A New You Retreat for Women, Pt. I

Ohhhhh, am I BACK!  (That’s not a question.  I just said it that way because it feels so good). Do you know that last month went something like this:
The 4th of July!
Girl’s Camp for me!
A week long training for him!
A “regular” week!
A DIFFERENT week long training for him!
A retreat for me!
A family reunion for all!
And now it’s today.

What’s next? NUH-THING and it feels SO good.
You know how I’ve known for a year that I’d be going to this retreat? Well, I wasn’t exactly the best at packing for it. Saturday morning, my sister went through the Temple. You know my zisster, right?

It was absolutely amazing! Everyone should be so lucky as to have a sister.
As my husband and I were driving home, I mentioned that I needed to be packing. And he said, “We should go to Flag.”
Being the super responsible girl I am, I said “Yo-kay!”
And proceeded not to pack for my trip that was happening in less that 18 hours.
Was it worth it? Of course! Throwing caution to the wind is usually, sort of, kind of ALWAYS worth it! (minues teen pregnancy…)
With my sister-in-law in tow, we wandered around downtown and snapped a picture of this hotel:
I don’t have an official “bucket list.” But I would have to say that if I did, going to the Hotel Monte Vista would definitely be on that list. It’s haunted, and despite my utter loathing of horror films and movies (minus “The Haunting” which was pretty much a comedy riot) I’m itching to stay there with my husband. No kiddies, you understand. No responsible parent would check their child into a haunted hotel. I mean, really. Have you seen “The Shining?”
I did.
The TV version, anyway.
We stopped at some old time shops and stared at the caramel apples we wanted to buy, and then we window shopped the snot outta that place:
Who has the coolest daughter? I do! I do!

Except when she runs away from the table at Pita Jungle (swoon!) and her Dad has to put her in her place:
And then he gets mad when I try to capture the charm of the moment:
Sometimes I just don’t think men understand sentiment.

The next day, I woke up, got ready, got my kids ready for church, gathered my bearings and bags and when I went to put them in the back of mom’s car found…
The coolest girl in the world wanted to come! If daughters fit on carry-ons…

I wish I could say that our flight was uneventful, but it went something like this:
“Hey mom, look at the clouds! They’re so pretty.”
“Hey mom, look at the clouds! They’re getting thicker.”
“Hey mom, look at the clouds! They’re turning grey.”
“Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain speaking…”

When we landed in Salt Lake City, it was raining. We were picked up by my best friend, Tia, and her husband, Merrick. By the time we got to their house, I was so motion sick I could hardly eat the amazing food they had prepared for us.
I’m talking CORD ON BLUE! (I typed it that way because that’s how we speak french out here in the sticks)
I’m talking CHEESECAKE!

Check out all those toothpicks!
And check out all THESE toothpicks:

I wish everyone could meet Tia and Merrick… seriously -these guys are the bestest.
They introduced me to a youtube video that made me laugh so hard I went on a mission to deliver it to the world.

I love everything “folky” (see my usage of Cord On Blue, above).

“Two taco salads for the ladies…”

They were nice enough to share some of their garden with us AND they were nice enough to let me eat my cheesecake EVEN THOUGH I couldn’t finish my chicken.
Real friends for sure.

That night, as I lie “sleeping,” I posted a facebook status that read “women’s retreat in 3 hours and I’m too excited to sleep!! maybe I should go jump on tia’s bed until she wakes up so I’ll have someone to play with until the sun comes up…”
The next morning, Tia told me that she was having trouble sleeping that night and logged onto facebook and saw my status. I really would have jumped on the bed with her had her husband not been sleeping. I read somewhere that girls are supposed to jump on beds and have pillow fights when they have sleep overs. Well, we didn’t.
In fact, we even went so far as to DEFLATE the bed instead of jump on it.
To be fair, I didn’t help. Hey, someone HAD to take pictures!

I couldn’t leave without getting a picture of what Tia has called her “Easy Bake Oven” because it’s so small.

Tia dropped Mom and I off at Thanksgiving Point the next morning, and then she snapped a picture of us:

I miss Tia so much already. We spent all of Sunday evening laughing so hard.
That’s prolly why we all look so happy in this picture:

Last but not least: Despite the rain, Tia and Merrick were nice enough to cruise by the Salt Lake Temple so Mom and I could get a glimpse. Merrick snapped this picture for me, and it’s pretty much perfect.
I should pay him.


All her life, my daughter has wanted to break things. I don’t know what it is that drives her to smash, tear, and demolish -and that makes it really hard to fight against it. I feel like I’m fighting an invisible black night.

We’ve always been able to keep it in some sort of check, and Lacy’s never really ruined anything too huge. I mean, she made fast work of my glasses (twice) (and, yes, they were out of reach… so I thought), but that’s been the worst so far as I can recall.

As she grew up, I noticed a gradual decline in her mayhem. She became more interested in dress-up clothes and less interested in ripping pages out of books. We’ll still find the occasional broken toy, but for the most part I thought she’d grown out of it.

And then the last few weeks happened.

I’ve been wearing lipstick -something I’ve never really done because I’ve never found a good shade for myself. Well I found one. It was roughly $18, but worth it.
The first day I was gone to girl’s camp, Lacy ruined it. I came home to find it demolished. My brand new expensive lipstick. Gone.

While I was in Flagstaff with my sister, I went into a beauty supply store -something I’ve NEVER done. I bought a few little things like GOOD bobby pins and a GOOD file and some really pretty nail glitter.
I told Lacy that when Trenton took his Sunday nap, we would paint our nails and put glitter on them. After Sunday dinner, she laid down next to him in bed and the SECOND he fell asleep, she reported to me.
“Trent’s asleep, Mama! He’s asleep!”
“Go to Mommy’s bed and get the black bag and bring it to me. It has our nail polish in it.”

A few minutes went by and she reappeared.
Covered in glitter.

My brand new, bought at a beauty supply store… glitter.
I made a quick dash to my bedroom to find glitter spots just about everywhere.
“Where is it?” I asked Lacy, who had followed me in. I pointed to the glitter spots and continued asking, “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.

I finally found it, mostly gone, on the floor in my bathroom.

And even though she’d only been home about 24 hours and I swore while the kids were away that I’d temper my temper… I lost my cool.
She knew what she had done was naughty… just like she KNEW what she had done with my lipstick was naughty. I sent her to bed telling her, “We will NOT be painting our nails!”
“But I just WANT to, Mom!”
“Then you should have listened to me!” I said.

I sat down at the couch and wondered- just as I’m sure EVERY mother wonders -WHY DO I BOTHER BUYING ANYTHING FOR MYSELF?!

And then I got the kids ready to go to grandma’s house.
We had a nice, long visit with Grandma -an hour of which was spent skyping cousin Kourtney. When it got time to leave, the kids were fussy.
He didn’t want to leave without taking another turn on Grandma’s stationary bicycle!
She didn’t want to leave grandma’s and go home! She wanted to leave grandma’s and go to “regular” grandma’s house!

When I told them both “no,” there was a community melt down.
Just as my older brother asked me if I might need help loading my kids in the car, I yelled at my kids to get to the door OR ELSE.
“But.. but..” Lacy said, (“but” is her new favorite thing to say) “MY FLASHLIGHT FROM GRAMMY!”
I loaded the kids in the car, fully aware that I had just lost my temper in front of my entire family.
I was embarrassed and I was tired. Worst of all: I was chuck full of hormones.

I drove home on the verge of tears. I was frustrated with myself and my kids. I’ve been frustrated with my daughter because I feel like she’s taken steps backward, but it turns out… I have to. I thought my temper had been getting better with my kids.
But it turns out I’m quicker to yell than I’d hoped.
Once home, the kids ran circles around me while I told them to go get their PJs. They didn’t listen. They DID acknowledge me, but they didn’t listen.
I watched my demolishing daughter put her hands in my beautiful $10 heels, and I asked her to please not play with them and to please bring them to me.
She looked at me.
And she continued to play.
Still feeling the shame of my shouting at my children in front of my family, I calmly asked her again to please bring me my heels.
“But… but…”
“Please.” My voice kept calm, “Bring those shoes to Mommy.”
She simply moved out of sight and kept playing with them.

So I got up. TOOK the shoes away from her and sent her directly to bed.
No PJs. No drink.
Her brother followed her.

5 minutes later?

We were all just overly tired.

So here’s to today. May it be filled with a longer temper on my part and a nice streak on my daughter’s.
And may all of my belongings make it through unscathed.

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

My  four-year old daughter has decided that she no longer loves her mother. She’ll tell her mother all the time. She even speaks to her mother in the third person.
“I just don’t like my mom,” she’ll say to her mom, “She’s always gets mad at me.”
“I don’t love my mom,” she’ll say to her mom, “I just love my grandpa.”

I know she obviously doesn’t understand love and how it works… you CAN love more than one person. But it’s amazing how much those little words coming out of that little mouth can really cut deep. A few nights ago, we were at my husband’s parent’s house. I was about to fall asleep. The kids were not. They were lying next to each other in the dark, giggling incessantly.
“Time for bed,” I said, for the umpteenth time, “You guys need to settle down… Trenton, I love you.”
“I lud you too.”
“Lacy, I love you.”
“I don’t love you, Mom.”
“Of course you do. Wouldn’t you be sad if mommy went away forever?”
“That would be fine!” She said, brightly.

No more Mom? Bliss! The truth is, she’s around me ALL the time. She gets sicks of me. It’s only natural. But still.
I sorta hunkered down in my blanket and contemplated calling my own mother to shout, “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MOM!!!!” and I might have had it not been 11 pm.

Oh, that girl.  She’s wearing TWO tutus.
She does love me.

And I have to admit that when I have just about as much as I can take of “I don’t want you” talk, I simply turn to the boy. THERE’S a kid who knows how to appreciate his mama.
With him, it’s constant kisses. Constant compliments. Constant face caressing.
So basically… constant validation.


Oh, how I never dreamed this much love was possible.
And what is it about kids getting haircuts that is so irresistible? I try to keep my camera put away, but I can’t! I can’t! Something about a little kid in a cloak is just too much.

And mom? I love you very much.

Parenting Changes Things

I wrote this post Monday morning and it refused to publish, so here it is too-day.  Hoo-ray.


How’ve you been? I fell off the face of the earth for a few days.
Short excuse: I got sick.
Long excuse: I went out of town for a baby shower and had the time of my life eating and eating and eating and then I went OUT to eat with family and then I woke up at 4 am the next day feeling like death and I remained plastered to my mother in law’s futon until we got home and once I got home and got some rest I was fine but I had to get outta the house ASAP to pick up Red Cross donations and drop them off with Audree… and then I HAD to stay at Jewel’s house and visit and then I HAD to clean my house and then I HAD to have Julianne over to watch a movie which we didn’t make it all the way through because Netflix quit working properly.

And now. Here I am.

Anyway, I’ve got a few things to write about, but right now I’ll only go so far as to tell you about our drive to my in law’s house.
**side note: my in laws are all amazing. I struck in law GOLD on all accounts.**

Because we were driving to a baby shower, I remarked to my husband that having a child just changes everything.
“You dress differently -you have to! First of all, you don’t fit into the clothes you used to fit into because, even if you do happen to lose ALL of the weight, your bone structure changes. And then you have to wear really practical clothes because you learn really quick that your baby will barf on whatever you’re wearing whether it’s silk or cotton.”
And then we got into the deeper part of the conversation.
“And isn’t it amazing how just having a child changes your perception of mortality? Not to mention how it makes you feel about true love… You have all of these ideas about what kind of parent you’re going to be, and then the child is placed in your arms and you realize it’s not up to you at all.  The best part is how easy it is to let go of any preconceived notions and become a completely loyal and willing servant.”

And then we reveled in the silence of our thoughts.

…until the girl puked everywhere.

Yeah. Parenting.
In other parenting ponderings, how did pioneers parent without TV sets?


It’s so easy to go about your daily life and forget you used to not be able to reach the bathroom sink or tie your own shoes. It reminds me in a small way of Ms. Trunchbull, “They’re all mistakes, children! Filthy, nasty things. Glad I never was one.”

Yet there are moments -swift, fleeting moments -when your body is ripped through by the sensation of childhood. You feel alive, energized… and roughly 8 years old. Strictly speaking, you’re positively trampled by nostalgia. It’s invigorating, really. And even when the sensation is gone, it leaves you feeling changed.

This has happened to me many, many times -usually when I’m reading one of my journals from grade school days. But last Saturday it happened again, and the feeling was about 1,000 times sharper than normal. For the first time ever, I longed to be little again, if only to tap into my little unworried, imaginative brain.

It all happened here:
The school playground.

I took my kids and my little cousin there to play. My sister met us there with a few kids she was babysitting, and we all just ran around until we were tired and wanted Mr. G’s ice cream more than the slides.
And as I watched my kids running rampant on the exact same equipment I used to run rampant on, I was struck. It seemed to overtake me, and I could almost ALMOST see my best friend hanging from the monkey bars, skipping two as she went (I was so impressed). I could see us with our skinny, long legs hanging from the bridges and our hair standing on end after we came out of the tube slide. I remember my friends huddling close to me and holding me while I cried during recess one day because I had spent months preparing to go to the Junior High All-State Band Festival… only to be told the day I was supposed to leave that I wouldn’t be going on account of unforseen, unavoidable circumstances.
I remember playing Follow the Leader.
I remember being told on Halloween that my princess dress was all wrong -princesses never wear brown dresses, apparently. I went home feeling rather dejected only to have my level of excitement brought back full-force by my expert of a mother.
I thought of the library inside the school -it was my favorite place in the entire building. I used to get lost in the books there, and I couldn’t get enough. The library fed my imagination a constant diet of adventure. I jumped time zones, countries, races, spaces! It was more gratifying than the tire swing (which has been taken down, probably for the best).

I stood rooted to the playground dirt while my inner-child pulled herself from the depths of my soul and slapped me across the face.
Then I walked away the better for it.
(The monkey bars my friend would skip two on. SOMETIMES even three. So cool, I know.)
(Seth building houses in the dirt. I didn’t want to tell him they looked exactly like wigwams.)

When I start to forget that I used to be a child -and I will, we all do -I’ll always have my kids around to remind me. I’ll always have their big, trusting eyes staring into my soul wondering if I approve of them… if they’re doing things right. And I’ll always have their smiling faces.
See that? His face is like a tonic for the soul. One look at this picture, and all seems right with the world. All you need is a little time with a swing (and Aunt JuJu, naturally).

He Speaks

My son is really getting good at talking to us. He tells me little stories about what’s gone on during his days, and I soak it up. It’s so sweet to hear his little voice talking to me. I remember looking at his moist little newborn lips and wondering someday what they might say, how they might say it, and what his voice would sound like.
Those days have come rapidly.

Last week, he was playing with a little beenie baby kitten.
“Fold be arms,” he said to the kitty. They were both lying on their tummies in the living room, “Say… ‘Heabenly Fodder…’ Kitty! Fold BE ARMS!” He would fix his kitty’s paws over and over to make sure they were being folded and then he would continue teaching the kitten to pray.

**NOTE: when Trent says “Be” he really means “my” or “your”. I don’t know why he does that, but I love it.**

After he decided his kitty had said a satisfactory prayer, he picked it up.
“Come on, kitty. Let’s shoot be gun.” He picked up one of his three plastic orange guns and put the kitten next to the trigger. He spent the next few minutes teaching his kitty to shoot and I sat back and watched. It was the sweetest thing. Pretty soon, his sister appeared. Without a word of warning, she snatched his kitty right out of his hands.
“Trent, I hafta cook you kitty,” she said, running into her room where her little play kitchen is. Trenton looked after her, sighed heavily, and gave in.
“Awwight,” he said, following her into their room.

I just sat back, watched it all, and laughed my little buns off.

You really couldn’t argue with her reasoning… “I HAFTA cook your kitty.” How can you refuse that? Poor kitty.

Here’s Trenton with his latest favorite toy. He got mixed up somewhere along the way and started calling it “Shampoo” instead of just “Pooh.” Except he pronounces it “Cham-poo” and I refuse to correct him.

Desperate Times

There comes a time in the life of all mothers when they get desperate.  For me, it came around 2 pm yesterday, when -after being up since 4:30 am and trucking my two small children across a small city and then coming home to a TV-less home -my son found the old Easter Egg Dye.

Apparently Easter’s not over until Trent gives the say-so. Hide your dye.
As I washed his little hands off, I took in a deep breath. Thanks to my bout with food poisoning, I still hadn’t completely unpacked from our trip. I also hadn’t been able to completely finish the dishes.
I was desperate for some sense of… what’s the word I’m looking for? I’m trying to say, “I have it all together.”
Did you know it’s impossible to be desperate AND have it all together? Proof:
I turned on Pandora Radio to the Walt Disney Kid’s Station, and I told my four-year old princess that it was “time to tidy up!” For this scene, I took my inspiration from Amy Adams as Giselle.
“Clothes on the floor? This just won’t do!” I cooed to my daughter, and she twirled around the room gathering them up.  I actually made a big to-do over a trash bag, and she thought it was so special she wouldn’t let it go.  It was “hers” and picking up trash was ever so important.  I slipped out of the living room while she was gathering toys in a basket (much like Sleeping Beauty gathers berries) and went into my room to change. I emerged an absolute wreck of a princess. In high school, I wore a beautiful homemade prom dress made from cotton. I took a pattern from the 70’s and I modified it into my prom dress. Underneath it, my neighbor helped me fashion a petticoat. It was black so it wouldn’t show under my dress. I left the dress in the closet (never to fit these hips again) and opted for the friendly elastic-banded petticoat. Ahhhhhhh, comfort.
When I emerged from my room, the kids’ eyes lit up. They were in the palm of my hand, and in less than ONE HOUR we had the house completely clean. During that hour, the girl had changed into her princess clothes. Not to be outdone, my son cabbaged onto one of her black and blue skirts (Halloween clearance special).
I tried to vacuum, but they just wouldn’t let me. So I let them! Photobucket
They took turns (not very well) and soon enough… the kids who I couldn’t pay to clean (I tried) were actually fighting over who got to clean more! See his pouty face? It wasn’t his turn.

Waking up to a clean house always makes for a much nicer day. I guess I’d better get out there and start it.

Eating Out

We went for two months without eating out.  We had one paycheck that was short, and we issued the challenge to ourselves: no eating out this paycheck.

I say “challenge” because it sounds more adventurous than “rule.”
We stuck by it, man. I cooked this and whipped up that. I was amazed at how much food we really did have in our cupboards. It isn’t like we eat out all the time. We tend to order pizza about once every two weeks. During a particularly hairy time, we might average one take-out meal every 10 days. But because we did so well NOT eating out, we extended the challenge to the next paycheck and the next and the next.
Before I knew it, we had gone TWO MONTHS without eating out (except for the one time the kids and I ate hot dogs at the food court in Sam’s Club, but I don’t really count that since there was no way around it. Also it cost me all of $5.)

Last week on Thursday, I had HAD it. I was tired and the kids were tired. I was hungry and the kids were hungry. I’d had a hankering for cheese sticks and I didn’t have any appropriate cheese on hand to make any, so I asked my husband if we could eat out. He was fine with the idea, so we decided to eat at Denny’s. I felt terrible about it, really. All this time, I’d saved and saved and saved and cooked and cooked and cooked, only to be overthrown by a hasty decision essentially made by my stomach.
I tried to shake it off, but I couldn’t.
Even when my plate of cheese sticks was placed in front of me and a voice inside was crying out, “YOU DESERVE THIS!” I still couldn’t shake it.
The next day, we went shopping. It’s been a while since my husband went shopping with us, and he really hates watching prices go up. By the time we were done checking out, he, ahem, wasn’t the happiest camper in the world. So I took a slight detour on the way home. That is to say: instead of depositing our car on the highway and heading home, I deposited our car at Sonic and ordered up some greasy grub. Food always makes my husband happy.
After we’d eaten (for only $8! Can you beat that?! If you’re not Sam’s Club, I mean…) we drove home. The next morning, we woke up, packed up, and headed to Thatcher.
My sister was graduating, and after her ceremony we… ate out. As a family.
I didn’t even come CLOSE to finishing my three creamy chicken enchiladas. Something just tasted… off.

And something WAS off. I tossed and turned all that night, falling in and out of sleep as my stomach would allow. The next day, I woke up and the family and I made our way to Denny’s again -this time with the rest of the family. We had one more family meal (breakfast) before we all split up and headed our different directions. I ordered one Grand Slam for me and the kids.
The kids ate more than I did. I mean… the kids ate more than I COULD.
I tried all day to shake the ache in my stomach. We stayed with my good friend, Stephanie, and I felt like the biggest jerk ever -plastered to her couch sipping on Sprite and cursing Casa Manana and their chicken enchiladas.

We finally made it back to our own house around 10:30 at night. My poor husband took the wheel for the long ride home, and I sat passenger, clutching my trusty Sprite and a pillow.
I collapsed on the couch when we got home and woke up a few times in the night with a roaring stomach ache. I’m not exactly proficient at.. purging (shall I say?) so the stomach ache simply stayed with me with no way to really work it’s way out.
I did make it to church, but only barely.

But I will tell you this much: the challenge is BACK ON.
No eating out! NO EATING OUT!!

In other news: here’s the only picture I took this weekend. I only took one picture for three reasons: my camera is dead and I can’t find the charger, my phone camera’s zooming function quit working, and I was plastered to poor Stephanie’s couch.
It’s a nice, relaxing picture though. Isn’t it? The kids were enjoying an afternoon splashing away in a kiddie pool. I enjoyed the sunshine and the green grass and the mountains in the distance.

As for yesterday, I snapped a couple of pictures with my zoom-less camera phone. My grandmother has a merry-go-round in her backyard. She’s had it for as long as I can remember.
When it comes to company, the merry-go-round has never been found wanting.
(no, I didn’t let them ride around like that. But I did have to get a picture before telling them to dismount.)

I left the kids to their playing and made my way into the house where I was greeted by THIS:

A necklace my aunt had made that I admired. I’m not big on jewelry, but my aunt’s taste is FANTASTIC!

Am I planning today’s hairstyle, make-up and outfit around this necklace?
Of course I am.

Just before heading to bed, I snapped this picture of two of my favorite people sharing a late night snack while they watched the game highlights on ESPN.com:Photobucket

That, readers, is my weekend report.
Today will consist of wearing my necklace (priority!), cleaning the house to get it ready for a day of fun with my nieces, taking the kids to the cemetery to clean-up, taking the kids swimming for an hour, and then heading to a friend’s birthday BBQ.

Days like today should always begin with a necklace like mine.
Please excuse me, the boy is drinking from the toilet.

Getting in the Mood for Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  I hope I’m not the only one out there who has to give my husband warnings.

“Mother’s Day is in two weeks.”
“Mother’s Day is happening during this pay period.”
“This is your one week Mother’s Day warning.”

He never gets upset about the reminding. He only thanks me profusely. I’m excited for Mother’s Day this year. Every year, I cook a Mother’s Day dinner for my grandma and mom. This year we’ll be having BBQ ribs (made with Dr. Pepper), homemade potato salad, leaf salad, and cinnamon rolls for dessert. I can’t wait for the meal to come together! I can’t wait for our families to come together! Did I mention that I was excited to give my mom her Mother’s Day gift? I AM! It was put into my hands on Sunday, and I’m absolutely hopping excited to hand it over to my mom. I even took pictures of it! But I can’t share them yet. Because I signed my mom up for email feeds from my blog, so she HAS to read my crap.

My husband got asked to speak in church on Mother’s Day. AND so did my Dad. Excitement! Yes I’ll attend an extra hour of church just to hear my dad speak. Don’t you think I won’t!

Last night, I started feeling the Mother’s Day love. After the kids got out of their bath, they came to me on the couch for lotion and PJs. My son has the cutest hooded towel, and I was surprised when he crawled up on the couch and nestled himself down for the biggest, most snuggly hug in the whole world.
Can you see his little towel-clad arms wrapped around me?
It was the sweetest thing.
And there he stayed until he’d gotten his fill. Then he moved and let his sister get her lotion and PJs. After I got her dressed, I sat on the floor.
“You might brush my hair,” my daughter said.
“Yeah,” I nodded, “sit right here…” I motioned to a spot on the floor in the front of me between my legs.
“No,” she shook her head, “You might put your legs like…” She pushed my legs together and then laid herself on top of them. It took my by completely surprise! Have you ever balanced a four-year old on your legs before? It might have been hard had she not been a perfect fit.
(see the wreath off to the right side? Remind me to tell you about THAT later.)
I looked down at our feet and it made me so happy.
We said our prayers and then told the kids to hop in bed, but they didn’t. Lacy wanted her hair brushed some more, and Trenton wanted to play with his Dad some more.
So I went on brushing completely unaware that my husband took this picture.
He bought a Droid (Thunderbolt) last month and he’s been using the heck out of it. He went a little picture happy. And he went a little effects happy too. Why is the above picture blue? I asked him.
Because it can be! He answered.
Ahhhhhh… freshly bathed babies. Nothing in the world smells as sweet.
I only wonder where my son went when all of this picture taking was going down…

And now. I’m going to tell you about the wreath. I started it on Friday night. I saw a tutorial on a website for it. The woman talked about how easy it was to make. How she saw one at a boutique for $40 and then went home and made one for $2. I was really excited about the idea of making one. I sat curled up on the floor Friday night and watched television with my husband as I cut swirls out of pages torn from a book and made little roses and glued them to a wreath.
I giggled with every new rose made and paraded the wreath in front of my husband’s face.Photobucket
“Isn’t it looking good?” I squealed.
And then came Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday. And that blasted thing STILL isn’t done! I’ve been working on it for days and hours and hours! I’ve streamed just about every classic Netflix movie that looks even remotely interesting! My husband came home from work last night and found me curled up in front of my poor page-ripped book.
“Still at it?” He asked. I aimed the glue gun at my wreath and pretended to shoot it.
He laughed at me.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You were so excited about it and now you hate it,” he laughed, “It’s cute.”

Want to know what to get me for Mother’s Day darling?
Some good sense to not start silly projects like this!
Also… dear, can you make paper roses? I need about 40 more.


Technically, I got nine hours of sleep last night. Nine hours. NINE. If you don’t count the fact that I was awakened 5 times by the same girl for the same thing.
A drink of water.
I had given her a drink before she went to bed, so I didn’t see what the deal was. I tried ignoring her so she’d go back to sleep (I’m such a good mom), but I started having dreams about an animal whimpering in pain. I’d open my eyes to realize it was my daughter, whimpering for attention.

The fourth time I got up, I made sure she knew that I WAS NOT getting up again.
So she hopped in bed with me. She brought her pillow and blanket with her, and had a hard time getting comfortable. She adjusted.


So I threw her out. I didn’t literally throw her out. I just ordered her out of my bed and out of my room. I mean, at that point it was 2 AM! I had been in bed for four hours and had been woken up 5 times!

Last night: I had just put the kids to bed and my husband and I were watching some comedy TV before turning in. We kept the volume turned down, but my son still wanted to join in the fun. He wandered into the living room.
“I waked up,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Go back to bed,” I cooed.
“I alweady did,” he shrugged. The “technically” was implied.
Bedtime? Check. Don’t need to do that again.

So I did sleep last night, but it doesn’t feel like it. I need something to jump start my day -something to make me feel awake. Because at this point, all I really want is for someone to tell me to go back to my own bed.
I might as well soak in the tub while I can.
The childrens are still sleeping -the lucky ducks.