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.

Junk Sifting

I love yard sales and used clothing/book/furniture/whatever stores. I used to shop for clothing almost exclusively at thrift stores when I was in High School. I’ve been blessed with a complete inability to coordinate my clothing or look suave. It used to bother me until I embraced it. Now it only bothers me when I need to look fancy for something, like a wedding.

I especially love finding older “junk.” About a month ago, I found this egg beater at Savers:

And I absolutely love it. I love it! Just looking at it makes me happy. Yeah it’s got ugly green handles. Yeah I would love one that was actually 100% metal. But the more I look at the one I’ve got, the more I love it… more.
Yesterday my sister went with me to Savers. Before going on with this post, I just have to say: What the devil is up with Saver’s pricing?!?! I found a big pot -exactly like one my mom has (used to have?). It was the sturdiest post she had and it often graced us with homemade play dough on rainy days. When I saw one at Saver’s, almost the exact same color, I was so happy… until I saw the price. $15! Are you kidding me? I could snag if for $4 tops at a yard sale! Then I noticed it was a set. It had two smaller pots the same color beside it, and they were both individually priced as well. My sister spotted an old old trunk, just beautiful with wear and tear. It wasn’t pretty at all. Only she or I would have liked it. A man’s name had been spray painted to the top using a stencil (army style, maybe?). It was priced at $30. I should have liked to have screamed. I get so excited to go to Savers only to be let down by their ever-increasing prices. Don’t they know we’re in a recession? Don’t they know that if anyone should be catering to the weary, poor and down-trodden it should be THEM?!
All right.
All right now.
I’m done.

I never, ever leave Savers without hitting the book section. I walked out yesterday with a Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook from the 60’s and a book full of short stories written by Dorothy Parker, someone I would never be real friends with but whom I love dearly from a distance. And by “distance” I’m talking about time, not space. It always takes me about a century to look through the books. I didn’t realize that while I was looking, my daughter grabbed one. While my sister was trying on clothes, I noticed my daughter looking through her book. I asked her if I might see it. It was a book filled with tips for husbands on romancing their wives. Forgive me, reader, for I haven’t the slightest what the name of it was.
But get a load of this… load:
If my husband ever did that, I would be so turned off. Also, I’d wonder what happened to his brain and where my real husband went. I’m not your Cinderella, man. I don’t work like she did. I don’t transform into royalty. I don’t have a fairy godmother, and I’d rather DIE than wear glass shoes of any kind. Also, if the mice around here start singing… I’ll blow them to bits out of sheer terror.
This one made me laugh out loud and I drew a few stares. Honey, don’t you know I spend half my life tripping over stuffed animals and throwing them out whenever chances arise? Why would you gift me with one and where, pray tell, am I going to put it?
Am I cynical? I prefer to say “realist,” but every cynic does.
If my husband did that, I wouldn’t be able to help laughing. It would be horribly rude, so I’m going to pray that he never, ever does.
Though I do love a good skeleton key. I’m currently wishing for a bunch of skeleton key drawer pulls:

If he gave me an handful of those and told me I held the key to his heart, I might be able to stifle my giggles. Might maybe.

My son was a trooper through it all, but there’s only so much shopping a male of any age can take.
Today I’m going to try out a few of my new recipes and read a few more Dorothy Parker stories.

Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you ever saw?
I wouldn’t trade lives with her for the world, but she is beautiful.

One last picture:
This picture come to us from my BHG Cookbook. It’s the first picture in the section titled “”Jiffy Cooking.” Inspiring, isn’t it? (There’s sarcasm oozing out of my laptop right now which can only mean one thing: it’s time to log off.)


A few months ago, I was sorting through my makeshift pantry and I came across a little forgotten honey bear.  I was so happy!  We go through honey really fast around here, and I feel like I’m constantly buying it.  I remember thinking ‘What a blessing!’ and ‘Hooray!’  I might have also patted myself on the back for keeping extra honey around because I knew I’d need it.  Good for you, Mother!

Two days ago, something strange happened.  My son has taken to pulling the milk out of the fridge, bringing it to me, and announcing that he is “BIG an’ STRONG!” Of course, I give him a little and then put the milk away.  But two days ago, he had done this SO many times that I was starting to get irritated.  After the fifth time that day, I took the milk away without giving him any (he’d just had a glass), and as I gripped the handle on the milk I felt something… sticky.

I whipped my head around and immediately scanned the kitchen to find…Photobucket
I might also mention that I had family coming over for dinner that night, and I was really put-off over this honey issue. It seemed everywhere I went, the honey would find me. It was on the chairs, the counters, the drawers, MY FLOOR… eventually it migrated to my shoes and my toes! My irritation increased and increased. Something inside of me told me to take a picture of part of the mess. I had already cleaned up some of it (like the measuring cup he had filled with honey). So I did. Then I posted it to facebook with the caption, “I’ll look back someday and laugh. I’ll look back someday and laugh. I’ll look back someday and laugh…”
And then something magic happened.
A friend left a comment that said, ” it looks like your honey bear when potty on your counter…. i would swat him hard….” And I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. I looked at the picture over and over again and I laughed.
What would I do without friends who find humor in “sticky” situations? I can usually find humor in just about anything, but when you go spilling my honey… it just ain’t funny.
Yeah. I’m a poet.

And so today I’ll try to find more humor in things that aren’t immediately funny unto me. I’ll try to laugh instead of groan, laugh instead of complain, laugh instead of yell -and then, since laughing is healthy and burns calories, I’ll be super skinny. Right?

As If I Needed More Ideas

Does anyone else think of Alicia Silverstone when they say, “As if…”?  I do.  That movie is timeless (right, Shakespeare?). Before I get to the point, I’d like you to see what a cow looks like after it’s been slaughtered and drained (of blood, naturally).
I walked over just as they were severing the head. Then Lacy came over and I taught her about beefy realities.
“Hamburger comes from cows that are dead and chopped up. Does that make you sad?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “But if hamburger comed from dead horses that would not be good.”
Ah, Lacy. You make me want to buy you 5 pretty ponies. Who taught this kid to love horses so much? My dad, that’s who! And I love it.

Last night, I turned my computer on to just zone out for a few minutes and a few HOURS later, I got up. That doesn’t usually happen. Usually I spend my time online in the morning, then I only log on and off to check something or snag a recipe… I have a purpose. But last night I didn’t. I finally poured myself into bed at midnight, and by then I couldn’t sleep. My mind was whirring with ideas of things I could do. The reason? Someone got the idea to create online pin boards -a place where we can surf the web and sort of “tear out” the pictures we like and “pin them” on our boards.  My walls need this, and why not?  They’re made from pallets.

image found at

And look at this amazing kitchen idea:

And what about this light fixture?   It’s just what I need to replace the beige hanging lampshade over my table:

Those are just a few pictures from my Do It Yourself Pinboard. I have a pinboard for recipes, style, home decor… anything I want.
It’s maddening! And I need to stop looking at crap because I know have about eleventy billion ideas and I refuse to REST until I can get started on them! Yesterday I worked on a topiary (never made one before) until I ran out of glue sticks. I can’t believe I let myself run out of glue sticks. What kind of woman am I?!
Want to know a secret? The back side of the topiary is completely bald, muahahaha…
I’ll finish it later. Right now I’m going to post a recipe for homemade hamburger buns in the recipe blog and the How To on my topiary in the Craft blog. I made that topiary from crap around my house, you know. I’m feeling pretty scrappy about the whole thing.

If you or anyone you know would like an invitation to join Pintrest, let me know and I’ll getcha one. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Backyard Hunt

Yesterday, we had two kids over to play.  They’re siblings and live just down the road.  The older is a boy, and he’s graduating from Kindergarten tonight.  He’s by far the CUTEST kid in school, and he’s smarter than the average kid.  I’m not talking book smarter -though he may very well be.  I’m talking real life smarter.  He constantly asks questions about how things work, why things are the way they are, and if he can get his hands on a project.  He told me how to differentiate between a bad mushroom and a good mushroom while I was doing dishes.

As the day progressed, I found the key to his success: persistence.  When he got something in his head, he refused to give it up until he’d found a satisfactory answer.  And that’s how I came to help catch a lizard.

Growing up, we had tons of lizards around the house.  We had horned lizards (horny toads), racer lizards, wood lizards, and even a few iguanas.  With three older brothers, our house was never devoid of wildlife.  I enjoy the fruits of their hunts without ever having to hunt anything myself.  Horny toads were my favorite.  My brother, Mike, was the best at catching them.  After he did all the hunting and catching work, I would sit by and play with it (or watch him make it so angry it would shoot blood).

So when my little neighbor friend asked me to hunt lizards with him, I told him sorry.  I was no good.
“But you can TRY,” he insisted. He had a point. He had tried chasing one and it had run into the neighbor’s yard. He wasn’t about to be stopped by a FENCE, but I pointed out to him that there was something called property lines that you shouldn’t cross.
“There’s tons of lizards in our yard,” I said, “I’m sure you can find one.”
“Can you help?” He asked again.
“I’m no good at hunting lizards,” I said again, “But where do they usually hide?”
“By rocks,” he said.
“There’s a bunch of rocks over there,” I said, pointing to the east side of the house.

I walked him over and he started flipping rocks and digging through dirt. He found a racer -it got away. As I walking back into the house the FATTEST lizard I’ve ever seen in my LIFE ran across my porch and under my evergreens. I called the boy over.
“Kick the fence!” He called to me from the other side of the evergreen, “Scare it my way!”
So I kicked. We heard it rustle and then… we found it. Our yard has a sort of fence around it and at the very bottom of that fence there’s a line of chicken wire. I don’t know why it’s there or who put it there. But I like it. It tends to keep critters out. That lizard was SO FAT it got stuck in the chicken wire. I watched it’s head and tiny arms squirm and wiggle and I shrieked.
“Grab it!” I heard my neighbor shout from under the evergreen; he had a firm grasp on it’s tail. I timidly reached for the wriggling lizard and shrieked again.
“Blake, I can’t!” I said.
“THEN GET OVER HERE AND GRAB IT’S TAIL!” He ordered. He wasn’t putting up with this cowardly crap.
“No,” I took a deep breath, “I can do it. I can do it. I can do it…” I reached forward with more confidence, wrapped my hand around the fat lizard and ever-so-carefully tilted and pulled it until it was completely free from the fence.
“Get a jar, Blake!” I said, making my way quickly into the house.
“Let me hold it.” He said, walking along side me.
“Just get a jar,” I said, walking faster.
“I’ll grab his body…” He persisted, holding out his hand. Just then, the lizard STRUCK at Blake’s hand and I screamed. The lizard was now half-way out of my scared little hand.
“GET A JAR!” I jumped, “HURRY!”
So he did. We dumped the lizard in and I fell onto the couch, glad the adventure was over.
Blake sat next to me.
“So…” he said, staring at the lizard, “Is it a boy a girl? Why is it so fat? Is it pregnant?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “Sorry. I don’t know anything about lizards.”
“You can type it,” he said, pointing to my computer.

He wanted me to use Google. Who am I to refuse a child Google -something I love dearly?

I spent the next 30 minutes researching information about lizards, and as I read to him, he asked more questions.
The verdict? It’s a girl. We think. The pregnant thing? Lizards lay eggs, sometimes inside of their bodies.
What should you take from this? Persistence pays off!
And always ALWAYS consult Google.

Note: these pictures do not do justice to the fattyness of this lizard.  Object is larger than it appears.

A Little More Country

Yesterday morning, the kids and I planted the flower bed in front of our house.  I really hope it grows.  It’s a rather cruddy piece of Arizona land, and the first time I tried to plant flowers in it, I could barely make a dent in the dirt.  I really tore into that dirt with determination and ended up finding exactly three spots in the bed where I could break through the soil.  All three of those spots were filled with potting soil.  Turns out someone else had tried planting flowers a few years before.  I’m positive they met the same fate all of my flowers have met.


The soil isn’t 100% to blame.  I can hardly grow a darn thing which is darn unlucky given my love of beautiful gardens.  But really… who doesn’t love a beautiful garden?  My husband and I have been pouring love and work into that blasted flower bed for a year and a half.  This year, the dirt was much easier to work with.  I spent my morning on my knees with my kids around me planting all manner of flowers.  I didn’t take a picture because I’m afraid that even after all of my planting and watering, it really isn’t all that beautiful.  I’m no master gardener, but I’m trying.  Really, I am.

I also might have spent the rest of the day trying to keep kids out of the bed.  It didn’t take but thirty minutes for me to realize that flower beds can only be successful in beds that are never invaded by two year olds.  With watering cans.Photobucket
There’s a good chance that marigold may never air out again.

But I love it. I mean, I don’t love choking out marigolds… I just love the country. I love the air and the ease and the neighbors. My neighbor, for instance, as we were planting flowers, called my daughter over. She gave her the most beautiful bouquet of iris that she’d hand-picked from her own yard. They were absolutely inspirational, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
I thanked her for them and turned to take them in the house when I saw… THE COW. I didn’t get a picture of the cow because whenever I saw it I was too busy chasing it instead of snapping pictures of it. That cow had gotten out and put itself back in so many times that I hated it. It was smarter than I was! By the time we got my Dad called (because the cow belonged to him) to tell him that he had a cow out, the darn thing had put itself back in. A regular jokester! I could never, ever find how or where it got in and out.
“There’s that cow!” I said to my neighbor, and we together… we sprang into action. She went around one way, I went around the other. We got the cow back in and succeeded in finding the hole it was moving in and out of. I called Dad, and he came over to fix the hole in the fence.
I finally had a chance to put the iris in a vase, and as I did so I was inspired to completely redecorate the wall behind it.
I stole a few pieces from the hacked up piano and went to work.
A shout-out to Laurie for the most amazing record(s) ever. They now sit on my piano and look sharp.
Remember when I went a’yard sailing? Well if you can ignore the blue wallpaper that loves to taunt me…Photobucket
You can see what I did with what I got (does that line make anyone else want to start singing Sublime songs?). The chair sits in front of the thick piece of wood that sat underneath all of the piano keys. The vintage picnic box sits next to the chair. The frame (which used to hold art. I absolutely tore it out like a jerk.) cost me $3 and sits around the wreath I finally almost finished.
I stole another piece from my indoor wood pile and took my drill to it. I might also add that my husband is handy at leaving our two hammers lying around in places I can not find. So I used a high heel to hammer with. It’s official: I’m a woman. W-O-M-A-N.
My husband says it needs paint. I say it looks like a fresh canvas waiting for me to add crap to it. Look out!
After I finished my iris-inspired redecorating, I went to pick up my nieces. Their mom is getting close to having my nephew (wee!) and she pulled a muscle in her back. I picked them up and we went to visit some friends on the way home.
These friends are really, really cool. They have the best toys, and I’m not talking about anything electronic.
They have chickens! And pigeons! And goats and a calf and four bunnies and horses and even… A BABY PONY! I sat back and watched the kids chase chickens, put goats back in, play with a wild baby bunny, uncover teensy chicks that hid under their mother’s wings, and play with everything in sight.
My son found a bat and was determined to help chase the goats back in.
“Get dose sheep!” He cried. I love the cut-off sweats and the cowboy boots.
After the goats were all safely back home, we went back to our house to find grandpa fixing the fence where the cow had gotten in and out.

The kids used the same hole in the fence to go play on Grandpa’s tractors and throw rocks in the cows’ water.
After we hand planted a few seeds in the flower bed and run ourselves a little more ragged, we went back inside for hot dogs and homemade ketchup -made with the tomatoes from last year’s garden. My niece loved it. She could have cared less about the hot dogs. When her ketchup was gone, she simply started eating Trenton’s. He bawled about it, of course, but that didn’t stop her.
After taking the girls back home, we ate some dinner and then went outside to start our Family Home Evening… planting the garden!
I don’t have any pictures because my hands were covered in muddy potting soil the whole time. BUT in addition to having a flower bed, I now have an herb bed, six tomato plants, six pepper plants and two squash plants. The garden isn’t even HALF planted, but it sure feels good to get your hands into dirt.

Yesterday was wonderful. It felt like summer, and summer is my favorite. I love the heat. I love the green. I love the Fourth of July. I love oreos and hot dogs and root beer. I love fresh air and warm nights. I could live forever in summer… so long as I could stay right here where the air is country.

The Village People

You know that old saying, “It takes a village to raise a child”?  Like most old sayings, it’s positively spot-on.  That’s why I love old things so much. They’re tried and true! Lately, all of the parenting has fallen on my shoulders which I don’t mind all that much on account of my having no other job and on account of my husband earning all the money so I can just stay home. Wednesday afternoon, when I had a house pack full of kiddos my husband came in the door at noon -the only part of the day that got a little crazy because I was fixing 7 little lunches all at once -and told me he was leaving for Texas.
“When?” I asked.
“Now,” he said.
“Where are you going?” I asked, stunned.
“Out of state. I told you that.”
“I can’t hear you over the kids,” I said, “When will you be back?”
“I don’t know. A couple days, I think.”

A hug and a kiss and BLAM-O! He was gone. I spent the next two days not cooking, not shaving, and managing my time very unwisely indeed. It’s hard to stay on track when you don’t have to stay on anyone’s schedule.
For a few days, the kids and I were left alone together. I don’t mind it all that much, really. But after a couple days of being stuck in the house (what was the deal with the week of freezing winds?!), I had to call in The Village.
Up we went to my parent’s house with a rented movie in tow. How would I parent without my village? The truth is: I don’t know. I should be more brave, and part of me yearns to relocate somewhere far, far away. Like… Texas.
Then I wouldn’t have my Village Family and I would HAVE to fine tune my stiff upper lip.

When my husband returned late, late Friday night everything went back to normal. Saturday was completely FILLED with yard sales, picking up bountiful baskets, buying up some of our garden plants and flower bed flowers at the feed store, attending a reception, snagging a sitter, and then attending the Adult Stake Conference Meeting. Sunday morning, we rolled out of bed and got ready for the morning session of Stake Conference. We were about 10 minutes late to church (as so were about 13 other families with kids under the age of 5), and as we were circling the parking lot to find a spot… my husband was called into work.
Because I had no idea he’d be leaving me, I didn’t equip myself properly for two solid hours of church with JUST me and my two kids. Sitting there in the back with the two kids went well for about 5 minutes. Then they started to get restless. I tried to keep them entertained and reverent and just when I started losing control, a good friend -who happened to be sitting in front of us -reached back and handed my kids some quiet games.
Ah, my village!
When they would finish with one, they’d hand it back and she’d give them another. She did all this while fielding three kids of her own, and I wanted to shout HALLELUJAH! from my seat. Too bad that’s frowned on in the middle of conference.

After about an hour, the kids were each on the verge of a melt down, so I decided to take them out and walk the halls. Just as we rounded a corner, they spotted their Aunt “Lily” (Lillian) and they literally RAN away from me and into her waiting arms.
“Come with me,” she said to them, “There’s someone over here you’ll want to see.”
Within minutes, both of my kids were with their grandma and grandpa. Next to them was more of my village: brother, sister, aunts, cousins, uncle, grandma, grandpa…

I wasn’t able to keep my kids next to me at all for the rest of conference, and I always feel bad about that. I want them to stay with me. I don’t want to place the burden of raising my children on anyone else but myself (since it isn’t a burden to me. Well… most days, anyway). But my village is wiser than I am. They’re more patient, more loving, more kind. They listen better. They don’t spank. Their arms are always wide open. They teach and they play. They give and they give. And they give.

Children need a village.
On Mother’s day, after our great rib feast, my aunt took my son home with her. I meant to write her a thank you note, but I haven’t yet. What she didn’t realize is that no one really ever takes JUST Trent. Usually it’s Lacy that gets taken and Trent stays behind. She’s older, so it makes more sense. She’s potty trained and she keeps up a conversation like nobody’s business. Trenton always wants to go, and on Mother’s Day he was just finishing up a week of absolute naughtiness. Seeing him drive away alone with Aunt JuJu was just priceless. When I picked him up, he was stock full of stories -most of which I didn’t understand in the least -and he spent the next week behaving so well that I wanted to wrap my arms around my aunt and KISS her! How Trent needed that! I couldn’t give that to him! Leaving the house with just mom is all right, but leaving the house with someone like JuJu?! Better than Christmas!

On the last night of our being alone while my husband was away, I put a movie in for the kids to watch before bed. They batted their wide little eyes at me and asked me to please sit and watch with them. I sat down and thought I’d sit through the previews and then hop up to do dishes or something. I thought by then they’d be into the movie and would forget they asked me to sit with them.
As the previews ended, I got up and pressed the “play” button on the menu and then started to leave.
“MAMA!” They both cried… I turned around to see their big eyes locked on me.
“Watch with us,” my daughter said. I took a deep breath, smiled, and walked back to their bed. They squealed with delight and the minute I sat on the bed they were all over me.
How would I do it with just me? I couldn’t. Even if I moved so far as Texas, a village would find me. Children have a way of creating them.
Probably because they’re so irresistible. Even when they’re playing in a empty trough at a feed store pretending to be rabbits…
Maybe ESPECIALLY then.

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.

Faded Photographs

They’re not really faded.  There just a handful of pictures I took with my phone and then forgot about.  Do you want to know how many pictures I have on my phone?  Roughly 2000.  Poor phone.  I don’t think it ever dreamed it would get sent to a mother.  I bet it hoped for a savvy working girl who wore sleek pants suits and heels.

While we’re on the subject… don’t you think someone should design a cell phone that caters to mothers?  It should be waterproof.  It should be coated in a protective sheer sheet of some kind that stands up to make up smudges and flour. It should be capable of holding an astronomic amount of pictures because, hello?  Moms take pictures of everything.  It should be a limited smart phone, meaning it should have a few smart phone functions but it should NOT have facebook.  Mothers who don’t use facebook mobile are free from the guilt it induces.  It should be lightly scented and have a little bling to it.  Is that too much to ask?

Back to the pictures.  I took this one while my husband and I celebrated our 6th anniversary.  We’re coming up on 7 years.  Cuh-razy!
Come on. How funny is that? It was right by some train tracks, but I still busted up like a boy in junior high when I saw it. I did have to stop there. But I didn’t flash anything.

These pictures are of a different sort. I want to tell you a little story. I was using a form of birth control that made my body think every month that it was pregnant. But the thing is: when my body thinks it’s pregnant, it goes all out: nausea, tiredness, and best of all… my belly pops out! Just like a real pregnant lady! At first it would pop out for only a few days and then ta-da! It would go back in, but in the past few months it has popped out for a good three weeks. I couldn’t handle it anymore because none of my pants fit and I hated being tired all. the. time. Having your stomach stretched out just wears you out. I snapped this first picture because I thought, “Well if I am pregnant then I’ll want a picture of this.”
Also, I most always thought I actually was pregnant.
Check that out! Ba-BOOM!
Two short weeks later, I snapped this picture at a boutique. I was trying on a shirt and I wanted my husband’s opinion on it. He was in the car outside.
I bought the shirt, by the way. And the shirt that goes under it.
Isn’t that a little crazy? I’m hoping I’ve put an end to this cycle because it was driving me batty. Every month I’d wonder if I really was and every month I’d buy my weight in pregnancy tests and every month my husband would tell me not to… but come on! If your belly played tricks on you like that, wouldn’t you be going a little batty? It’s like a constant game of Is My Life About To Radically Change…. or NOT?!

Okay, that’s that. My kids woke up absurdly early today and they’re already fighting like mad. I actually woke up at 5:30 AM to find my daughter dishing herself up some ice cream. I took it away, of course, but she hasn’t forgiven me for it.

Today I’m going to be doing leg exercises. I’ve got to get them warmed up for the HUGE annual community yard sale. 21 yard sales!   You should come! I’ll need a yard sailing buddy.