Story Lady Blog

I love “Oklahoma!” And not just because it has a “!” at the end of it’s title. One of my favorite lines from the flick comes from Aunt Eller when she’s playing auctioneer at the school house dance.
“It’s all for the children, ain’t it?”
I find myself using that line time after time.
“Alicia, did you use the brand new Christmas lights that were supposed to be for the pillars outside and BURY them under all that fluff around the Nativity?”
“Well… It’s all for the children, ain’t it?”

Yesterday I woke up really early and ended up having a few hours to myself. It was great and truly needed. Thank GOODNESS for overcast skies that let my babies sleep and sleep and sleep.
I worked out, and then I read.
I read a couple of talks by M. Russell Ballard that got me thinking I should never, EVER leave my home. I’ve always wanted to teach, but lately I’ve been feeling like maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should stay home 100%, but get my teaching degree should the time come that I absolutely need it. Reading his talks on the value of motherhood and womanhood gave me the refresher and refocuser (not a word!) that I really, really, really, REALLY needed.
I decided to try and spend more time with my kids that day.
When my son woke up, I let him crack the breakfast eggs in the hot skillet. The only problem? The minute his hands felt the gooey insides of the eggs, he freaked and dropped the entire egg -shell and all -into the skillet. By the 4th egg, he caught on pretty well. No shell dropage there.
Soon his sister woke up, and I was attacked with a stomach ache I had been fighting off all night and most of the morning (my hormones are so lovely to me).
When I could muster it, I started mixing up dough to make a loaf of french bread. It was cooking day, after all, and I try to take one request a week from my husband. This week, he asked for french bread. He loves my french bread, BUT it takes for-ev-er to make. We’re talking… 5 hours at the very LEAST. Add a stomach ache and a full afternoon of visiting teaching to that, and you’ve got 9 hours.
It has to rise 3 different times.

Between the stomach ache and the visiting teaching and preschool, I didn’t get to see much of my daughter. When the boy took a late nap, I put in a movie for the girls and we played with my daughter’s press-on nails we’d bought her for her birthday. YEARS and YEARS ago, my mother bought me some press-on nails. I remember absolutely nagging the saneness out of my mother, begging her to do the press-on nails with me. Remember how it was as a kid? There was always something inside of you that said, “Don’t bug mom. You already bugged mom too much today.” But you couldn’t help it! You HAD TO ASK every FIVE MINUTES if Mom was ready NOW to play press-on nails even though she wasn’t ready 5 minutes ago. A lot can change in 5 minutes, right?
I remember clutching the package and dreaming of how amazing my press-on nails would look. They were brightly colored, yellow or orange -I can’t say which. If I remember right, they had a sort of tropical decal on them. Oh, how I longed to wear them and be the MOST beautiful girl in the world.
The moment finally came when mom agreed to help me put them on.
“When I get back from visiting teaching we’ll do them, okay? Don’t bother them until I get home.  I won’t be gone very long.” She said, and walked out of the door.
The anticipation was killing me. I sat on the edge of the counter and STARED at the press-on nails, beaming brightly back at me from their package. My toes tapped and curled… my palms tingled.
And then I really did it.
I opened the package and decided to DO it myself. I rationalized that Mom would be happy for me -she would be SO impressed with my ability to figure it out for myself.
Only I couldn’t seem to.
There were these sticky sticker thingies, but they were only sticky on one side… try as I might, I COULD NOT do it on my own, and because I tried so hard without having a lick of any idea as to what I was doing, I RUINED the press-on nails, and I never got to wear them. I still remember the look on mom’s face when she walked into the kitchen where I was. I remember how BADLY I WILLED the nails to just stick to my real nails so mom would be PROUD instead of UPSET. Stupid of me, really. And really stupid of me.
Of course I got in trouble for not listening.

I thought of that yesterday as I helped my daughter with her press-on nails. I’m not much better than I was back then with them. Luckily my little daughter is too young to know or care. I was able to get 5 of the little nails to sort of stick long enough to one hand long enough to snap a few pictures, and then she was over it. LUCKILY my nail skills are so crappy that the press-on nails came right off! No soaking for us!

My husband worked a long shift yesterday, so I didn’t bother with dinner… mostly because the awful stomach ache came back and I was flattened on the couch with nothing but my crocheting and hot pad to comfort me. The french bread I had started at 9 am was finally finished around 7 pm. The girl, who had helped me with the dishes and rearranged my entire kitchen (because hand mixers BELONG on top the fridge) asked if she could cut the loaf.
“No,” I said, “That’s just for Dad. He likes to cut it.”
“But,” she used her favorite word and held up a butter knife, “I just know how to use this.”
“Daddy likes to do it himself,” I said, “Please do not touch that loaf.”

And then I resigned to the couch, ne’ermore to rise.
Until I saw:

The loaf.
The all-day-french-bread loaf.
The ENTIRE loaf… gone! I felt exactly like the mother from “A Christmas Story” when her neighbor’s dogs ravish her turkey.
“Is this -?” The words caught in my throat, “ALL of the bread?”
“I FIXED it,” my daughter said, cheerily.
“Okay… but didn’t I tell you not to cut it?”
“I TORE,” she held her hands up, demonstrating to me exactly how she had done it.
I’m sure she rationalized in her mind, just as I had as a young girl all those years ago, that her mother would be PROUD of her rather than upset.
I was just upset, though I did my best to hide it on account of her having tried her best to make dinner for everyone.
Note the cookies? We’d made them together for our neighbor who so lovingly lent us about one billion Christmas lights to use during the festive season.
They even chanced to package up a bunch of the cookies in Minnie Mouse Containers for their Daddy. A “surprise” for him.

I had listened to the kids as they put dinner up (fully unaware that the bread was being demolished).
“Trent, just do errything that I say for you to do.”
“Awwwwight…”

“This is glass, Trent, and so you hafta be careful for it may BREAK.”
“Awwwwight…”
“DON’T TOUCH THE GLASS!” I interjected from the living room.
“But,” Lacy said, using her favorite word.
“NO! GLASS!”
“Awwwight…” Trent would say.

Trent’s a great kid. His wife will love him.

After about an hour and after having discovered the bloody French Loaf Massacre, I pled with my daughter to PLEASE leave the kitchen.
“But… I’m fixin’ stuff.”
“Please hurry and be done fixing soon,” I said.
She wiped off a platter with a red towel and deposited the crumbs on my kitchen floor, reminding me of the day when I had scraped all of the dried-up bits of leftover play dough onto my mother’s kitchen floor.
“You shouldn’t do that,” my oldest brother said to me.
“It’s okay,” I explained to him, “I always do and then Mom sweeps it up.”
Too bad I happened to explain that all to him while Mom was sitting nearby and listening. I didn’t understand then why mom said, “Sure, fine. Just leave it all to me” and then sighed heavily.
But I do now…
Sure, Lace. Just leave it all to me.

Gently replace the platter:

Then put mom’s dinner of cookies and bread on top.

In the end, it took the combined efforts of my husband AND myself to stop her from fixing things.
And, oh, my kitchen. My husband couldn’t find his keys this morning because they weren’t where he’d left them in the key dish. I couldn’t find a small bowl to fill with milk to dip my cookies in (what? It’s a serious problem!).
I need to fix it back up without hurting her feelings too badly.
She was just helping, after all.

**On a side note: I just realized that the entire time I’ve been typing, she’s had herself locked in my bathroom. When I asked her what she was doing, she said “CLEANING!” She was instantly ordered out and asked to please go rediscover her play dough. May she throw the dried up crumbs on the floor. Heaven knows, I deserve it.**

Just as we were winding down to go to bed, my son sat next to my on the couch and began threading crayons between his toes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Putting dem in my toes,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Wecause I didn’t want them in my hands.”
Well. Obviously. Wecause.

This is the kind of no-nonsense thinking the world NEEDS which is why, today, I’m decidedly a forever stay-at-home mom… My kind of intellect ought not venture outside my own front door.
Decision subject to change depending on the quality of my sanity… In the meantime, have you seen my ladle?

I haven’t had a true MONDAY in ages, so I guess it’s about time. I woke up from a dream in which I could FLY. I literally flew from one place to the other and bested an entire herd of skunks! You didn’t know they ran in herds, did you? Well, you would have… if you could fly. I distinctly remember thinking, as I tried to fly between two sets of power lines, ‘Now that I can fly, I won’t have to do that stupid Jillian Michaels’ workout anymore! I’ll just fly!’

… and then I woke up.

Bleck. As I tumbled out of bed, grumbling at my hand weights under the bed, my husband brightly asked, “What are you going to do today?”
Doesn’t he KNOW?!
It’s Monday. What have I done every Monday for the last… who knows how long?
“I’m going to CLEAN,” I attacked back, “I’m going to do my workout and then I’m going to clean all day long. Isn’t that great? It’s like an entire day of DRUDGERY just for me.”
I don’t think he meant to laugh, but he did.
In the middle of my butt kicks, he came out into the living room and softly suggested changing cleaning day to Tuesday this week… maybe that would make today a little less drudgistic.
“No,” I shook me head and panted, “Cleaning day is today. I have to clean today.”

This time he didn’t laugh. His obvious answer to making my life a little easier was easily shot down by me, and when that happens my husband knows FROM EXPERIENCE that hormones are the ruler of the day and the best thing he can do it… go to work and bring chocolate home. Poor man.

To add insult to self-inflicted injury, PICNIK is closing. I use picnik.com every dang day! I don’t know what I’m going to do without it! It says it’s moving all of it’s picture enhancing goodness to Google+ so I did what any desperate woman would do… I signed up for Google+ despite the fact that I have no idea what it is, how to use it, or even where picnik is going to be on it.

So I turn my whiny voice to you, readers… where can I go to edit pictures with the ease and funzy funness comparable to Picnik?
Anyone?
Anyone?
Please, shine a ray of light on my Monday. I mean, I did get ONE ray of light when I discovered the special feature on my Jillian Michaels’ DVD that lets me mute her voice…
Mwahahahaha.

I should be posting all of this on my craft blog, but the SADsadsad truth is that if I post this on my craft blog, I’ll have nothing to post here.  Nu-thing.  So here goes something.

Remember when I hacked up my old piano?  I took the piece that went here:
And I kept it. For a long, long, long time. It finally settled comfortably into a corner of the dining area where I would look at it from time to time and think, ‘Someday I’ll have my way with that. Someday.’
I finally took the plunge. I went and bought some paint, and I got to work. That is… I TRIED to get to work, but I happened to try it on a day where my husband had to work a later shift. He could hardly stand watching me work. We’re very different people, he and I.
When I want something done, regardless of whether I know how to do it or not, I jump in with both feet. I make mistakes, and then I try again. My husband likes to read up and get it exactly right the first time.
Both ways are good.
They’re both good.
Unless they’re both trying to work on the same project at the same time…
So he taped.

Then he said, “Were you planning on sanding?”
I said, “Not really.”
He said, “Okay…” (doubtful!)
I said, “It says on the paint can that we should sand glossy surfaces, so maybe we should sand a little.”
Sanding a little in my mind means grabbing a sheet of sanding paper and just sorta running it over the lot.
Sanding in his mind means thorough, even sanding. We lost all sense of our husband/wife relationship and moved effortlessly into surgeon/assistant.
“Fine sanding paper…” He held out a hand.
“Got it.” I handed it over.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to get the sander. Put a new sheet on it.  You’re going to need an extension cord to run it.  Can you handle that?”
“Yes, doctor.”

We removed most all of the dust after the sanding was complete, and we started painting. It must here be mentioned that we did NOT use chalkboard paint. We simply used flat black paint -thanks to a pointer from Aunt Cat. You can use flat paint of any shade as a great substitute for chalkboard paint and it works just as well. I choose black because it looks the most chalkboardy.
“Where are your foam brushes?” My husband asked.
“Oh!” I stood up, “In my craft drawer…” We went back to our closet together and I pulled out one, then two, then THREE foam bushes… all had been used and lovingly washed.
“These are used,” he held them up.
“…and washed,” I pointed out.
“It’s no good. You can’t use used foam brushes.”
“I do all the time,” I shrugged, pointing out the remnants of several paint shades lingering on the brushes.
“This one will have to do,” he said, choosing the lesser of three evils.
I met him back in the living room, and at this point I took over. It was MY project, after all. I was the one who had planned and schemed for a year at least to turn it into a beautiful chalkboard masterpiece.
I opened the paint. I dipped my brush in.
And paint, I did.
For like, 4 seconds. My husband winced and grimaced a little.
“You’re just -” He reached his hand out, “You’re not -You gotta…”
“What?” I looked up at him.
“I just… I know a little something about this kind of stuff. I actually know what I’m talking about.”
I’m still laughing that he prefaced what he had to say with THAT. Babe, I’m smart. Listen to me.
“You need to go in ONE direction,” he said, gliding my brush over the wood.
“I thought I was.”
“These brushes can really hold a lot of paint, so you can’t overdo it…”
“I thought I wasn’t.”
“You have to watch out for bubbles…”

About 3 minutes after this picture was taken, he apologized for taking over my project. He then told me that he spent many-an-hour working with his family painting crafts with his family for his mother to sell at boutiques. He’s Master of the Foam Brushes, it turns out.
I’m 100% certain that I would have gotten the job done JUST fine, but as thoroughly? Never. The wood needed a second coat, but before it got one, I took myself into town and got myself a few new foam brushes.
His high standards are rubbing off on me.
One coat later, I peeled the painter’s tape off. Is there anything more satisfying than removing painter’s tape?

Once everything had thoroughly dried, I attached it to the wall over my piano.

This morning, I turned my chalk on it’s side and covered the black painted area in it… “treating” the chalkboard, so to speak. I then took a paper towel and wiped it all off.
Then I wished I had cool, even handwriting. But I don’t. So I just did what I could. It’s a little morbid, isn’t it? I mean, I hacked up a piano and then hung a piece of it over another piano. Next thing you know, I’ll be hanging a painted portrait of a heifer over my freezer full of butchered heifer.

My husband was a little sad that my piano display lacked color, so… Pinterest to the rescue!

I printed off THIS free printable and framed it. I also threw in a couple candy thingies. All I’ve got left to do is plop some decorated styrofoam balls on the $1 candlesticks from World Market.
Then I’ll probably stop fussing with it.
Probably. Maybe.
Hopefully.

~I’m seeing a flood of acronyms on facebook. IDK. LOL. LMS. But there’s one in particular that stands out to me: FML. I just have to say: I’ve seen the same people using it over and over and over, and while I want to feel badly for their bad luck, I DO have to say… maybe if you’d STOP DOING THAT to your luck, it would treat you a little nicer.

~Yesterday, between endless batches of laundry I became addicted to crochet hearts.
I’ve made little heart after little heart and then, out of sheer curiosity, I pulled out different crochet hooks and different materials and made use of what I had on hand. I had some remnants of a cut-up sheet, and I used it to make the crochet heart I love the bestest. I also put two strands of yarn together and tried making one that-a-way.

~After stepping on a scale for the first time in over a year, it was revealed to me that I’ve let myself go. I then proceeded to go clothes shopping. Because I’m the biggest fool of all, apparently. Lesson learned. I will never, NEVER do that again. I think it will take me well over a month to like my body again.

~My son fell asleep on the couch last night, so I picked him up and just held him. He’s wonderful. Have I ever told you that? He makes us all laugh all the time. Whether it’s because he’s telling made up stories about kicking grinches (“I HATE gwinches, Mom”) or asking to watch Farmers (Transformers) or looking for the target for his Nerf guns (“Where’s my guitarget?”) or hugging his Pooh Bear (“Shampoo”) or bursting into a fit of giggles in the middle of Wal-Mart for no reason at all and then making the REST of us laugh because you just can’t help it… he is the best boy ever!

~I’m SO glad I married who I married. Sososo glad. I was overcome with a wave of gratitude yesterday when I thought for a brief minute about a guy I had dated (and by “dated” I mean gone on 3 dates with, during 2 of which he fell fast asleep. I’m awesome) right before meeting my husband, and I’m so grateful that I married who I did, and I told him so last night right before he played a rousing game of Cooties with our daughter and right after he told me not to worry about making dinner. He’s my lobster.

~I watched “Never Been Kissed” for the first time in about 10 years and it was great -mostly because I had completely forgotten the plot line. Also: it’s the first somewhat modern movie I’ve watched in a long time.

~I miss my sister.
And she ATE that dried fish head.

She told me that house is huge. She said probably 3 or 4 families live in it. She also said that it’s out in the country -in the city they are nearly wall to wall. I looked around at my house after looking at that picture, and I felt like Amy from “Little Women.” Ungrateful, vain and fully aware of both.

I miss my sister.

~Today is supposed to be shopping day, but I’m not gonna do it. I need to go back into the city do my bulk shopping, so I guess I have no other choice than to cook food and crochet hearts. NO WONDER I’ve packed on the pounds…

… I could skaaaate away on.
The birthday girl FINALLY got her birthday wish. My husband took a personal day yesterday and we went to the city. I had a yearly doctor check-up, and we figured we’d combine that with the ice skating and make a day of it, and it was perfect! Because we went on a Tuesday, the rink was basically empty. There was hardly anyone there at all!

I’ve only been ice skating maybe 5 times in my entire life, and I was really nervous about “teaching” the kids how to ice skate. I mean, I could barely stay standing! How was I supposed to hold them up too? But that wasn’t going to stop us. My daughter was DEAD SET on going. She would ask me about it all of the time. Then she’d lift one leg up behind her and spread her arms out, “I’m just going to do like THIS,” she’d say. I tried to explain to her that ice skating wasn’t exactly like she’d seen in the movies.
She didn’t care.
I went online to check the times for public skating sessions. It was only open to the public from 2:30-4:00. We used up every second of that time! The skates for kids were so. dang. cute. But then again… anything miniature-sized usually is.

My girl could hardly stand it. She was itching to get out on the ice, fully unaware that she wasn’t just going to skate beautifully away.

In fact, she was a little shocked when she finally stepped onto the ice. It was nearly impossible to stay standing!

Our family pretty much LIVED on the wall for the first thirty minutes.

I could see that The Girl was getting discouraged, so I asked her to show me again HOW she was going to skate.
“Like this!” She gave it her best shot…

I purposely sat Lacy on the ice, softly of course, and explained to her that she would probably fall and that it would be totally okay. A few minutes later, she fell. She laughed at herself, got right back up and tried again. Then she fell again. This time, her little bottom landed on her skate. She cried so hard she forgot to breath and her little lips started turning purple. I got down next to her, told her that sometimes we fall but if we want to be stronger than strong… we always get back up, and that everything would be okay.
“I don’t WANT this!” She cried, “I want to GO BACK and NOT DO THIS!”
I coaxed her back up and we slowly made another lap around the rink. One of the rink staff took pity on us and offered us what turned out to be our ice skating saving grace.
Miniature walkers, complete with helmets.
Again… so adorable!

They are the ice skating equivalents of gutter bumpers. Hallelujah!

They weren’t completely fool-proof:

But they worked miracles for our kids. By that time, I was starting to get my feet under me. All of the hours I spent roller-blading as a kid were coming back in my favor, and I was able to break away from my little walker-equipped kids and do a little skating. I thought to grab my husband’s hand and take him for a lap, but I realized something… he was actually TRAILING behind the kids. And he was still holding onto the wall!

I couldn’t believe it! My husband has always been much-more-the-jock in our relationship. I grabbed his hand anyway and taught him just like my brother Mike had taught me on Christmas morning ALL THOSE YEARS AGO when we were given in-line skates from Santa.
“Keep your feet sort of angled. You don’t take a straight step forward, you kind of go out at a little angle… see?”
He didn’t see.
He put up with me for ALMOST one lap before throwing me off.
Lacy, on the other hand, was doing JUST fine. Once she had that walker, this was all we saw of her:

Trenton fell time after time, and every time he did he would say, “Dat’s okay. Dat’s okay.” He would scramble to get back up and if we tried to help him, we were brandished with, “I can DO IT! I can DO IT!”

I was thoroughly impressed with my daughter’s fearlessness. After five years, it still impresses me. She certainly doesn’t get it from me.

And finally, for your viewing pleasure… my son and I and a quick shot of the girl racing by. with her infantile walker.

I now know my true Native American name… Baby Deer.
*wobble, wobble, wobble*

The kids enjoyed themselves so much that my husband nearly signed them up for ice skating lessons. But I’ll be danged if I’m going to drive to the city once a week so the kids can learn an art that they can’t use on account of our living in the middle of the DESERT.
On the other hand, I’d pay good money just to see them in those cute little skates again…

And after an afternoon of skating, I was able to get a little shopping.  I spent some Christmas money and got (among other things) a painter’s drop cloth -soon to be curtains, knobs -endless possibilities for those babies!, and candlesticks from World Market at 90% off!  That’s right!  Those babies put me back about a buck each.  I wanted to die from sheer happiness.

Thanks to ALL of you for entering the little giveaway -I wish I could all send you home with a pair of earrings AND a hot pad.
But as it stands…

CASSY B. will be going home with the earrings and

JULIE S. will be going home with the hot pad!

Cassy, email me at storyladyblog@yahoo.com and we’ll get the earrings to you ASAP. Julie, text me :)

I’ve made a goal for myself to make one hot pad a day (Sundays excepting) until the boutique. They’ve all turned out okay so far, but last night… oh my goodness. Let me start out by saying that I went a little crazy yesterday. I started my day off by letting Jillian Michaels rant at me about how there IS NO MODIFICATION of a crunch and that IF I WANTED flat abs I would have to WORK for them. It’s not my favorite thing to do, but it’s the price I have to pay for the holidays. Then I pulled my hair back and set to cleaning my house. I don’t know what it was, but something in me really pushed me to finish. Maybe it was Remnants o’ Jillian, but I’m thinking it was more just me REALLY wanting to be done. The second I finished, I went a little craft crazy. As I cleaned my house, it felt so naked. It needed something… and since I took down all of Christmas last week, my house has felt a little barren.
So I started making Valentine’s Day decor.

When I took the trash out, I noticed a bunch of pieces of wood sitting in the back of my husband’s truck. It was all a little burned in places, so I hauled a piece inside and asked him if I could have it. He said “yeah, it’s just trash.”
I primed it.
I pained it white.
I sanded it.
And with a little help from clip art and mod podge…

When I was done, it didn’t look like trash anymore. Well, at least not to me. My husband might have still thrown it away.
But I just love it.

There’s bubbles in it because I was in such a rush, but I kind of like them. I usually don’t, but it somehow works with this project. In the middle of making the little valentine board, I started hacking away at the burlap I used for Lacy’s party. I cut the two pieces down to about the same size, cut a piece of a sheet I keep around for scraps down a little smaller, free-handed the word “LOVE” with a sharpie on the sheet piece, and then I made a pillow.

Oh yeah, and I bent a wire hanger into a heart. I was going to cover it and use it to make a wreath, but gosh darn it if I didn’t just fall in love with it just the way it is.
The set up isn’t complete, mind you. I’m painting a big board for the wire heart to hang on, and I crocheting a few heart garlands and such.
In the middle of all this ruckus, I also hacked up my Halloween costume and made it into an apron for The Jane Collection. I took a few liberties and titled yesterday’s apron “The Jane Cleaver.”
Her name was JANE, right? *wink*
No pictures of this baby, but let me just say: she’s rearry cute if you’re into clothes from the early 60s.

As the day wore into late afternoon and then evening, I put everything away and started boiling potatoes for dinner. My husband had some steaks to grill, and I went outside to take down our Christmas lights which were supposed to have come down earlier yesterday, but Senor PS3 was invited to stay… and wore out his welcome with the little wife.
Okay, the BIG wife. But let’s not quibble over terminology.

Half the lights were taken down, three crafts were started and completed, the house was deep cleaned, dinner was made, Family Home Evening was had, and by the time we all gathered on the couch to watch The Smurfs, I had reached my limit… my own fault, really.
But I HAD to make a hot pad.
I promised myself.
So I did, and thanks to my exhaustion, I kicked out the UGLIEST hot pad you have EVAH seen. Yellow center, forest green around, purple backing… in my head it was much more adorable. But how much of a head did I have left last night? Answer: nothing worth anything.
Never trust a tired head.
Here’s hoping today’s hot pad can redeem the two hours I wasted last night making one I’ll PAY someone to take home.

Also: here’s hoping I don’t fall and crack my head open today while we go ice skating. It’s Lacy’s birthday wish come true.
The ice skating.
Not the Mom cracking her head open. Although…

Today is the LAST day to enter the giveaway! If you have already shared the giveaway on your facebook page and want to use it to enter the giveaway PLEASE LET ME KNOW in the comments section of my blog! If you don’t, you’ll miss out! Good luck -I’ll be drawing 2 winners tonight!

The Girl has always ALWAYS been big on helping. The older she gets, the more able she gets. Yesterday was no different. As I sat and watched (first) a 44 minute silent movie starring Buster Keaton that made me laugh out loud and (second) a black and white horror movie made in the 50’s about gigantic mutant ANTS that kill people and have the potential to TAKE OVER THE HUMAN RACE, my daughter kept appearing by my side.
“Mom, what can I clean?” She would ask with eager eyes.
“Nothing, baby. It’s Sunday. Come rest with me…” I’d say, patting the couch next to me.
She’d just take off. Apparently, mutant ants aren’t a 5-year old’s cup of tea. Lacy has never needed much encouragement OR PERMISSION, for that matter, from anyone before doing things her own way. The next time she appeared near my side, it was to announce that she had CLEANED my room.
I went in to find that she had taken what she could find from the floor and put it all away… on my headboard.

Isn’t that sweeeeeeet? All that headboard had on it before was a nice little oil lamp given to us on our wedding. It was probably lonely.
Today I’ll be cleaning up what’s already been “cleaned up.”
Today I’ll be rewarding myself with the next episode of “Downton Abbey.”
Today will be a day of Loretta Lynn songs, sweeping, mopping, sweating, scrubbing, and praising the heavens that we live in 2012.
That’s right! There’s actually IS a huge part of me that prefers the present to the past. Want to know why? Segregation is one BIG reason why.
Happy MLK day!

Remember to scroll down and enter the giveaway for a hot pad and a set of handmade go-with-anything earrings from Clella Belle Beads!  Giveaway ends on the 16th!

 

Last night, the girl finally got her waffle party.  While I was uploading and slightly editing the pictures, I noticed a great mothering fail: I took a ton of pictures of the set-up and hardly any of anything else.  It isn’t that the set-up was the most important thing to me -it’s just that once the party started, everyone’s hands were busy and hardly any pictures were taken.

On second thought: that’s probably the real sign of a true party.  We were livin it up SO MUCH we didn’t have a chance to take pictures.  You believe me, right?

Growing up, my mom always made our birthday cakes. I’ve mentioned before how much I loved it. Trying to carry on that tradition has been harder than I thought it would (thank you, fondant). In years past, Lacy’s cake requests have been pretty easy to fill.
First birthday: Elmo cake. Bought a cake pan and frosting at Michaels (because I can’t seem to make red OR black frosting). No problem.
Second birthday: Cinderella Cake.  I used my mom’s Barbie cake pan and just decorated her to look like Cinderella.  Ta-Da!
Third Birthday: Star cake. Easy enough. I baked a round cake for the center and then cut another round cake up for the points. I frosted it all white. It looked pathetic, but we all ate it anyway.

Fourth birthday: Rainbow cake. We were all sick for pretty much the entire month of January last year. Lacy made her own cake. It was supposed to look like this:

But it ended up looking like this:

Ah, life.
For her fifth birthday, I had to talk her OUT of a He-Man cake. How the hen would you make a He-Man cake? I have NO idea. I had seen this cake on pinterest, and it looked easy enough.

(image from recipegirl.com)
I gave it my best shot.

And I’ll say this: EASIEST CAKE EVER. I was so happy to get something so adorable out of something ridiculously simple.
I woke up Friday with pretty much no idea how the waffle party was going to turn out, but as the day went on, things came together. I didn’t have ribbon to tie the cake with, so I dug through my fabric stash where I found this cute striped fabric and two big hunks of burlap. And just like that, I had a table clothish thingy. I had no idea what the syrup was going to go into until I looked up while stirring the buttermilk syrup and saw Grandpa’s old milk bottles from the dairy.
Light. Bulb.

The waffles were put on my Goodwill cake plates (candlestick + plate + E6000 = cake plate!), and I loved how the pile of plain waffles were piled so high… until they toppled over. So we rearranged them. Two cake plates, one regular plate.

Don’t you love the pink chocolate chip waffles? We call it The Lacy Special. I got so wrapped up in throwing a party together that I forgot to take Lacy to preschool.
Wow, I’m just RIFE with mothering fails.
I took her half an hour late, and while she was gone I painted a banner in red -her favorite color (lately).

Can I just say? I have no idea what I would do without a good roll of butcher paper. I use it all the time! It covered the tables last night and made for a perfect tablecloth because it entertained while it covered.
Multi-tasking miracle!

The adults had more fun with the crayons and butcher paper than the kids did, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Our decorations consisted of balloons. That’s it.
There’s something about this picture that makes me want to sing Dashboard
“This is about as [festive] as I get now.”

Before I go on, I have to post one more picture of Grandpa’s milk bottle. I love his old milk bottles. Love, love. LOVE.

We also had an old wire hen holding the napkins and forks. I got the hen at a yard sale.

But wait. This post is NOT about my love of old things. It is about a birthday party, right?

Here’s a few guests. Remember Beki? The Price is Right Contestant sitting RIGHT ON MY COUCH. And she’s about 20 weeks pregnant. It’s not obvious, but I swear it’s true. She’s having a boy!

After everyone left, I snagged the camera and took a few pictures of the art left behind:

I had such a great time last night, and I LOVE living here! Last night I dreamed that my husband was pricing farms for me. I was so touched that he would do something like that for lil’ ol’ me. Then I woke up, helped put the horses in once, then twice. My husband started painting our soon-to-be chicken coop while I shoveled manure from the driveway into the garden (fertilizer! [when I typed that, I accidentally typed “fartilizer” which I think might be more appropriate]). After I was done I came inside, washed my hands (thoroughly) and made biscuits and gravy.
We are literally LIVING my DREAM. Well, the one I had last night anyway. Although: my dream was more like the first rainbow cake picture… picturesque. While the reality is much more like the sawed up second cake: manure, rogue horses. But given the choice between the two of them, I’d pick the sawed up cake every dang time.
It’s just more my style, manure and all.

A while back, I was eating a meal at my Grandma’s house. I don’t remember what we ate or why we had gathered the family to eat together, but what I do remember is much more significant.
More significant than family? Normally I’d cry foul, but this was not a normal occasion. Before I go on, I have to point out that I’m not a jewelry person. Diamonds have never been THIS girl’s best friend, and when my soon-to-be fiance boyfriend asked me what cut of diamond I preferred I just blinked back at him, Dora the Explorer style.
“What kind of diamond to YOU like?”
*blink, blink. blink, blink.*
“Very good!”

I didn’t know there were different cuts. I hadn’t bought any kind of jewelry in ages, let alone stopped to worry about diamonds set in rings that symbolize an eternity of commitment. I couldn’t even commit to one bloomin’ pair of earrings!
So when I reacted the way I did to the necklace my aunt was wearing to that particular family dinner… I was completely taken back. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and I finally wiped the drool from my chin long enough to tell her how much I loved it.
“Oh, really?” She asked, nonchalantly, “I made it. I was thinking of selling my jewelry.”
The news was too good to be true.
Minutes later, the EXACT necklace that she had been wearing was on my neck.

Absolutely to DIE for. I couldn’t take it off. Truthfully, I SLEPT in it. Within months, Aunt Cat had put together a website and etsy shop, and I slobbered all over them. This is all completely out of character for me, folks. Completely.
Normally I slobber all over canning kits and Robert Frost poetry. And in reality, I hardly ever find jewelry that I like enough to pay for. But Aunt Cat’s stuff? Oh, brother. I’m completely lost on it. See this?

Mine.
See this?

Mine all mine.
And then there’s this:
Santa brought that to me after I told him to. He’s so obedient, but then: he always has been -even when I was a naughty little toddler.
I was going to say that I’m a little obsessed, but I’m starting to realize that it’s gone beyond that… far beyond. I’ve left the realms of obsession and entered the dangerous world of the Happy Addicts. I’ve even got the bracelet to prove it:

And yeah. I have earrings too. But I’m wearing them (duh), so I can’t share a personal picture with you. But here:

I saw that picture online and went post haste.
I seldom leave the house without being lovingly frosted by Cat’s handmade jewelry, and WITHOUT FAIL no matter where I go, I always get complimented on my jewelry. It’s universally admired, from the college students who work at the underground clothing store downtown to the 40 year old post master man.

This is all going somewhere. I swaaare.

Yesterday, Aunt Cat mentioned to me that she’s going to be selling her wares out of her home for two days in February. Do you know what this means for you?
Inhale.
It means you get to spend a few hours browsing not only Cat’s amazing jewelry BUT you get a glimpse at her inspirational HOME as well!
Exhale.

If you’ve been in her home, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, then this boutique is mandatory for you.
Oh, and I’ll be there too. Mostly for the atmosphere and jewelry but a little to sell my aprons and hot pads. In the process of cleaning my crud up (new year, new me! Right?) I found a small stash of aprons that I had made. I had planned on selling them, but I never did. In the next few weeks, I’ll be adding to what I’ve lovingly titled…

The Jane Collection

There’s the Calamity Jane:

Calamity Jane was crafted from items I found around my home. She’s scrappy, country, unique, and loaded with personality. The best part? Because she was crafted with found items, she’s easy on the pocketbook.
$15

She’s also my favorite, so please. Indulge me.

I love the lace flower with a pearl center.

I don’t mean to be dramatic, but I MIGHT have to perform a background check on whoever takes this lady home. I can’t let her go to just anyone…
Next is the Jane Powell -named for a beloved actress you probably recognize.

Seven Brides, anyone? This retro apron captures the charm of the early 60’s completely.

Polka dots, lace, ric rac…
And our last sneak peek of The Jane Collection is Plain Jane.

This goody is long, wide, and sturdy. It will hold up to whatever you send it’s way. Just ask the cupcake.

More aprons are coming your way, what with there being SO many Janes to pick from. Jane Austen, Jane Wyman (red, white, and blue for the woman who once called herself wife to Ronald Regan), Jane Lynch, Jane Eyre, Jane Fonda!!
Look out!

And you can’t have aprons without hot pads. I don’t have a name for my hot pad collection.
How about The Kitschy Collection?

The urban dictionary defines “kitschy” as “so tacky or lame that it has a certain ironic appeal.”
I just like saying “kitschy.”

I’m also cranking out one of these babies:

(image via belladia.typepad.com)
A crochet heart garland -Valentine style.

Here’s the final details:

If you need directions, just stop by Clelle Belle Bead’s facebook page. Click on “info” for her address.
And while you’re at it, click the “like” button.
Once you’ve liked her page, let me know in the comments section. On Monday, January 16th, I’ll pick two winners… One will get a so-lame-it’s-ironic hot pad… colors undecided.

The other will receive a pair of Clella Belle Earrings.  Like these:

In an effort to get the word out about the boutique AND Cat’s jewelry (which -confession -I’m a little sad to share with the world because I like to think of her as mine. Forgive my Gollum-ness), repost this blog post on your facebook for an extra entry.

If you don’t already like Story Lady Blog’s facebook page, go thou and do likewise. Leave a comment telling me you did!
That means you have THREE ways to enter your little name.
#1) Like Cat’s page and tell me about it.
#2) Like my page and tell me about it (just saying that makes me feel so needy. “VALIDATE ME! VALIDATE ME!”)
#3) Share this post! -then tell me about it.

Good luck, and I wish you ALL could win.
Even if you aren’t drawn, you’ll always have February 10th and 11th!
WINNERS WILL BE DRAWN JANUARY 16th and POSTED HERE ON FEBRUARY 17th!

My daughter, as of today, is five years old. I’ve been married for seven and a half years so it shouldn’t SHOCK me that I have a 5 year old, but it does. FIVE?! I mean, when did THAT happen? I’m sure I’ll read this post in ten years and think, ‘Oh, please. FIVE shocked me? Ha. Try 15!’

Anyway, my husband and I sat on our couch last night and we thought about our little birthday girl. My husband started reminiscing about the night before her birthday, when I was admitted and induced.
“Come here,” he reached out to our daughter, “Let’s talk.” He gently put his daughter on his knee -her big, innocent eyes stared up at him.
“Did you know that 5 YEARS ago RIGHT NOW Mommy was in the hospital and you were trying to get out of her belly?” Lacy only smiled back, so my husband continued, “A week before you were born, Mommy and Daddy went to the hospital because Mommy was having some pains. They put us in a bed overnight and told us that Mommy’s blood pressure was much too high, and that she needed to rest. We went home and Mommy rested all week, and then we went back to the doctor. Mommy had been keeping track of her blood pressure and writing it down. She gave the paper with all of her blood pressure stuff on it to the doctor and he was worried. He said that Mommy’s blood pressure shouldn’t be that high if she was just at home resting. He said he wanted to check Mommy, so he did and he said that it was time to go to the hospital and have a baby.”
Lacy smiled again, her bright eyes still locked on her Daddy.
“We went into the hospital and we called Grammy and Papa and Grandpa and Grandma and we told them, ‘It’s time!’ and they all drove to the hospital to be with us.”Yes, that IS the 6-hour “Pride & Prejudice” playing on the telly.  I packed ESSENTIALS in my hospital bag, man.  On a side note, Lacy was born to the sounds of Mrs. Bennett barking complaints to her daughter for NOT marrying Mr. Collins.  Somehow the background chatter soothed me as I pushed.  My sweet mother in law tried turning it off (and rightly so because, let’s face it, that woman’s voice can be grating) and I panted through my pushing to leave it on.  Silence, it seems, makes me more nervous than chaos.  Anyway:
(Our first nurse just happened to be named “Gayle” which is not only MY middle name but our on-the-way daughter’s middle name as well!)
Dad went on:
“Mommy had a really hard time getting you out. She would push and push and the doctor would say, ‘I see her hair!’ and then you would go back and hide in Mom’s belly again. You would come up… and then slide back… and then come up… and slide back.”
At this point, I was grimacing. They say you eventually forget labor… ha. ha. ha.
“Then a nurse took a towel and told mommy to PULL on it while she pulled on the other end. So Mommy did, and THEN you came out!”
Lacy grinned from ear to ear. Daddy was started to get a little emotional as he told her about the first time he saw her.
“The doctor let me cut your cord, and then he handed you to Mommy and I was so happy to see you. I just wanted to hold you forever.”

“You looked up and Mommy and you just stared at her for a long time.”

“That night, it snowed and all of the nurses said that you brought the snow with you.”

“I was really scared to drive you home with snow all over.”
“Where did I go in the car?” Lacy asked, speaking up for the first time.
“In your little tiny car seat,” he replied. “We put you in the back and Mom sat by you and we all drove home together. The next day, Daddy had to leave for a long time because of work and he didn’t want to go, but he HAD to. But Lacy…” my husband looked straight into her eyes, “I love my job, but I wanted to give it up FOR YOU. YOU are more important to me than my job and I love you so much. We’re so glad you’re in our family.”

He was still locking eyes with her, and she looked back at him. It was such a sweet, tender moment.
And then.
“I needa poop,” she said, hopping off his lap and running into the bathroom.
We went from being sentimentally touched to rolling with laughter. Ah, kids.

This morning she got to pick what we had for breakfast, and we had waffles. Her Grammy sent her an apron (and TWO matching hot pads) in the mail for her birthday. She opened it and said, “Oh, MOM! My Grammy is just SO SWEET!” And she used it to serve dinner last night.

Then she put it on first thing this morning so she could make waffles. I have to say: all I did was measure the ingredients. She dumped them. She mixed them. She poured the batter in the waffle iron. She closed it. She STARED at the iron until the light went off. She YELLED at mom, “It’s OFF! It’s OFF!” and Mom got the waffle out, and she went at it all over again. SHE made those waffles, folks. For her birthday, she wanted nothing more than to cook.

Yes, she was “popping” those eggs when I took the picture. Yes, she did a PERFECT job. No, there were no shells. Yes, the yolks were intact.
Until she beat them, that is.

She made a Lacy Specialty: pink chocolate chip waffles.

As they cooked, we planned Lacy’s party. It shall here be mentioned that we do not currently have any gifts for our daughter, nor did we plan a party. I expect you to judge me for it.
I asked her when she wanted her party and who she wanted there, and then… an idea hit home with her.
“I want EVERYONE to come and they can all eat my waffles!”
Oh… oh man. And so it goes: we will be having a waffle buffet on Friday night. Chef Lacy will be presiding.
And for those of you who are really concerned for the whole “gift” situation, I’ll put you at ease: we’re going shopping as a family tonight AND her biggest gift is impossible to wrap up and give.
She wants to go ice skating. The nearest ice skating rink is over an hour away, so we’ll be taking her on a later day. I really wish I was better at skating so it would actually be a good experience for her. As it sits, she’s going to have her ideal skating experience smashed. on ice.

We’ve come so far from the little girl who cried 7 hours a day:

To a feisty one year old who got into ev-er-ee-thing:

To a two year old who never left anyone in doubt as to her personality:

In the words of Josh Turner, “My little darlin’ is a fire cracker.”
We now interrupt this program to bring you your daily dose of absolute cuteness, compliments of The Boy circa early 2009:

Melt. My. Heart.

Before we knew it, Lacy was three. By the time she was three, she was SO HAPPY to finally be able to really put her learning skills to use. Her entire life, Lacy has not been content to just sit. She loves to get her hands on things, to find out how they work, and to do it ON HER OWN.
Which is usually fine.
And usually memorable.
And only sometimes makes me want to pluck my hair out (see the post about laundry detergent below).

That was the day she made “Bad Guy Cookies” out of crushed Club crackers and (you guessed it!) flour.

I can’t believe she’s not four anymore. She’s still four to me.

That’s my girl in a nutshell. If she isn’t looking cute, she’s coloring. If she isn’t coloring, she’s cooking. If she isn’t cooking, she’s digging up worms in her Easter dress.
Ah, my love.

Eight more months of having her all to myself before the school system pries her from my loving arms.
Until then…