day was the "MEEEE EAT!!!!" tantrum that he threw in pre-op. Oh, Heavens! I thought I had an active girl, and then I had an active boy.

There is a part of me that kind of likes these little check-ins with our team of doctors and nurses. They ooh and ahh over how big he's getting, how well he's doing. And then there's Dr. S. He always tells me what a good mom I am, and pats my arm and asks me if I'm okay. He is a gifted surgeon, and I love him.

On a scale of 0-10 of things that can go wrong with a kid, a cleft lip and palate ranks rather low here in the U.S. But it's kind of nice every once in a while to check in with the folks who know just how hard we've worked and how far we've come. They know we still have the worst surgeries ahead of us, so they keep us happy and are super nice. Because we'll be back.

I got a little bristly with the picture taking chick at Picture Day last week when she asked me if I wanted Porkchop's scars Photoshopped out. Um, no. Honey, we've earned these.

I needed a little bit of fun.

2011-10-04T02:50:00.000-07:00

I got the dates on the Calendar mixed up. So glad I took that nap, even if it cost me five grand, so I could still be awake at 2:50 a.m. to realize it. I should have stayed home to finish one of the umpteen projects I'm in the middle of, but I needed to get out. My husband was more than willing to help me out with that one. He didn't want to see what it actually looks like for me to jump out of my skin. Some people glow during pregnancy, my ADD gets worse and I get twitchy.

I twitch, therefore I knit. It is the only cure I've found that works and I haven't been doing enough of it lately so I responded to the call.

1200 Knitters Wanted!

Registration Form for Knitting World Record Attempt

Thank you for your support and commitment for our attempt to break the most knitters

in one place world record! Please complete and return the bottom half of this form to confirm your place in the record attempt.

The record is for the largest group of knitters knitting simultaneously in one place

for 15 minutes. Please bring yarn and two needles (no circular) to knit with.

Please place yarn in a bag. If you stop knitting for any reason you will unfortunately

be disqualified from the record attempt.

We weren't even close. There's always next year. The kids had an awesome time though. For the love! Someone buy these kids a farm!

Saints be saved! My Conference Report

2011-10-03T21:59:00.000-07:00

Once, I told my mother-in-law that if there was no food in Heaven then I didn't want to go.

If everything we do and say is really recorded by the angels, that one might come back to bite me in the butt.

If I was pure in heart I could with good conscience report that I was so looking forward to Conference in order to feast upon the words of the Apostles as a balm to my needy soul. Instead, my slightly irreverent nature forces me to honestly report that I was so looking forward to a good excuse to sit down for a few hours with nothing to do but knit an overdue Yoda hat and play with my Martha Stewart glitter.

If I go to Hell its going to be for licorice, a Star Wars costume, and a little bling on the front porch. Heaven be merciful! If not, I shall be sitting between J. Golden Kimball and my Dad, who always jokes that I can sit next to him in Hell.

Fitting that Sister Dalton's should be my favorite talk. Remember that time you came to pick me up? Yeah. Thanks for that.

We made it!

2011-10-01T01:11:00.000-07:00

On the last day of his trip the kids and I left the house at 7:30am with curlers in our hair. I got us to Erick's pre-op appt., picture day, lunch, and a field trip- all on time! I was feeling good. Late that night I got an unexpected phone call from Husband that they had hurried and were on their way home a day early. Sweet hallelujah! We did it. With the help of my sister I managed my two little monkeys and my uterus hog, and he hiked 165 miles in nine days! Bring on #3!

Tonight I hit the wall.

I fell asleep in the car on the way home from Costco and don't remember a thing since. No worries. John was driving. If I had married a more irresponsible man this might have been a tragic post because by the time I woke up, who knows where or what my kids would be doing. Instead the house was picked up and the kids tucked in their beds. Bless him!

One teensy, itty-bitty problem... I missed my deadline. Crappity, crap, crap! There is a big friggin' difference between 11:59 EST and 11:59 PST. I slept through both, but still...

I have been working on the kitchen in order to enter in a budget makeover contest. The winner gets $5,000 to their favorite home improvement store. Every time I have attempted to submit my entry this week there has been a problem. My picture files are too large, there are too many words (even though I know there aren't), Porkchop banging on the key board, I got busy and forgot, blah..blah...blah...Every couple of hours I've told my husband, "Do not let me forget to submit my entry." When I woke up with a start and demanded to know what time it was, I was crushed. 12:47 a.m. Oct 1. The contest has closed.

Not that I would have won necessarily, but...it would have been fun. You never know.

I know.

You feel so bad for me.

Do you feel $5,000.00 dollars bad?

Anyone?

Anyone?

I think my husband might be good for a new rug or a trip to IKEA.

I had better pictures, but now I can't find them. It might have something to do with feeling completely hungover, hormonal, and 1:08 a.m. Clearly, this was not meant to be. Keep in mind, it was all done with a little elbow grease, some paint, and some more cheap paint. My elbow will never be the same, and I charge at least five grand to help anyone pain their kitchen or their cabinets. Oh, who am I kidding? I am cheap and easy. I will help anyone for an afternoon of entertaining my kids, a Snicker's bar, and a freezing cold Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper with lots of ice. Forget your checkbook, but do not forget the ice.

Before

After

First Field Trip- The Firestation

2011-09-28T15:18:00.000-07:00

Halfbaked

2011-09-27T23:40:00.000-07:00

Lots of my ideas can be described as halfbaked. I can't stop them from flowing. If I thought things completely through I probably wouldn't even begin to take on half the projects I attempt. Or even post half the posts I do. Halfbaked it is. It is totally how I feel tonight anyway. Crusty on the outside, mush on the inside. I am like Jiffy Cornbread.

Yeah, I have no idea where I was going with that. My brain isn't completely engaged. Halfbaked. Appropriate, considering I'm 20 weeks pregnant. Pollywogallina is halfbaked, too.

I watched the third piece of wallpaper come crashing off the wall. Dammit all to hell and back again! I think I'm going to cry. I don't remember that happening in my mother's basement. Hanging the blasted wallpaper I got on clearance was the last project Husband and I did before he left on his trip. And at like midnight. He didn't complain. He was leaving the next day for eleven days. At one point he even said he kind of liked doing it. I'm thinking of texting him a picture of my recent calamity along with "don't quit your day job." But I wont in case it is the very first text he gets when coming off the mountain. He'll see it and turn around and start walking back in the opposite direction. We really need him around here, so I will keep my snarky texts to myself.

In case you missed it, my husband is hiking the John Muir Trail right now. It's kind of a big hiking deal. A notch in his outdoorsy-mans belt. Personally, I think the whole idea is a little... well, you guess it... halfbaked. But it's not like all my ideas are genius. We clearly have somewhat differing opinions on what is considered fun. He's obviously going to be kicking himself for missing my attempt at sewing a slipcover this week. I hope this halfbaked plan turns out. Some of them do. Thank goodness epoxying corkboard to the glass insert on the pantry door did. He isn't particularly fond of texts like, "Hey babe, could u swing by THD and pick me up a new pantry door?"

I sewed the faux dish towels out of napkins I liked and some fabric remnants. Woohoo! It worked.

Since Husband is pretty used to going along with my whims, I forget at how out of nowhere they might seem to some people. With my sister here she is frequently reminding me that I'm nuts. I don't know why she thought taking the kids on a field trip to the side of the road to pick weeds for the mantle in flip flops was a problem. She's coming around though. Soon I will win her over and she'll quit asking questions when I say, "I have an idea."

My almost free fall mantle. Rootbeer bottles from movie night, weeds on the side of the road, paint tarp turned banner from the garage, cheapo gourds from the farmer's market and my backyard, wah lah!

Further proof that buying eight bags of Dollar Tree fall leaves was not a halfbaked idea. Neither was the grape laden hideous topiary from Goodwill that looked like it came from the foyer of a nursing home. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with either, but now it's one of my fall favorites.

Bedtime Boogie Monster

2011-09-22T22:26:00.000-07:00

I am among the lucky few whose Husband does the bedtime routine. It is fabulous. I count myself blessed. Trust me. But it becomes a problem say, if he's gone for ten days hiking in the wilderness. We are all tired. We are all cranky from not having enough sleep. This is because my children are not scared of me.

I need a glass of water.

Okay.

I need another story.

Okay.

I need a hug and a miss (kiss).

Okay, okay, okay... until I think I'm gonna lose it.

I can yell. To which Scrunch yells back, "Quit yelling at me!! Why are you so mad!?"

I can calmly and rationally explain. To which she calmly and rationally out-explains me in return.

Round and round until she tells me she's tired and is going to bed and I bang my head against the wall.

I don't want them to fear me per se, but being afraid of me or what I might do if you get out of bed for the thousandth time might be a good thing. I am going to sit here and work on my "So help me if you get out of that bed one more time!! Face."

I know, I know. An effective wooden spoon comes with slats. Mine doesn't have slats, but I love my Pampered Chef wooden spoons all the same.

Begging....Pleading....

Bribery. I would never give my child a Snicker's bar for going to bed. No really. I wouldn't. Those are MINE for when she's finally asleep!

OK, so this isn't really working. All I am doing is scaring myself. I'm sure it is not having a single effect on my sternness as the bedtime enforcer. I didn't think it would. I'm just trying to avoid going through the pile of crap sitting behind me in all the pictures.

Prepare to be amazed!!

2011-09-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

Family Room Before

Family Room After

This has been my labor of love for the last few months. We've done all the painting, woodwork, flooring ourselves. I sewed the curtains, the roman shades, and reupholstered the ottomans. Clearly I'm hormonal, but looking at the two pictures like that...I think I'm going to cry.

Remember Me

2011-09-20T22:02:00.000-07:00

When Mom called she set the record straight.

"I did not wallpaper 750 square feet of anything."

"It was just the two end walls. The rest was paint."

Huh? What? That can't be right. I even checked with Miqui and she remembers the wallpaper as much as I do.

On another day I might have been disturbed by the thought that much of my remembered childhood might not be true! How could this be?

But not today. Today I am pleased as punch that there's a chance my children might remember me more awesome than I really am.

'Mom fulfills special requests pulling out all the stops and all her connections.' Scrunch's only request was to see a lizard and a snake at the zoo, and by some miracle we showed up at the same time they were doing some exhibit.

'Mom always let us ride the train and carousel.' It was hot. Everyone was tired of walking, and if we hit the train and the carousel it would be easier to convince you it was time to go home.

'She always had her camera ready to take pictures.' No I didn't. It was my phone. These days everything is capable of taking a picture, crappy as they may be.

'Mom was always a master gardener.' By some weird curse all bloody twenty-four tomato plants took.

'Mom was always smiling in the kitchen and wearing her apron.' Once a year I stood for six hours straight stirring and peeling and making Heaven only knows what with all those damn tomatoes. And I wasn't smiling, I was gritting my teeth so I wouldn't cuss like a sailor when I stood up and smacked my head on an open cupboard.

'She always let us stay up and hang out on the couch while she finished working, waaaay past our bedtime.' I gave up. Papa was gone and I suck at bedtime.

The truth is...the truth. Lots less impressive. But with any luck, like generations before, in my children's eyes I will be awesome!

Sunday Memories

2011-09-18T23:27:00.000-07:00

My mother had pinkish-hued wallpaper in the basement of the Clearfield house. It must have been at least a good 750+ square feet. Looking back, I think she must have been out of her ever lovin' mind! Not so much as it was pink, but because I know she hung it all herself. My bowl scraper from the King Arthur Flour catalog is more likely to be used to flatten out wall seams than to scrape any type of batter from a bowl. I don't wonder where I get it. We just finished hanging wallpaper on one very flat, very square, non-basement wall, with help, and I don't care if I hang another sheet of wallpaper in my life!

"L" is for Llama

2011-09-16T23:08:00.000-07:00

A Little Fun Goes A Long Way

2011-09-12T22:44:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep sitting on the bed waiting for Husband to finish the kids' bath. I was still holding the diaper and dental floss pick I was headed to the trash with when I woke up. After spending Friday night at the waterpark, then the arcade, colds and calling obligations Saturday, recovery Sunday, finishing the floors, school, the park, and Home Deal-o, I couldn't be more ready for a "day off" tomorrow. I've got three paint tarps, chevron fabric, and a pile of unfinished crap waiting to be turned treasure that I'm hoping to tackle. Scrunch needs the the low key day too, I think.

What did you do in school today?

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

What happened?

"I'm just too tired right now."

Sunday Memories

2011-09-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

September 11, 2001

I was on my way to take an English final at the High School. I first heard about it as I drove in my car. When I arrived at the school Karen my teacher let me take the exam in front of the television. I took the test while watching the plane hit the second tower. It was totally surreal.

If I remember right, Grami was visiting and "got stuck" at our house. That wasn't the same trip she backed down the on ramp was it? Jess, Erica, Miqui? do you remember that too?

Ahem...Excuse me while I get on my soap box.

2011-09-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I was asked to teach Relief Society. The lesson? Chastity. Oh, and by the way...the Young Women (meaning 16 and older) will also be joining us.

My initial response was to text my sister. "Guess which recently knocked up chick just got asked to teach the Law of Chastity in Relief Society?"

Her response? "Guess it's a good thing Chastity is more than just not getting knocked up."

And so, this got me really fired up. Because you know, she was right.

If anyone can give a scared straight, lay it on the line chastity talk that would scare the pants on you, I could. Come on kids! You do not want an STD on your face. The statistics? Oh, I know them. What's going on in America's high schools? Been there, studied that. And originally this was the direction I was headed in. But on the advice of a friend I got a copy of Between Husband and Wife. THIS IS A MUST READ!!!

In a religion where abstinence is taught, I don't feel like it's something that we talk openly and appropriately enough about. It is a damn shame! As a church we are failing ourselves, our marriages, and our children. Yes, I said 'sex' and used correct anatomical terms in the church and in front of the Bishop's wife. It did not catch of fire and she thanked me for my honesty and openness. In fact, the Relief Society President came to me in tears and said she had never heard a lesson on the Law of Chastity given that way. Not to pat myself of the back, all I did was talk about information that is already there.

We did not focus on the "don'ts". We already know what those are. We talked about "why?" Why is it so important that we understand this? Why is it so important that we teach it? Since then, a member of the Stake Young Women's Presidency has asked me for a copy. I thought I would share some of the highlights here. You've got to read this book. Between Husband and Wife. Do it. Now.

...

What we teach and the attitude that we cultivate should be that sex is SACRED, not Secret.

We need to have positive attitudes towards sex. That it is good, and beneficial in a marriage. Our peers and our children need to see that it holds a special place within our marriage, that is to be respected. And yes, even that we like it.

It is our God given responsibility to teach our children these principles. If you don't talk to your kids about sex, someone else already is. Use correct anatomical terminology. It is important that your kids be able to accurately describe to you what has occurred should they ever find themselves in an inappropriate or predatory situation. Not just when they are 13. When they are 3, 4, and 5.

There are least five DIVINELY ordained purposes for sex IN MARRIAGE.

1. to provide a profound expression of love

2. to bring emotional and physical closeness

3. to lift the relationship to a higher plan

4. to fulfill Gods commandment to have children

5. to experience pleasure and joy.

Only ONE of these is procreation for the sole purpose of bearing children. Our child bearing years are a very short period of our mortal lives. As someone who has experienced infertility, sex for the sole purpose of bearing children is not only stressful, but can be very damaging to a relationship. Sex can and should be fun. If it's not, there is room for improvement.

President Kimball taught, “It is the destiny of men and women to join together to make eternal family units. In the context of lawful marriage, the intimacy of sexual relations is right and divinely approved. There is nothing unholy or degrading about sexuality in itself, for by that means men and women join in a process of creation and in an expression of love.

In the right time, in the right place, and with the right purpose.

Parley P. Pratt “Our natural affections are planted in us by the Spirit of God, for a wise purpose; and they are the very main springs of life and happiness- they are the cement of all virtuous and heavenly society-they are the essence of charity, or love;...

There is not a more pure and holy principle in existence than the affection which glows in the bosom of a virtuous man for his companion.”

This is why is important. This is what we should be teaching our youth and cultivating withing ourselves. Not because you can get pregnant or get and STD, but because you do not want to forfeit yourself from having a relationship with someone you love that is based on communication, and trust.

Satan Wants Us to Break the Law of Chastity

President Packer stated, “The adversary is jealous toward all who have the power to beget life.” “He cannot beget life; he is impotent. He and those who followed him were cast out and forfeited the right to a mortal body”

They will be alone for eternity. This is why is cares so much! If he can stop of us from benefiting and using our God given powers then he wins!

Pres. Packer, “To willfully destroy a marriage, either your own or that of another couple, is to offend our God. Such a thing will not be lightly considered in the judgements of the Almighty and in the ternal scheme of things will not easily be forgiven.

Do not threaten nor break up a marriage. Do not translate some disenchantment with your own marriage partner or an attraction for someone else into justification for any conduct that would destroy a marriage."

We like to say that it is 'The World' and place blame on someone other than ourselves. That we have to protect ourselves and our families from “out there” but Satan is smarter than that. He is working on us and our families from the inside.

The obvious hard work that Satan is putting into destroying and distorting these doctrines shows just how important they are, but what are we doing to distort them.

What conflicting messages do WE send our Young Women and ourselves?

Do we say that it is “special”. Between two people who love eachother and are married. Unless it is Tues, Wed, or Thurs night and our favorite show is on and we're getting together with our girlfriends to watch. Where selling yourself out for one night is part of the game and then we call that “love.”

Do we ever stop blasting the music so loud that we actually hear the words and realize what it is they are describing in accurate detail?

We tell our girls that they should be admired and respected for more than their bodies. That they should fill their minds. What do they hear us talk about?

Do we tell them it is not just about your body and more than looks and then stand in the mirror and berate ourselves and all that God has given us? How often do your friends and Young Women hear us whine about our arms, our butts, our thighs, the width of our lips, shape of our eyes, and every other God-given part we are dissatisfied with?

When we are getting dressed and ready to go out with our girlfriends, do we want to BE beautiful or look sexy?

When we go clothes shopping do we throw our hands up and whine about how hard it is to find modest , decent and appropriate clothes or do we write to these distributors and tell them We don't think this is okay. It works. A very trendy, popular clothing store pulled an entire line of t shirts with offensive and demeaning phrases aimed at young girls like “Does this shirt make me look fat?” They pulled the entire line because a group of moms said THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Do we tell our girls to wait for marriage, till they find a cute RM who can take them to the temple, where they will make covenants with GOD. Unless it is that ONE dress for that ONE occasion and then it's okay to tuck your garments...

What confusing messages are we sending our girls. What confusing messages are we sending ourselves?

My kids are young. As they grow and learn and I have to teach them about these things, I hope I can impress upon them that it is MORE than not getting pregnant or an STD. It is about the benefit of having an intimate relationship with someone they love and who loves them. Worse than any moral sin is forfeiting themselves of the blessing that the closeness and intimacy with someone they love can provide.

I hope I can teach with unconditional love so that they will know that it takes strength and humility, and more strength to go through the repentance process. That there are few things you can do in this life where God and our Savior would not want us to turn to them. Worse than the sin is the guilt that Satan will use to stop us from repenting. Because then he wins again.

These things are Sacred, not secret. They are virtuous, lovely, praiseworthy, and of good report. They are blessings given to us by a Heavenly Father who loves us so we can have an opportunity to express love to the one person we are closest with. It is our privilege to teach and understand them.

Amen.

First First Day of School

2011-09-07T23:57:00.000-07:00

Today I..."Went to school."

What did you do?

"Played."

What else did you do?

"I picked up worms with a fork. But I didn't poke them. I just picked them up with it."

Oh. Good. I think.

Yes, apparently she LOVED the worms. Inny the inchworm is the puppet of the week for the letter "i". Inchworm = playing with worms??? She got a blue stamp on her hand. But it's not blue it's "iii-ndigo". You get the idea. And she loved every minute of it!

Mrs. A and Mrs. R

Today I...

2011-09-07T11:06:00.000-07:00

I have this great plan that when I pick Scrunch up from "school" I'm going to ask her what she did today and then record her response. My response will not be as "cute" "precious" or "Scrunch-like" as hers, but I thought my mom should know, yes I took pictures. Yes I signed up for my class. Scrunch isn't the only one. 'Cept no one bought me a pair of purple shoes to celebrate.

Sunday Memories

2011-09-04T23:20:00.000-07:00

The lesson in Relief Society today was on Family History. Usually these types of lessons make me cringe as I add to the mental list of 'Here's one more thing "to-do" and another way to feel like crap about yourself for not doing it'. Add two points for not even wanting to do it even if you could and time and money were not factor. Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

The suggestion was offered that you begin by documenting one memory each Sunday. I can do this! Then my mom turned to me and said, "This is why you need to keep up on your blog." And I felt super righteous for doing my geneaological duty. Because for the most part, the really juicy stuff makes it to the blog. Yes, this is as juicy as it gets. I'm matronly, and boring, and lack unusual piercings. You can feel sorry for me in my boringness, but as you will see- Don't mess.

When I vent and spout and spew this random crap, someday one of my descendants is going to care. Or at least they are supposed to. It is a scriptural promise.

Sunday Memory #1

I'm sitting in Mom and Dad's family room with a full view of the kitchen. The table might be different (we wont even go there), but I can't think of their kitchen without remembering all of us sitting around it one night when Jess yelled, "Here!" Fully expecting me to gently lob a nectarine in her direction, it didn't work out that way. I wound up, hurled it full force less than a couple of feet. She moved her hands and I broke her nose. Neither one of us have been able to live it down since. Just to clarify for any of our descendents who may hear an embellished version of this story...This was not the start of my pitching career. No scholarships were offered. But I would like a little credit for contributing to the straight nose she always wanted and eventually got after she broke it couple more times. I had nothing to do with those.

Don't Blink

2011-09-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

Fall 2010

Fall 2011

Llama, llama, I'm the Mama.

2011-09-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

Along with the "Seriously?" and "Congratulations!" I also get one of two reactions to my pregnancy.

"Are you out of your mind?! You already have a boy and a girl." or "Good. Now you're starting to catch up with the rest of us."

Oy. Why do we do this to eachother as women? I don't think the guys do this as much.

It is this unspoken pressure that you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't that's been grating on my nerves as of late. Oh, I know. You have to make the decision that is best for you and your kid, but EVERYONE seems to know what's best for your kid.

There are certain expectations and pressures we put on each other and ourselves as women. For most things, like haircuts, outfits, cars, carpet, and paint colors, I have no problem telling someone where to stick it if they don't like it, but when it comes to screwing up my kid? I take a little more pause. I would really rather not screw this up.

For weeks I have hemmed and hawed, waffled, and waved about what to do. And so, even though I had planned on homeschooling and am a full Homeschooling supporter, I don't believe it's for every kid and most importantly not for my kid. We signed her up for Preschool today. I also don't think every preschool is for every kid. In fact, I don't think every kid should even go to Preschool, but for Scrunch- its what she needs right now. Right now, she needs more than I can give her.

These are just a few of my reasons.

- She is FIERCELY independent but also incredibly imaginative. I have to pick my battles very carefully.
-She wants to learn to read sooooo badly, but she is so independent she doesn't want me to help her with it.
-I have two little kids, soon I will have three. All of them still need me to help put shoes on, go potty, etc. Trying to add school to the mix and feel like I'm doing a good job is more than I have in me right now. It wouldn't matter as much if I didn't have a kid who was already responding to my "I don't know why's" with "Mom! Why don't you know this?!"
-Porkchop has and will continue to need additional attention, soon I will have a newborn. I can't be everything to everyone.
- I am not a glowing pregnant type. I am still waiting for the surge of energy that was supposed to accompany my first pregnancy, and we'd like to have more kids. It's hard to teach preschool with the energy of a sloth. Those preschool teachers get paid to be peppy and God love 'em for it!
-Call me selfish but I like to craft, garden, knit, and I don't think I'll ever quit my job because I like it. All these things make me a better, saner mother. There are still only 24hours in the day.
- We have access to a highly qualified, highly trained, and prepared Pre-school less than five minutes away. The setting is amazing, their ratios 1:3.

The deal closer? They have a llama named Timmy and a horse named Cowboy. My husband wont let me have a llama.

As a P.S., I am not so shallow as to have been sold simply by the farm animals. I have several concerns about public education- least of which are concerns regarding what is taught, but rather how it's taught. My background is not in education, but I don't make any decision without a significant amount of research. She is attending Preschool, but we're still exploring our options for kindergarten. She tells me all the time that, "We're growing up. Riiight no-ow." Joke's on her. She wont even start till she's almost six.

Real Life (with commentary)

2011-09-01T22:16:00.000-07:00

I have this little white distressed tin bucket that usually sits on the bathroom counter. It's usually filled with...well, I don't really know why it's even in there, but it just is.

I happened to use that restroom and find the bucket sitting on the edge of the bathtub filled with... well, I don't really know what, but it just is. Pee? Shampoo? If I'm lucky, it's just the water Scrunch might have used to give some Little Person a bath. The Fisher Price variety not the TLC reality show.

I looked in, quickly finished my business, and left it still sitting on the edge of the tub. Bathrooms are on Mondays. Today is NOT Monday. Monday I hope to still be out of town. So, as long as it doesn't rust completely through the bucket making an even bigger mess, I hope to get around to dealing with it sometime before...??? Halloween? Yes. I can commit to dealing with this particular unexpected mess before Halloween.

That is the primary trouble with my grand plans. In theory, it was perfect. And for a whole five days it worked. But I neglected to factor in all the unexpected but 'don't have much of a choice but to deal with it' events in life. You know. Real life. Things like...

Working the weekend. Um, please don't use the lighter standing next to the oxygen tanks. Exact words I used, I swear.

Unexpected and required training two hours away. Hooray for paid drive time!

Midwifery appointments. Note to self. If you take your husband with you, he will tattle on you. But you'll also get the best name suggestion ever! A grand daughter of one of my midwives wanted to name their recent addition Pollywogallina. It didn't fly with her mom and they went with something else. I see this as making the name free game. Pollywogallina it is!

Optometry appointments. Oh yes, the Mayor is going to look oh so official in new purple glasses. And hopefully young and hot.

Four hour ordeals for a Surgeon's follow up. Hi, I know you're a wicked smart surgeon and all (and I will always love you), but are you daft? Dude! You don't bring us into the exam room just to give us hope and then leave us there for another twenty minutes. Not if you expect all those fancy, shiny, sharp and I can only assume expensive gadgets to stay sterile. He's 15 mos old. Complete torture! You owe me so big that I didn't use one of your tools to poke my eyes out. I only ate ice cream with cocktail flavored Jelly Belly's to console myself instead. And, I figure I need to be nice(r) since we'll be back in a couple of weeks and then again so you can put him under. Tubes are falling out. Time for new ones.

You know... the usual stuff.

It's just life.

And somehow factoring in keeping a spotless house is taking less and less of a priority. In a perfect world? Oh, sure. I'd love to. But in the real world there will probably always be some tin bucket filled with Heaven only knows what! And other stuff will just have to wait till next week.

If I had it to do over again I might have added "and wonky stenciling skeeelz", but what can you do? Obviously there are a few letters missing because I needed a 'do-over', but my little reminder is now printed on the chalkboard above the kitchen table.

I found more pictures on my phone.

2011-08-27T22:23:00.000-07:00

Random Pic From the Phone

2011-08-25T13:05:00.000-07:00

Ready? Break.

2011-08-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post yesterday. That is how on top of it I am this week. Yeah....Um...not really.

But I am determined to stay a little more on top of things around here. I have to. Because I can't be busting out hormonal tantrums every time the thought of doing dishes overwhelms me. So maybe the dishes did make me cry this weekend. But I'm deranged, give me a break.

This is my plan...

Daily-
Get dressed to shoes. She might be a little over the top for me, but I've got to admit FlyLady's got something with this one. Swimming suit totally counts as dressed, so long as we actually make it to the pool.
Dishes. Damn them. I hate em. Hate em. Hate em. I'd rather do ostomy teaching than do them.
Swiffer floors. Porkchop will gladly help with this one.
Two loads of laundry. Folded and put away. I loathe laundry almost as much as the dishes, but can now tolerate it, almost even look forward to it even, with my audiobooks.

Monday- Mom School, Mopping and Bathrooms
Tuesday- Craft Day, Bedrooms and Sheets
Wednesday- Dusting, Diapers, and Date Night
Thursday- Out and About- Work and Knitting Night
Friday- Fridge, Microwave, and Meal plan, Yardwork, More Mom School
Saturday- Family Fun Day
Sunday- Worship

I'll let you know how it goes.

Heaven Help Us

2011-08-21T16:26:00.000-07:00

Scrunch is sitting at her table coloring and carrying on a conversation with Captain Hook. Peter Pan and Charlie's names pop up every once in a while, but they're old friends who hang around quite often. I'm used to them. What peaked my interest was when I overheard her start to teach them about Jesus.

"Erick is NOT Jesus," she told them.

Ah, she's getting it. Proud Mama moment. Check.

I have been secretly hoping that my children will catch reverence like the cold they come home from nursery with, and that they will learn at least some of the Gospel through osmosis. I mean really, what would you say?

We actually arrived to church a few minutes before Sacrament meeting. Oh, why yes thank you, I would like a brownie badge. Skip the badge and just bring me brownies.

"Mom! Why are they covering up the food and drink?"

"Come sit on my lap and I will tell you. (This is where my heart begins to swell and I think we're going to have 'a teaching moment'.) When Jesus died they covered his body. The sacrament is a symbol of his body and blood so they cover it up too."

"Wait. Why did Jesus die? What was he sick with? Couldn't he just get better?"

"He died for our sins so we could return to Heavenly Father." (This is where I'm starting to catch on that perhaps this will not be the Shining Mother moment I am hoping for.)

"Well, I think they cover it so Jesus can't sneeze on it."

Oy.

I tell her to sit quietly and fold her arms, and wait for Papa to take his seat next to us.

"Hey Mom!"

"Shhhh. What?"

"Who's Jesus again?"

"He's our Brother."

"WHAT!?! ERICK IS JESUS?!?!"

I give up. I fold my arms and pray I do not pee as I struggle to contain my laughter.

Better luck next week.

Lost

2011-08-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

My poor neglected blog.

Kitchen floor.

Eyebrows.

And toes.

Because if you want to pity something for being neglected, my feet need a pedicure like you can't believe.

Things are good, I've just been lost in the Burmuda triangle of raising small humans. I move in circles through the day wiping up handprints, filling sippy cups, strapping and unstrapping car seats. Park Days, Pee Wee Splash, watching Papa play football. I re-instituted Craft Days and drove an hour to buy 12x12 sheets of chipboard, getting lost in traffic on the way home. Then last night Miqui and I ventured to the ghetto grocery store and really did get lost in the dark, in a less than desirable neighborhood, without! cell phone service.

And even though I feel tired and busy, I also feel grateful that I do not have school drop off, sports, dance, piano, or any other extra to add to the mix. We are in the "let's just keep everyone alive" stage wandering around, never to be seen or heard from again.

Scrunch is my Miami with all the drama, spice, and flair that the city has to offer. Porkchop my Puerto Rico. Mostly because it was the most 'boy' sounding of the trifecta. At 15 months this kid is all boy! We've learned (repeatedly) that glass does not bounce. His expectation in life is that it needs to bounce, growl, or be tackled. If he learns to climb, forget it! I will have to close down the blog for sure. My little uterine resident is Burmuda herself. Happy to be headed to the beach even if it kills you getting there.

The more I think about this little metaphor, the more I'm liking it. Motherhood- Full of it's shark infested waters and breathtaking sunsets. Or not.

My point is, I once was lost and I still haven't figured my way out.

Fake it till you make it!

2011-08-12T11:53:00.000-07:00

In terms of my homemaking abilities, on a scale of 0-10 with zero being a sloth and 10 being MerryMaids on roids, yesterday ranks about a two. I just could not get my act together. I spent the majority of the day lying on my bed, minus regular trips to pay homage to the porcelain God. The kids stayed in their pajamas and we ate my leftovers from my date the night before for lunch. I let my son eat chile verde enchiladas! with his hands! on my white spread! I let my daughter climb the shelves in the pantry to get her own pretzels. Encouraged her even! Cuz that's how chill I am. (wink) Replace 'chill' with lazy or desparate and that's a more accurate description.

I begged my husband to come home early and rescue me with a Coke Slurpee from across the street. I almost burst into tears when he arrived and told me they were out. I sent him back across the street around dinner time with the charge to return with five Whoppers. I again ate on my bed. I think my children ate. At least I threw away empty paper bags later and my kids usually make more than a peep if they miss a meal.

It sounds nice to spend a day lounging in pajamas doing nothing, but the reality is that it's only fun when there are fewer things that NEED doing. I could have spent several hours reading or knitting, but I felt guilty not having even done the dishes or even brushed my hair yet. Don't judge.

At 7:15pm I received a text that extended family we rarely see was a hundred miles away and would like to see us tomorrow morning. Somehow this morphed into me politely offering a place to stay for the night, not really expecting a response. Within minutes I was on my feet flinging garbage into a bag and running the hot water for dishes because ready or not, here they come! With the help of my husband and Miq we managed to wrangle my disaster into shape in time for them to show up an hour later. The bathroom was clean, the floor mopped, most of the handprints removed from the surfaces Porkchop's height. And it was all done even though I still didn't feel like doing it.

This morning I showered, dressed, bathed my grubby Gremlin, and started breakfast. With guests still here, I continued my charade and started the dishes directly following the meal. The last time that happened was probably the last time we had guests.

As we said our Goodbyes and closed the door, I practically raced to the bathroom to relieve my body of breakfast. I came back to the kitchen and husband asked, "Where did that come from?"

"I've been trying not to throw up for the last forty-five minutes."

"Really?"

"Uh huh."

"Well babe, you put on a good show."

Something about that last statement has nagged at me all morning. My husband is great and if he has expectations he rarely voices them. He picks up where I leave off in lots of cases, and maybe I haven't been fair. The truth is I can do better than I've been doing. If I can play perfectly happy house, complete with mom in an apron, for practical strangers my own family deserves at least half that effort even half the time. Even if I don't feel like it. Maybe especially when I don't feel like it. There might be something to this "Fake it till you make it!"

Ack! I'm practically on the verge of implementing FlyLady (for like the fifth time), aren't I? Maybe I just need to do more of the things I don't want to do, so when my energy/motivation does come back I can use to do more of the things I want to do. Guilt free.

Hello, my new best friend!

2011-08-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

We finally stopped calling him Uterus Hog. And I've forgiven him for not wanting to be my Birthday Buddy.

I call him E.Z. Ez. Razzmatazz. Neto. Spanglish for nieto. It works cuz his mom still calls me Netty. Porkloin. At two ounces bigger than Porkchop, it works too.

His parents call him Ezra Kent Peterson Meraz.

Cute little bugger, huh?

Booger.
Bug.

The options are endless.

It feels like a Monday but it's already Wednesday.

2011-08-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, during one of Macy's extraordinary sales, I picked up a new set of stainless steel cookware. I love it. It is quite possibly one of the best purchases I've made this year. It's so shiny. I love it so much that perhaps that is why almost every single piece is still sitting in the sink or along the counter top. Every single piece. I just can't bring myself to put it away.

Or I'm lazy and just can't bring myself to do the dishes this morning.

I pathetically even Googled "How to get motivated to do the dishes." More than a few results came up! And I started to think that perhaps I should do my part and write some completely asinine articles, or at least their titles so that just in case there are other women out there in my same position they would also have results when they turned to all-knowing Google. Just so they don't feel like they're the only ones.

"How to convince your three year old to name her Llama something besides Cocky."

And that's as far as I got because that's how very unmotivated I am today. Plus, it took longer than you'd think to compromise on "Peto."

All Is Swell

2011-08-05T15:00:00.000-07:00

I don't like ultrasounds. I think they are creepy looking. And they look like aliens. They are like farts and snot-nosed kids. Ewww and gross, unless they're your own. In which case, they are the cutest damn things you've ever seen!

Not only is our baby not a vampire, but it can dance. The whole time I lay there I kept playing this old forward over and over. What does that say about me? But the resemblance is striking and this video much more entertaining than our ultrasound DVD.

Cook, Cry, or Clean

2011-08-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

Dinner tonight was awesome. Really. I would not consider myself a cook, but it even looked pretty on the plate.

A vat of mashed potatoes turned Parmesan Salmon Patties with a salad of beet greens, roasted beets, candied pecans, feta cheese, and a orange juice/balsamic vinegar dressing. Also served with thinly sliced nectarines and blackberries. I candied the pecans myself, Booyah!

On the counter is my giant stainless bowl full of cucumbers pickling a la Abe's Delicatessen- to be served with top round roast turned roast beef later this week, a crockpot of homemade humus with plans for fresh pita bread, and THE best zucchini bread ever. Nothing says comfort like Paula Deen. God bless her and the Food Network!

I am hoping I puke it all up.

All of it.

Even the beets.

I've never done that before and it has the potential for looking amazingly gruesome.

The puking stopped three days ago. This would have been FAN-tabulous had I not had my first midwifery appointment where we were unable to "locate fetal heart tones." There are three (maybe four) potential explanations for this. 1) No heart tones= no baby and it was the two Klondike bars which have caused some rather sensational bloating. 2) My anatomy is making it difficult to auscultate the little bugger. 3) I can't count and I'm not really 12.5 weeks. And the 4th and quite possibly the most difficult to stomach) I'm going to birth a vampire who doesn't have a heart and then have to name it something awful like Renesmee.

Given a choice, I am obviously going to go with option number 2. We have decided to opt for an ultrasound. The potentially harmful sonic waves can be no more detrimental than marinading in a vat of fear and nerves for the next two weeks. We are scheduled for Friday. At that time we will have to consider whether or not we can afford to stop again for groceries, like we did after our last appointment. Besides the budgetary considerations, small talk with a polite but rather clueless checker can create for a potentially awkward moment of epic proportions.

"So, how was your day?"

"I had a tooth extracted and then we went to the midwife and found nothing."

He opted to smile politely instead and went with "fine". God bless my Husband, he really did have a crappy day.

I have bookmarked sites full of goodness I fully plan on revisiting later this week like stuffed zucchini, fresh basil pesto, and pumpkin bars. My newest, latest, and greatest theory is that when things get Crappy you respond with one of the 3 C's. Cook, Cry, or Clean. Never having tried it before, I've gone with the first. And I've been pleasantly surprised. Stress is abundantly more tolerable sauteed in butter and guilt is surprisingly more palatable dipped in chocolate.

My lifelong regret list is now two long. Alongside quitting the violin in 7th grade rests saying that I hated being pregnant. I'd take it all back if it would just come back up.

Brother and Sister

2011-07-30T23:58:00.000-07:00

My little stalker boyfriend is just shy of three feet and stands every morning pounding with both fists on the shower door, "Mam-mam! U-up! U-up, Mam-mam!"

If I leave his sight for more than a few minutes, from down the hallway I hear, "Hey! Mam-mam! Hey!" I respond with a "hey!" And quickly too because if I wait too long he will come looking for me and demand, "U-up!"

If he hears my phone ring he comes as fast as he can demanding I hand it over so he can talk to "Ga-ga!" "Ga-ga!" It doesn't even matter if it's not his Ga-ga, he has to double check. Just to be sure. If he is disappointed to not find my mom's picture on the face of my phone, he will push buttons until he can get it to come up. It has never really occurred to me not to give him the phone. I usually hide and whisper in the other room until he comes looking for me instead. It's very mature, I know. As a co-dependent participant in this relationship, I give in to him. Almost every time.

Scrunch, on the other hand, is not as enamored with his charms. She has no problem telling him what's what. Like on the Fourth of July when he started to whimper in his uncertainty about the booming above. "Oh, Baby Bubba! It's just fine. They're just loud lights!"

The ultimate Big Sister. She explains things to him so matter of fact. And the best part is, I think he listens. She still womps on him routinely and tricks him into giving up toys she wants, but she's such a little mother to him. He will hate it when he gets older, I'm sure. But next to her, I am chopped liver. If the "Mam-mam! "Mam-mam!" gets shouted down the hall, you should hear him wail if he can't find his "Kah-kah!"

The dude is so gaga for his Kah-Kah he probably hasn't noticed I'm not
there.

Park It

2011-07-27T10:44:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I shared a to-do list of things I wanted to accomplish by the beginning of the month. As I look over the list now, I go right over "Hmmm,I was feeling ambitious." and straight to "What the hell was I thinking?!!!"

All things being what they've been, what they are, and what they are likely to be for the next few months, I am going to give myself credit for prioritizing what was most important to me. The flooring in the family room is finished (minus some quarter round I'll probably paint and install the week before we sell the house ten years from now). And I made myself quite a comfy place to park it by finishing my outdoor pillows. This lends itself to my feeling much more productive than I've actually been because I have a perfect view of our garden. It's more productive than I'll ever be, and I have a nice shady spot to lounge and listen to my books on Audible while I wait for Husband to come home and rescue me. This explains my lack of blogging. I still don't like to do it from my phone.

I plan to finish the family room next week. My curtain fabric should be delivered today and then I'll go find the real camera to take pictures. I'll have to get up to do that. What did people do before their fancy phones? If it could dispense milk, snacks, and fold laundry I'd be completely replaceable. My phone wont sew the curtains for me, but I'll have help for that. The little bit of news that I was to share if I finished my list is kind of a mute point anyway because most of you already know. Aunt Miq is coming for an internship and will be staying with us until December! Yay! (This is where I would insert a joke about getting a SisterWife without having to share my Husband, but my Husband doesn't like it when I say that and my sister probably wont either when she reads it.) She'll have a full time job, but if she starts to get bored then I can keep her busy finishing up my lists. Heaven knows I'm good at starting them.

Just this week...

It's gone totally bonkers.

How Karma Works

2011-07-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

I was taken off guard by how bloody rude he was. I've dealt with my share of crochety patients, but Dude! Cut your nice, young nurse some slack! I puked in the car on the way over here. Does that count for nothing? And now it's taking all I've got to keep my fake nicey-nice smile cemented in place. Really, it's your leg. Wanna be a jerk? I can't care more than you care. At one point when he practically shouted at me, "What the hell do I care? Do whatever you need to do!" I actually had to remind him, "Sir, it's your leg." I kept calm throughout the entire two hour ordeal thinking to myself, "Karma. Karma. Karma. He will get his." And then, even though I could give the injection with my eyes closed, one hand behind my back, and underwater like those daring magicians, I might have missed the first time and poked him twice. Hard. Oops.

Unfortunately for me, that is not how karma works. She likes to manage her own business and when I felt the need to speed the process along, I left myself wide open. That night I came down with the flu and I swear it was the jerkwad's fault. He started it.

My time for redemption came less than a week later. I really, really, really did not want to go see this new patient. Ex-con, drug use, alcoholism, traumatic brain injury, depression, and living in a hotel. And not the Hyatt or even the Extended Stay America. A $39.99/night hangout not far from the river and not much of an upgrade from sleeping under the overpass. During the visit he mentioned that the only reason he didn't go back to sleeping along the river was because he knew it would take less than 36 hours for his arm to become re-infected, and this time he would probably lose it. I was scared going out there, and I was a little uncomfortable while I was there. But I was calm, and I make it a habit to treat all my patients the same. Whether they are the filthy rich attorney asshole from the week before or this poor homeless shlub. It is all about karma.

I really believe the Universe keeps track of stuff like this. Be nice, and most of the time the Universe is nice back. Sometimes really, really, really nice. I thank my good karma for finding these chairs along the side of the road while I was out caring for more poor shlubs today. Thanks for letting both of them fit in the car. Thank you for giving me the pleasure of making a return call to my sister. "Neener!" "Neener!" "Neener!" She mocked my buying orange velvet chairs off the side of the road, taunting me with stories of the poor old lady who might have died sitting in one. Thanks that I had the good sense to Google before busting out the spray paint and upholstery stapler. Turns out they are legit and worth a few hundred dollars a piece. They match my rug perfectly!

The pic of my new beauties was taken with my phone. They are not as garish-ly orange as they look. They are beautiful. And if you don't think so, well, we don't have to be friends.

2011-07-19T19:03:00.000-07:00

"To complain without offering a solution is just whining. Don't do it."

This, along with how to track hand me downs and store linens, was among the nuggets of wisdom picked up at my last knit night.

So, yeah. I guess I am about to whine about contracting the flu. But seeing as there is no solution for being so sick you just want to die so your hair will stop hurting, what's my alternative? Whine, whine. whine.

What's the rest of yous excuse?

All you whiners who complained about my lack of posting without offering a solution..?. Not one of you offered to bring me a case of kimchi, massage my piggies, or referee squabbles over the right colored markers so I could either rest and recuperate or post, making you all a bunch of whiners.

The only really helpful solution came in the form of a text.

"I'm heading to the State Fair. You know you want to!!"

I did, too.

So, we did.

And for a whole afternoon I felt like a normal person. The fair has magic powers. Or the Hot Dog on a Stick 42 ounce lemonade does. Either way, it was the least puking fun I've had in what feels like a long time.

The kids think anything with a corn dog, baby animals, and their buddy Spiderman (who yesterday spent most of the day as a Pirate) is a great time. My children think they are baby goats with the way they nuzzled and cuddled the little beasties. It worked to our advantage that I recognized one of the women who raised baby goats from our other goat fest a few months ago. She gave the kids handfuls of special grain so they could feed them. What can I say? We get around. My culinary skills might leave something to be desired, but I've got mad baby goat hook ups. Scrunch even cuddled a chicken.

I might want to go to the fair every day for the next two weeks. Or six months if we can convince them to stay.

2011-07-11T02:16:00.000-07:00

The autocorrect on my Ipad changes my name in an e-mail to Hammered. I don't know why it makes me laugh. Every time. I haven't gotten around to fixing it, but when I do I want it to auto correct to read 'Less Hammered, More Knocked Up.' It is not a very refined way to describe being 'with child' but man, it feels like an accurate description.

I am somewhere between trying to be grateful for the little blessing within and "Oh, my giddy aunt! What have we done!?" Even after everything...the years of infertility, the friends, the knowledge of loss, waiting, and wanting...I know people who would give a limb to be in my position. At one point, it would have been me. Ungrateful Wretch! Probably. Isn't that awful? I'm trying to be grateful, but I also try to be honest.

The feeling fluctuates from minute to minute as the puking pendulum swings throughout the day. It was especially awesome when Porkchop came to my side on the couch, pretended to gag and vomit, and then actually did gag himself and spew. I was Crappy Mom with a capital C right about then. Bah, what's new? I am in the running for Mother of the Year what with all the Word World we've been watching and laundry not being folded. Er... done. Even though the air conditioning is running full blast keeping things a balmy 68 degrees in my house, just knowing that it's 104 outside sucks the energy right out of me. I hope all that my kids remember about their mother from this summer is cartoons and ice cream sandwiches. That's not such a bad childhood, right?

My sister is about to pop out a little (but probably big) Dude any day now. As she prepares for labor my only advice was, "Labor is easy, compared to being pregnant!" I would labor once a month the duration of my pregnancy if I didn't have any other symptoms the rest of the time. Where do I sign?

Once, after finding out that I was a nurse and had a homebirth, someone asked me if I would ever want to be a Midwife. God love them! But I'm going to go with, "um...Hell to the no!!!!"

I cannot stand whining, moaning, pregnant women!

Me included.

I am not my best self right now. I am moody and irritable. Whiny, lazy, and lack any motivation at all. It might have little to nothing to do with being pregnant, but man it makes the best excuse.

July 7, 2011

2011-07-07T01:57:00.000-07:00

My husband likes the posts where I describe exactly what we're doing. What the kids have said. What we did. Where, and if, we ate. Of course we ate. That is what I, and inherently my children, do best.

This must be one of the differences between guys and gals. Or at least my husband and I. I do not wish to remember it exactly as it is. I will paint a rosy, glossed over picture in my mind. You can keep your reality.

But it's not my birthday. So I will oblige.

I hauled the kids to town so you could take them to the park while I went to the dentist. Then I took them birthday shopping which included two stops, and to the grocery store. Porkchop was cranky in the grocery store making me look like the worst mother ever! based on the stares. He was just tired, I'm not mean, I swear. I'm more than a little surprised she didn't spill the beans about your gift. We practiced singing 'Happy Birthday!' in the car today. The two of you practiced together this evening while we read stories before bed. You sing a mean version of 'Happy Birthday!' to yourself.

Scrunch told me this afternoon to, "Listen Sis, I'm the BossLady!" I was on the phone recounting the event to Holly and recouping some sanity when you got home. We ate cheap pizza for dinner and I fell asleep on the couch while you and the kids played outside in the sandbox. Scrunch woke me up at your request to show me the biggest zucchini you'd think you'd ever seen. You cooked it right then and we ate the whole thing. That might not have been one of our best ideas because there will be tons more where than came from and right now I don't care if I ever see a zucchini again. Don't take it personally, I feel this way about most things I eat lately. I am not the glowing pregnant type. That is not to say that I don't have a different aura about me, it's just more along the lines of the greenish hue Grimsby takes on in the opening scenes of Little Mermaid.

There is something funky going on with my body. I've tried to deny it all week thinking maybe it was my poor posture. After sucking it in all week and going to bed with my back killing me, I let it go today and there is no denying. I look like I swallowed a rather large grapefruit. I am not yet out of my first trimester and I'm shaping up to be the size of a whale. You love me, right? What about if I become the size of the house? maimed in a GoCart accident? scarred by nail polish remover?

Porkchop can walk, don't let him kid you. He just doesn't want to. Unless it includes terrorizing his sister by abducting her pink doll stroller and it's occupant, in which case he's all over it and practically runs through the house. This is made lots easier by the new flooring in the family room. They practically have a track to race around now. I'm sorry if you're still sore from installing it. There will be more where that came from. 500 sq. feet more, if my math is on track. You love me lots, remember?

You'll be getting a vacation soon. You're very excited. Two weeks backpacking. Now who loves who?

Tomorrow, I will try my best to convince Scrunch that we should make your cake something besides pink. If it is pink, know I gave it my best shot. Why argue with the BossLady?

You are thirty-one this year. Don't you forget it.

We love you.

Happy Birthday!

20 Questions: Patriotic Edition

2011-07-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

The following very loud conversation took place in a very crowded Jiffy Lube after they ran our of SillyBandz and gave her a little green plastic army man instead.

"Mom, what is it?"

"He's a soldier."

"Is he a nice guy or a mean guy?"

"He's a nice guy."

"What's this?"

"It's a gun."

"What's a gun?"

"Soldiers use them to protect us."

"Oh."

and then to her now captive audience of fellow oil changers as we walked out the door...

"WE LIKE SOLDIERS. THEY'RE REALLY NICE GUYS!"

Land of the Free, Because of the Brave!

Happy Independence Day Weekend!

(A day, or two, late.)

True Love

2011-07-02T23:48:00.000-07:00

My hot anniversary date included chips, salsa, two Shirley Temples (because we were celebrating and all), and The Depot. Does my man deliver, or does my man deliver?

Oh, he loves me. He truly loves me.

This description of my perfect date makes me sound very low maintenance, doesn't it? I'm not, in case you were wondering.

Happy Anniversary!

Kitchen Madeover

2011-07-01T02:18:00.000-07:00

Fly Lady can come clean my kitchen if she doesn't like the way I do it. I never get dressed all the way to shoes before doing anything, and don't think I ever will. I think I must wear shoes about 25% percent of the time, and less if I can help it.

What you really need to get motivated to clean the kitchen is to be standing on a little zebra print goodness and blasting Adele.

The kitchen. is. done!!

It was done on the cha-heap!!! Using leftover Rustoleum cabinet transformations from the laundry room. Chalk board paint on the island. All the accessories were either found, made, or discovered at the Goodwill. The lighting was purchased on Amazon for $11.99 a piece on major!!! clearance. Out the door for about $250 bucks.

Done good, I'd say.

Need I remind you how far we've come? Gah!!!!... stock builder beige beige to colorful make you want to vomit circus...

Before

There they go.

2011-06-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

One of Scrunch's favorite and most frequent saying is, "I'm growing uup. Riiight no-ow!"

I don't know where she got it or how it started, but she is right.

Porkchop took three steps today and then later while changing his diaper Scrunch asked me why he had "that special type of bum." Oy. I am not ready for this.

The subject of their growing up is one I'm consistently conflicted about. When I got a call last Tuesday afternoon that we would have unexpected company we hardly ever see for the rest of the week and through the weekend, we made it our mission to pack the days full of fun. It was so exhausting I had to escape to work for two days just to get a break!

Friday evening on our way out of the Yosemite valley I mentioned to John how much fun these types of outings were going to be when our kids weren't as much work anymore. Like when they both could walk more than ten paces and faster than the snails.

For every mess I pick up, three more are made. You can kiss matching lids to any Tupperware good bye! And when Porkchop took his diaper off in the kitchen for the third time, I left it off. Not three minutes later he crapped in the family room, I think just because he could. Who knew parenting would involve so much cleaning up of poop?! There are days my body physically aches with exhaustion. Please no one jump on me again, climb on me, in fact, I love you, but could everyone just stop touching me for three seconds?!

These are not complains, it the reality of parenting everyone just kind of glosses over. And sometimes how I feel about it is conflicting. So often we are sent conflicting messages.

"...the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three on them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in a hurry to get on to the next things: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."
— Anna Quindlen

I read this and it pulls at me. I am terrible at this and so I make an effort to take notice a little more. Slow down. It's not going to kill me. If I slow down I am not going to stop, right? So I try it, and realize there is a trick to it. It is all about timing.

11:28 am. Porkchop is screaming like a banchee because he thinks I should automatically hand him my phone when it rings. Scrunch is ironically whining that she, "can't stand all this whining!" Both kids need a bath. They ate cottage cheese and berries for breakfast as evidenced by the kitchen floor the dogs are racing to clean up. Porkchop smells like poopy diaper and stale graham crackers. Scrunch's hair is greasy from slathering Eucerin cream through it for the umpteenth time.

Bag it! This isn't working!

12:16pm. Scrunch is singing in the shower. I hear her talk to her imaginary friend Charlie about making good choices or bad choices. Porkchop is climbing all over me in the recliner in a super ticklish mood. He is trying to tickle me with his chubby fingers but can't catch his breath he's laughing too hard. His laugh sounds less and less like a baby and more like a little boy. His little face is looking less and less like a baby and more like a little boy. He stand on my lap and kisses my shoulder three times and this time without biting me a single time.

Here is the trick. Not every parenting moment is noteworthy. Everyone might say it's the most rewarding job you'll ever do, and while true, it may be days between your feeling like it. The catch is that the reward to the scouring of so much poop and ignoring the whining comes in tiny little slivers. So small you'll miss them if you're not careful. Little moments you'd trade your whole life for.

I know it's true because I almost cried picturing Scrunch holding her thumb out like this in a few years trying to catch the bus. Not out hiking with her Mom and Papa in Yosemite, but on her way to who knows where and heaven for bid to meet some boy.

Details, shmee-tails!

2011-06-22T07:09:00.000-07:00

The proof, is as they say, in the puddin'.

I don't know what that means, really. In truth, I don't know much of anything these days. Ellie put it best when she said, "Awww..... Heavenly Father and that wacky plan of His!!!"

Because that is what we believe. That there is a plan. A map. Some people get the GoogleMaps printed out version and some of us get the weird elevation ones I hold upside down until my Eagle Scout husband comes along to point it out. Our job is to make enough good and seemingly accurate choices to stay on route. Sometimes you veer off and take an alternate route with other lumps and bumps, but so long as the destination is the same, it doesn't matter. Well, it matters. But not really. Follow?

I was at Megan's house when the subject of child spacing or a topic close to it came up. It was at her dining table amidst three Cricuts and a bunch of ribbon that I was able to put in to words my conundrum. Even after almost five years of infertility, an adoption, and then a pregnancy, I am a fan of childspacing! Or was.

"See..we want more kids, but I don't necessarily want one right this very second. But if we don't at least try...well...it might take us a while." We needed to at least try, because without my crystal ball, I didn't know what that would mean. Would we need to show enough of an effort that an OB would even talk to us about fertility treatments? Or save our pennies for another adoption? Or do we accept that we have to awesome kids already and call it good? But then the kicker...

"Honestly. I'm scared. (This is where the tears came.) Before my kids I thought that infertility would be the greatest trial I would face. But then...The leading up to and bringing home of Scrunch pushed me to my emotional edge. And then Porkchop...well, that pushed me even further and took me to my physical and emotional edge. So, I'm scared. Because honestly, I know we're not going to get off easy. I feel like all of it has been to prepare us for what is to come."

The truth of what I had just said settled into silence.

I came home and told my husband what the evening's conversation had brought on.

"You know what I want? What I really want? I want to be ready enough to say to Heavenly Father, 'Can't I just get knocked up and have a kid the normal way? I want this to be easy, for the love! Is that so wrong?"

And here I am. For now. I still don't know what it means though. Will this be easy peasy or am I going to be walking a new edge?

Time will tell.

That one. I know what that one means. It means 'wait and see'. And really, when all is said and done, none of us get out of this thing alive. And the edge isn't so bad anyway. I'm getting kind of used to it. Almost maybe even like the idea. You get a whole new perspective and to see some amazing things when you're standing on the edge. And it's not like I'd be doing any of it alone.

If you're waiting for me to say, "I am preggo." Well, you can keep waiting. I would never say that. I detest the word 'preggo'. A lot like Eggo and Lego, but doesn't mean anything. But yes, I am pregnant. It is early, really early. And I know the stats. At this stage in the game, they are no bueno, but we wait and see. I decided to say something because well, I have a big mouth and even if there was a miscarriage, I would write about that too. I would be due in February. The plan is for another home birth. They don't see repeat clients until late, late the first trimester. I didn't want an appt. until there would be no doubt we should hear a heartbeat. Yes, I will have an ultrasound, but no I will not be finding out the sex. Oh, and if you thought that my news a few days ago was this, you're mistaken. I still have MORE news to share on the fourth of July!

Bueno y No Bueno

2011-06-20T09:01:00.000-07:00

That our hangouts occur only once a year. No Bueno.
That it occurred yesterday on my back patio. Muy Bueno.

Not everyone LOVING my funky embroidered shirt. No Bueno.
That it cost me three bucks at Goodwill and Holly liked it. Muy Bueno.

Sewing seven yards of piping. No Bueno.

Finally ordering the fabrics for my outdoor cushions. Muy Bueno.

Waiting for my fabrics to arrive. No Bueno.

Having a cushy spot to read before a turn into a slug and lounge the rest of the summer. Muy Bueno.

Not enough time to read this weekend. No Bueno.
Listening to Tina Fey narrate Boyssypants. Muy Bueno.

My husband being gone for days at a time. No Bueno.
That he has such a good time while he's gone. Muy Bueno.

That he can't be trusted to take pictures to document his trip. No Bueno.
That Tommy can. Muy Bueno.

Having the biggest mouth Ever!!! An innate and seemingly genetic incapability to keep my trap shut! No Bueno.
The secrets I divulge are mostly my own. Muy Bueno.

Waking up nauseated. No Bueno.
That one of my kids will be sharing a room come February. Muy, muy bueno.

D-Day!

2011-06-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

When I ripped out the carpet without much warning, a few days later my, um... spontaneity??? came up.

"How many men to you know who wouldn't freak that their wives just RIPPED OUT THE CARPET!!?"

I think he must have been negotiating points for a hiking trip. And he didn't freak, by the way. I think his only comment when he walked in that day was, "It looks like you've been busy." Scrunch was the one all worked up and screaming "Mommy ripped out the carpet!!!!!"

"Well...At least two others."

"No you don't"

"Yes, I do."

"No way."

"Yes way." (Oops, I just realized where Scrunch got saying that.)

"Who?"

"My dad. And Jordan (my brother in law)."

Silence.

It's true.

Thanks Dad for setting the precedent! For so many things, but especially in setting the example in the (patient/kind/but especially patient) type of men we'd marry someday! Even if that day came sooner than you would have ever liked.

Happy Father's Day!

List-mania and some other randomness

2011-06-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

I have Awesome!! Make My Week! kind of news. But it's not mine to share. And you know it's killing me. But...it's not mine to share. Instead, how bout if we cut a deal. I will make a list of those things I need to get accomplished over the next two weeks and then, whether the news is divulged in another way (in a comment here, a text, or FB) or not, I will spill the beans on the Fourth of July so long as I've accomplished everything on my list. That is my deal.

Finish the family room floor
Finish the dining and kitchen areas
Caulk and paint the builtin
Paint the fireplace and mantle
Clean the garage
Paint Scrunch's room
Built the barrel planters
Plant pumpkins

I am going to be the one benefiting from this little deal, but it also serves as a little motivation. Because after I finish this round of projects I'm going on Summer vacation. While I'm at it, I've devised my Summer Reading List. None of them listed are Earth shattering and I know almost nothing about any of these books.

Bossypants

Modoc

Back When We Were GrownUps

The Birth House

The Tailor's Daughter

Sarah's Key

The Red Tent

Realistically, by the time I finish my lists, it will be time to start the Christmas shopping list. Still...well, what's another list anyway?

I wish I had more energy, more time, more people I liked. I keep having ideas for a Book Club/Party to discuss (laugh) about Bossypants and another one for a weekly craft day called Christmas in July where we work on all our Christmas crafting and preparations in July, but...well, I don't know who I'd invite or if people would come. I've decided that making, keeping, and continuing to like chick friends is worse than dating. And not like I have any experience to speak of when it comes to the single scene. I married my second boyfriend almost a decade ago. Will she call? Am I a good enough housekeeper? Cook? Did she have a good time? Will she be offended? Do our kids get along? Maybe she doesn't think skinny jeans are my thing...blah, blah, blah. Worse than dating!

Mickey Mouse and all things Walt are right up there with baseball and apple pie. You just have to be okay with them. It's just the way it is. My Dad working for Disney and The Mouse might also have something to do with the contents of the most recent package to arrive on my doorstep. Holy freaken' cute!

I would love to have more pictures of them sunning on the beach, but I was trying to keep them both from drowning. Neither one of them have ANY fear of the water. A little fear might be appreciated by their Mom. Instead Scrunch was trying to swim out to the dock and Porkchop walking like a crab right out into the water to blow bubbles. It pleases me to no end that they like going to the lake as much as I like taking them.

Papa is gone hiking and I'm terrible at the bedtime routine. My very efficient cop out was to make a pajama run to The Depot (o.k. AND Lowes) and have them fall asleep in the car on the way home.

I don't understand the three piece pajamas from Carter's. Why just the three? They don't ever just pee on one piece of clothing? If they wanted an odd number, five would have made more sense. Who am I to judge? I take babies in their pajamas and past their bedtime to Home Depot to buy yet another gallon of paint. Oh, and I wish Costco would buy the same shopping carts they have at Lowe's. They have the BEST shopping carts!

Better Late Than Never!

2011-06-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

Porkchop had a birthday last month. He just wanted to say...

He also says...

Ma-ma!!

U-up!!

Map-map (Papa)

Kaka for his sister

Go! (mostly to the dogs and when we play Ready, Set, Go! with his sister)

Ga-ga (Grami)

Cracker

Baba the universal word for the Baba.

and Tanks for thanks.

But this post isn't about him. It's about you! His ever loving Peeps who hooked him up with the generous birthday gift cards enabling mom to then purchase the "Emergency Room Here We Come! (Please Let it Only Be An Arm and Not a Head and One of My Heads and Not the Neighbors Kids') When We Jump Off and Think We Can Fly, Which Also Doubles as a Pirate Ship/Playhouse/Jungle Gym Contraption". Pictured above.

Yes, thanks for that.

Hopping

2011-06-15T20:09:00.000-07:00

Porkchop went to bed and Scrunch went with her Papa for a walk. For the first time since I woke up this morning, it is quiet. I thought I'd go wash the dishes, but thankfully got distracted instead.

I laid on Scrunch's bed in front of the fan and remembered a woman whose blog I hadn't read in a few years. I Googled to check up on her. The short version is that after years of infertility they chose to adopt. The were chosen by a birthmom when they then found out they were pregnant with twins. The birthmom opted not to place with them. They lost both their twins at birth due to complications. A few years went by. Again they were chosen to adopt a son. Ten days later they found out she was pregnant. They are now happily raising two boys who are four months apart.

After a couple of blog hops I landed on another blog of a woman who writes about being a widow in her twenties after only five years of marriage.

I had to stop hopping because now I was crying and Scrunch and her Papa are due to be home soon. Tears would unleash a torrent of "Whys?" from my three year old bug, and without an adequate explanation she won't be going to bed any time soon.

Even though the circumstances were tragic and (from what I read) they were blunt and honest in their feelings and frustrations, they were also filled with faith. I don't know how, and tons more of it than I've got. Not the Sunday School answer type, but a true understanding, an acceptance that there is a Plan and a Heavenly Father who loves us.

A good reminder.

Not bad for havin' nothin' to do on a Wednesday night.

Porkchop's Room Makeover

2011-06-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

Today shall be known as National Hug a Cement Worker Day. Because Holy Shmoly! It's harder than it looks!!

After three days on hands and knees with the paint stripper, we decided that we should just float a skim coat. Whatever that means... I don't float. Not much about this little project has 'floated'. Thanks to my schizophrenic house makeover there isn't a single room in my house that is "done" at the moment. It was starting to make me c.r.a.z.y. Yes. Starting.

ahem... So...

In an effort to not lose It or my Husband, I needed to finish a room. Just one room, for Pete's sake! We don't have a Pete so I went with the closest thing we had. For Porkchop's sake! And mine. I finished his room. For now.

And all for a whopping total of... something like $38.00. This includes the paint. Two gallons of oops paint mixed together!

The lighting and the flash are terrible! A little too Dr. Seuss-ish. Someday I'll learn what it means to shoot in manual mode. Until then, lets just say it's halfway between blue and gray, a bunch of other colors, and call it good.

Ask me how ticked I was when it rained ALL OVER my You Are My Sunshine canvas when I put it on the porch to dry. It doesn't usually rain in June around here. Dad built the crib. The rug was from the family room. The chair I found on the side of the road a few years ago, and the shelf used to be in Scrunch's room. Other than that, this room was completely bare bones. Not bad for THIRTY EIGHT DOLLARS AND THIRTY FOUR CENTS!!

Blog Dump

2011-06-12T22:48:00.000-07:00

There are no pictures because I am being lazy, the camera is in Porkchop's room, and there is no way I'm going in there to risk waking up that teething little monkey so you can get a cute kid pic fix. Plus, I'm still kind of getting back at my sister for texting, "I posted pics of Ezra." When you're 35 weeks pregnant you just don't do that without some sort of explanation!

Instead, this is my blog dump... A catch all for what's occurred since I blogged last. You'll thank me for sparing you the details of the other dump I dealt with today. Let's just say we didn't make it church and Scrunch exclaimed, "That's the yuckiest poop I've have. ever. seen!" Her commentary lately has been classic.

Thursday we went to the zoo. After we badgered the poor girl at the gate about the "pictures" on her arms with "why?" "why?" "why?" and then a "you shouldn't color on your arms" we went in just in time for feeding time in the reptile house. She was completely un-phased by the python strangling and swallowing whole the giant rat. She told a family that we ate squirrels. When I told her no we didn't, "It's okay mom." Turns to them, "Yeah, we do." I told her not to throw the bait in the water when Grandpa Webb took her crawdad fishing. She told me, "I'm not going to give up." I figured I better, and let her do it. Tonight she asked Papa if I could sleep in her bed. The answer was no with an explanation that I had to sleep in Papa's bed. Why do you always sleep in Papa's bed? Because we're married. Then her eyes got huge, she got visibly excited, "Oh Mommy!! Did you get like a Princess?" She only went to sleep after I promised to show her pictures of Mommy dressed like a princess tomorrow. I'm going to have to dig up my wedding pictures.

Prior to the zoo we went to lunch with Katie and a bunch of FSA friends. Considering we live in separate states I'd say we're doing pretty well on the once a month lunch dates. Sitting at the table with these women, most of them whom I've watched become moms, it was kind of surreal to realize how much kids change things, in a good way. It was a strange and bittersweet realization that 1) I really do want more kids, 2) I am lucky and blessed to have the two I've got,and 3) it's just not that easy.

Friday was opening day at the lake. The lake makes me realize how much I love my life and where I live (even if my family room is nowhere near being finished). I also realized that if I'm going to have any luck keeping an eye on Scrunch this summer, I need to put in her in something other than a pink or purple bathing suit. This has since been remedied. Oh, and thanks to Megan I have pics of part of their fun...

Saturday morning I went to a sealing. There is nothing as spiritual and special as a parent child sealing. I cried like a baby. It was beautiful.

The highlight of Saturday afternoon was going crawdad fishing with Grandpa Webb and Scrunch discovered eclairs. She also let me sleep with her almost life sized Ariel doll from Aunt E, and BOTH her Little Mermaid and Tinkerbell towels. We can thank Husband and his phone for these...

Today I took A Day of Rest literally and geared up for the rest of week. I don't know what for. I hope to spend most of it knitting at the lake. And so do the kids.

The Playroom is next...

2011-06-09T05:30:00.000-07:00

Is this not the perfect fabric for my 'The Hills are Alive' and 'So Long Fairwell!" singing kids?

We Had Family Pictures Taken

2011-06-08T05:45:00.000-07:00

These are some of my favorites. Thanks Danielle!

I just don't know what I'm going to do with her!

2011-06-07T05:30:00.000-07:00

While I've been channeling Daniel Larusso, a la Karate Kid, with my wax on wax off motion of the steel wool on the family room floors, Scrunch has been channeling her own favorite character.

Poor Little Mermaid's hair is proof a dingle-hopper just isn't going to cut it.

When I went to clean her room I discovered this little treasure trove of wonders untold inside a paper lantern under her bed. When I asked her about it she responded with, "It's my collection!"

Ah, your collection!

Little Mermaid does not knit. I could be wrong. Maybe in Little Mermaid XVI she teaches her great-great grand daughter how to knit before she turns back into a human, or was it a mermaid? Until that happens, I'd like all my double pointed needles back.

Dear Amy,

2011-06-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

I left out the part about where when I went to pick up the gas powered air compressor. There was a leak in the gas cap so I had to drive down the highway with the windows rolled down so as not to fumigate my Creatures. Then, even though it took three hefty sized men to load the sucker into my car, I'm only married to one not-so-hefty dude so it took a little creativity to get the blasted thing out. Are you sure you want to go anywhere with me?

In the last two days I have been to Home Depot three times. My Husband once. I am seriously considering moonlighting as a shuttle driver to and from the place. If you still want a ride, send me a text, I'm sure I'm on my way there.

If my Husband thought I'd listen, I'd be grounded from there. He wouldn't dare ground me to my room though because I've been talking about stenciling the headboard wall.

Normally, I would welcome the help, but the stuff I'm using is practically covered with skulls and crossbones. It goes much further than the usual, "These contents are known to the State of California to cause birth defects" and straight up requires a mask and chemical resistant gloves. Due to your current state, I hesitate to accept your help. Thanks anyway.

You are always welcome in my home. Whether to just point, laugh, and shake your head or refill my jug of Crystal Light, I welcome the company.

Oh, and I know you didn't ask, but I'll pretend you did.

"Heaven's to Betsy girl! What on God's green Earth are you working on anyway?"

Well, I don't know if I mentioned it any less than a thousand times, but I exclusively pumped for eleven months. My reward to myself was to hire the very talented Danielle Oakey to design a mood board for my family room. I'm now making it happen. It's been a giant pain in the butt, but (ha! I typed butt but) it should be worth it!

P.S. This is my response to Amy's comment on my last post.

P.P. S. I don't think Amy would ever say "Heaven's to Betsy!" I made that part up.

P.P.P.S. I wasn't joking about welcoming the company. Anyone who wants to point, laugh, or just shake their head at me is welcome at my house. Bring some Crystal Light, would ya? I'm almost out.

Help! I need somebody!

2011-06-04T20:28:00.000-07:00

I do not play the helpless female type very often. It's not how I was raised. It's not in my nature. I might have been good and married when I started putting my own gas in the car but that's because I was spoiled, not helpless. If you want something done, well then, do it.

That's how I got into this whole mess.

Last Friday my Husband came home and I had ripped out the carpet in the family room. The very natural next step is a trip to The Home Depot. I mean, what choice did I leave him, really?

I have it all figured out when I go to The Depot. I Google. I YouTube. Just enough to sound like I kind of know what I'm doing. I can hold my own in that place. Except when I needed to find that backflow sprinkler-y dohicky thingy. Then I just told them I was looking for a sprinkler-y dohicky thingy and they offer to get it for me. I even sport my paint splattered retired scrubs so the newly hired twelve year olds leave me alone. Only the real pros ask me if I need help finding anything. Because if I really knew what I was doing, there'd be less paint on my pants and more on whatever it was I painted last. It's all part of my master plan. I got this covered.

I stock up the cart with my required lumber, impress the dude who cut it with my ability to load in on myself, and then let the checker flatter me with compliments to my license picture. I think his exact words were, "Oh wow! That's a glamour shot." Awww, well hell. He won me over so I let him convince me to let Junior load my car for me. I could of done it myself. I got it into the cart myself, I could get it into the car. But he was so sweet. "No worries, babe. We'll get it for you." If an old Italian man calls me babe, I cave. What can I say?

Exactly one block South from The Orange I'm on the phone with Husband describing all the fun we're going to have and my great, big, fat, family room plans. I glance up just in time to see Junior's crap twine snap. Two 4 x 8 foot pieces of beadboard soar up into the sky behind my car and I swear were floated down by my guardian angel. (Thanks Mo!) I don't know how they missed any of the cars behind me.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!!!" I yell into the phone.

"What do I do!!?"

I did what I've been trained to do in any emergency. Although, I have to add I'm a whole lot more calm when calling due to chest paint or shortness of breath than I was over my precious beadboard.

"911. What is your emergency?"

"Non emergency. But...Um.. I just lost my load from Home Depot in the intersection!!!!!!!"

"I'm sorry. You lost what in the intersection?"

"I lost my beadboard in the intersection!!!!"

They are on their way.

I parked my car with it's hazards on in the nearby gas station. I start walking down the block wondering how long it's going to be before the Po-pos show. I can see my precious beadboard in the road and wince with every passing car. They're going to crush my beadboard! I start to realize that I'm going to be waiting a while, when I reach the corner and realized the enormous magnitude of my guardian angel's love. Both pieces of beadboard are not only still intact but they are in the crosswalk!! I quickly dial 911 back.

"Yeah, I just called. Nevermind."

The 911 operator laughed. She laughed at me! Can they do that?

I retrieve the beadboard and now I'm dragging two 4 x 8 foot sheets half a block back to my car. All those Boy Scouts who sat there and watched me drag them down the street and then load them BY MYSELF into my car, your mother's must be soooo proud. Jerkwads.

I head home. Like nothing happened. I am a bad-ass powertool totin' babe. Later, I rent a gas powered air compressor, a nail gun, two more trips to The Depot, and experience my first masonry paint stripper, and a few rounds with the miter saw.

But I do realize, it must be exhausting to be my guardian angel and my Husband is a very, VERY, patient man.

Memorial Day Memories

2011-05-31T22:33:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day might officially be my favorite holiday. Good sales, no night-before present wrapping, no stress, no fancy meal planning. no pressure. Just a holiday. A good one to sit back and remember just how good we've got it.

Karma

2011-05-26T06:33:00.000-07:00

I admit to wishing fat thoughts towards certain people and the karmic ways of the universe gets revenge by raining on my parade and suffocating the life right out of me. Literally. I can't breath. Well, obviously I can a little...My body aches and the 'ice pick right behind my eyes' feeling is getting a little old. I'm mostly annoyed that 1) Porkchop got it and is miserable too, and 2) I don't have time for this! It started only a few hours before our Ice Cream Social, requiring me to call it off. Now it's rained for the last 24 hours so there's no playing outside. I take it back! I take them all back! Proof that I'm not entirely a lost cause, I scored four gallons of completely usable "oops" paint. It's not just usable, but it's going to be perfect! It is just begging, BEGGING me to get going. It practically jumped in the aisle at me and since I'm at an impass as to what the next step in the kitchen makeover should be, I'm switching rooms. Happy Birthday Dude! It's your birthday present to myself. I'm finally going to buckle down and do something with your room. Hopefully. That is my plan. If the paint fumes don't completely snuff me out... if I can muster the energy...energy shmenergy...it will be there next week...one more episode on Hulu shouldn't hurt...EVERYthing hurts.

They really are this cute. So hate me.

2011-05-24T00:50:00.000-07:00

I am awake trying not itch my bazillion mosquito bites. I already let Ellie know I blamed her, but I think the mosquito bites ON the mosquito bites occurred AFTER we came home from the first ever hike with two toddlers (one in age, the other in size)- when Husband and I decided to do a little gardening in the moonlight. Sounds romantic, doesn't it? In reality, the kids were asleep. That is all. It wasn't part of my master Date Your Honey at Home Plan. You don't try and combine sixty-four cubic feet of Mel's mix with two pint-sized helpers if you want any of your blastedly expensive dirt to be left in the box. I don't know much about gardening (or anything), but I figured that one out without reading the book. Process of elimination dictates that the mixing of our soil would have to occur in the dark, during children's sleeping hours. Moonlight gardening does make us sound all spontaneous and care-free though, didn't it? Hate to burst your bubble.

Now I sit trying not to scratch, failing miserably, and debating between writing a real post or just posting the pictures. I'm about to go with 'just post the pictures so you can go to bed already!!' but needed to clarify lest you think this blog is turning in to one of those "picture perfect blogs". You know the ones. The ones where you think, "Damn. Why do they always look so happy?" "What is in their Kool-Aid?!" Not that it's wrong to look happy or be happy. It's just... well I don't know, maybe it's just me and my wicked ways but I always want to throw rocks at them and send them fat thoughts. Not all of them, but lots of them. Some of them I regard with great esteem and am truly happy for their happiness and beautifulness. Others? Well... not so much. I know. Wicked. I'll have to work on it. But we have been doing lots of fun things lately and my kids have been flippin' adorable (I think it's a plot to take me down. I'll explain later.)- minus the hike-side melt downs about everything and anything. That Scrunch can be such a girl! I didn't take any pictures during that little adventure. There are plenty of other pictures and of other fun. But please, oh please!? You're about to see a video of just how cute my kids can be. There will also be some pictures of our super fun weekend in the next couple of days. Keep your fat thoughts to yourself.

Birthday Barbecue

2011-05-23T00:05:00.000-07:00

My days seem half as long as they used to be. I believe there is a time sucking gremlin/fairy/troll/billy goat hiding somewhere. Probably under my bed. And I think the little twerp knows where half the socks are, too. This is my excuse and I'll stand by it, so help me! The goat did it. He's not invited to any of my parties. Unless he fesses up (with GPS coordinates included) to the exact location of the Fountain of Youth or El Dorado. And I throw a rockin' party. Just sayin'. Or so the one-to-seven year old crowd tells me.

When your nickname is Porkchop a good old fashioned barbecue is the way to go.

Too busy in the ice cream to smile for the camera. Yes, that's pork and beans in Porkchop's hair.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

2011-05-17T10:22:00.000-07:00

Plaza Foods for always stocking fresh Nibs, whoever decided to stock Dr. Pepper with cane sugar, Ergo for saving my life, Ellie for introducing me to my lifesaver, Holly for almost always answering her phone or returning my calls no matter how wacko or long the message I leave. Marlene and Kaleem-the gifted practitioners who got us off to an amazing start. Dr. Gere- well, who's not in love with a Richard Gere somewhere? Dr. Senders, Nicole, Marta, Nancy, Michelle and the girl who's checked us in almost every week at the patient registration desk, but I still don't know your name and I don't feel bad because every week you still ask ours. Madela- you suck (teehee), but we couldn't have done it without you. My Mom and Dad for making me who I am today. My sisters. Yo hos! My Husband who really is a kind man,with a good heart, and the patience of Job. My Scrunch for only womping on him occasionally, but loving him always. And everyone else in between!

We made it through the first year!

Happy Birthday Porkchop!