Consolation Prize

“Trenton, should we have a baby at Mama’s house?”

“Ummmmmm… we could have CAaaake….”


Which I think is his nice way of saying, “You don’t need a baby, Mom. I’m your baby, Mom. But hey! Don’t fret -there will always be cake.”

Anyway, with this boy around there’s no room in my arms for a baby. If he doesn’t find me in the middle of the night, he finds me first thing in the morning. Today was no different.
And just so you know: there’s nothing like your son saying “I don’t want to take a smile of me” to make you take about 20 pictures.

PS: you all know about my brother, Steve.  Well I have other brothers.  Here’s a pretty amazing blog post by the brother nearest my age, Mike.  CLICK HERE Prepare to be impressed with his new toy.  I was.


Birthday Drive-In

My husband is really big on birthdays.  The first birthday we ever spent together was my 19th birthday (!!!  19!?  I was just a kid!).  His gifts to me were so perfectly planned -so sentimental.  He gave me “Hidalgo,” the movie we saw on our first date.  He gave me “Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World” because I had RAVED about it and to make matters better… he gave me the soundtrack!  He gave me a pink fleece blanket, a carton of cotton candy (pink, which he ate), picture frames to fill our soon-to-be-ours apartment, and he also gave me a brand new pair of RED shoes because he knew how much I loved the red shoes I wore nearly every day.  When he saw a new shiny pair, he thought of me and he bought them.

It was so darn sweet, I could hardly stand it.  Every year -RIGHT when I wake up, he has a birthday gift wrapped and waiting for me.

WELL, this year I got one of the best gifts EVER!  He sent me to a three-day retreat with my Mom in Utah.  Kid free!  Amazing classes!  New haircut and color!  And I couldn’t be more grateful… but the retreat was August 1-3rd… and my birthday is the 16th.  That meant I woke up on the 16th with no present.  Which was fine.  I knew I had already gotten my rather expensive gift (we saved for a year), and I was fine.

The night of the 15th, my husband asked “What are your plans tomorrow?”
I told him the truth, “I have to go through all of our clothes and get rid of what we don’t need. I’m donating them to the clothing exchange going on this week.”
“Oh,” he said, “Cool.”
And then we went to bed.

The next morning, after a birthday kiss, he went to work. I set to washing all of the kids’ clothes. All day long I was under a pile of laundry. I received facebook birthday messages and answered them all right back because -let’s face it -I was sitting on the couch under a literal mountain of laundry.

But it was okay. I mean, really. Is laundry what I wanted to do on my birthday? Not really, but it wasn’t bad. I streamed chick flicks and I enjoyed reading all of my sweet facebook messages.
As the day went on, my daughter’s behavior got progressively worse.
She broke one of my Willow Tree figurines -the one given to me by an Aunt as a graduation gift.
Worse: she lied about it -tried to blame her brother.
She’s also in a correcting phase. As in: every time I do something wrong, she lets me know.
“You’re not wearing your seat belt.”
“We don’t do that Mom.”
I listened to her correction all day long and tried to SMILE about it. Because it was my BIRTHDAY and we’re SUPPOSED to be HAPPY ABOUT IT. After her brother went down for a nap, she asked me for some ice cream.
I dished her out some, putting a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth as I did.
“Mom, where did we get the ice cream?” She asked as I was forking it into my mouth.
“Hannah,” I replied, my mouth full.
“Mom, we don’t talk with our mouths full,” she chimed.
I gritted down on that ice cream and replied, “That’s right. We don’t.”

After a thorough lecture from her father last night about sneaking food into her room, she snuck a pile of chocolate animal crackers into her room, spilled them, stepped on them and then LAUGHED in my face when I spanked her. And when I got after her for laughing, she laughed at me again. Three times.

But I shook it off. My husband would be coming home soon. My sister had offered to take the kids for a while that night… it would all be okay.
Then I got a text from my husband telling me he might not be able to make it home in time to go out.

At that point, I threw caution to the wind and busted out the bag of cookie dough I had frozen a few weeks earlier. I sat on top of my clean laundry and ATE cookie dough. And I liked it.

I had tentatively planned a creative date. I always plan creatively when we don’t have much cash, you know. We’re at the end of our pay period, and I thought it might be fun to hit up Red Box, buy a few snacks, and take my lap top out somewhere and watch a movie… create our own little drive in, so to speak. Just the thought made me sing, “Stranded at the Drive-in” without stopping for, oh… four hours. give or take.

Word came at 7:30 that my husband was on his way home. He would make it home a little late but JUST in time for us to go out. I was emotionally drained. I was tired of laundry. BUT IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY and I WAS HAPPY. I got ready. I teased my hair and sprayed perfume on and applied lip stick. I fed my kids (I wasn’t hungry on account of the cookie dough) and when my husband got home, I had the car fully loaded and I WAS READY TO GET THE FRACK OUTTA THERE!

After dropping the kids off, I remarked, “I’m so tired. Let’s just go rent a movie, grab some take out and go home to watch the movie.”
“Um,” he started with some trepidation, “I have to be to work early, so if we’re going to watch a movie we need to do it now.”
And that’s what did it.
I didn’t want to try and be happy anymore. I didn’t care if it was my birthday anymore. I didn’t want to watch a movie if we were going to be rushed. I didn’t want to grab take out or sit down because I wasn’t hungry.
You know what I wanted at that point?
My bed.

We drove into town to rent a movie. By then, my husband had figured out that I wasn’t exactly hyped up for a party. He asked me to please smile.
But I thought it would be cool to cry instead.
“Please can we just go home?” I pleaded, “It’s late. I don’t want to leave the kids forever. I don’t want food. Let’s just go home.”
“Okay,” he said, wrapping his arm around me.
We drove home, tears filled my eyes… it wouldn’t have been a huge problem except I was driving. We neared an exit, and my husband said, “Get off here. Turn around.”
“Please,” my heart sunk, “Please let’s just go home.”
“Pull off,” he said, gently, “I’ll drive now. Let’s go back into town for a few snacks and then I promise we’ll just go home.”
“Okay,” I nodded, the promise of HOME ringing in my heart.

As we pulled into the parking lot, he turned the car off.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“I’m coming with you,” I replied.
There was a reason for it, you know. There was a reason I braved the late night crowd at Safeway with tear-stained eyes. I knew that if I left my husband alone he would buy me flowers.
I didn’t want flowers.
Feel free to judge me for what I’m about to say. I judge me.
Growing up, my Dad always ordered flowers for my mother. I used to sit and stare at them on the kitchen table. They were the most wonderful arrangements I’d ever seen, and they were a symbol… I just knew -every time I looked at those arrangements -that my Dad really, truly loved my mother. My husband has always been a stickler for flowers. He makes sure I have them for every possible occasion that you SHOULD have flowers. Valentines, Mother’s Day, anniversaries, birthdays…
He’s sentimental and sweet, really. An amazing man!
That’s why I never had the heart to tell him that what I really wanted… was those expensive arrangements in custom vases with cards sticking out of them.
Can you blame me for not wanting to tell him?! I HATED myself for it! I blame my father! He SPOILED the whole idea for me! (I jest, Papa. I jest.)
Danny has always been so sweet about getting me flowers. Always roses.
I finally had the courage to tell him that I don’t care for roses, and it pained me to the core. How many women out there would kill to have a husband like mine that brought them roses whenever occasion permitted? I know this! That’s why I felt like I jerk telling him the truth. Ever since then, he’s brought me beautiful bouquets of daisies, sunflowers (my favorite), lilies… he’s wonderful.
But last night, I didn’t want a Safeway bouquet. I wanted to cry and I wanted my bed and I knew that if I went with him into the store, he wouldn’t buy me any flowers.
Don’t I sound like the worst person on earth right now? Yes, I do. I know I do. I despise myself.
“Pick out some ice cream,” he said to me in the freezer section, “And I’ll be right back.”
“No,” I said softly, grabbing his arm, “Just stay.”
“No,” he said, less softly and pulled away, “I’ll be right back.”
“Danny, don’t get me flowers.”
“I wanted to get them earlier! I’m promise -I just didn’t have the time and I -”
“I don’t want them,” I admitted, quietly.
“But I always get them,” his shoulders dropped.
“I know,” I nodded, wanting to slap myself for what I was about to say, “I just don’t want them unless they’re… ordered.”
“Did I spoil you with your Valentine’s bouquet?” He smiled (for the first time in our married life, he ordered me a bouquet for Valentine’s Day -a dozen beautiful red roses, and despite the fact that roses aren’t my favorite, I was over the moon. Swoonin’. Smitten. Done for. Absolutely done for.
“I’ve actually always been this way,” I said, carefully.
“Always?” The poor beautiful man looked like I had just taken a mallet to his heart.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, honestly wanting to know.
“Because you’ve always been the sweetest man in the world,” I wrapped my arms around him in the middle of the freezer section, “And I didn’t want to admit to myself let alone to you that I’m a high maintenance jerk.”
Much to my relief, he laughed.
And we went home without flowers.

We picked out Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for each other, and then we snagged some IBC cream soda and brownies.
Seven years ago, we took some IBC cream soda and Little Debbie Brownies out by a baseball field at night, we parked the car, watched a wildfire burn on a nearby mountain, drank our cream soda and ate our brownies… and in all actuality we FELL ASLEEP. But we didn’t stay there all night.
The cops woke us up.

In memorandum, we bought our cream soda and brownies (I thought we had bought IBC root beer that night, but Danny reminded me it was really IBC cream soda. See what I mean? The man is GOLD). And then my husband took the wheel.

He drove us out to my family’s land west of town. He unloaded our car which hasn’t exactly been completely cleaned up from our camping trip, he put the seats down:
Within a matter of minutes, we had our own mini drive in. (Check out that “Rango” preview!)
The movie didn’t work all that well on account of it’s being scratched all to heck, but it didn’t matter.
I shifted in my seat and suddenly music started playing.
From under my seat.
One of Lacy’s toys had fallen behind the seat -a Disney Princess “CD” player. It sang and sang and sang… and we laughed harder with every song.
I tried my hardest not to move, but it was impossible. If I didn’t move, I couldn’t have any brownies! I also couldn’t resist singing “Grease.”
I secretly wanted to say, “Meant something to you! You think I’m going to stay here with you in this? this sin wagon? You can take this piece of tin!” and throw my ring at him while I bailed out of the car and ran through Grandpa’s field.
I hoped he would yell, “You can’t just walk out of a drive in!” after me, but I was child locked in my own car.
So I just sat there instead. like a normal person.

In the end, after I had a brownie and a cream soda and a few bites of rich ice cream and a few laughs over “Dinner with Shmucks” I was right as rain.
My husband is a miracle worker -a magical man. A wizard.

As packed up and drove off, my husband hummed “Little Mermaid” songs, thanks to my daughter’s toy.
We picked the kids up two hours after we dropped them off, and I tried to get a good picture of them.
I failed.

And please tell me I’m not the only one who gets excited to see their birth date on stuff. And yes, I still get a rush when I see my birth date on the milk jug. right under “exp.”


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.

Does This Freak Anyone Else Out?


He sleeps like this all the time, and I’m constantly poking and prodding him to make sure he’s still among the living.
I really love it when he crosses his legs like that. I also really love it when he sleeps with his eyes fully closed.

I also love that he sometimes refuses to stay asleep unless I’m right there next to him. I did, in very fact, spend all of last night with a 2 year old little boy snuggled next to me. And when he woke me up this morning, I asked him “Who got out of bed and came to sleep with me last night?”
And he answered, “Lacy did it.”

That’s his default answer for a lot of things these days.
They’re great friends, most of the time. I don’t know why he tries to pin everything on her.

Only a few days ago, he came running into me with tears streaming down his face.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked him.
“LACY HIT BE BACK!” He wailed. (“be” means “me” in this case)
Well, good for her.

We live by a golden rule all our own in this house: an eye for an eye.
It doesn’t exactly breed harmony…
And please forgive me for reposting the above picture. I can’t get enough of it. Also: we are actually pretty nice to each other. And we do abide by the real golden rule most of the time. when we’re not hitting back, that is.

It’s Dinner Time!

Please tell me I’m not the only one who can’t say, “It’s Dinnertime!” without thinking of “The Emperor’s New Groove.

Before I begin, I have to tell you how I fell off the face of the earth. I got sick. And then when I got better I was rushing around at the speed of lightening doing things that should have been done while I was sick.
I have quite a mental catalog of posts that need posting, but last night. Last night took the cake. I had to share it with you, and my only regret is that I don’t have a good camera. Right now all I have is my camera phone and it has a stinking delay! It also takes approximately 200 years to load because there’s approximately 2,000 pictures on it.

Anyway, thanks to my wonderful sickness, I haven’t wanted to really eat much of anything. Nothing sounded good for dinner, but since I HAD to choose, I chose Salmon Patties. Everyone in our family goes bonkers for them, and I had a bunch of fresh baby spinach leaves, so I sauteed them to go along with the salmon. I dished up dinner and gave the kids each only a few leaves of spinach, telling them they had to finish their spinach before they could have salmon.
My daughter gobbled her spinach up and moved onto her salmon like it was nothin’. It’s my son we’re here to see.
“I don’t wan’ it!”
His disdain turned to frustration.
Then full on anger.
He tried giving some to his sister, but she gave it right back.
Then he looked at Dad while Dad said, “Just eat one bite. Just ONE.”
So I took all of his leaves away except one… teeny… tiny… little leaf. Trenton picked it up, stared at it, and tried tearing it in half to make it even smaller.
Dad got up to get something out of the fridge. I looked away to help Lacy with her milk, and when we turned around…
He had DONE it! We were so proud of him, and we dished up his salmon right away.
Lacy was proud to.
She hugged him. He hugged her. She hugged him tighter. He tried to bite his food. He was, after all, starving. He couldn’t eat, he was getting hugged to hard.
“Stop!” He cried. His sister only giggled and hugged him harder… she was being sweet! Trenton loves hugs, right?
About that time Trenton started crying. REALLY crying. Not just fit-throwing crying. Through his tears, he shot his sister a look of utter pain.
She was shocked. She hadn’t meant to hurt him! She was trying to be nice! Just the THOUGHT that SHE was the one to make her brother cry… it was too much for her to handle.
Not sixty seconds later, the situation was contained. Reversed, even.
(That’s a brownie in his mouth, by the way.)

And that’s what happens at the end of a day where everyone played extra hard and NO ONE got any naps. After dinner, I settled down on the couch with my ever-faithful pile of laundry and started folding.
Not ten minutes into it, I wasn’t surprised to find my son completely passed out. With his little train in his hand.
I wonder if their teenage years will be sort of like this.
Power struggles, hugs, tears, brownies, toys, sleep.
But I’ll always be glad for priceless pictures:Photobucket


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).

Dedicating our Home

I just had to start today’s post with that picture. It’s a beauty. “Shampoo” in the background, John Deere shirt, tie, glasses, McQueen hat… Ahhh.
This blog has been boy heavy lately, hasn’t it? Well, it’s about time! Trenton is really coming into his own, and standing by to watch has been the best.

In other news: Danny and I have been living in this house for almost a year and a half. We still haven’t dedicated our home.
For more information on why/how we dedicate our home read HERE and HERE.

We sat down together and decided on a date to dedicate the house. We set it far enough off that we could have some time to get our house in order.
Two years ago, we decided on a family scripture. It is D&C 88:119:
Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God;

We’re constantly working on ALL of those things, and before we had our home dedicated we wanted to make sure it was in order. Because we have two little kiddos, there won’t be perfect order, and I’m okay with that. In the meantime, we’re finishing projects -which I love! -and we’re making the house more of a home and less of a … rental. It’s slowly getting there, and I’m so happy!
Last night, my husband exchanged our old hanging lampshade over the dining table:
With this:
Made from a broken hanging flower basket that my Aunt had given me awhile back. The switch cost us all of $4 for the spray paint. Next time I go shopping, I’m going to get a cuter light bulb, but what we have will do for now.

I’ve been busy with little projects like these decorative balls:
They serve a few purposes.
1) They look cute and show off my love for the written word and buttons.
2) They are made using balls of yarn that have sat in my overcrowded storage bins under my bed. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out and now I don’t have to!
3) They entertain the children.

Throughout the remainder of the month, we’ll be building and creating and beautifying. I hope you won’t mind my cataloging the journey here. It’s exciting to see it unfold and spending quality time with my husband doing it all has been the highlight of my life these days.
Today’s To Do list is pretty hefty and I need to get started on it. The first thing on that list?
Throw out the lamp shade!!

To read about how our new lighting fixture came to be, click HERE.
The get my Dad’s recipe for grilling up the Hawaiian Hamburgers we had for our Memorial Day BBQ, click HERE.

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.

Day Date

Once a year, our little town puts on a whale of a yard sale day.  This year, we had over 2o yard sales in one morning.  I realize that doesn’t mean much to someone who lives somewhere where 20 yard sales in one morning is typical, but for US in the “sticks”… it’s thrilling.

I went to my bank yesterday and pulled out cash especially for the occasion.  I woke up at 7, my son woke up at 7:30 and by 8 we had both had our breakfast and were on our way. As we quietly opened the front door so as not to disturb the two members of our family who were still sleeping, Trent said, “Lacy wants to stay home, Mom.” That’s his code. What he was really saying was, “Spend time with just me, Mom.”
With him by my side, we hit one yard sale after another. He picked up trinkets and I picked up frames. He picked up trinkets and I picked up vintage patterns for FREE:
The spoils:
The little brown case sitting next to the chair is a vintage picnic box. I LOVE it. I can’t stop staring at it.  I wasn’t able to find a bookcase, which was what I was looking for.  But I had a blast with my little guy.  I love him so much!  He often takes the backseat to his sister, who has a flair for demanding attention.  He doesn’t mind much, but he does appreciate spending one-on-one time with just about anyone.

The first yard sale I always stop at is my aunt’s.  I looked through her jewelry while I paid for my loot (the vintage picnic box and the chair and the wire rooster), and I fell in love with one of her necklaces.  BUT I knew I needed a bookcase.  I told myself if I couldn’t find a bookcase and the necklace was still there when I was done sifting through yard sale goodies, I would get it.

Guess what?
In case you couldn’t make it to the yard sales, here’s A LINK to her etsy shop. There now. You didn’t even have to get up.