schizo

Remember when you were little and your mom was yelling at you for taking shortcuts on your chores or lying about watching TV before your homework was done or putting a worm in your little brother's mouth?

Remember how the phone would ring while she was all red-faced and yelling?

Remember how she could stop mid-lecture and answer with a cheery little "Hello!"?

I remember.

And I remember resenting my mom for that. I remember thinking how phony she was answering the phone and being all friendly and chatty and polite when she was being "like so totally unfair" just a minute ago. (Because that's exactly how I talked when I was younger... *shakes head*)

I also remember how I vowed to NEVER do that.

Ha!

I totally do it now.

Isn't it funny how we change ourselves according to the situation we are in?

I would hope that I am honest. That I am consistent. That I am the same person no matter who I am talking on the phone with or hanging out with or chatting online with.

"To thine own self be true."

But I'm not.

I know I change for people.

I know I speak quieter and more formally with the older ladies at church than I do with a group of my friends. All loud and obnoxious, maybe even a bit off-colored.

I know my writing takes on a different tone when I'm venting to my mommy group on Facebook than when I'm writing to my family.

We may have graduated from high school, but we all do this, right?

We change ourselves, maybe mute or amplify parts of our personalities, according to who we are with at the time.

I observe bloggers doing this all the time in their post comments. You see a blogger that leaves the sweetest, nicest comment on one blog, but leaves the wankiest comments on another blog.

(Is wanky even a word? Maybe I better make sure I understand what that means before I use it. It just sounds "right" right there. Attention: Make up your own definition for "wanky".)

I'll be frank...When I see other bloggers do this, it irritates me.

Wanna know what irritates me more?

It really irritates me that I am tempted to rough up or prettify my comments according to whose blog I am commenting on and probably have actually done so on more than one occasion.

(Tell me I'm not the only one who does this.)

Someday, my goal is to be the same person no matter where I am. I suppose that goal will be achievable when I a) accomplish one of my Thirty goals in not caring what anyone but God and myself thinks about me and b) become happy and content with who I am.

*wince* Tough order.

One of the things I love/hate about blogging is that you never know who is reading. Whatever I post on here might be read by my best friend, my new friend, my neighbor, the youth I used to teach in church, my uncle, an ex-friend, my mom, an old boy friend, a stranger in Australia, who knows.

I'm always shocked when I visit my hometown and am approached by someone I haven't seen or talked to in years and they say something like "I love your blog! I read it all the time."

Honestly, my first reaction to this is not to be flattered, but to be afraid.

You do??? Did I write something stupid or offensive or too revealing or pathetic or mean or sappy or too religious or not enough religious or too sarcastic or...or...or...???

Of course once I work my way past those few frantic moments, then I blush a bit with pure happiness that someone is actually reading my little ol' blog.

I hope they read because here is where I am ME.

I hope that I consistently write in Evelyn-ese. That what I say on here is what I would say to you in person (if I could only speak as well as I write) whether we were at church or at a party or at the grocery store bumping into each other.

So...Do you think you are a blog schizo or a Stable Mable???

Lend me your thoughts. Me, Myself, and I would love to read them!

Three for Thursday

Why?
1. Because I couldn't think of anything else to write about today.
2. The first conscious memory I have from this morning is hearing my son say the word "thrice". (Kindergartners say "thrice"?)
3. I like lists. Sue me.

Three things I plan to do today:
1. Politely argue with the hospital billing department in Elko, Nevada.
2. Find an excuse to be at Costco during lunch time so I don't have to make peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch AGAIN.
3. Watch the latest episode of The Shaytards on YouTube.

Three things I am worried about:
1. The toilet overflowing again while Joe is out of town (Why does it always seem to overflow only when he is gone?! Plunging toilets = man's work)
2. Not meeting my free lance writing quota for the month.
3. That I am not giving each of my children the individual time and attention they need.

Three things I love...besides chocolate, my kids, and Joe:
1. Watching episodes of "The Office" on Netflix
2. The view from my patio (♪I love the mountains! I love the daffodils...♫♪♫♪)
3. The "me too!"s on yesterday's blog post

Three blogs (among the many) that I love to visit:
1. The Rowdy Stroudy's
2. The Organic Enchilada
3. The Great and Random Ramblings of Cannwin

Three pictures:
All Almost all the grandchildren on my side the week before Easter. We are missing two nieces who currently reside in Puerto Rico. Oh and a nephew who must have been napping.

My dad pointing to the parking lot that now covers where the first house I lived in as a baby used to stand. Only yards from the actual railroad tracks. I'm rather proud of my humble beginnings.

Elle with my dad. She always looks so somber in pictures.

Three things I picked up off the floor today:
1. Magnetic doll clothes
2. Soggy mini shredded wheat chunks
3. You really don't want to know

Three things I like about myself:
1. I am a loyal friend
2. My eyes
3. My testimony

Three things I learned this last year:
1. How to spell "restaurant" without the help of spell check.
2. Money can and cannot make one happy. (Now doesn't that make perfect sense?)
3. Vasectomies are not 100% effective until a few months after the surgery. (In case anyone was wondering.)

Three things I love about New Town, Utah:
1. Cafe Rio
2. It's only two and a half hours away from Hometown, Idaho.
3. The proximity of several blog buddies soon to be IRL buddies.

Three things I want my husband to know:
1. I'm going to use your gun to take care of a couple of cats outside that are freaking me out right now.
2. I didn't think I could do it, but I got this. (Single parenting. Not shooting cats.)
3. Obvious but true: I love you, ya' big lug.

Three things that make me to want to sit in a corner rocking back and forth:
1. Cancer
2. Jeigh waking up hysterically crying every night at exactly 11 pm. (We never should have let that girl watch Harry Potter.)
3. Neverending winter Arizona heat

Three things I miss:
1. Lana
2. Dr. Pepper
3. My waist circa 2003

Three confessions:
1. I still dream romantic dreams about an ex-boyfriend all the time and I HATE it. I believe he may possibly dabble in voodoo doll magic.
2. I make a concerted effort to not talk about food too much when it comes to my Facebook status updates.
3. It makes me a little angry when people talk about how much our children look like people other than Joe or me.

Three movies I could watch again and again:
1. Dan in Real Life
2. The Matrix
3. The Sound of Music

Three final thoughts:
1. I want deserve a REAL date night this weekend.
2. "WINNING!"
3. If you want to do a Three for Thursday too, leave a comment below with your link and I will gladly come read it. Hey! You could even get wild and do Four for Friday! Or Six for Saturday! Or a Million for...well, let's not get too carried away now.

The Proper Protocol for Purchasing Pregnancy Tests

As of late, my little newborn Cee has developed a picky palate when it comes to nursing.

(Really? Breastfeeding again?!)

(Yep. Really. That's twice in one week. I really need to get out more.)

She's started to squirm and wriggle and even pull away crying when I have tried to nurse her lately.

Uh oh.

When my mom was nursing me when I was two months old, I started to do the same thing.

Wanna know why?

Because my mom was pregnant with my little sister. (We are eleven months apart. Good grief. Could you even imagine???)

Since history tends to repeat itself...I rationally and calmly began to totally freak out. One thing you need to know about me...I like to jump to the worst conclusion possible first. That way I know I will be prepared for anything.

Well, I guess I'm not prepared for ANYTHING. I don't exactly stock up on home pregnancy tests.

Needing to put my tortured mind at ease, I started to plan my trip to the store to purchase a home pregnancy test.

And yes. I did use the word “plan”.

A woman in my position does not take buying a pregnancy test lightly. There is some policy and procedure to be followed in purchasing pregnancy tests.

Allow me to enlighten you on this protocol.

A woman in my situation, that situation being a mother of four children, ranging from ages six years old to newborn, cannot simply dash to the store wearing her pajamas, with four snotty nosed kids in tow, grab a handful of cheap pregnancy tests, and dash back home again. There are details to be attended to in order to avoid The Checkout of Shame.

Firstly, whatever you do, DON’T take the four kids to the store with you. Especially the newborn. No need to send everyone in a panic that you and your husband are single-handedly repopulating the planet. That or deal with the whispering gossip about you-know-who can’t keep their pants on. The resulting embarrassment could just be too much to handle.

If you simply can’t avoid taking your entourage to the store, at least try to convince people you’re the nanny, fun aunt, or helpful friend. It probably won’t work, but it’s worth a shot.

If you do take the kids, make sure they are dressed to the nines, hair combed and styled, and have clean hands and faces. Be absolutely certain they will not misbehave in the store, therefore drawing unwanted attention to you as you peruse the family planning aisle of the store.

Carry tissues with you to catch any stray boogers. If you have to bring the kids and people are clever enough to see the family resemblance, at least people will assume you are Supermom, that you have it all put together, and that a fifth baby will only be a piece of cake instead of just another piece of welfare woe.

It’s not just the children who need to look squeaky clean.

Put some pants on, Mama. And not your stretchy ones or that pair of jeans stained with newborn baby poop and spit up. And don't even think about sneaking on the maternity pants. You raise your arms and that panel is a dead give away.

Take a shower. Dress up. Do your hair. And for heaven’s sake slap some makeup on. We are going for classy here. Not out-of-control, rabbit-breeding freak.

Once you are at the store, looking more like a civilized human being than you normally do, and have decided on which pregnancy test you are going to purchase, take the pregnancy test and stash it in the bottom of your grocery cart. This will prevent judgmental looks from other shoppers. At least until you get to the checkout stand.

Even if you don’t need a single other thing than the pregnancy test, grab a few other items to purchase along with your pregnancy test. This will create the outward appearance of nonchalance about pregnancy.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?”

If you drop a single pregnancy test on the checkout counter and nothing else, you know what people are going to assume. By purchasing other items along with your at home pregnancy test, you might be able to avoid the critical stares from the cashier and nearby shoppers.

Word to the wise: Maybe avoid items like duct tape, toilet snakes, two or more boxes of diapers, and condoms.

Finally, make sure that all your movements are slow and deliberate. Don’t rush. Don’t look flustered or sweaty or out of control. Don’t let them see the fear in your eyes.

Good. Now that you have purchased your pregnancy test and are safely back at home, take pregnancy test. Never mind the toddler banging on the door and the newborn wailing from her car seat. We've got priorities. We need to KNOW if you've got plans to claim TWO new dependents for the year 2011.

What does it say???

A
.
.
.
.
.
.
big
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
fat
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
NEGATIVE!

Whew.

So does this mean I'm not allowed to wear my maternity pants anymore???

toothless

Dee lost his first tooth!






He was eating his ritual post-lunch green apple. All of the sudden he jumped up exclaiming "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" He was too shocked to tell me what was wrong.

I couldn't figure out what was going on until I saw the bloody gap in his gaping mouth.

"Dee! You lost your tooth! So where is it? Uh oh. You really did LOSE your tooth!"

As we searched for a while I began to fear that he had swallowed his first lost tooth. Eventually we found it lodged in his apple.

It was almost as exciting as when he peed in the potty for the first time.

Or started walking.

Or smiled for the first time.

It makes me laugh to think how anxiously we waited for that little tooth to make its debut six years ago.

Now we celebrate as it falls out.

What a strange melancholy cycle parenthood is.

breastfreading

If you spend much time in the blogosphere, you catch on to a universal blogging truth pretty quickly.

Bloggers love comments.

Comments equal love, validation, care, concern, friendship, time well spent.

I know this to be true because I blog. I lovecraveneed comments as much as the next blogger.

I also understand the addendum to the previously stated blogging truth.

You scratch my back, I scratch yours.

Translation: I took the time to hang out at your little piece of the blogosphere by reading and commenting. Why not come on over to my place and return the favor?

If you are guilty of being a comment hog and not reciprocating the love, you could be seen as a bit of cold blogger. Shame, shame.

I get this. I love the comments. I love to reciprocate the love. And I would do so more often, except I have a little problem.

Meet my new laptop accessory, aka "a little problem".




Sure, sure. This 3 month old model is pretty sweet looking, but don't let it fool you. It hardly increases my blog commenting productivity. If anything, it hinders it. And as my laptop accessory grows in size and squirminess, it's becoming increasingly more difficult to even leave simple, little, one-liner comments.

But I'm still reading.

I've been wracking my brain trying to think of some kind of code word I could leave at the end of a post, something to the effect of "Hey! I was here, reading, and catching up with you and I would love to say something witty and sincere but can't since I am currently breast feeding as I read this and by the time I am done either reading or breast feeding I won't remember what wickedly funny or really insightful thing I wanted to say but hey I love you anyway!"

I tried to make an acronym out of it, but HIWHRACUWYAIWLTSSWASBCSIACBFAIRTABTTIADEROBFIWRWWFORITIWTSBHILYA just didn't have much of a ring to it.

Maybe after I read a post I could just type "breastfreading".

Get it?

Breast feeding + reading

Clever, right?

I know! I got lots more where that came from! I'm just not sure how to get it out there with my lap and hands so preoccupied.

Any suggestions???

All Mixed Up and No Where to Go

The OCD in me just can't let this one slide.

We were out of town last weekend to see my newly returned missionary brother (yay!!). I had tried to schedule a few posts since I'm claiming to be back into my blogging groove and all, but my computer and Google are not on friendly terms these days. Therefore scheduled posts did not post.

I think I finally have all my ducks in a row. Or is that posts in their places?

However it is, I can't stand to not have them time stamped in their proper little places. *twitch, twitch*

So if you are feeling particularly playful and want to play hide and go seek with my blog today...

April 15th - Joe popped the big question.

April 17th- I got all high and mighty about my twenties.

April 18th- Happy birthday to me! To celebrate I made all sorts of crazy plans for the next decade.

And today...

Well, today I am trying to clean up...the house since we will have some company tonight and my mentality since it seems to be all sorts of murky and cluttered lately.

To be honest, I'm not doing so well at either so far.

We all have those days weeks, right? This isn't just a normal part of being thirty is it?

Help a girl out would ya'? What do YOU do to shake off a funk?

thirty, nerdy, dirty, purdy, sturdy, wordy

Thirty.

3-0.

3 decades.

29 and holding. But not really.

I, Evelyn, am now 30 years old.

I just got goose bumps.

That could be a result of...

fear.
excitement.
the chill in the air.

Maybe I need a shawl. I suppose I better learn how to knit now that I'm practically ancient.

Somehow I never thought this day would come. But here it is. And it's time to accept that I am now an adult...ish.

No sense in giving up and reserving my spot in my local Bridge Club just yet. There's still a lot of life to live and I hope I can make the next decade even better than the last one. (Thanks Leah at The Dog's a Boy Too for the inspiration. I only hope I can be as ambitious as you are!)

Thirty Things to Do in Order to Thrive Through My Thirties
(I just can't resist alliteration. Gets me every time.)

1. Run a half marathon, as well as a bunch of 5Ks and 10Ks in preparation.

2. Hike something big, but not too big.

3. Learn to not care what anyone else thinks about me, except me and God.

4. Build up a stellar food storage and emergency preparedness stash.

5. Travel internationally, preferably Europe. And eat cheese the entire time.

6. Lose 100 pounds and keep it off. (I could see how some of these might contradict each other...We'll work out the details later.)

7. Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.

8. Sing more. Especially in front of other people.

9. Learn to sew something that requires more than straight lines. At least what are supposed to be straight lines.

10. Go on a real family vacation. One with lots of detours, sight seeing, cultural experiences, potty stops, and whining.

11. Pay off debts. Dare I say, become completely and 100% debt-free?

12. Surprise my husband with a trip to Cancun to revisit his mission.

13. Buy a truck...for me.

14. Grow a garden. Minus the weeds.

15. Buy a house.

16. Then paint the house, knock down a wall, remodel a bathroom or a kitchen or something. And pretend to be hosting a HGTV episode the entire time.

17. Finally buy a fancy schmancy camera and learn how to put my fancy schmancy camera to good use by taking some decent fancy schmancy pictures.

18. Visit some famous United States' sites like the Anasazi cliff ruins, the Redwoods, the East and West Coasts, Mt. Rushmore, Lady Liberty, Washington DC, maybe even the Ellen Show.

19. Attend a family reunion for my dad's side of the family. Even if I have to plan one myself.

20. Read more books.

21. Help my children develop into amazing, genuine, successful, and caring young adults.

22. Learn how to make a killer fresh spaghetti sauce, among other things.

23. Write something profound, inspiring, captivating, thrilling, life-changing.

24. Learn to finally forgive myself and others.

25. Water ski.

26. Keep my marriage healthy and lively.

27. Learn how to hula, pop and lock, and waltz.

28. Get over my fear of killer whales.

29. Become consistent at being consistent.

30. Be more. More adventurous. More mature. More fun. More capable. More willing. More loving. More me. More you. More brilliant. More selfless. More reserved. More honest. More generous. More aware. More brave. Just...more.

Ta-Ta Twenties

Tomorrow is my birthday.

My *gulp* 30th birthday.

I declare that I have yet to settle on how to come to terms with this fact.

Do I handle it gracefully? Do I fight it? Do I act nonchalant? Do I allow myself to grow melancholy?

Probably a bit of everything and more.

Well, ready or not Evelyn...Here comes 30.

Before I let go of my younger years, allow me the chance to reminisce a bit on what I accomplished in the last decade of my life. The list maker in me just couldn't resist.

Twenty Things I Did in My Twenties

1. Learned that you don't know what you have until it's gone.

2. Went to college. Dropped out of college. Went back to college. Dropped out. Went back. Dropped out again. Made plans to go back...someday.

3. Learned how to drive a stick shift...AFTER I bought a car with a manual transmission.

4. Landed my early dream job as an Emergency Department Technician where I worked 5 years of night shifts and saw some of the craziest things I have (or ever will) seen.

5. Lived in the House of Dreams with the most incredible roommates a girl could have.

6. Met and married Joe.

7. Made four pretty babies with Joe.

8. Bought our first house. Sold it only a year and a half later.

9. Moved away from my hometown, just one move in the line of ten moves (seven of those times as a married person).

10. Discovered I was actually not too shabby at playing basketball.

11. Finally learned how to make scrambled eggs the "right" way. Low and slow.

12. Ran the entire 3.2 miles of my first 5K.

13. Started blogging.

14. Received my EMT license.

15. Tried sushi.

16. Worked as a freelance writer.

17. Experienced a miscarriage.

18. Made new friends from all over the United States and beyond.

19. Chopped my hair short. Let it grow. Chopped my hair off again. Let it grow again. Chop. Grow. Chop. Grow. Chop?

20. Learned there is no one "right" way to do something. Except when making scrambled eggs.

Ta-Ta 29.

Gray Hair #437

Joe taught me a little trick right after we were married.

(Get your mind out of the gutter people!)

He showed me that the way to tell if your spaghetti noodles were done cooking was to gently throw one against the wall. (Have you heard of this method?)

If it falls off, the noodles need more time to cook.

If it sticks, the noodles are ready to drain and eat.

Handy, right?


Guess who else he taught this little technique to.

Size Does Matter

Every so often I come across a worn, yellowed sheet of paper.

It just seems to magically turn up as I am sorting and filing paperwork.

It's a receipt.

From a small town jewelry store.

For the engagement and wedding ring set that Joe purchased the day he asked me to marry him.

On April 15, 2003.

Eight years ago today.

That ring set cost all of 735 dollars.

Do you know what that price tag means to me?

It is a symbol of the humble and simple man my husband is. He doesn't need money or possessions or "bling" to illustrate how capable or manly or important he is. He didn't feel the need to go into thousands of dollars of debt just to prove something to me or the world. With that small ring he gave me his heart, his love, his loyalty, and his life.

I cannot claim to be so consistently pure of heart as he is.

Sometimes I look at this ring I wear on my left hand and get a little wistful, maybe even slightly jealous when I see my sisters and friends with their big fat bands and diamonds.

Sometimes I want something fat and ferocious on my finger too.

Maybe someday I will.

But can I tell you something?

I think there is a reason that yellowed piece of paper keeps "magically" reappearing in my pile of paperwork.

I need a reminder.

Of the good heart my husband has.

Of how simple and precious life and love and marriage can be.

Of what is truly important.

Funny how one little $735 gold wedding band set can be worth more than a whole pile of diamonds.

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day Joe! I love you!

It's a Sickness I Tell You

Remember how I told you the other day in my vlog that I am a "picture frame fiend"?




I wasn't lying.

Or even exaggerating.

For the past several years we have been renting temporary places of residence. It's hard to want to nail a picture on a wall when you know you aren't going to be sticking around for long.

Plus, there just hasn't been any room. So all my pretty pretty frames and decorating items have been biding their time in dusty boxes in storage...

...Until we moved here and my family helped us unpack and settle in our new spacious home.

While I sat and held my week old newborn, my sisters, sister-in-law, and mom unpacked box after box of frames, stars, Americana, shelves, and assorted decorating paraphernalia that I have been hoarding collecting over the last almost eight years of marriage and moving.

They laid all of it out in that front room I was showing you the other day on the vlog and then called me in for an intervention.

Let me tell you...those pictures do no justice.

I may need a testimonial from my sister Camille. She'll tell you how bad it was/is. She was more than willing to tell me I had a problem that day. (In a loving, humorous, sisterly way of course.) And I began to wonder if I did when I saw it all laid out in one place.

It looked like an episode of Hoarders.

I almost started crying. Out of happiness at seeing all my pretty things again. Out of shock that I could possibly be one of those crazy people who collects stuff simply for the sake of collecting stuff.

My story is on its way to a happy ending.

I have not allowed myself buy a single frame since being faced with my frenzy of frames. I even went through the ones I already have and purged some of the less desirable.

I am on the road to recovery.

Now to get all the ones I have sitting in boxes in the corner up on that big white wall. (I keep saying I am going to wait until we get it painted, but I think my self-dictated therapy may require a sooner-rather-than-later approach.)

This episode of Hoarders is ready for HGTV.

No More Porn for Me

In a fit of familial improvement, I canceled our Dish satellite service a couple of weeks ago even though we still had a several months left on our contract. It was a little painful the first day or two, but life went on and I haven't felt a morsel of regret yet for cutting off the media mayhem. But I would be fibbing if I told you I still didn't miss watching TV sometimes.

It's Food Network that I miss the most. Even if I have no intention of going near my kitchen much less trying to recreate the recipes I see, I love me some Food Network.

It's porn for dieters. Delicious, entertaining, mouth-watering porn.

I knew I had a problem. I just couldn't get enough of the Food Network. But when it comes to Food Network sometimes its the cooks, chefs, and TV personalities that leave a bad taste in my mouth. Not the food.

Giada.


Too perfect. Too...perky. I ask you, how can she be that skinny? She makes pasta with sauces and cheeses for crying out loud. And for heaven's sake, can the smile lady! My eyes hurt from its blazing rays.

Bobby Flay.


Brilliant. But cranky. He needs to take a hint from Giada. Smile once in awhile, buddy.

Paula Deen.


If I have to hear "ya'all" one more time I'm going to dip myself in the vat of boiling grease she uses so often. Though, the woman does know how to put a stick of butter to use.

Sandra Lee.


I hear AA is nice. She can't seem to do a single show without an accompanying beverage. Who knew alcohol could be served with breakfast?

Pat and Gina Neely.


A husband and wife duo who somehow manage to make "porn for dieters" feel almost like real porn. Get a room, you two.

Anne Burrell.


I like her recipes, but I can hardly pay attention to her cooking as I am so darn distracted by her incessant and obnoxious hand gestures. It's even more riveting when she's wielding a knife or two in those hands.

Guy Fieri and Anne Burrell.


They probably share DNA. And hair products.

Ina Garten of Barefoot Contessa.


Now here's a lady I can relate to. The woman is "fluffy". This makes me think she actually eats the things she makes. What's that saying about never trust a skinny cook? Exactly.

I've done myself a double favor in cutting off my porn Food Network TV.

I used to watch Iron Chef right before going to bed.


Then I would lay in bed unable to sleep from all the anxiety I had collected from the show. Once I did fall asleep I had restless nightmares of being trapped in a kitchen prison with a huge red-digit clock ticking away, counting down to my certain doom:

A death match with Anne Burrell and her knifed hand gestures.

Or being impaled on Guy Fieri's bleached hair spikes. Or burned at the stake by Giada's gruesome grin.

Or rendered unconcious and lifeless from the stench of Mario Batali's crocs.



All hideous ways to go.

I was kind of hoping if I were going to suffer a food-related death, it would be because I had drowned in a pool of chocolate.

Vlog-cent

It was so fun the first time, I just had to do it again.

The vlog this month is an accent/dialect vlog.

The idea it to say these words: Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught, Antenna, Root beer, Ambulance, Museum, Milk, Orange, Apricot

and answer these questions:

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped
body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry
groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you change the TV channel with?
Where do you buy your groceries?

So I did.



Then the Show and Tell part is to show your favorite room in your house. Which I tried to do here...



...and horribly failed.

My goal is to do this in one take someday, but I cheated this time and I'm publicly flogging myself by showing you my blooper take. Always good for a laugh. ;)

Here's the "better" take:



Don't you love my little Oscar speech at the end?

I can't believe I didn't notice that mascara smudge on my eye BEFORE I did the video. It was incredibly obvious to me when I watched this after uploading it to YouTube. Oh well. I was kind of lucky just to get some makeup on my face for the day. Who cares where that makeup went.

Thanks for hosting the party Shawn and Mamarazzi!


And make sure to go wish the birthday girl, Sami, a happy 30th birthday!

Only...

2 more sleeps

6 more meals

79 more Facebook checks

2 more blog posts

34 more diaper changes

4 more loads of laundry

24 more trips to the bathroom

2 more showers

4 more kid baths

4 more trips back or forth from the school

8 more times of pushing "snooze" on my alarm clock

3 more dishwasher runs

1 more trip to the grocery store

4 more movies

6 more piano practices

8 more children's books

27 more texts

2 more sessions with my vacuum cleaner

83 more times of asking Elle if she needs to go potty

82 more times of cleaning up potty training accidents

...until I see this kid again!


I have a feeling he's changed a bit in the last two and a half years since I last saw him.

Welcome home very very soon Elder Colin!!!

I Have Cute Kids

(Dee, Jeigh, cousin, Elle)

How "cute" you ask?

Or maybe you didn't ask, but lucky you, I'm going to tell you anyway.

Did you take a gander up at my blog header??? That's pretty darn tootin' cute, wouldn't you agree? It makes me smile so big that I can hardly see that all my little clouds are filled now. (A big thank you to my sister Erin for adding Cee!)

My heart is full.

Almost as full as my king-sized bed every morning.



(Tell me again why we even bought beds for the kids?)

Cee is two and a half months old now. She makes me drool. Like physically drool when I look at her gorgeous sparkling blue eyes peeking out from rows of dark thick eyelashes.



I blame her dad for those beautiful long lashes. And the receding hair line.

Tell me...Is it strange that I drool over her?

Not only that but also that I have to fight the urge to nibble on her a bit? I want to literally chomp down on her chubby cheeks and thighs.

All I can figure is this must be some urge leftover from my cave woman roots. That or someone ought to call CPS.

I find myself constantly emotional watching this little girl grow up right before my eyes. My newborn is rapidly disappearing and I can't seem to soak her in quick enough.

Pictures do no justice. A flat two dimensional piece of paper will never remind me how delicious she smells or how sweet the sounds of her coos are to my ears. I am bound to forget how funny her face is with shock when her fist flies up and pops her smack dab in between the eyes. She is already getting too long to perch on my shoulder in a little curled up ball of heavy and warm comfort anymore.

Bittersweet.

A newborn growing up is such a mixed bag of emotions. Sad to watch the sweet and brand-new go, but thrilled to see the growth and progression come.

We mommies are never quite content with the present.

{sigh}

I do have three other kids too. They seem to share Cee's total disregard for my commands to stop growing up so fast too.

The very day I verbalized this to Dee, we discovered he had his first loose tooth. How exciting and sad, all in the same moment. (By the way, what's the going rate for the Tooth Fairy these days?)

We just enrolled Dee in piano a couple of weeks ago. I already mentioned how discouraging the first practice was, but after the promise of a lunch out with Mommy he rallied his best efforts together and gave his first week of piano practice a first rate go. The lunch date was delivered and he seems to be sold on piano practice now.

I keep waiting for him to realize he could probably weasel more lunch dates out of me if he complained about practicing again, but so far so good. He really is such a good boy who tries so hard to please. I love my little son.

Dee and Jeigh both are getting ready to start their first season of soccer.



That's right! I'm officially a soccer mom! Oh boy.

The other day I walked into a room where the kids were all playing.

Dee: Mom! Jeigh told me a lie!

Me: She did? About what?

Dee: She said there was a chicken in the road. I looked. There's no chicken in the road.

Jeigh: I was telling a joke!


See? Cute!

Oh and Elle?



I didn't forget about her.

Just about everything that comes out of that girl's mouth makes us laugh.

"You straight trippin' Mama!" is Joe's personal favorite.

Mine has to be "I love you, Mama!" usually accompanied by a tender little hug and a very juicy kiss.

So cute, I could cry.

My Little...Pirate? Nothing says scurvy dog pirate like a cute little pink haired pony.