The strong and Not so Silent type

Finding the silly

2012-01-18T18:22:00.000-08:00

I realized that I haven't posted something hilarious lately. Possibly only hilarious to me, but still. You would think that my life is void of funny. But it is not. I laugh every day at my kiddos, at my husband. At myself. Really, you know you will have a good day when laugh at yourself, before 8 am.

Baloney constantly wants to know if Aunt Jemima and Mrs. "Butterwoods" are sisters. And I could be Aunt Jemima too if I put a Aunt Jemima hat on my head. All while making meatloaf. Who is this kid?

Oldielocks has a phone. And she likes to video things. Like scary videos she and her sister made of babies in our fridge. Annnnnd there may be a video of them knocking down a mattress and a very angry mommy voice from the dark. To which she sends it to me, with "watch this. It gets funny at the end." Yeah the end where I am yelling. Hilarious.

Middle. Oh the knock knock jokes. That are corny and dorky and half the time messed up. That makes me giggle. She tries so hard to be such a dorky joke teller. I can't help but laugh.

Tater is always laughing. happiest baby ever.

Treasure hunting

2012-01-06T08:35:00.000-08:00

Vintage things.
Old things.
Antique things.
Junk.
Spiffed up junk.
Whatever you want to call it, I love it. I get giddy when I find old fruit crates that can hold magazines, and tin containers, milk bottles and worn aprons. My heart does a happy dance, and I clap my hands together like a barking seal. I have proclaimed my love for old homes and old cars... I feel most "things" have a story.
Just this last weekend the family and I stopped off at a local "urban barn". Full of junk that has been cleaned up. I appreciate the fact that someone went treasure hunting, since around here, we just don't have old finds like that. But I want to spruce it up myself. I'd rather not pay a bazillion dollars for a super cute re-painted dresser when I can do it myself cheaper. I once got the ugliest brown 1970's dresser with gold key dresser knobs, and it is now white, with modern handles, housing clothes for my girlies.

Anyways, since I don't live in Iowa and can't just jump in the van with the American Pickers, can't jump in Cari's yellow truck with Cash and Cari, I have to find different avenue's to find my treasures. You don't have to go to some old trashy farmhouse or swap meet. I searched area stores and found some cute things. These are a few of my recent loves.


Old milk bottles found in an antique store in the city of Orange, CA. Flowers from farmer's market


Cute basket found in Hobby Lobby. $4.50

Mason Jar drink dispenser found at World Market $14.99

Purple and green quilt

2012-01-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

My last quilt of 2011.

Zombie quilt. Purple and green lovin.

My sister loves all things purple. She has purple pots, purple pillows and even a purple kitchen aid. When I was describing Joel Dewberry's Aviary 2 and Heirloom lines, I'm sure she thought of how nerdtacular I am and what color socks she would wear that day. But actually her response was "purple and green? Zombie colors. I want it." Which is funny since my sister is super vintage funky rather than computer gaming comic loving. So, I contacted one of my favorite fabric etsy sellers, Fabric Shoppe, and created a custom listing with 4 fat quarters from each line and zombie fabric was on it's way. It's that easy.

The Amy Butler polka dot green binding.

Sandlot 2011

2011-12-27T15:19:00.000-08:00

Something about converse, dirty fences, old alleys, plaid newsboy caps and kids makes my inner 40's/50's self happy.

Thankful day 4

2011-11-04T19:40:00.000-07:00

I am thankful for the Naked Palette.

It is the BFF to my eyeballs.
I can go natural, and hang out in a forest.
I can go natural with some shimmer and hang out in a restaurant.
I can go natural and smokey and sultry and hang out on the Vegas strip with Elvis and Chum Lee.

Favorite eye shadow collection..... ever.

Thankful day 3

2011-11-03T17:23:00.000-07:00

I am thankful for my bed. Oh my, do I have the softest bed ever. If Goldilocks came to my house, you would most definitely find her sleeping in my bed. I would probably spend all day in it if I could. IF I could. But I can't. There are people sleeping on the streets, or thin mattresses. People on lumpy beds, and people with bedbugs. I love that mine is that perfect combo of soft, broken in comfort. Plus my kids love to cuddle up, like bugs in a rug, and just lay in my bed. I sometimes stand at the door and look at them, my babies. Thank you bed, for being my family's cuddle spot.

A month of thankfulness

2011-11-02T15:41:00.001-07:00

I think, on Nov.2, cuz that's how I roll, that I will start my list of things I am thankful for, every day. Sometimes I forget to just stop and be grateful for all the moments and important things in my life.

Day 1: I am thankful for the sun that shines here on the west coast. I live in a place that has sun, shining, almost every day, and I often want to curl like a cat and just bask in the warmth. It's hard to have a bad day when the sun is beaming through the windows.

Day 2: I am thankful for my brown boots. That look cute with jeans, and sweaters. That I don't get to wear often because of the sun I am thankful for from day one. But when I do get to put on my pseudo-fall outfit, it reminds me of apples, leaves, football and warm fires. The few things I miss from living in the midwest.

pants on the grounnnnd

2011-10-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

It seems more and more these days that boys are wearing those tight skinny jeans. Boys+tight+skinny+Jeans= big fat fashion fail. Not cute. Not hot. Not anything.
In fact, if I ever crossed the threshold of this house with a pair of skinny jeans for my husband, I might find myself committed. Because he would drive me to the nearest looney bin, drop me off with trash bag of clothes and skinny jeans in hand and a big fat post it note stuck to my forehead that reads "Insane in her skinny jean membrane." And likewise. He can leave the skinny jeans in the store, with the tags on, snuggling next to the obnoxious fluorescent colors.

However, some little 6th grade boy walking to middle school does have an insane mother. Because he was rockin the skinny jeans. Some funky magenta purple gray colored ones. Normally I don't notice the color or the style, I'm busy driving.
Not today.
Not only was he rockin the skinny, he was rocking the sag. Those things were like a barney colored vice grip around his thighs. I have no idea how they were staying up, unless he was in a constant quad contraction.....in which case I'm rockin that style cuz I need me some quad muscles.

So his pants are huggin- er sagging, and it looks like he has his gray colored t shirt tucked in. Which I am thinking to myself, what is the point? Pull your pants up, give your dainty bits some breathing room, and it all looks the same. No one really believes his butt starts at 3 inches past the knees anyways. Is this impressive to middle school girls or something? If so, me and the girl will have a chat about boys who wear tight jeans around their ankles....thighs, I meant thighs.

As the car is creepin along in the drop off line, skinny pants sag master flex is joking and talking and then......I realized that's not his shirt tucked in. That's his gray drawers. His boxer shorts. His underwear. His long johns. Of course they are. Because it's part of the cool. You wanna know how I know for certain it was his drawers? his dirty drawers?

Cuz there was a stain.

brown brown brown brown stain. In the center. Brown eyed winking stain. I started hyperventilating with laughter and horror. It was right where you think a stain would be. Not overly obvious, but still. A giant skidmark in his cool traffic plan.

And all I could think of was.......

serves him right. I hope he is embarrassed by his smudgey stinky shorts. Next time keep that under wraps and no one will know.

Owls and Owl birthday cake

2011-09-28T10:29:00.000-07:00

Owls are a super hot trend.

Which is kind of funny, because owls, are not pink, brown, orange, green, blue as we see them on everything these days. Nope. Color of poop or color of snow, most of them anyways. For example:

That is one ugly owl. For clothes, not for nature. Though if it was flying over my head in a dark forest, I would say it was an ugly owl. anyways. There are tons of cute owls too. Everyone has jumped on the hootin bandwagon and making some cute things.

For example:

That is just some of the cuteness that has been around the past few years.

Middle had an owl birthday this year. Cuz she's HOOOT-tastic like that. Which was a challenge for making an owl cake, but here it is. She loved it. It was bright, quirky, just like her.

the other two

2011-08-17T10:44:00.000-07:00

I had to mark the occasion giving my kindy girl her own post, but my other two went on their way today too, one to fourth and one to sixth. Middle was ready, knew tons of kids in her class, liked her teacher. Sweetest girl ever, that Middle. Had her outfit picked out and ready, and went to her classroom all by herself. Leaps and bounds my girl has gone, leaps and bounds. It's her first year without her big sister on campus, and I am confident she is ready to grow on her own two feet. SHe still is shy, and ducks her head to the side, though she stands a little taller these days and her eyes sparkle bright. She was ready.

Oldielocks went to middle school. She spent forever this morning playing with her P.E. lock, practicing the combination, staring at her schedule. She's a big kid today, with her purple cardigan and zebra print backpack. This is the part that scares me, where other girls grow catty and mean, and I hope she doesn't get sucked up into that. I hope she has fun with her friends, but more importantly gives 100% in every class.

My kids are growing older and getting bigger and going further into the world. Whether I'm ready or not. I'm proud of them, and happy for them, but man oh man, do I love them.

too school for cool

2011-08-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

My middlest woke up this morning, saying she didn't sleep good, she was dreaming of soccer. Little did she know that I was dreaming of her, all little and all mine, knowing today was kindergarten day. I've sent off two kids before her to school, and it's never easier. One cried, one didn't. Baloney, she was born ready for kindergarten. She told me on friday when we met the teacher "I'm going to shake her hand and say nice to meet you, I would like to be in your class." She has had her outfit picked out for days, backpack ready and socks laid out.

We took the pictures to mark the day, and we arrived, all ready as she trotted away in her pink owl backpack. She was dancing on the blacktop, spinning around, just waiting for her teacher to send them in.
"I see Coach Ben, can I go say hi?"
"that girl has the same lunchbox I do!"
"hey baby, I'm going to kindergarten today, you're gonna see me later!"
"are her eyes green or blue?" she asked me.
I told her she would know soon enough. Soon enough she would be walking through that door, to sit at her table, color with crayons and sing songs. Soon enough she would not so much bat an eye at my departure, because she has always been my strong one. She has always been my child who at times wanted her mommy, but never needed her mommy. She put her little chubby arms around my neck and said bye and then gave me two thumbs up. Two thumbs up, only my Baloney. Thats when my heart welled up to my eyes and threatened to spill over. My girl, my firecracker, my spitfire, my buggy, my green eyed baby......

That's my girl, who I don't have to worry about sharing with the world, she will simply take the world by storm.

4th of july cards

2011-07-25T09:13:00.001-07:00

When I was little, my aunt would send cards for big holidays and all the little holidays in between. Christmas..... check
Easter.....check
4th of July.....check
National Ice Cream Day....check check...ok uncheck, but she probably would have. I remember thinking how special it was that she took the time to think of our family, on other days other than obligatory christmas. I swore when I grew up, I would do the same.

Now that I'm on my way to being a grown up, or pretending to be one, ok so I'm really just the big kids responsible for the gaggle of kids in this house, I try to do the same. We have always lived far from some part of family. If we lived near his, mine were far, or if we lived near mine, his were far, and my grandparents in between.

I started with Oldielocks, sending a handprint creation card, like angel handprints for christmas, or ghost footprints for halloween. The more kids, the more I used a picture. It's an easy way to giving everyone the opportunity to watch them "grow", and sends our love as well. And it's really all part of the bigger picture that I want to teach my kids in this entitled world, to GIVE. I don't care whatcha give, just give. Your time without expectations, your talent without acknowledgement, your things without new ones, your love because it's needed. We don't always have to join campaigns, nor is it always possible- to give water to thirsty villages, books to underprivileged schools, houses to devastated countries. (and those are all amazing things, btw ) Sometimes we lose sight of the fact that we can give of ourselves here at home, and to the people we love. I think it sets a firm foundation to give to others on a higher level when they can. People, family, friends can always always always use a little love sent their way.

I chose simple this year. Not always do I have lots of money, or tons of time. But I take what I have and use it. Simple colors, a sweet moment in a hotel room, a few stamps and a few minutes of crafting.

For the love of Grandmas

2011-07-14T07:43:00.000-07:00

Baloney is obsessed with the word "grandma". Not surprising since I use it a lot... as in "Oh.my.great.grandmas!" or to describe something. I say things in my Ol' Granny Hag voice, mostly to make the husband laugh, but my kids know that voice as well. Any ol grandmas, I have a story here.

Baloney loves the term "Sporty Grandma". I have no clue why she says it, but....... she does. Many times I have caught her in the front yard, using a wiffle bat as a cane, and yelling, (in a spectacular granny voice I might add) "Look out, it's Sporrrrrrrty Grandma!" Of course her sisters fall into a fit of giggles and that in turn, causes more Sporty Grandma antics.

We were at the store the other day, and I had a few things to try on. Of course I had my little ducklings all in a row behind me, so I had the three sit on the floor outside my dressing room and the stroller in with me. This dressing room area had one of those annoying noises..."mmmeeeet-mooooo" when one entered the area. I told them an alarm would sound if they tried to leave, so they were pretty good about just sitting there, and also I had to promise to show them every.single.outfit that I tried on. A few times I heard the sound immediately followed by an annoyed chorus of "BALONEEYYY!" followed by a "what...<insert whatever little 4 year old excuse of getting to close to the sensor is right here>".

I was almost done and I heard the dang thing go MEEEET-MOOOO and in my huffy puffy state of removing too small clothing I said "Baloney- knock it off!" and then Thing one and Thing 2 chimed in and said "it wasn't her". And then as loud as one could yell across the swiss alps and to my mothering horror, I hear....

"IT WASN'T ME. IT WAS JUST AN OLD GRANDMA!"

Great. Just absolutely mother flubbin fabulous. Some poor older lady who may only be 40 or 78 for all I know, as just been announced as an OLD GRANDMA.

oh the observation of children.

Oh the tears

2011-07-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a military town and have seen the deployments. Our military sacrifices so much more than most of us know. The little moments and the big moments. Lifetime has this show called "Coming Home" and it makes me bawl. Like a sad sad baby. I watch these and know that no "thank you" will ever be enough. I am so thankful for these men and women and beyond grateful for their service but humbled by their everyday sacrifice that they and their family give me and my family. Try watching this and not bawling.

Happy 4th piggies

2011-07-05T16:51:00.000-07:00

As my kids get older, we get out of the realm of cutesy crafts.... like handprints and feetprint art. If Oldielocks made a pirate out of her footprint, people would wonder why I had a giant adult sized foot decorated in my scrapbook. Oldielocks and her size 9 in women's feet. Its okay, I think she would be a lil embarrassed and much relieved, so we will stick to nail painting.

The one thing about having girls, is getting all dolled up. For any event. We busted out the red, white and blue nail polish and painted away. I get that girly time with my girlies and they get to sport patriotism on their feet. Growing up in a miliatry town, being a daughter and granddaughter of veterans, and simply being an American, I try to find new ways to make sure we celebrate and honor the holiday. They know the importance of our freedom, and even getting to have our piggies painted whatever we want.

God Bless America.... and all her toes.

Make up and life

2011-06-30T14:46:00.000-07:00

I am all about natural consequences. Life lessons.
If you put your hand in fire, you get burned.
If you leave meat in the car, it's going to stink.
If you piss in the wind....well you will get wet.
That kind of thing. So naturally, I let my children learn about life in the same manner.
Baloney just got the ol' "don't trust your sibling....ever" lesson.

They were playing make over, which is just a pretty pink train case filled with old make up of mine. The drugstore kind. Not my expensive stuff, cuz I don't care if I ever use it, that pile of colorfullness cost this momma money. Baloney's turn to get made over. She did get to choose the colors and products, but the rest was left in the hands of the make up artist, in this case, was of course, Oldielocks.

She was real convincing, that big sister of hers.
"Ooooh, these colors make your eyes look amazing"
"I would love for this look to be done on me"
"Blue, like a pretty peacock."

All while Middle, who should never play poker since she would lose piles of money, is giggling her little face off. I hear them tell her to get down and go look in the mirror. Bare feet race across the floor, light switch turns on, and

"oh. my. goodness.......WHAT IS THAT!?!?!?!"

and then I hear explosive laughter and falling to the ground from the other room.
Ten seconds later, I hear those same little barefeet banging up the stairs and slamming into my room.

"LOOK AT ME! I've been turned into a hideous monster!" said a serious Baloney in a serious voice.

And then I exploded in laughter. Much to her dismay of course. I think she was most offended when I asked her to grab my camera. I told her I wanted to capture this moment. I told her it was important to remember this moment when Oldielocks wants to help her with prom make up. She stormed away with a "thanks a lot."

awww, life lessons. I still hear sisters giggling.

Ripped in 30

2011-06-28T18:54:00.000-07:00

I have not been shy about being a Jillian Michaels fan. She has whooped my butt into shape many times, and I'm back to asking her to do it again. This time it's the "I-just-gave-birth-to-a-oblong-bowling-ball-that-turned-my-belly-into-a-deflated-balloon" look that I am trying to get rid of. And let's be real, it looks like a cheap 10 cents balloon. The kind that turns white when you blow it up so when it deflates it is wrinkly, saggy, striped and looks like a dog chewed it and spit it out. That's the state of my ab region at the moment.

I went and saw my ol' pal Jill sittin on the shelf in Target and looky there, she is sportin a new video. Don't mind if I try it out, I tell her. I trust you... I said and brought her home.

Where she turned on me. Perhaps there is not a funnier sight than a 2 month postpartum mom, attempting to do butt kicks in her living room. With huge milk laden jugs that every sports bra within a 50 mile radius ran from. I swear I did just one butt kick and my left one bounced up to the sky and back low to the ground like a 400lb gorilla on a trampoline. Not pretty. My son had a milk shake for his next feeding, that I know.

Jillian asked me to get on the ground and do one minute of abs. Seriously, it's one minute. I can soo do one minute of abs.

I didn't even last ten seconds.

That's what I'm working with. 8 second rebound rate in the abdominal department. Riding bulls I'd be a hero...but instead that chick told me to push it through. Lady- I got a deflated balloon and two huge 845 lbs knockers. Don't worry about me pushing things through. I'm about to steam roll stuff if I don't get some strength back and soon. I spent the rest of that minute on the floor, watching her and her perfect abs get it done. Show 0ff.

I'll admit, day one was a failure. big fat F in the work out department. I don't do failure well.... so I did what any spiteful gym rat would do....

I made a lemon mernigue pie. And named it Jillian.

(and then the joke was on me, because I messed it up. And it turned out weird. Tasted well..but shrunk. I guess I'm back to meeting with Jillian in the morning.)

In the end I still swear by Jillian...swear by and swear at. It works for me.

Reflection of the way I see things

2011-06-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

Not much has been posted on this blog... and I miss it. I tried doing a different blog, but it wasn't me. This is MY blog, for years it was where I spoke and laughed and cried. It captured my thoughts, feeling and bad grammar. And laughs. I cracked myself up on this blog. Then I let someone dictate the direction in which I took my blog and that was a bad choice.

So it's back. It's here to stay. I'm always going to have people who don't agree. I'm always going to have stalkers that have no business knowing about the going ons in my life, but they will look anyways. My goal is to make them come back for more. Seriously, stalk away. I have a tracker on this thing. Make me the topic of your discussions. I need the laughs too.

Happy to be home. Let's get this party re-started.

and he arrived

2011-05-16T08:54:00.000-07:00

It had been planned for me to walk in those hospital doors on a Monday morning and pop out a baby. Being the fourth child I was having, it was weird that it didn't feel like it was real. The first two, I was in labor, no going back, baby was coming whether I liked it or not. The third, was a c-section, planned. But this.... this was my first induction, while attempting a VBAC- since I clearly love a challenge, why not do it this way.

I am all set, walking into the hospy in my shorts and tank top, get to my fabulous pop-a-baby-out suite, when the nurse informs me they have no wifi. HUH! Who doesn't have wifi! I of course have to tell her that my viewers will be disappointed in the fact that I will no longer be streaming the live feed of my son's birth, complete with chewing through the cord and placenta shooters at the end. I believe she gave me the mother of all WTF looks. Success!

Because of the fact that I have a previous scar from my c-section, they decided to start pitocin, a low dose. I guess you can go up to 26 on the pitocin elevator, but in my case, we were going to.....4. I like them playing it safe. Previously at my doc appt I had been 2 cm dilated, she checked me and I was a 1....almost 1 and a 1/2. Seriously, what the backpeddling up my cervix? How, why... what! SO now I had 9 cms to go. It's like starting a 26 mile race, 27 miles away.

Around 11, they started the IV for fluid and pitocin. But she blew the vein on the first try. ANd then the second try, there was too much scar tissue. Thats right, I have scar tissue on the sides of my wrists. I think she might have thought I was a crack addict. Who has scar tissue like that... but me. She was kind enough to be a quitter and call a different nurse in. Of course they all told me I had beautiful veins. Well unless this was a damn blood taking contest, beautiful veins were getting me nowhere and I would have appreciated a trohpy and a crown. Or a big fat margarita because this was hurting. Nurse #2 blew the next vein. I tried to walk out the door on that note but the assless gown stopped me from traveling far. Nurse #3 got one in on the first try. I think I proposed to her after that. Being a voo doo doll was not a good way or sign to start my final birthing experience.

Within an hour or so, my water broke. I was laying in bed, actually sleeping, when the slimy sensation hit. Never having my water break on its own before, I was a little surprised, and disgusted. Because now, in order to use the bathroom, I had to unplug the monitors, drape them over my neck, unplug the pressure cuff, let it fall down to my wrist like a stylin bracelet, grab my iv pole and tubes, hold up my chucky pad like a diaper and waddle my big ol belly to the bathroom. I was constantly sporting a sweat 'stache every time I got out. Jillian Michaels be jealous.

My contractions were all in my back, and never in the front. I was way more comfortable standing up until.... lightning bolts started shooting down my legs. Really? My whole body needed to get some points on the pain scale? My thighs would burn as the contraction released, and all I could think of was that my wiring was wrong, and I would find out at 33 that my hip bone was connected to my uterus bone. (and I would also be the first person to have a uterus bone)

I then commited the crunchy mother cardinal sin- I asked... more liked pleaded... for an epidural. I was dead set against it. Not because a bunch of moms on some internet board said not to, but because I had one before and HATED it. I told them when I walked in the doors that the whole needle in the back was not my style, I was more like shoot-em-up-between-the-toes-so-no-one-knows kind of gal. (disregard that last comment, it's not true, just funny..don't go callin CPS on me)

Dr. Epidural came in and we became friends once he started cracking one liners. Until he had my curl over like a cat, and kept telling me to curl more. I think he forgot that I had a basketball in the way and that was about curled as this pissed off cat was going to get. Meanwhile these radioactive contractions were rollin down the pike about every minute and a half and I swear when he inserted the needle, that's when the mother of all contractions would hit. Didn't happen that way, just my over active imagination at it's finest. I realize no one would give me a cookie or star or tiara for going without meds, or for having a c-section. I did what worked for me, with this kid. I learned long ago that medical intervention can be necessary, and can be voluntary. I chose this and hands down would do it again. Read on for why my va jay jay- er I mean-I am so glad I had an epidural.

That glorious stuff started working right away. They showed me a little pain pump I was going to get to push and everything. I was excited until the nurse checked me and I was at four. 4! That.is.all? It is now past 6 o clock, but really only 4? I could cry.

The burning started. Intense, strange burning in my kookaracha. Like someone cut me with a million knives and then threw a habanero pepper doused in salsa up there. I looked at the nurse and asked her exactly what was burning... and why I could feel it? Seeing how I had that special wonder drug dripping in my back, uh...wtf monday? She said it was normal, but then I said it was worse.... then she said she'd check me again and she did.

And within 15 minutes my bidness had burned rubber from 4cm to 8cm....and so she double checked and I was at 9. She flew out the door ( just like the freight train that was barreling down out of my junk) to go find the doctor. Meanwhile that burning? It was only a slight hint of what was to come.

She came back in and I was complete, pretty much 4 to 10 in about 20-25 minutes with a small anterior lip. That they wanted to see if I could push out of the way. SO I muscled up the ol body and started pushing.... and pushing... and pushing. It felt like nothing was happening except for that I might be trying to give birth out of my sASS -minus the s of course.

At this point the pain is intense and the pressure is beyond unreal. All this, with that epidural? I tried resting, I tried pushing, nothing was helping and I was losing it. I am not proud of the words the may or may not have come out of my mouth. The nurse then tells me that she can see about a 50cent piece of his head. THAT'S ALL? Talk about my hopes being dashed. Thats defeat. I threw in the towel, surrendered and pretty much tried to sell my first born and then all 3 of my kids for a c-section.

Unrelenting pain. No more contractions, it was constant pain. I saw the doctor walk in and said something along the lines of "get this baby out of me now i am dying please just get him out". I was so over this and yet I had to just get mad and find a way to push past this volcano I was giving birth to.

I pushed 3 times through the depths of hell, and out he came, not bloody, not covered in white, just perfectly watery. They placed him on my chest... and I saw this big cone on the front of his head. He had been sunny side up,or posterior, but was in the process of turning so he pretty much came out half sideways and all. Annnnnnd that's why it hurt so bad. I was tempted to name him Mack, after the MACK truck that came from within my body. This is the part where I should feel relief and enjoy my baby. Yet I tried and it was still unbelievably painful pressure. My nerves were still reacting to being stretched at the speed of light. I cannot even imagine how bad it would have felt without drugs. I had my second kiddo au naturel and it was heaven compared to this. I have such a high pain tolerance but I swear I was being PUNKD by the epidural company or something. My most favorite part was when the doctor told me that I didnt even tear. Something good to focus on as my bottom half slowly started to calm down and stop being so angry at the world.

My boy.

He had very little hair, and little floppy ears and a button nose. He looked at me and my heart just grew. It grew until it almost burst, as he laid there just looking at my face. For so many months it was him and I, and I wondered what he looked like. Wondered how this would change me, the mommy of 3 beautiful girls, now a mommy to a little boy. All my heart knew at that very moment was that I was complete. I had my little family of amazing kids and this one, this one that always hid his face on ultrasounds, who was breech, who came via VBAC, and this one who when I thought I just couldn't do it, made me want to give a little more just so I could have this little boy in my arms. He is my littlest blessing.

Groundhog day

2011-05-01T17:18:00.000-07:00

Every day for the past few weeks have been groundhog day. Where I wake up and pee, take care of kids, wonder if this baby will be here today, pretend, plead, bribe, whine, beg, and ask if this baby would please, please, please come out and play. Convince myself that today is not the day, but throw on my walking shoes just to make sure that the only reason he is not here is simply not because I chose not to walk him out. All I've got to show for weeks of walking is gnarly shoe stank, sore feet and an aching nether region. The same nether region that he is thumbing his nose at and laughing at. I swear he is in there, feet and arms braced on the sides of my uterus, hanging along the wall like spiderman, laughing hysterically.

Then at night, I get in bed and lather that belly with lotion because if I have to suffer through acid reflux, aches and pains and graying hair, I will do everything in my power to have my stomach not turn into a hard boiled egg that has been dropped a million of times. Cuz we all know what happened to Humpty Dumpty. Someone had to put his roly poly butt back together again. I'm not feelin that.

I then wake up and lather, rinse, repeat.

Groundhog day, you suck.

Part 5- the story continues....

2011-01-26T19:48:00.000-08:00

Besides the stupied mesh underwear they give you catching on my vertical incision (think belly button to pubic bone), my recovery was fine. Baloney was fine. She was and still is the biggest goof off ever. She has to be. Her story makes it so. She tried to get us to laugh long before she could talk, long before she was born.

They say you can have more children. That once you have CPP, you only have around a 4% chance more of having it than someone who has never had it. Not bad odds. At first, it seems like you will never want to, having just been traumatized by the amusement park that is complete placenta previa. Along the way I've joined message boards, and just relayed my story to other moms going through it. I think it's important to share what you know. Whether it's the facts or the feelings.

And now, 4 years later......
Baloney gets to be a big sister. She still gets to have her very own crazy story, because......

this placenta, this time..... is high on the left back wall.

Part 4- It's go time.

2011-01-26T19:17:00.000-08:00

Of course, since none of this journey was uneventful, the 4th day we were there, my Middle fell off the seat and hit her head on the dresser. In the hospital room. Since it was a head wound, of course blood rushed everywhere, and I completely forgot I was to be in that hellacious bed and jumped up, getting ready to scoop up my bleeding baby. My husband ran, yelling at me, and grabbed her as we tried to stop the bleeding. No rules apply to the inner call of mommy. I told him to tell the nurses to get me a wheelchair because I was going down the E.R. with her and they could either let me wheel or down or I was walking but I was going, no matter what. When all was said and done, she got a staple in her head and was fine.

After 2 amnios, 3 scheduled c-section dates and 3 bleeds, complete with blood draws, IV ports, 4 NST's a day, we made it to the big day. Her lungs were grossly immature the first time around, so they pushed it. I'm glad they did, and at the same time hated it.

Here's where I give you the nitty gritty. To get ready for the big C... they have to shave your business. And apparently they have to use the crappiest razor ever made. And it's kind of like water torture. Worst part, is that it's someones job. Ew. I also had my arm numbed where they had to put in a large line for blood. (this is for placenta previa since blood loss is a huge part of what could happen during delivery)

When we got downstairs, they gave me a shot glass of port a potty sludge. Seriously disgusting. And looks like it. Seeing how they withold drinks and food since the night before, and this is what they offer? Disappointing service from the bar indeed. They also had a little red igloo cooler filled with bags of blood. Just in case they needed it. Remember blood loss for placenta previa, it's not typical that they carry around coolers of blood, just for you.

I got in that OR, got a spinal in my back, and flipped back onto the tiniest board in the planet. Definatley not an "one-butt-cheek-fits-all" kind of table.

The rest of the surgery is kind of surreal. I felt the cutting... not the pain, but could feel the pressure and movement. Like being drawn on. It was creepy and about sent me into a thousand panic attacks. My head was in the anesthesiologists crotch, my arms were strapped down, open like on a cross, oxygen in my nose, an IV in both arms, blood pressure cuff. I was feeling like a hot mess and really bad science experiment. I contemplated calling Frankenstein and saying "dude, I know how you feel...".

They told me I would feel pressure, and then I heard her. She cried and I stared at the ceiling. Then she stopped and I asked if they had taken her out of the room. Nope she was there, just relaxing while they checked her out. They had told me if they asked my husband to leave, that meant things were going badly. As in bleeding. As in hysterectomy or worse. I kept glancing at my husband and asked him to go take a picture of her, so I could see her. They had not lifted her up, but I understood they needed to be quick in doing their job. It was a long few minutes while they worked, while he was taking pictures, and then showed them to me on the LCD screen of the camera. And then, I realize they were joking. With my husband about golf and chinese food as they stapled my stomach back up 25 times. It was all so fitting. We laughed our way in, and laughed our way out.

In recovery, I held her, and they plopped a huge orange trashbag on my feet. "It's your placenta. We're sending it out, but we always do." If I could have moved my feet, I would have kicked it. And punched it. And thanked it for holding on the way it did, even though it was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We did it, her and I. From the moment they mentioned stupid Complete Placenta Previa, to every shot, test, every worry, every sacrifice, had all come down to this. She was there. Perfect. With dark hair and long nails. In that moment I realized I was so much stronger than I knew, that my husband was and always will be there for me, my kids are resilient, and there are a lot of kind and caring people in this world.

Part 3- Placenta Previa is now a bad word

2011-01-26T19:16:00.000-08:00

In Dec. of 2005, I went in for my first prenatal appointment, and of course they do an internal ultrasound. Because those are an absolute highlight. Of course seeing the little bean distracts you from the absolute ridiculousness that is taking place below the belt, but still, it sucks. The Dr. at that point mentioned the placenta looked a little low, but it was no big thing, they move.

Pregnancy was textbook, NO SYMPTOMS at all, mainly with Placenta previa, bleeding is a big sign. I had none and then went for my 20 week ultrasound. I remember the sonographer measuring my cervix and mentioning something about the placenta. Honestly, I have no idea what she said, I was oohing and ahhing over my little alien baby on the screen. Once I went back to the room with the doctor, he then said that I had a complete placenta previa and I had a 50% chance of a c-section. No doom and gloom talk, just basic and a list of restrictions.

By week 28, he was a little frantic. Then came the serious sit down talk. Where he scared the bejeebus out of me and pretty much led me to believe I was going to be massacred by this damn placenta. I still had no complications or symptoms, but he had a plan in effect.

Csection at 36 weeks
Steroids for lung maturity
911 call if any blood.
complete bedrest at 32 weeks.
and under no circumstance to let anything/person/doctor enter my nether regions. Pretty much an invisible chastity belt.

And that's just to get to delivery. The delivery is what's scary

So I followed the plan like a fat girl on the biggest loser. I was going to follow every.single.rule to the letter.

Got the steroids, went on bedrest, and at 33 weeks, wiped and there was pink twinge on the t.p. Having spent MONTHS looking every time I wiped, it had arrived. I called the doctors and they said go to the hospital. Of course, in all my wiseness, I questioned it and said, but it was just a twinge, it's more pink..." and was sharply barked at with a "go now!"

And so I went. I did not know as I drove down the street at 10:30 at night that I would not leave that hospital for the next 5+ weeks. They concluded that it was necessary I stay there, because of the probability of bleeding to death in the time it would take me to get to the hospital if I had a bleed at home. And the funny thing, nothing really amounted to that smalls spots of blood. It stopped and I was fine.

Except for i wasn't fine. My babies were at home. 6 and 3. In the middle of the night, I gave up my mom role and had to full entrust their care to grandmas and husband. Which I did, completely. But it stole a little bit of me that I couldn't just be their mom. I missed my girl's kindergarten graduation. Oh how I cried that day. I was soo proud of my smart girl and I desperately wanted to be there clapping as she smiled her toothless grin on stage. My husband took pictures, but to this day, it still makes me sad. The girls came every day, an played in my room, at the foot of my bed. We would go on wheelchair rides. I was not allowed to walk out of the doors of my room. They brought board games and movies. And yummy food so I didn't have to eat hospital food all the time.

Now in the hospital, the nurses try. They have a little white board that celebrates each and every day you get closer to your goal. Sweetest hearts I ever met.They were my new BFF's. I would press the nurse button and they would call over the intercom, and pretend to give them my drive thru order. Cuz I am fun like that. They would come in and chat and hold your hand when you just wanted to cry.

My white board

my girls

how I spent my time at Chateau de Hospital......

(Part 2) My placenta is hanging out with who and where?

2011-01-26T14:01:00.001-08:00

SO let's get the basics down.

What is placenta previa and why is it going to suck the fun out of my pregnancy?

Placenta previa is where the placenta is in the wrong spot. Instead of being anywhere else, it is dangerously near or over the exit route. Like the elevator isn't working, gonna have to take the stairs and bust out the side door. Which of course we all learned in 5th grade, there is only ONE very disgusting way for a baby to drop out of your body. We all swore up and down that we would never have kids, and yet here we are. All because of boys. Boys are gross. Because of some boy, somewhere, you now have a placenta in your body, along with a baby. That is normal and fine and joyous. Until your placenta decides it's lazy and wants to be a doormat for baby to wipe it's head or feet on. Then it's a problem, and goes back to being all because of a boy. It's simple science really.

Most people have a placenta that is on the back, front, top, side, and then there are those of us that find they have the rebel placenta. Complete in black leather and metal studs. The only problem is if it doesn't move out of tha way. it's going to cause problems. Good news, most of them scurry up as your belly grows and nothing to worry about. Those of you who get stuck with the little rebel cow of placenta like mine was, it plants its feet firmly, throws a fit and doesn't budge. Those are the COMPLETE placenta previa achievers.

With Complete Placenta Previa, you get slapped with a host of rules and a prison sentence. Pelvic rest, no lifting more than 10 pounds, take it easy, no strenuous activity. Sounds like the life of a princess..... until they say scary shit like...."call if you have bleeding, call an ambulance because you will bleed to death, and you are bedrest in a hospital so we can have you in surgery in less than 5 minutes." In those scenarios, you will gladly hand back the damn tiara and scream to get off this ride. One of those open mouth dream screams that no one can hear. Scary scary scary shit. Poltergeist and Lady Gaga now seem harmless in this scary movie.

They don't know what causes it. Some say multiple pregnancies. I was on baby number three. I never heard of the old mother who lived in the shoe, who had so many children she didn't know what to do- having placenta previa. Some say maternal age. I was 27/28. Some say crackhead...and well, that wasn't me either. I'm sure there is many a documented crack head that the least of their worries is placenta previa. So, I wish they would just say they don't know and it's the luck of the draw. Because it would help a million during the lonely times that you want to curl in a ball as you watch all the other pregnant ladies doing stuff like.... walking. Remember, IT"S NOT YOU! It's definitely that punk ass placenta that hates it's name so it's rebelling.

The plan of action to correct it is....... a c section. Since parking downtown is blocked, you have to get a garage put in. And we will discuss the complications during that later. This really is a serious subject, but I'm trying to get one point across that I've learned. If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

That's Complete Placenta Previa. And here's what happened to me.......

(part 1) Complete Placenta Previa

2011-01-26T14:00:00.001-08:00

Google is our friend. This is for the people who google placenta previa. or Complete placenta previa.

You get me.

And you'll get my story.

Because nothing is scarier after you get past the first few textbook websites of what it actually is, then you drastically search for an experience.....

and a voice to tell you it's okay.
And here, I won't make you read to the end of the posts to find out that all ended well.

Because it did.
And it's okay.

And for those who have heard my story and don't care to hear it again, peace out. This isn't for you. This is for the moms that are searching for some peace and knowledge that....

they'll be scared.
they'll be upset.
they'll be sad.
they'll be worried.
they'll be nervous.
they'll be okay.

My strange Addiction= nightmares

2011-01-21T19:41:00.000-08:00

TLC has this new show called "My Strange Addiction."

And it has given my innards a complex.

There will be no photos in this posts and you will thank me.

They have people who are addicted to carrying a puppet.
Big whoop.
That's not an addiction, that's just weird. And attention getting. And quite possibly a sign that their mother slept with a Muppet, probably not Kermit, more like Fozzy- he seems to be a little bit of a quiet scandalous guy.

Then there is a lady with a bajillion cats. Once again, not an addiction, just someone who clearly aspired to be the old cat lady that no one wants to be. And if she wants to clean up cat feces all day, more power to her. If she's addicted, then Michelle Duggar is addicted to having kids... which hey... now that I think of it, I might just have given TLC their next guest. Send the royalties to me please TLC and you're welcome.

The lady who is addicted to her blow dryer....huh? Buy a white noise machine and space heater. Weirdoness solved.

Eating household cleanser- I don't get it. Of the gazillion options in the grocery store and dinner comes down to the household aisle and a toss up between the Comet or the Ajax? Do you serve it with a side of Cottonelle and invite the toilet paper eater over to dinner?

Did I say toilet paper eater? You heard me. Chick munches on some 2 ply extra plush super duper for your pooper paper. As in bypasses the popcorn counter at the movie theater with a dirty little grin because she has snuck in her own little pack of Angel Soft to snack on. I bet the bulk t.p. section at Costco is her dream.

And then we have the Couch Muncher. Who eats couch cushions. Opens that zipper and takes a bite of foam that people have been doing who knows what on for years. P-uke. At what point did she look at that huge piece of fluffy furniture and decide that it would be tasty to munch on? Is she buying them up on craigslist or do several of her friends have hidden teeth marks covered in their cushions?

Now for super gross. Pulling out hair and... gag... eating.the.follicle.
WTF! Who thinks any of this is edible? And why? Some people have no idea what a follicle is, much less if they should ever eat it. And why admit to it on tv.- or on a bathroom stall wall.

My stomach will never be the same. I'm addicted to changing the channel the minute this show comes on for fear my eyes will shrivel up and fall out.

Oh and they have a scab picker episode. I hope my cable goes out that day.

Middle of January

2011-01-18T12:20:00.000-08:00

My girls.

This weekend we went and bought Oldielocks new cleats. And she now has bigger feet than me. And she's only 10. I wonder how big her feet will be, and then I start wondering how tall she will be and before you know it, I have a head full of wonderings of just who she will become. But I never wonder if she'll be serious, or capable or be kind and loving. Because she already is all those things.

Middle was in the paper today. And she was wearing a blue embroidered sundress, with black ballet flats. While playing softball. I wonder if she will always have this classic sense of style. Where she could put on pearls and starched dresses while the rest of the world shows up in shorts and tank tops. I wonder if she will ever base what she likes on other people. But I never wonder if she will smile and skip every day. Or be sweet and so very forgiving. Because she is already all those things.

Baloney was in the paper too. And she took the tee over to the pitcher mound and declared that she "didn't need it. Just throw me the balls." And so the husband did. And every one she kept her foot in perfect form and swung that pink bat, making contact with at least 5 of them. I wonder if she will actually be good at playing ball. Or what sport will she pick, or no sports at all. I wonder if she will be sassy at the times she should be quiet. But I never wonder she will be funny, or determined. Or animated and laughing. Because she is already all those things.

They are all so different, from their hair to eye color to style. In fact the only thing that they seem to have in common is that they are mine. And I love each one the most.

And that is something I never want them to wonder.

Good parent resolutions to have

2011-01-15T10:49:00.000-08:00

If only the ramppant entitled children of the world had parents who listened to this......

Living with Children

John Rosemond

Copyright 2011, John K. Rosemond

Given that this is the first column of a new year, I’m proposing a number of parenting New Year’s Resolutions for my readers to consider. The list is by no means comprehensive. It’s just a good beginning on what is probably a much-needed family revolution:

1. We will not throw expensive “event parties” for our children on their birthdays. Instead, we will confine all birthday celebrations to our family, including extended family. We will keep it uncomplicated: a special dinner of the birthday boy or girl’s favorite food, a cake, the obligatory song, and a few simple gifts, mostly clothing or other useful things.

2. We will spend at least as much time helping our children develop good manners as do helping them get good grades in school, which means we will cut back significantly on the time helping with the latter (in consideration of the fact that good manners, which are expressions of respect for others, will take one further in life than will good grades). Each week, we will work on one specific social courtesy, such as saying “excuse me” when you walk in front of someone. Taking two weeks off, that’s fifty courtesies a year!

3. We will show our love for our neighbors by properly disciplining our children, insisting on proper behavior, and reprimanding immediately (even if that means in front of other people) when they behave otherwise, and on those occasions we will also insist they apologize appropriately.

4. If we have not already done so, we will assign a routine of daily chores to each of our children (at least those who have reached their third birthdays) and we will insist that said chores be done, and done properly, before they engage in recreation or relaxation.

5. When our children ask us for cell phones, we will tell them that they may have cell phones when they are able to pay for them as well as the monthly bills.

6. When our children complain that they are the only kids who don’t have cell phones (and do chores), we will tell them that learning how to be different is character-building.

7. Our children will not be able to order customized meals unless we take them to a restaurant. At home, they will eat what we are eating, and they will sit at the table until they are finished. We will do this so that when they are invited to eat at someone else’s home, they will be the best of guests.

8. We will surely bond with our children, but we will not bond with them in the marital bed, nor will we bond with them in their beds.

9. In keeping with number 8, we will put our marriage first and our children second…for their sake as well as ours. They will revolve around us; thus, they will not grow up thinking the world revolves around them.

10. If I am a single parent, I will take good care of myself for my sake as well as my children’s. I will have an active, adult’s only, social life. I will take plenty of personal time to simply relax and do those things I like to do. I will do all of that so that my children will not ever think the world revolves around them.

11. We/I will put our/my children to bed early so that we/I can end each day reconnecting as a couple or relaxing as a single.

12. We will eat as a family around our own table at least six nights a week.

13. We will keep after-school activities to a minimum, and only let them enroll in activities that do not prevent us from delivering on number 11.

14. Instead of buying our children expensive things, we will help them develop hobbies and take them to museums and on trips.

15. We will do all of the above so that when they grow up, they will have wonderful memories of their childhoods and raise our grandchildren in a manner that honors us.

3 days in a row

2011-01-13T18:25:00.000-08:00

That's right, getting my blog on.

I even exercised 3 days this week. I'm on a roll- I should take this productiveness to the bank and cash it! I hit up the Target 75% off toys sales today. And got a few good deals, probably could have gotten more, but some lady was snatching it up like all the toyless children in the world depended on her. Which was fine, saved me some dollars for a rainy day. Got some super cute bibs on clearance and a super cute pacifier set.

And since you must know, I also got some multiplication fact cards from the dollar spot. Figured Middle will not become a brain surgeon if I don't help her along the way.

The husband got home and changed to jump on the elliptical. He's been doing great to, toning up the hotness that he has going on. Of course this is after I walked in the room and asked when he changed his initials to B.O. And then it was even better when Baloney walked in and said " WHAT is that smell!" His compromise was spraying his dirty gym shirt with lysol, twice in the pits for good measure. Dude's got to sweat to cut and chisel the body, and he always showers afterwards but..... ew.

So there's blog post three of the week. Off to get my cookie and star.

Confessions

2011-01-12T16:13:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, I think people like to put on this face of someone who they are not. I mean- hell yeah I want everyone to think I'm the perfect wife, who raises her beautiful children in their perfect outfits, maintaining the perfect home filled with homemade goodness and fresh baked cookies when they get home. Which there is absolutely nothing wrong with being and doing those things. But give me the mom who points out where she has gone wrong and embraces it, and she and I will be besties.

I am the mom, who while on my road trip last summer, trying to stay awake in the middle of the night as I maneuvered my SUV around the mountains of Utah, (perhaps at higher than posted speeds), sang at the top of my lungs "gonna catch me ridin dirty" by chamillionaire.

I am the lady, who went shopping at our local health food store today, bought tons of healthy fruits and veggies (for 20 bucks! love you cali!) and came home and devoured a plate of leftover chinese. A plate of mammoth proportions.

I am the wife, who when it comes to her husbands taste in shoes, I have no problem letting him know that they are fugtastic. But I will say that I buy him the ugly ones anyways since after all, shoes that you love make all difference.

And right now, while the hubby is downstairs on the elliptical, I am on the internet, but I have every intention of jumping up when I hear the door shut and picking up some weights, you know, acting like I was working out the whole time too. Wink wink.

True dat.

1-11-11

2011-01-11T08:47:00.001-08:00

So it's 1-11-2011.

Today is as good as any to write a blog entry.

Except for I think I'm hungry and really, how am I supposed to form a sentence if my stomach is growling. I'll trudge through though, priorities. I go walking with the baloney every day and she rides her bike. She races way ahead and then I have to huff and puff to keep up, all the while "pour some sugar on me" is blasting in my ears, true stripper style. We pass these little patch of bunnies everyday, so last night when we get home, she tells the hubby that "We saw bunnies today and almost bought one." Of course his eyes search mine with a "wtf is she talking about willis" look.

What? First of all, they are wild bunnies- that by the weeks end might possibly be road kill. Sad but true. Just keeping the circle of life real here. And next, buy them from who? The invisible bunny seller in the middle of the park? And last, bunny poop is gross. Little itty balls of turds that may or may not roll away at any given clean up moment? Yeah, I'm good with not stressing out over bunny poop. We are not buying any bunnies. the end.

But I do love this age, where fact is fiction and fiction is fact. They truly believe that a dragon stole their blanket and they fed the dragon 8 bowls of cheerios and then the dragon flew away... in a pink school bus.

So while it's not true, it's cute. And it just might be a good lesson. I wonder if I could use that line the next time I see some cute boots... "well I saw boots today and almost bought them..."

Waiting for Superman

2010-09-26T18:51:00.001-07:00

I like the way....

2010-09-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

...my husband sings songs when he thinks no one is listening.... and then gives me a shy dimpled smile when I he finds out I am.
....my oldest sticks her tongue in her cheek in slight smile when she strikes someone out. Pleased with herself and trying not to show it.
....my middle skips everywhere.
...my little says "Taylor Smift"
....my pile of fun keeps growing bigger when I find more things I want to do in this world.
....I accidentally walk into great deals. like a 40 dollar dress for $4.49/ hello christmas gifts.
....my little candle smells.
.....I can eat a whole bag of m and m's and not feel guilty.
....banana chocolate chip pancakes taste
....I find the funniest things to laugh at and don't really care.
....my laundry is done...since my precious husband does it all

"The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings."
Eric Hoffer

Things to remember

2010-09-23T09:41:00.000-07:00

"Raising a child who possesses high other-regard simply requires that parents do what our great-grandparents did. They put their marriages first, not their kids. They gave their children all that they truly needed and very little of what they simply wanted. They assigned daily chores from age three on. They expected their children to always do their best, in whatever setting. Their beds were for adults only. They rarely helped their kids with their homework. They did not serve them individualized dinners. Family came first, not after-school activities. And so on. This parenting paradigm is as workable today as it was when I was a child"

John Rosemond

I am such a firm believer in this. I cannot handle entitlement by parents and by kids. Raising a world of brats. You have kids not being potty trained until they are 3 or four because "they're not ready." Well... they're kids. It's not a choice and since when does a kid get to make grown up choices and decide what's good for themselves? Kids who have excuses for not doing homework. PARENTAL given excuses. Kids have excuses for hitting other kids. Really, if your kid is old enough to walk, talk, eat, and play, they are old enough to share and be nice. End of story. So many parents complain about how their kids won't. WHATTTTTT?!?!?!?!

They won't what? THey won't eat dinner? Uh then you starve. There is no "we only have 8 choices because that's all you eat". Sorry Junior, your choice today is TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT. And they won't wear certain things? Well my daughter learned real quick that we wear what's appropriate. So if it's rainy you don't wear a bathing suit. It's not a choice. Just like riding in a car seat is not a choice. Throwing a fit will get you nothing. Wearing shoes to the store is not a choice. Being "good" is expected and not rewarded with piles of toys. In my house you behave or you will find a very sad option to not behaving. There is no toy buying for potty training. Above and beyond achievement is recognized and rewarded, being a good person is expected. My house, my very well behaved children. I may not be the norm when it comes to parenting today, but guess what, my children will not thank me at 25 that I acknowledge their feelings when they were 2 versus who they would be their whole lives long.

Even today, at my daughter's class, a parent went up to the teacher and asked if their daughter could be given more challenging work. Because she is so smart and needs to be challenged. Um.... these guys are FOUR. And they are there for 3 hours, twice a week. How about, as a parent, you buy your kid a big fat book of kindergarten readiness and on the other 5 days of the week, YOU challenge them. We are our kids teachers first. I am responsible for my kids. And what they know. Their manners, their language, their skills. Why is it okay to let your child run amuck and then turn them over to a school and expect the school to instill values and manners and lesson of society that you should have been all along? Because people are entitled to do as they please and that is why our nation will soon be governed by brats.

Off my soapbox.

Gymboree must hate me

2010-09-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

If you google Gymboree listens, chances are, somewhere on the first few pages, you'll get me. And my posts on my experiences at Gymboree. And when I wrote my post, from MY point of view, on MY experience, I never would have imagined the outrage from some employees. You would have thought I personally walked into their store, ripped clothing from hangers, chewed on sales tags and toilet papered their car and called their grandma an asshat or something. Truth is, I had one.... (or more) shitty experience there. I can point you to a message board where tons of ladies talk about the crappy customer service they had, if they really want to get it all out. Sorry Gymbo, but the bad customer service I had did not fall on deaf ears. Now on the flip side, the sweetest lady in a Kentucky mall needs some recognition. I did not buy anything, so I can't sing her praises to the proper people, but she was real nice. So there you go.

Which now this reminds me that people will google and then they read, so I have other things to write about. And to the person who googled "fart sniffer" and got me.... that made me giggle.

Across the U.S.

2010-09-05T08:29:00.001-07:00

We decided this summer to pack the car and travel for a 2 week period across the country, seeing the United States and visiting family. The husband had tons of vacation time, and the kids were out of school, so we hit the road. People thought we were crazy, spending that much time in the car with kids. The thing is, why wouldn't we do it? Kids are adaptable. Riding in the car is not the most fun thing to do especially for over 5000 miles, but what we see and where we go is. My kids comfort level is not my main concern. Showing them about life is. So we did it.

The kids were mesmerized by the lights of Las Vegas, the sun rising over the Utah mountains. They complained of their ears popping in Colorado's altitude and we enjoyed the sweetest little visit with my grandparents who practically live in the orange and pink rocks of Garden of the Gods. The girls made green chile and ate as many ice cream cones as their tummies could handle, while watching the deer wander the yard behind them. All my childhood memories flooded back to sitting in the same spot, smelling the marigolds.

From there, we experienced the corn, sunflowers and Mother nature even tossed a mini tornado from the sky for us in Kansas. Missouri had the largest bugs, the most traffic and the big arch. The girls wanted nothing to do with going inside it, but sweated like crazy at 8 in the morning as we checked it out. We made a wrong turn in Illinois, where they marveled at little towns. Indiana was just a pass thru and then into Ohio. I wondered what they would remember, and what they thought. Oldielocks remembered the most, even the way to get to Grandma's house. We visited our old house, which didn't feel the least like it was ever ours. Oldielocks visited her old school and we all laughed at the changes and how some things never change. It was hot, and you would have thought it was the end of the world. Nobody goes outside in the summer and nobody goes outside in the winter. My kids didn't mind the heat and we spent many hours in the garden eating tomatoes, walking the streets and just enjoying.

Off to Michigan we went, to a small little town for a visit with the husbands grandfather. We spent time with an old game of lawn jarts, and exploring the run down property next door. We headed to the husbands little hometown and the girls played in the river he once played in too.

Kentucky has the nicest people you will ever meet. So sweet and just plain kind. I want to bottle up some Kentuckians and spread them around the U.S. Tennessee was beautiful and we stopped to see Elvis but it was Elvis week and well, crowded. We spent the night in Mississippi, which put on a heat lightning show just for us.

Louisiana always has so much to explore. We headed down to New Orleans and hung out on St. Charles drinking soda and sweating. But the houses always make me smile and the kids love spotting beads in all the silly little places. It rained a few days while we were there, so when it rains, we go shopping. We spent a day tubing and the kids absolutely loved it.

Texas was long, hot and dusty. San Antonio was intriguing, and we all went to the Alamo. And the Riverwalk. And Coyote Ugly Saloon. I am all about equal opportunity.

New Mexico was the land of my people. We woke up and stopped to grab some green chiles. We visited the adobes with bright blue doors. And even in Wal Mart I saw the faces that warm me, similiar characteristics to my own family.

Arizona was long. And of course hot. We stopped and visited with the cactus while our sandals melted in the asphalt.

The ride was longest back into California. And dirty and I think we were just done. But it was so worth it. We had fun, as our family of five. And they got to see what a big world there is out there, but mostly and most importantly I hope they learned that people matter. I have always strived to make people matter. Sure we could have spent the money on things. We could have made excuses and just said it wasn't important as other things are. But that's just not true. My kids will always learn people first.

Tales of a two-toned Mama

2010-06-25T13:15:00.000-07:00

My great grandparents, or even my grandparents, or even my parents have some American Indian blood running through them. Which can be a fabulous trait because my Indian half beats up and scalps my European half and I end up with bronze skin, every summer. Or since I live in the Golden state, all the time. When I was young and vain, I would march my bikini clad, golden skin self to the beach every chance I could get and know that I was looking every bit like a California Girl. Now I am old and vain, I find about 7000 hurdles in my way and I'm kind of upset about it.

I had 3 kids. And worked hard to get all that stupid baby weight off. And I can call it stupid baby weight because seriously, what.the.hell Mother Nature?!?!?! I don't see Cows or Dogs or Monkeys laying around with their offspring all grown and eaten or whatever lamenting about their bodies. Nope, even cows bounce back pretty nicely. So why human moms, can't we catch a break? However I do find justice in the fact that I have seen some gnarly feed bags dangling of animals so at least that's one thing Mother Nature decided all females would get.

So I sweated my ass off, literally to get rid of my butt and my butt front. If you have ever wondered what a vertical c-section scar does to your body, it ain't pretty. It ends up looking like a butt in the middle of your abs.... and not a toned butt, but a saggy, wrinkly nasty butt. So Jillian Michaels and I worked out every day to say sayonara to the butt front.

My troubles should be over right? I mean, I'm fit, toned......
and two different shades of color.

I look like I am wearing a flesh color wrestling unitard.

Look at my feet.
Well don't look at the second toe bigger than the big toe.
Just check out the tan lines.

See the tan lines? It's my own suggestive way of letting the world know that there is more like that, just up higher. Oo baby. From mid thigh to my boobs. Looking like a two toned buick. From 1972.
Look. I have frog feet. Ok not really. That looks gross. What's really gross is the shadow of my hair? Is that a horn?

I took the kids to the pool. And got undressed and bared all of my checkerboard self to the moms of the world. I swear every mom was wondering why I look like I lay out in a wet suit. Or why I was farmer leg tanning it. Or if I told anyone I was half Pocahontas Sacagawaea, they would stare at me and nod in agreement. And probably ask if I was actually 3/4, staring directly at my white butt front papoose hanging around my middle.

Sunless tanner, come to momma.

Mean streets of the S.D. suburbs

2010-06-17T17:19:00.000-07:00

Where I live, it tends to be quiet. As in the biggest deal of the day is some young hooligans making out on the baseball bleachers or someone breaking a nail in the door of their jetta. Boring times, but that's all right with me. I'm a mile down the road the other day and well.......

I'm sitting at the light. Minding my own Cali driver business... which translates to I was talking to my three year old, playing with my ipod and chewing gum. I look to my right and see a seriously fragile old man standing on the street corner. With a skull cap and cane. Looking a little eerily like the Geezer bandit. (google it, San Diego's oldest robbing banks) He is talking to himself and waving his cane. But life is dandy, the sun is shining, and hey if you are 98 and can bust it without breaking a hip, well then go ahead and get down.

He's crossing and something across the street catches my eye. A middle age woman, wearing a sweater under a sundress, pulling an empty granny shopping cart. The eye catching part was the Laura Ingalls. Straight off the prairie and standing on the street corner. The Street Bird Ingalls starts dancing..... and lifting her dress.

My jaw drops down and I am searching left, right, front, back for the hidden camera show. I mean, Ashton was trying to punk me or something. She raises her dress to reveal a lime green retro one piece swim suit. And is twirling around. In her bonnet.

She stops. And does it again. And stops. And does it again. And by this time I am so used to the flash of green, that I almost miss my light turning green. I drive off, when I see a lady pushing a big dog in a graco stroller.....seriously..... where were the cameras because that corner funny business HAD to have been a show.... I hope.

Schools Out for Summerrrrrrr

2010-06-16T17:29:00.000-07:00

Last day of school.

Always bittersweet. My Middle ending second grade. My Oldielocks ending 4th grade.

I always enjoy having them with me for the summer. I really do. I remember when Oldielocks was about to enter kindergarten and I though that I would die. The world would stop and everything would cease to exist as I knew it if I had to march her 5 year old self to school every day and leave her there. All day. I cried almost the entire month of August. And the first day was horrible. And by the second I noticed the world hadn't stopped. And by day 5 it was Saturday and I was thinking about when she would go back.

My kids fight. Down and dirty. Loud and screechy. They are girls in every term of VOCAL. So hell-to-the-yes I have moments.. okay... days..... where I wish I could drop them off at school and laugh manically "see ya Suckas!" This mama ain't gonna lie. But I truly enjoy my babies.

So I pulled out the rainbow cake. This Cake. The one that tried to make me bow to that damn Martha Stewart, wearing a cloak of failure. This year, I told that cake to kick rocks, that THIS WAS GOING TO BE MY RAINBOW CAKE WINNER OF THE YEAR!!!

Until I realized that in my conceited oversight... I may have not bought enough frosting.

See Exhibit A? Nothing. White? um... not really.

Damn rainbow cake. So I did what I would normally do.

Told the rainbow cake to shut it's frosting begging mouth and spread the frosting thin. And what showed through on the outside, I threw a handful of little sprinkles on the side and pretended like it was supposed to be transparent frosting. I'm a good faker like that.

So goodbye 2009-2010 school year. Thank you for taking my little scared second grader and turning her into a confident sweet third grader. Thanks for taking my quiet 4th grader and turning her into a responsible amazing 5th grader.

And Rainbow Cake of 2011-----Bring it. I'll be ready for you.

Days of Strawberries..... and cake

2010-06-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

One of these days, I will live in an old house with a rambling yard where I will grow a row or two of strawberries. And I will get my June Cleaver Pollyana self out there and happily pick them by the colander full. Complete with adorable apron.

But for now, I will pay the ghastly amount of $15 dollars a bucket to trudge in the fields with my little family and make some memories, goll darnit! At least we had sunny skies and ocean breezes. And the occasional plunge of my fingers into some moldy squishy strawberries and bugs.

We did come home and make this AMAZING cake. And by amazing I mean my stomach ached for hours afterwards after I stuffed it with this Paula Deen goodness.

Savannah Strawberry Tall Cake

Serves: 8
Cook Time: 20 Minutes

Ingredients:
1 box of white cake mix, baked in three 8” cake pans
3 quarts strawberries, stems removed and cut in half
1/3 cup sugar
Whipped Cream:
16 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 cups heavy cream

Directions:

Place cut strawberries and 1/3 cup sugar. Stir together and place in the refrigerator until ready to assemble cake.

Mix cake mix as directed and pour into three 8” prepared cake pans. Bake just until set and slightly golden (approximately 15-20 minutes).

When cake has cooled, place cream cheese, sugar and vanilla in the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with whisk attachment. Whisk at medium-high speed until light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed. Reduce speed to low and add heavy cream in slow stream. When almost fully combined, increase speed to medium-high and beat until mixture holds stiff peaks.

To assemble cake: Place one cake layer in a large bowl or on a pedestal. Line the outer edges with a decorative row of strawberry halves. Fill the middle with some of the strawberry mixture. Top with a layer of the whipped cream mixture. Repeat one more layer. For the third and final layer place last cake on the other two layers. Arrange strawberry halves decoratively around the edge. Top with the remaining strawberry mixture. Serve with any left over whipped cream you may have. Have your guests just dig in!

Life lessons

2010-05-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been climbing in mountains. Which is fine, a little mountain climbing never hurt anybody. There are people in my life recently that have made me question exactly what my role is, where I should be and what I should be doing. I've had forks in the road and the decision of what path to take. And I chose. I chose the harder way, the one with more rocks and obstacles. But I know that when I get to the top of this mountain, I will know it was the right way. I have been challenged, I have been cursed at, I have had things said to me that were meant to be so soul crushing. And I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't feel every single one of them. But I know that I walked on, with my head high and did not return the same favor.

It's this part of life that sucks. The part that makes you dig deep. Carefully choosing my words, my actions, all the while trying to guard my heart. But it is the journey I am meant to embark on, there will be a lesson in all of this. I'm waiting on what that is. And if all it is is the opportunity to stand tall and know that I believed in myself, then that is lesson enough.

PInk, green and chocolate girly happiness

2010-05-10T12:23:00.001-07:00

This the latest creation in the quilts and baby creations. My friend is having a little girl, and her nursery is done in Pottery Barn Kids Penelope bedding. But really LOONNGGGGG before pink and brown became popular she LOVED pink and brown. And then she had a little boy and gave away any pink and brown. Lucky for her, she gets to have tons of pink and brown now. My own little girls have a lime green, white and pink room, so I of course love the color combo. And I really, really wanted to keep it for me.... but it is now sweet baby Claire's.

Front of Quilt

Back of Quilt

Matching Burp Cloths of course.....

Snuggle flannel and minky blanket, with her name and a lil' birdie

Amy Butler fabric and pink chenille

Snuggle Flannel and white minky with elephant applique

Janie and Jack sweater and cuteness

And...... the baby shower in a box, because I am a decorator like that. All matchy, so when you can count on happiness when you open the box.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

The most important thing she has learned over the years is that there was no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one.

~Jill Churchill

On being a Baloney

2010-04-02T15:33:00.000-07:00

Today, in comes Baloney.

"Mommy..... 'member when I was black?"

"What?"

"When I was black, you 'memba that? I do."

"hmmm I don't know what you are talking about."

(insert long pause as I rack my brain as to what could she possibly be talking about)

"yes you do, when I was black and boring."

"When, Baloney? What are you talking about?"

"I'll show you."

And so she opened up the scrapbook to a page with this picture:

And now it makes all the sense in the world.

Boring = born, and I should have remembered that since all december long she would play with our nativity and talk about baby Jesus being boring. And clearly, being black, as you can see makes sense.

Thus is a moment in the life of being Baloney's mom.

Spring Break

2010-03-30T15:34:00.000-07:00

It's spring break time.

So I made banana chocolate chip pancakes today. I love those things. So do the kiddos and surprisingly, the husband raved about them. And I thought they wouldn't be his style, since he's not an overly sweet breakfast kind of guy. We don't use syrup, just the bananas and choco chips in them are flavor enough.

They found a chocolate chip that melted into the shape of a heart. And i thought to myself, that yes, it truly is the little things.

I then took the girls to Justice, so Oldielocks could buy a gift for a friend and spend her own birthday gift cards. When we got to the register, I couldn't find one of her gift cards. It was a $20 dollar one. So I pitched in the extra 20, but then kicked myself for it. She didn't see bummed, or worried about the gift card. I mean shed a tear or something, kid. I was annoyed by her lack of caring/ responsibility.... or so it seemed. I was struggling with feelings of parent failure/she will grow up to be a beverly hills diva when she came to me with 20 dollars of her piggy bank money. Her own thoughts to make it right. Which made me smile/sad/glad/tired/proud/ all at the same time.

To which I started think about how parenting sucks. This stuff isn't easy. Too many people want it to be easy, so they let the kids make the adult choices. Because it's just easier that way. Not here, not today.

I know I want my girls to feel just like this when they mother their own children. If I let them grow up feeling that only their feelings matter, that life is always about them, then I will be doing them a big disservice. I want them to feel like crap when they do wrong. Even if it's on accident. Even if it wasn't intentional. I know I would feel like poo if I lost 20 bucks, so she should too. And she did. Just later than I would have and that's okay too.

Maybe tomorrow I will write about something more lighthearted, but today mothering has taken over.

Mean Girls

2010-03-10T16:51:00.000-08:00

The husband is a softball coach. Of the 10 year old variety. Oldielocks has been playing for years and I think coaching fulfills the hubby's need to be Pete Rose.. or something like that.

Of course with any sports, there is politics. And holy cannoli there is some politics involved with this. Basically the hubby stood up for the coaches and mangers and became their voice for a certain situation.

(not trying to be all cryptic, but you never know when someone is googling hot dog poo and gets my blog and puts two and two together.)

Last night, a parent, who is also on the board, was talking trash. Straight up diarrhea of the badmouthin' trash. About my HUSBAND. I'm not one to get all mad... wait- who the lucky charms am I kidding- My mouth plays it fast and loose... when needed. But seriously, I wish I had her. I only heard the snarky comments. Which was enough for me to eye roll in her general direction. She is cackling with some other lady, and seriously she cackles. I would not lie about some cackling. I would probably laugh if I was annoyed with her cackle.

Does this broad really need for someone to remind her that not only is it inappropriate but just plain bad human behavior to speak disrespectfully of a member of their own organization, in a public setting? At least talk about him on the phone or in the bathroom. I guess I know what happens when short chunky mean girls grow up-

They grow up to be short, chunky, OLD mean girls.

Taking out my hoops and pulling back the hair. Mommas gonna go stand up for her man!!!

She's 10

2010-03-04T16:49:00.000-08:00

I swear I blinked and she turned ten.

My Oldielocks.

Today she is ten. I fight blinking because I'm afraid I will blink again and she will be twenty. I don't want her to be twenty for at least forty more years. I like her being ten, and I liked her being nine. I've learned to embrace each age, instead of mourning the past ones. Because I've enjoyed every minute of her life. Even when she crapped in the tub at a relatives house. I think it turned me into a real mom.

She turned me into HER mom. She has met every milestone, ahead of time, with an ease and grace that astounds me. Who has a kid that walks at 7 months? Whose kid takes test on things she has never seen and aces it? Me. Mine. I'm that lucky. I tell her no and 99% of the time she listens. She's not perfect. I've sent her to bed early and to school in her pajamas.

I've also watched her blossom into this beauty that is such a perfect blend of her father and I. She has the common sense of me and the quiet emotion of him. She has his brown eyes and dimple, and my hands.

She is ten today, and we are celebrating. Celebrating the gift that I have been given that is her. I love that little girl!

annual WTF- do- they- wear- for- easter post

2010-02-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

Easter revolves around these shoes....because they keep my little girl looking 3.... and since she typically looks like she is 5 and acts like she is 20, she needs every bit of 3 she can get.
Here's what I'm thinking....

MIDDLE:

OLDIELOCKS:

or the white dress with yellow sweater......

BALONEY:

This is my life......

2010-02-04T19:25:00.001-08:00

My daughter just told me she puts stink bombs in her underwear.

She then stares at me with a blank face and says...

"What?"

I looked at her and said "What?" (I mean really, is that conversation starter?)

"Well, I'm like "what" and you're all like... frozen."

To which she makes a horrible grotesque face. As if she froze witnessing a horrifying incident while falling.

An apparently that's how I look, upon news such as stink bombs.

Before laughing hysterically.

And she's only 3.

The happy in my day

2010-02-03T17:04:00.000-08:00

"We tend to seek happiness when happiness is actually a choice."

Today I chose:

to take delight in watching my little girl give her speech about Wales, and realized that my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The best part was when I winked at her when it was over, she smiled that snaggly tooth grin and blinked both her eyes back at me. My Middle.

to listen to my Baloney chatter away in my back seat and enjoy just how very lucky that I am to have such a chatty girl. Not a day goes by that I don't laugh at that girl.

to watch my Oldest do her homework, easy peasy, no questions asked. Her ease and love of learning is a gift. To herself and to us. She is brilliant.

to be happy, and ignore when others say things that try to make me unhappy. Sometimes I think people are waiting for someone to make them happy, when really happiness is there all along. I need to remember this when it starts to suck me in.

to help the husband. He does so much for me, and simply just loves me, every day, all the time. It made me happy to help him. He is perfect.

I still wear hooker shoes

2010-02-01T17:02:00.000-08:00

Years ago, when I first met my husband's mother, she commented on my choice of shoes. I was wearing a long skirt with a tank top, and we were going out. She took one look at my knee high black boots with a chunky heel and exclaimed,

"You are wearing streetwalker boots!!!"

She sounds like a pearl clutcher, but really, she's not. Nor is she from the farms of Amish town or the halls of a convent. Streetwalker? Really? Who says that? A hooker is a hooker is a hooker. Go ahead and say hooker boots. (to which most hookers would laugh, since they were more clubbin boots. I got game.) I should have told her to save the streetwalker business for someone that doesn't know that she shows off her cleavage. Always.

Anyways, I have given birth to 3 kids. And cared for several more. I have found grey hairs on my head and worn my pajamas to drop my kids off at school more times than I can count. I have worn fat mom pants, and driven a mom car. I scrapbook, and fold laundry and only get my hair done a few times a year. And nails. I work out sometimes and stuff my face with my kids leftovers the other days.

But if you open my closet, there they be...... hooker shoes. High heels galore, boots with heels. And when I put them on... I am every bit the hot momma that my husband met all those years ago. I will always have hooker shoes.

Boogers on a pillow

2010-01-20T19:29:00.000-08:00

"Mom... I wiped my boogers on your pillow"

SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?

I'm not certain how to respond.. should I freak out? Should I get mad? Should I laugh? Should I say thank you? Should I throw the pillowcase away?

Instead I asked "why?"

"well, it's really yucky"

"what is? My pillow or your boogers?"

"my boogers"

"So then....Why would you wipe boogers on my pillow if it's yucky?"

'Well (enter big grin) it's okay. I'll just lay on it."

********************************************************************

I will look on the bright side.

At least it wasn't poop.

The End.

The Blind Side

2010-01-06T17:42:00.000-08:00

Must. See.

I *heart* it. Completely.

I shall read the book.

Sometimes I wonder

2010-01-05T19:00:00.000-08:00

This post has no pictures. You will thank me later.

Middle was stayed home from school today. We pulled up at drop off and she exclaims from the back seat "I don't think I feel very good." I glance back and besides the panic in her eyes, her lips have turned pale. This is classic Middle code that her body has betrayed her and somewhere in the day before she didn't eat enough and now is going to pay the price in form of vomiting and dry heaving. This has been her life cycle since she was two.

I'm so used to it, that I asked her to put her sweatshirt on her lap and if she was going to puke, to puke in the sweatshirt. Not trying to be insensitive and shitaki,but seriously, I was not feelin clean up on aisle 7. Besides puke+75 degrees... trapped in a car.... the stuff of nightmares. My nose would never forgive me.

She lays around all day, and has a drink around 1:00. And promptly pukes all over the dining room chair. While I turn around to get a paper towel, she proceeds to stagger into the living room like a wild hair barfin' monster and yak all over the stuffed chair in the living room.

Why?

I banished her to the bathroom floor, laying on a towel. Cuz I'm a mean mom like that. The cats, the 3 year old, the ever loving stench of curdled breakfast.... I pretty much curled up into a ball and banged my head against the wall. Seriously disgusting.

She is fine now, btw. My nose is in a permanent scrunched up position, but I'm good too.

Puke-nasty.

Clothes Lovin

2010-01-04T10:15:00.000-08:00

Let's pretend I don't wear my pajamas to take my kids to school. Because I do. Pajama pants, sweatshirt on the cold days... (I don't even put on a bra.) I am all kinds of slobby pulling up in the drop off line. Luckily I can toss them out the window and get home in about 5 minutes. One day I *almost* had to get out of the car. I was sweating, trying to pull my birds nest on my head into a ponytail.... You think I would have learned my lesson and fallen to my knees in gratefulness. But I didn't. I still treat drop off like I am on my way to a slumber party.

Let's check out how I would like to arrive at school.... in the morning.

All from Anthropologie. All super effin adorable! *swoon*

This makes me happy. Like roll down a grass hill, pick flowers in my bare feet happy.

I would like to make a nice dinner out of fresh garden vegtables, serve on white scalloped plates, wearing my vintage apron. and perhaps pearls. All because of this dress. It brings out the Suzie Homemaker in me.

This... this is riding a bike down a country road. With or without a sweater. But a flower in my hair, and a basket on my bike.

I need to get out of these jammies for reals. And get to shopping. I looove these.
The end.

bah humbugizzle

2010-01-03T09:12:00.000-08:00

I realized in all my christmas craftiness, that I took no pictures. No pictures of my photobooks, no pictures of my aprons, dishtowels, pot holders, mossy oak and flannel rag quilts, strawberries,chocolate and pink minky "abby" quilt, nothing. I spent my days busy with my all star girlies in softball and soccer. And my 3 year old, who will tell you "it's all about me." Hilarious and inappropriate.

My camera died, and now I have a new one. One for new pics, new stories and 365 days of pictures. Which I've posted on my other blog, the original. I'm just going to put a pic I take each day on there.

And now, I need to go watch MADE on mtv. Because that's how I keep my youth.

2010

2010-01-03T09:06:00.001-08:00

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."

Neil Gaiman

Gymboree Listens part deux

2009-10-26T20:15:00.000-07:00

some people on the internet did not like my gymbo review from last year.

This one.

I don't let it rain on my parade. The sun will still come out tomorrow.

Bet your bottom dollar.

Oooh and more posts to come. I've been craftin.

Now playing, 3. As performed by Baloney.

2009-09-22T17:11:00.000-07:00

My hair is being done by a 3 year old. As in ripped out by the roots with a rat tail comb and put back together with Suave kids detangling spray and a bobby pin, and several gymboree hair clips. I'm wincing. The things I do for beauty.

This is the same kid that announced "I can't take it." While sitting in her carseat. Kicking and whining. Oh the drama.

And that she can do the hoedown throwdown. Just like Hannah 'Tana. ANd proceeds to shake it like a polaroid picture. on a bench. in front of some old grandma.

She also does not like broccoli. It is "soooo 'scusting." And tells me that I should in fact, never buy it again. What a critic.

The fabric store is fun. Until I put the kabosh on her running up and down the stairs. Then it was "borning. I do not like fabric. I need a nap." How convenient.

We were in Costco. I cannot go into the details, but Satan would have been proud of his spawn. That's all I will say. Yet, she sure put on the happy camper moves when handing over the receipt.

She had gunk all over her face. I did the whole mom spit wash. ANd.she.freaked.the.effy.out.
"YOu put your spit on me!!!!"
and then came....
"I CAN"T TAKE IT!"

You're telling me.

Sharing blog lovin'

2009-09-20T10:18:00.000-07:00

I know I can be a blog slacker.
I'm trying to be better.
really. I am.

but while I don't blog often...
I stalk many.

Let me share one of my faves:
I love this blog.
This chick finds some of the coolest ideas out there,
and then post/links them. Tons of inspiring ideas for all occasions.
I like having all kinds of pics/ tutorials/ ideas in one spot.
Someone else doing all the searching dirty work.
Love it!

and p.s. - help a girl out and leave a comment on her post so she can win a washing machine set. Some good deeds only take 15 seconds and a click of a mouse ;)

Fabric how I love thee....

2009-09-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

The fabulous hubby built me a crafting area. A spot for my scrapbooks and fabric. My two loves married. And I'm sure my camera has a space there as well. So now I have to organize it all. Ha.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHA. ha.

I'm pretending to be all organized. See the start? I have bags and bags of fabric. And a huge tub as well. I'm trying to get it all in one place so I can just start pounding out some projects. And then I get sidetracked, and think... well the world wants to see some of my up and coming adventures, let's write a blog instead! The only way I stay on the path is to make one. Seriously.

This one is my newest love. Oldielocks wants me to make a dress for her out of it. I'm bought some to make my niece a blanket out of it. Skulls on the front, pink chenille and letter L on the back. Simple and super cute. I also used it as a background for nieces 6 month pics. And it might make a cute apron..... I'm obsessed.

This is fabric for some throw pillows for my bed. Room is aqua blue, bedding is white....

Halloween napkins....with black rick rack.. and perhaps spider napkin rings. I heart Halloween.

Stuff for my sister. Pot holders, apron out of the orange big skeleton print, with polka dotted sash. Dish towels. She is doing her kitchen in the sugar skull theme. How fun are dishes in orange, lime green, purple. And she has a purple kitchen aid. She rocks.

Figgy Pudding. I made christmas cards out of this Basic Grey line one year. And now they have fabric. I'm thinking napkins....

Rag quilt. I have a super sleuth in the area scoping out fabrics to put with it.....speaking of which I need to ask her some camo fabric questions....

Remember this? From the elephant quilt? I loved the colors of the quilt. And want to use the scraps to make another one. Not the same thing, but something with all that chocolate/lime green/blue/white goodness. I don't have anyone to give it to. So I might sell it on etsy. Or better yet, give it away on here. Keep your eyes peeled.

Rag quilt base. This is for my Abby Cadabby girl. It is not my style, but I will make it spectacular.. for her and her Abby lovin' heart.

This is a rag quilt base for christmas for Middle.

Rag quilt base for christmas for Oldielocks.

Oldieocks wants to be a "pirate princess'> Whatever that is. So we're going to design something. And I found this. Sparkly skulls... Elegant, yet pirate. I'm thinking black and white and pink.

I just liked this. Dish towels... aprons.... something fun.

Middle wants to be a princess. And picked this out. Bless the little chickie for having far more faith in my skills than myself. And she doesn't want to be just anyone, she wants to be the red one...but pink. Yowza......

This is the base for a quilt for a friend. How cute is this....

And the grey and pink skulls towards the top of the post? This is the dress pattern for Oldielocks. Pretty much a smock style. And then I noticed it says PLUS sizes. I think that is my cue to quit. I have sewing fever and need to get it under control.

Please don't ask to see the scrapbook mess.

Children's Museum.

2009-08-27T13:20:00.000-07:00

boo.

I took my kids to the children's museum the other day.
It was cool, with vacuums on the wall and a pillow fight room.
a true mattresses on the wall filled with pillows- room.

It's interesting, the people that hang out at the children's museum.

Like the mom, who forgot that she was going out in public and wore
Lycra bicycle shorts and a faded green tank top. The tank top didn't respect
the fact that her belly was supposed to be covered. A bra would have been nice too.
It gets cold in there.
Her little boy was about 4. And when he fell backwards into the pile of soft foam blocks,
it was the end of the world.
For her.
She picked him up, and rocked him, kissed him, cuddled him, whispered sweet nothings, and loudly spoke about how he had fallen backwards.
(um on his ass where it's cushioned. He didn't care until she went beserko.)

Then I ran into Grandma. As we left the awesome pillow fight room, I saw a pair of pink high tops.
Pink converse with a brown strip up the back. Absolutely adorable.
I said to Grandma, "what cute shoes!"
I must have been speaking ding dong-ese
because she grabbed them from their spot a foot away and clutched them to her lap.
Apparently she thought I said "Oh my god I will snatch your grandchild barefooted and stuff you inside the port-a-party music booth just so I can have those amazing million dollar shoes." Or something like that. I guess I should have told her how being a shoe klepto is in my past. I am a changed woman.

The museum staff is friendly. Especially the one playing with the TV. Her crack was playing peek a boo with all the children. As in her buttcrack. For at least a half hour. I guess it take a rocket scientist to realize that crack at a children's museum is a no-no. Crack of any kind.

We went to lunch afterwards. Where the organic burger restaurant is on the list as kid friendly. But for $9 a burger with no fries, nothing is friendly. I settled for walking my children pass the homeless man dancing and gesturing and perhaps humping the pretzel counter, before we settled on Steak Escape. I win mother of the year for that.

I could go on and on. But I won't. People are crazy. Let's leave it at that.
but it was fun. Crazies and all.

Summer quilt.....

2009-08-20T18:37:00.000-07:00

Looky what's finished. Remember that pile of yellow lovin' from oh... march? Yeah... I finally did something with it. I wanted a quilt for me, for my kiddos. For them to see when they are old and gray and it will take them back to picnics at the beach, soccer games, softball, and just happiness. And countless hours of booger wiping.

And I mean really, yellow oozes happy.

Here it is in all it's yellow glory on the back lawn.

Up close the hodge podge of happiness.

The back, with a ray of sunshine peeking out, and a quote.....

Up close in your face yellow happiness....

And the quote... "Today will be the best day."

Because it will.

No words....

2009-08-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

They say life is like a book. That it is the chapters that tell your story, bits at a time. A lot of the time, stories flow on so smoothly, you don't know when a chapter ends and the next begins, and honestly, most of mine are like that. I am quite content with that. And sometimes, whether it's wanted or not, the chapter writes it's own ending, and and the hard part is learning to be content with that too.

It's about a boy. When you're a teenage girl, it's always about a boy, or so it seems. He hung back from the crowd, a silent observer, it was obvious it was not his idea to be going to a week long summer camp. Just his luck that he was placed in the van with the two most talkative, goofy girls in the group. Just her luck that he laughed when they offered him teen magazines. A friendship was born over shoving candy wrappers into people's pillowcases, and junk into their luggage. The next few days the boy and the girl hung out, every waking moment between group games, hanging out at the food store, going to chapel. She noticed how tall he was, with brown sparkling eyes. She noticed the way he would look at her and tilt his head sideways. How he didn't mind the obnoxious golf pants she wore from the local thrift store. He told her he liked the piggy tales she wore, and waited for her for hours one afternoon while she laid in her bunk with a migraine. He held her hand at the lunch table, and laughed at her when she had to eat an entire lemon.

And then he kissed her. On a starry night, on a hillside in the forest. She remembers every word that was said that night. It was every bit a summer camp romance should be.

They went home and remained close. Remained boyfriend/ girlfriend. They spent hours together, and hours apart. He made choices that kept them apart, and yet they exchanged letters often. He made choices that kept them close, and they still exchanged letters. They spent time at the beach, in the pool, the mall, the park. The movies, ice skating, sitting on a hill, hours of talking. Hours of laughing. Being a teenager in love allows you to love someone for all the simple things. Before hearts are hardened and cautious.

They were different, he was the "bad boy", she was the "good girl". He was known for getting into trouble, she walked a line far out of that realm. They were drawn to each other, even though he would sink, and she only knew how to swim. She loved him because although people could find reasons not to, she found reasons she could. He taught her lots. She held his hand while he struggled with life, she learned the importance of just being there. She learned when things just plain suck, you can always find something to laugh about. He kept a letter in his wallet she wrote him, when he was going through a rough time. She had no idea he kept it there until one day he pulled it out, worn and creased from having been read- often it seemed, and he told her why. That it had meant that much to him what she had to say about him, and who she knew he was. She learned at that very moment, the importance of words, and letting people know their value in this world, and their value, even if it's just to you.

Months went by, and the boy and girl went separate ways. It was time. Still they remained friends. He would call her, she would call him, they would hang out. Every time seemed like old times. They tried dating again, and it didn't work out again. Friendship suited them better. If anything, even though the romance had faded away, the friendship remained. That's where the story ends. Not all romances end on happily ever after. Sometimes they are just a marker on the pathway to a soul mate.

Life went on, they both married others and had kids. They always kept tabs on each other through other people, one asking about the other, and happy that life had been kind to both. They ran into each other a few times, and exchanged small talk and smiles. The end.

A few days ago....

She had recently learn that the boy was struggling and had tragically passed away. That he was hurting inside too much to remain in this world any longer. He had struggled for so long. It's just sad. In so many ways, for so many people.

I'm glad I knew him. I'm glad I loved him then. He knew exactly where he stood with me and I with him. We had a history, and I have memories that I look back and smile. I told him good-bye years ago. But not like this. This good-bye hurts. It just hurts.

In the end, everything has a story behind it. Everyone has a story behind them. I wouldn't change my part in the story, even though the ending is absolutely heartbreaking.

Teacher Gifts

2009-08-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

I think I forgot to share this from the end of the school year in June. I like doing the crafty thing, so the kiddos and I made these vases for their teachers. I just bought a vase at Michaels, pencils, cutsey ribbon, and a wooden apple from the wood section. I glued down paper to the glass, because hot glue wouldn't adhere to it, so I just used craft glue on paper. Then I hot glued the pencils to the paper. Hot glued the ribbon around, tied a bow, some more hot glue and voila!

Just something to keep in mind for the upcoming school year!

Smile

2009-08-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

...........................................................................baloney 2007

Find something in everyday that makes your heart smile

Confessionsof a shopamomlic

2009-08-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

I braved back to school shopping today. By myself, all three girls in tow. We had a plan... well I had a plan, and by golly we would follow it.

We headed down to the good mall. The mall that is a half hour away, but has the best selection. And the most stores. Well the most high end stores. Coach, Hermes, Louis, Betsey J, Tiffanys, all those stuck up punks are there. Nordys, Neiman, Bloomi, them snotty folks too. Macys- macy's has the brow bar.

The brow bar is where one plops their bushy caterpillar eyebrow sportin' ass in a chair and gets those suckers ripped off in a flash of burning hotness. I love the job they do, shaping and styling and filling them in, looking like a celeb in In Touch magazine. I of course had an overgrown weed garden growing above my eyeballs that needed tended so that was our first stop.

She did a magnificent job, and I sat there patiently while she finished up, holding my breath since her hand was a millimeter from my mouth and I didn't know if she had swine flu or typhoid fever and didn't want to breath in some deadly amazon jungle vapors. Or something contagious like that.

Next stop was MAC..... the make up wonderland. Showing off my newly found eyebrows, I wanted to see what was new. I didn't get many offers of help from circus clowns, which was odd, but whatever. Lunchtime was coming up.

We order, at 2 different places and I sit down. I put napkin in my lap and realize someone has.....

left the barn door open.
Um, as in my zipper is not in the upright position. I am tramping around with my business file exposed. Serious confidentiality breach.

Better yet, I have on green and white striped underwear. So I'm all paranoid that someone has been enjoying a Where's Waldo peep show- Leprechaun edition- as I've been walking around. I should charge admission.

Sometimes I'm a walking train wreck.... missing a door on my caboose.

More Grandma lovin'

2009-08-05T16:48:00.001-07:00

Just finished another rag quilt. For the other grandma. I feel very fortunate to be as old as I am.. (21) and am still surrounded by my grandparents. I made the other grandma a quilt this spring, and then this one last week. She recently had a stent put in, so it was a little "get-well-I-love-you-be-happy-I-miss-you" quilt. She loves purple, is stubborn, sassy, determined, and built like a brick shithouse. (her words, not mine, though hilarious to me all the same)

It was all cotton, and the first time I used a flannel middle instead of batting. I think I might like the batting better. I don't know if it was the use of all cotton and no flannel on the outside,but it didn't seem as soft, and cuddly.

Stay tuned for the yellow quilt of summer.

Summer time

2009-07-30T16:37:00.000-07:00

What I love about summer is just how imaginative my kids have to be to amuse themselves. We have the usual T.V., Wii, internet, DS brain rotting amusement going on, don't get me wrong. Ain't no shame in my mommy game. Every now and then I get all Mean Mommy on them and turn it all off. And then I am forced to find scenes like this:

* baby towels, the hooded kind - being worn like hair. Complete with rubber bands and ribbons. It's quite funny to see my towel haired kids, wearing dress up clothes, high heels.... and baby towel hair.

*Barbies that always seem to be at a nudist convention. Always. Then again I would be too if I had upper dimensions that looked like that.

*Airport. Bags constantly packed, full of the important things like; socks, 3 hairbrushes, a US weekly magazine, softball medal and my wallet. They make "boarding passes" out of crudely ripped pieces of papers. And the TSA agent gets to scribble all over them.... and her legs.

*Pet shop school. All pet shops lined up. Names on white boards, a lot of bad kids in those classes, tons of check minuses. Juan, Jorge, Carlos (guess where we live) and Panda girl. Sometimes pet shops get abducted, and riots will ensue.

*hanging underwear from the ceiling. This is my favorite. Remove the glow in the dark stars, and hang underwear from the tacky gunk. Then they laugh and giggle their brains out, with commentary like "Mommy, it was a gy-hun-du-mus unda-wheres on um.... on the ceal-i-ling." She's 3, creative vocab... but three. With a raspy voice like she smokes about 11 million packs a day. Which she doesn't...I check.

No cute noodle making projects to occupy my kids here. I'm about to toss a ladle and 4 pillowcases- and a bra their way and see what happens next.

I love it.

The way weddings were meant to be

2009-07-25T14:17:00.000-07:00

I'm sure most everyone has seen this already. But it rocks. Please, whoever invites me to a wedding, do this. So I can rock out next to grandma in the pew.

Who's who in the Moms Supreme Court

2009-07-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

I have friends with babies, all who love them dearly, all who absolutely adore the ever loving piss out of their offspring. So tell me why I get phone calls full of self doubt, sadness and just struggling with how to raise their babies? One reason; Other moms. Since when did we become a society of black rode wearing, sittin high on a bench, looking down on women, bunch of mothers? Seriously, lay off already. Unless your name is preceded with a "Your Honor", you need to step down and take a seat.

I'm tired of this new wave of mothering where if you give your child formula, you might as well give them rat poison. If you give them a pacifier, you are eliminating their form of communication. If you give them food before 6 months you are setting them up for a life full of allergies. That if you don't strap them to your body, your are making them feel abandoned. If you don't let them sleep in your bed, they are emotionally unstable. If you give them jar food, you don't care enough. If you had an epidural, then you are a quitter. And a c-section, you took the easy way out. If your baby cries for more than half a second, you are the absolute devil.

I think it's about time, that it is made clear, there is so much more to being a mom than what you do. In what way you do it. Being a mom entails bawling your eyes out when you can't breastfeed. And bawling your eyes out when you can, and it hurts. Bad. So you don't want too.

It means bawling your eyes out as you fold away the 0-3 month sizes of clothing, and then 3-6 month, knowing your baby will never be that small again.

It means being a cheerleader for rolling over, crawling, walking, running. For going pee pee on the potty, doing back flips for poopy on the potty. It means cheering the loudest at the soccer game, if your kids is the one running in the wrong direction.

It means keeping your cool when your favorite picture gets ruined. Or dress. Or couch. Or computer. And it's okay when you need to leave the room to calm down, because really, the computer? That's not an easy fix. Or being calm when you have to listen to whine #7264. And yelling louder than you want to when whine #7265 comes out anyways.

It means celebrating birthdays, report cards, good behavior, words. Or sometimes the ability to do what other children do a thousand times a day.

It's about being afraid they won't succeed. About if they are learning the right way. The right things. Will they be kind?Compassionate? Will they learn to accept people for who they are, and how they do things?

It means loving your kid enough to say no. Say it a lot. Say I love you. Say it a lot. By saying both, they know that you do. And loving them more, just.to.love.them.

I think moms need to realize that it's about so much more than what you feed them, when you feed them, who cries, and who doesn't. Where they sleep, where they play, who plays with them. Who works, who stays at home. I cannot point out in a crowd who was breastfeed, who co-slept, who had a pacifier, who cried......let it go.

Don't sweat the small stuff, the cloth vs. disposable, boob vs. formula, crib vs. bed, it's the bigger stuff that matters.

Because it's July.....

2009-07-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't blogged. You see...... I bought a house. Isn't she purty? And big? The yard alone is gigantic and I get lost for days, and the actual house... oh my sweet southern heavens is it big... like 15,000 square feet. I get lost walking from my bed to breakfast.... and the trees.... and the flowers.....

Okay so I didn't buy a house.

But I went to a house.

A beautiful plantation house. The stuff my 1875 dreams are made of. Complete with a porch that goes on forever. History oozes from all over it and I eat that history shiznetti up with a giant spoon. We just got back from a trip to Louisiana. It sure is pretty.And green... you know I am a sucker for green. Not to mention the houses. I spent my days wiping drool from my house lovin lips looking at all the character in the houses. I could convince the husband to move... if the heat hadn't betrayed us. And the humidity. He would think I lost my mind if I said to move there.....but seriously the houses would be worth it. We are now back home enjoying southern California weather, so yeah it would be a tough sell. So for now, I have spent days going over pics from our Louisiana adventures, and then the Baloney had a birthday so that meant more pics. 4th of July pics, family from NC visiting pics, Middle's birthday pics.... and of all the pics... did I mention that my camera broke, after the trip, before birthdays so I am using someone else's camera. I am surrounded in pics but will get them done.

adventures in baking

2009-06-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

The last day of school has arrived. I had been hopping around in blog land and saw someone's adorable rainbow cake. And I straight up copied their idea. I wish I could take all the fabulous Martha Stewart, Suzy Homemaker, Mrs. Cleaver credit, but alas I cannot. I filed away the info and busted it out for the last day.

It was going well, the cake making. I had all the colors, I made the cake batter according to my grandmother's ~~betty crocker~~ secret recipe. It was 2 boxes of white cake mix, because of course you have to mix the colors in, and have enough for each layer. I carefully measured out my colorful batter and distributed it evenly into 6 greased cake pans. (disposable ones, because I don't own 6, and I have patience the size of a gnat's eyelash). I then set them in the oven to cook.

See. Cooking beautifully. I took them out and let them cool.

fast forward to icing time. I'm mixing the icing.....when the Baloney strikes. Just because I planned on this gorgeous cake full of color and promises of happily ever laughter, lucky charms, money in a pot... doesn't mean I'll get it. She walks behind me and dumps a cup of water on top of the purple layer, in it's cake pan. Now I have goblin puke floating in a metal circle. I think even the devil quaked a little in his boots when I realized what she had done. I banished her to community service and dishwasher duty until she's 36. A fair punishment.

Until I realize the green layer had met a similar fate. Soggy cake remnants crumbled in my hands, along with my dreams of creating a Norman Rockwell school ending homecoming. Instead we're about to have cake, 2 colors short of a rainbow. I felt defeated. How were my kids going to come home and not question their mother's intelligence? I mean my first grader was going to have a hard time figuring out why I don't know there is more colors to a rainbow than four....

I slapped the remaining colors together, iced the heap of colorful failure I call cake, and decided to hell with it, I'm decorating with m and m's. And then I did.

So that's the story of the rainbow cake that wasn't.

Cupcake fever

2009-06-08T18:07:00.000-07:00

The husband does not like cake. He doesn't hate it or anything, but I will never hear him request cake. Unless it's pineapple upside down cake. Then he will ask for that. But he loooves cupcakes....try to figure that one out. Who wants to break the news to him that... um... cupcakes are like the single serve portion of cake. Weird, I know.

For his big 3-0, I decided I wanted to make him Samoa cupcakes. I think I saw them on foodgawker and knew he had to have them. He loves Samoas... eat-the-whole-box-in-one-sitting kind of love. I worry every year that he will leave me for that little hussy of a purple box, but then I always realizes it's just a spring time fling. I still have my eye on those caramel and chocolate man stealers though, you never know.

I decided to make both pineapple upside down cupcakes, since he did ask for that, and surprise him with the samoa cupcakes. I used the recipe on this website, she has some yumtastic recipes, like stuffed artichokes, and carrot cake ice cream... heaven.

http://the-cooking-of-joy.blogspot.com/2009/04/samoa-cupcakes-and-cupcake-exchange.html

Now, there was an original recipe that she linked to, but it was way too involved for me, so I followed her instructions. No homemade caramel sauce here. There is love for Martha Stewart, and there is love for Sandra Lee. I can do the Martha, but most certainly this was time for channeling my inner Sandra. I used caramel sundae syrup in mine. These cupcakes were the love child of Sandra and Martha.... complete with homemade ganache and store bought yellow cake mix.

Pineapple upside down cupcakes were easy. I melted brown sugar and butter together, put some in the bottom of my cupcake pans that were greased, no liners. I then cut half a pineapple ring, then cut off a smidge more and put them on top of the brown sugar sauce, then a cherry, and poured yellow cake mix on top. Easy Peasy. When done, I popped them out, upside down of course and made homemade whip topping. Which is easy. My servant KitchenAid does all the work. I like being lazy like that.

He devoured both cupcakes, all 6475 calories of them.

Grass is always greener

2009-06-01T18:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish it would go away.

I've lived back in California for almost 3 years. Three years of making memories, making a "place" for us. It's funny, growing up I longed to be Laura Ingalls Wilder. To live in a little house on a prairie. I was drawn to country, victorian houses, and a simpler way to be. I had blue skies, a beach not 5 minutes away, and yet I always wanted something else.

That's why when I made the choice to go meet my husband in Ohio, I took it. I remember arriving in his little, but big town. It was fashioned after a town square in New England, and it stole my heart. Hanging baskets from every lam post, tiny neighborhood grocery store, farmer's market on Saturday. Fireflies illuminating the hot summer nights. Peonies brighten the yards as a late winter surprise, early summer greeting. I do love peonies. Big, pink peonies. Cape cod style houses. Vintage farm houses. Victorian houses. It absolutely captivated my dream of beautiful houses. So.... I stayed. I stayed for 8 years. A million reasons made the list of why we moved. Back to the coast, the San Diego paradise many desire.

I should consider myself lucky.

I do, truly I do. Yet a very big part of me longs for my Ohio. I saw some photos the other day and I saw the green grass. Oh, the green green grass and green green trees. If I had seen peonies, I might have turned into a blubbering mess. It tugs, pulls and makes me want it back. I want my buckeye fever back. Where everyone in the city goes crazy. Here they look at my buckeye leaf like it is drug paraphanelia. I want my children to be out chasing fireflies. And going to schools with only 300 students. Not just being # 6 and #14 in school that has a thousand kids in it. I want my crisp falls, playing in the red, gold, and orange leaves. To drive by the hospital where my three beautiful girls entered this world. And the friends..........There are no words.

Quite honestly, I just want to be happy with where I am. Happy with why I'm here. I feel that I am, until I see a small reminder of...... home. I know the reasons why I fell in love with Ohio. The biggest reason is right here with me. I just want to know, when, if ever, the pain of leaving goes away. If I can ever look at pictures and not feel my heart tug in a thousand directions.

*sigh*

The world of Middle

2009-05-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

Oh my Middle.

She asks me the other day if I knew what Cemetery was.

"Uh... yeah. That's where they bury dead people..."

"What about math?"

"Hmmmm, did you play a game about cemeteries in math?" (thinking what kind of voo doo hoopla is taking place in first grade)

"no."

"well I guess I don't know then. Why did you learn about cemeteries in math?"

"YOU don't know about the line of CEMETERY?"

Obviously the time, in my life, where the line of symmetry comes in handy.

And just now....

"Mom, do you have a utensil?"

"What kind of utensil do you need, Middle?"

She scratches back and forth on a pad of paper.
"for this."

"To write with?"

"Yeah, a writing utensil."

Um, Middle... we call those fancy things pencils around here.

God love her.

Song and dance

2009-05-22T12:38:00.000-07:00

I ran about 11 million and a half errands this morning. Michael's, Joann's, and Target. Target was supposed to be one of those run in, run out type of things, but what kind of idiot am I to think that I can do that, with a 2 year old, better yet a hungry 2 year old. I even waived my right to a cart when I walked in. Must have lost my mind somewhere between Michael's and Joann's.

My arms are full of sandwich bags, bubbles, and an Abby Cadabby place mat. The important things that I didn't know I needed until I walked in the door. We are searching around the girl section, looking for a plain red shirt for Middle. Everything is well spread out, and Baloney is trying to lead the pack.

Enter Big Momma.

Big Momma is a mom with her kiddos. She has 2 in the cart, and one walking. She is of the larger persuasion, which I wouldn't point out unless it was pertinent to my tale. And it definitely makes the story.

Big Momma is doing her shopping thing too. She is humming along to some song, that only she could hear. Her kids are ignoring her like most do, and she is just enjoying this fine day, strolling and strumming in Target. She is kind of dancing to the beat, swinging her hips.....walks down the aisle next to us.

Enter Baloney.

Baloney is racing up the other aisle, and Big Momma turns the corner. They both stop, like a bunch of deer in headlights, neither can move unless one does first.. I glance over, and Baloney is just staring. I start to call Baloney, so my kid will stop the embarrassing stare down, and so I can get her out of the way.

Then it happens.

Baloney's mouth opens, and while staring at Big Momma, she starts to sing... loud.

" I LIKE "EM BIG, (starts shaking her toosh and flailing arms), I LIKE "EM CHUNKY!!!

Of all people, my daughter yells this, while shaking her groove thang, at someone who clearly is not a size 2, or 12. Big Momma doesn't move, and I quickly usher my operatic star out of the way and to the check out line before I get my butt kicked into the next county. By now, my face is flushed to ten shades of embarrassing. I should have known it would happen. Thanks to this video right here, this has become Baloney's anthem. My parents sing it with her, and she will run up, stand right next to them, crouch low, stick the butt out, and chicken wing the arms, and get down get down. And we laugh and giggle. So, of course when faced with someone who is just humming and kind of dancing she assumes that the world is on the same rock star status as her, and they only shake it to the same song. I mean don't we all dance to "I like 'em big, I like 'em chunky?"

I need to invest in some Mozart around here.

Some Sweetness

2009-05-01T19:38:00.000-07:00

I loved this.
Taylor Swift.
For her mom.

WTF wed # 39570235

2009-04-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

This is a continuous WTF. The groundhog day of WTF-ness. In fact, it happens so often, it really shouldn't be a WTF, but just a fact of life.

My kids love the bath. They don't take one every day, more in the summer because they are walking dirt pits then, but often. Oldielocks is super old at nine, and prefers showers, but every now and then will jump in the tub for good ol' playtime. Middle stays in until she's a prune, the water's freezing, and she is turning blue. Baloney lands more water on our floor than Shamu, it's true.

We have the same ritual when they get out: towels, lotion, pj's. And since they are all girls, we then do detangler/hair serum/ bacon grease whatever it takes to get the tangles out. Otherwise they will wake up looking like a rat convention took place on the back of their hair. I even braid Baloney's because despite the careful combing, she manages to turn into a dread head, every time.

I have them pick up their towels, clothes, put the toys away. In theory this sounds great, but it fails me every time. Then my bathroom looks spotless. Like not a bath was had. And that's a bad thing? Oh yes, yes it is.

You see, I'll walk in, drop my Victoria's Secret undergarments, sit down, and realize I am on a slip n slide to Hades. My booty will slide like a Honda in an ice storm. I land cheek side up between the toilet and the tub, just about every time. I look like an outlandish fool from a cartoon, my face frozen in terror as I realize that if I had a small butt crack before.... I don't now. Arms thrown out like I'm an umpire calling someone safe at home, and my drawers are all potato sacked race at my feet. I'm a hot mess going nowhere fast.

Every mother WTF time.

Why? Why do they wait until they get in the time to realize they have to pee? I can tell them beforehand, watch them go pee, have them sign legal papers that they will, yet someone has to climb out of the tub, sopping wet, and pee. I always get stuck with the storm surge.

WTF... in my bathroom, all the time.

results are in

2009-04-27T14:03:00.000-07:00

I mentioned early on in March, how I was on this crusade to be fit, and I was going to do the 30 day shred. I did it, every day, faithfully. I didn't follow a diet plan, I just ate healthy, and lowered my calories. Some days I did the shred, some I did shred and elliptical. Some days I shook my jello and just danced around the house. I can't find before pics...but my weight was... drum roll......147. 147 for a 5'3" chick is not fabulous. That meant size 10 pants, large tops. My gut... oh my great grandma... was my belly just nasty. Having 3 kids donated to the pile o' flab, but really, I had jelly rolls, cinnamon rolls, if it rolled, it was there.

So I sweated. I had swamp ass for 30 days straight. I was so mad at that damn Jillian and her two little itty bitty trainer friends. She kept saying "don't phone it in." Like all fat people sit around phoning it in. Like it was a damn pizza. Some of us go out and get the pizza.

I squatted like an Indian giving birth in a corn field. I lunged like I was a really chunky jaguar. I crunched like I was a bag of cheetos. I drew the line at high jumps. I am not a dolphin performing tricks. I don't do high jumps. It was bad enough I was kicking my own ass and doing jump squats. And jumping jacks. And jump rope. And plank rows. And on top of all that it sounded like a dirty phone perp was living up in here. The heavy breathing, panting, grunting.. not fabulous.. at all.

so..... 6 weeks later.... I lost 14 pounds. And tons of inches. I still ate pizza every friday, had a birthday weekend in between. I wanted skinny, and I'm getting skinny. Everyone get your shred on... seriously it works.

Here's a pic. In the sliding door.

More bambino lovin'

2009-04-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

So yet again, I have been craftin'. Making baby junk for all the babies being born. Tho could someone have a girl? Pretty please? I love all the boy stuff, but I need to make some pink cuddly goodness.

This is the latest, for my nephew Quentyn, eta in May.

I stitched around the letters so they wouldn't come off, and sewed them on a carter's recieving blanket. I then sewed some green minky on the back. I hate sewing minky, it's nothing but a slippery nightmare.

Here's some burp cloths, because after all baby puke looks way cuter on pretty fabric.

Quilt made out of Carter's elephant blanket and other matchy fabrics. I have tons left over, need some ideas for using it up.

Here is the back. It is not see through unless you hold it up in front of a bay window in sunny San Diego in the afternoon. I cut out little elephants from this website. They have a super adorable quilt on there.

here is the front.

While I dig the blue, green, white, chocolate combo... I need to switch it up....

Lost her mind

2009-04-24T17:02:00.000-07:00

I know they say that when kids learn something new, or are focusing on one area of their lives, they can regress in another.

Meet Oldielocks, my then nine year old, my now two year old. She has been busy in softball playoffs, swimming play dates with her BFF, completing her multiplication facts, and learning the words to cheers.

SO much learning and busy busy busy busy going on that today, officially she lost her damn mind.
Her room was filthy. The closet exploded and so did every toy container. The husband decided that more fun was being had than responsibility and canceled batting practice at a friends house. He then told Oldielocks it was clean up time. She clearly had five bags of cotton stuffed in her ears, since she acted like he had said not a word. She would not listen. AT ALL.

And then it started.

The whining. The falling to the floor on top of clothes. The "idon'tknowwhat youwantmetodobutican'tcleanbecauseiamwhinylittlepunk." It's bad when it sounds like a rat dog whining. And then you realize you don't have a dog. But you do have a nine year old. A nine year old that sounds like a rat dog. That's not something to brag about.

Finally when I was about to stab myself in the eardrums, I sent her to time out. I let her know that if she wanted to act like a 2 year old, she will be treated like one. I made her sit in the little chair, her 4'7" self all hunched a few inches off the floor. She in turn whimpered, whined, scratched on the wall, fell to the floor, picked at a branch, harassed the bird, stomped her feet.
I ignored every minute of it. Middle was staring and piped open her little mouth like she was the Princess of Perfect, until I shot her a look that reminded her that she has gone a few rounds on the crazy carousel before so she wasn't going to be judging anybody.

Then my gigantic ~~two~~ nine year old started throwing toys. I then threatened her with writing sentences and a videotaping her and showing it to her class. A little blackmail goes a long way. Her crazy outbursts went on for about 45 minutes. In the little chair... wailing away. It was disturbing... yet hysterical all at the same time.

She has been kissing ass ever since.

Up on the hill

2009-04-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

We wont touch on why I haven't blogged, besides the fact that I was abducted by Mongolian skunks and sold to a worm trader in East L.A. True story.

Oldielocks games take up our evenings a lot of the time. I've been dying to do a WTF Wednesday, but I'm changing it up. It's Thursday and we are gonna WTF it.

At these games, you have 6-9 year old girls playing softball. Not one of them is headed for MLB any time soon, but some of the parents, oh my sweet jalapeno jelly, they think they are.
There's this dad who is nothing but a walking WTF. He looks like this guy, from Project Runway.

But bigger, with his ipod constantly in his ears, and girly hat on head. He is loud, and likes to crouch behind the catchers fence when his daughter pitches. When I said crouch, I meant plop his knee down, and then his waistband has some form of elastic malfunction and pretty soon the Grand Canyon in all it's crevice glory is staring at you and you turn away before you get the stink eye creepin out. It's bad. He's about 275 by the way. Which in turn provides a lot of landscape. it doesn't matter that a bazillion people are directly behind him, and after a while your brain takes over and blocks the image from memory. Or at least I wish.

he draws so much attention to himself, between the moon baring squat and the shouting. he calls his whole family when she throws strikes. every time. I kid u not. And this is nothing compared to the first game.

The first game, we are sitting on the hillside. My children, myself. All is quiet except for sweat drippin off the pitcher and chants from the catcher. I am snuggled in my chair, when they earth shook. Well, it sounded like it was shaking. The loudest " BRRRRFFFTHHHTPPP" from behind me, and then to keen sense of hearing, a release of sound. "Ahhhh."

WTF? Did someone just rip ass and then sigh? Straight out of the movies, dirty dirty farting and sighing. And it happened again. My jaw was dropped in disbelief, but closed quickly in case any fart vapors wanted to waft my way. I turned my head slightly, to be sly, but I was really really interested in who the foul farter was. I needed to know names and location to stay far far away in the future.

Ol Project Runway, fartin, crack baring dad is sitting on the hill. But it doesn't end there. The most horrific part of all is he was sitting with his legs up, like whoo hoo hee labor, heads coming position. No way. No nasty way. He then does it again. You know,brings the legs back, gives birth to a 6lb, 7 ounce disgusting fart. Complete with afterbirth. I'm surprised he didn't ask anyone to hold a lighter and see if they would ignite. And all I can think is that is some one's dad. Which means someone, somewhere finds that... attractive. I might puke.

Softball season is almost over. And so is my sense of all that is right in the world.

Felt Food Bonanza

2009-03-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

I made a bunch of felt food for Baloney for Christmas, to go with her new kitchen. Cost effective, and would provide countless hours of entertainment. And it has. Recently a friend mentioned she wanted to make some for her son for Easter, and of course I'm going on and on about how easy it is and cute. And realizing that I never put any pics up. So here they are... after I went and dug them out of Baloney's little house in the backyard.

(And for those of you that really want to kick my crafty personality in the booty and invite my name calling, storytelling, laughing diva back, it's happening. Soon. I'm just not good about balancing. Ask my 7th grade p.e. gymnastic class.

Carrots, bread, some kind of mystery meat, cheese, tomato, green bean, pickle, and lettuce. My cucumber and banana are missing.

Choc. chip cookie, cookies with sprinkles. I made a whole plateful, and the rest are probably buried under a box of barbies.

raviolis... missing a red squiggly cut out of "sauce"

quesadilla.... every california kid needs one.

Pancakes and eggs. With the bacon missing. Girl must be watching her cholesterol.

Oldielocks at bat

2009-03-27T15:35:00.000-07:00

Oldielocks plays softball. She has been blessed with a natural athletic ability, just like her dad. This is her second year,and she really enjoys it. The husband helps coach the team, and I get to sit on the sidelines and chase Baloney and Middle, all while trying to watch the game. Every now and then I shove licorice in their dirt encrusted hands and watch them spend forever chewing. It keeps them busy and buys me time to watch Oldielocks play. Candy is the currency of kids I tell you. And 25 cents for 5... I'm a rich momma.

I'm not the overly laid back parent that would rather be lounging on my bed, yet I am not the red-in-the-face-major-league-player-breeder either. I will tell you this, I expect effort. I will not let my child half ass things, in my house, at school or in sport.

Recently, Oldie wants to pitch. I will always let and encourage my kids to go for it, because if they never try, then they will never know. I was recently posed the question if it was too much pressure, for a 9 year old. Being pitcher. Well can't have a game without a pitcher. She likes it, and asks to do it. The problem is, she does great for the husband, and if she starts off great, she keeps going. If she makes one mistake, she stops. Literally a wall comes down, and she gives up. She will pitch the ball, but it will hit the ground. before the plate. Over and over. She stops moving her legs and that's it. Then she suffers throughout the inning until she walks 4 players.
It's painful, when you know she can do it. I look at it as a learning lesson. That life is gonna suck, but when and where you pick it back up is where it matters.

It's hard work, every day. Practicing, honing skills. Hard work is what sets apart the people who want it.

I honestly think some parents today make the world to easy for kids. That they shouldn't have to be disappointed, that they all are winners, that if they are unhappy it needs to be fixed. I think softball is a great teacher for this. She does have her teammates rely on her, she is responsible to others,, She can learn that you can swing and miss or you can swing and hit, but if you don't swing at all, then you have no chance of ever hitting at all. It's not always going to be easy. You can want something badly for someone else. It's okay to feel pressure, people count on you. And it's okay, to rely on others around you. If she walks away with just having tried, then she will be far better in life then never learning to try at all.

We celebrate her successes. She has her mommy encouraging her from the stands, and her daddy, sitting on a bucket, guiding her through every pitch. If she hears no voices but ours, and knows that we believe in her, I know that she will learn to believe in herself. I remember after her first inning pitching, a parent commented that they really liked how the husband sat on a bucket and talked her through every pitch. He turned to them and said " If I could pitch for her, I would." I hope when she grows up, she'll see why we let her feel sad, why we let her feel frustrated, why we watched, hearts aching from the sidelines as she would throw balls, or miss a play. And all that we ever asked, was that she try.

For baby Braeden

2009-03-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

My dear friend from back in the days is having her first baby. It's been a long pregnancy, a complicated one at that, so I wanted to send a lot of love her way. We used to work together in daycare, and at my home where we used to watch kids together. So she used to love on my kids, and now this is how I can love on her baby.

The theme is airplanes, if you can't tell.

I made these burp cloths.

And made her a hooter hider, she picked out this pretty fabric.. Amy Butler.

The back of Braeden's airplane quilt. Cozy chenille.

The front of the quilt, it has airplanes, blue minky, blue gingham flannel, and brown with white polka dots.

All of the fun presents, complete with airplane outfit, matching binks, blankets, and of course blue and brown dinosaur.

And final product, for her baby shower in a box. Who doesn't love chocolate and blue together.. or chocolate and pink, chocolate and lime green.... love it all.

We are so excited for you Baby Braeden!

Grandma's Quilt

2009-03-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

I was at a local fabric store that was going out of business to see what they had. None of my favorite Amy Butler, but I did come across this super pretty purple fabric (erin mcmorris-urban garden). So I started pairing up fabric, and decided I would make a quilt.

I have never made a quilt in my life.... unless you count a rag quilt, which is far easier and not so complicated. But I had many reasons for this quilt.

My grandma lives in Hawaii.
This quilt is so hawaii-esque.
It has polka dot fabric, who doesn't love polka dots....dot dot dot...
My grandma always wears this huge print fabrics
and this is a huge print fabric.

My grandma would sew everything. Absolutely everything.
Then she had a stroke.
or a few.
And my able bodied, free spirited grandma can no longer sew.
Sewing was my grandma's heart, and and to see it be taken,
is heartbreaking.
I figure if I can sew, I'll be her hands for her.
She made my kids blankets when they were born, and now, things will be made for her.
Because that's what love does, it comes full circle.
Like the circles of my quilt.

Why the Internet tries to sabotage my healthy ways....

2009-03-12T14:24:00.000-07:00

I have 3 kids.

Three different births, the last a c-section. People have c-sections all the time. The difference in mine was it is straight down my stomach. Not the cute little bikini cut that will hide itself when you work off all the baby weight and buy a skimpy bikini to hang out on the beaches of St. Tropez. Nope, mine is from belly button to pubic bone. It almost needs slices on the side to be an arrow. Pointing down... towards the business. Then I will tattoo "Not always an exit" on it. Because I am creative like that. The whole point in telling you about my split gut is that it does just that. Indents a little inward. And when I gain weight.. Holy moose knuckle. Like a huge cameltoe..... but on my stomach. yes I said cameltoe. I just watch it get baggier. Then I have nightmares of Jon and Kate plus 8, the way her stomach looked pre-tummy tuck. Elphantitis of the stomach flab.

So that and the fact that I swear my backfat and buttfat have decided meet, become BFF's, and be joined at the hip, I have (for real this time, really really reals) decided the chunk has got to go. I even bought an elliptical. Then I learned that you have to use it to become effective. And while you use it, you have to step away from the french fries. Even Del Taco french fries. and cheese enchiladas. And learn that it is cool to eat an apple a day.

Last Monday, I jumped on that elliptical and became a filthy, sweaty beast. And every day since... for a half hour. I feel like I am gonna die....then I just say (in time to the movement) "I will be hot, I will be hot, I will be hot." Because that's my goal. Absolute hotness. Goodbye belly blubber, hello bikini. and uh... pants that fit. I'm eating everything healthy, and fresh. I'm lovin it.

I need recipes for my new hot life. So I'm looking around my favorite food porn website, Foodgawker, and this pictures jumped out and did a striptease in front of me.

THIN MINT CUPCAKES!?!?!?!?!
Holy mother of yumminess!

Thin mint is my favorite girl scout cookie. And oh my sweet heavens... a cupcake.... with them....it's such a love story. I went all over this website... and it has coconut cake, and lemon cakes, it all looks amazing.

So would someone please make these. I can't make them. Fatbag belly, remember. I could do just one........

Must... stay... strong.....

Fashion worries

2009-03-11T10:03:00.000-07:00

Help me pick easter outfits!!
They go in order of Oldie (9), Middle 6, Baloney 2.

One thing though...this dress (orange and pink)is kind of blah... like a cheese sandwhich on white bread. I might add a bigger white bow or something.

If I do the stripes, I will outfit them with shrugs, and you can't see but theyhavelittlebits of tule sticking out the bottom.

And just to be difficult I like this dress too.
ANd if pics are too small, they are all childrens place.

So whatcha think? I need help!
l

Cracks my shizzle up!

2009-03-05T12:04:00.000-08:00

Happiest place on earth

2009-03-03T13:26:00.000-08:00

We are heading to Disneyland tomorrow. This year you get to go free on your birthday, so we are taking advantage of that for Oldielocks ninth birthday. Of course, I *had* to make them some disney outfits.

Baloney's outfit. I can't take credit for the design, I saw it while googling and thought I could make that. It was a cinch. I'm going to add a bow to the Mickey graphic. She's going to wear it with jeans and a long sleeve shirt tomorrow since it will be chilly, but it soo can be a sundress.

This is Oldielocks. I'm going to add rhinestone's to the tiara.... being a princess and all.

This is Middle. We call her Mookie, so it's fitting. The heads go all the way around the shirts.

Rockin' storage

2009-02-24T12:48:00.000-08:00

crappy pic, but loooove the new storage we set up in the girls room. Fuschia, pink and green. My fav.....

More Lily.....

2009-02-24T12:38:00.001-08:00

My itty bitty niece

2009-02-21T19:24:00.001-08:00

Lily Eve.
She was born two days before Valentine's day.
Has a dimple in her left cheek.
Simply adorable.

WTF # 23

2009-02-18T17:01:00.000-08:00

I am all about fabric these days. Obviously.

Which means may trips to Joanns fabric . Joanns is the armpit of society these days. I have been twice in the past 2 days. Went to one that is further away, in Little Mexico. Seriously every store surrounding it started with El. El Laundromat, El Check into Cash, El Meat Counter, stuff like that. The actual fabric store is in a run-down old Safeway left over from the sixties. But I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it.

I spend a good half hour picking out what I need, and get in the cutting line. When Baloney announces she has to go potty. And she's two. SO when the 2 year old needs to jump on the throne, you run and get it done. Because who wants to deal with pee pee pants and puddles in public. I'm looking around, can't find the restrooms, so I go up front and ask. I wait a bit while they finish their conversation about earthworms and plastics, and then ask where the bathrooms are. I am then informed that they don't have "public restrooms".

WTF?!?!?! This big ol Joanns has no "public restrooms." Whatttt. How about paying customer restrooms? It's not like it's Walgreens where you run in and out. It's a place where people sit, look through books, molest fabric, I mean really. I then ask if they have a bush for her to pee in. Ok, so I didn't really...but I should have. I then take Baloney, load her up in the car, drive her across the 4 lane road to Burger King because if Joann's doesn't have public restrooms, I had a feeling that El dry cleaners didn't either. And I don't read spanish. so there.

We head back to Joann's, get Baloney back out, get out stupid fabric cut and go home and cry for 4.5 hours.

And I decided to torture myself again and head to another Joann's today. This time it was a real quick stop. Baloney climbed into the basket part of the cart and was playing with Dora and Diego. She had taken her shoes off, and I told her she needed to put her shoes back on so she could walk. She stands up to put her boot on, and Amazon Scissorhands screeches in her screechy voice. " Oh honey, she has to sit down while she is in the cart."

Um.. WTF? Who are you? Shopping cart police. I'm annoyed with the fact that I am called Honey. I'm not her honey, and I'm not 5, but thanks. Second of all, I like to think on most days I do the responsible parent thing and pay attention to the safety of my kids. She is not even 3 feet tall, so she'd have to be doing the Samba to fall out of the cart, She's not. She's bent over and I am within an arm's reach of bringing her back to safety. I say "she is fine." Amazon Scissorhands tells me that it is a rule that she has to be sitting. I retort with a juvenile "Says who?" I ask where these rules are posted. She says they aren't. Duh. I guess I must have totally flunked shopping cart etiquette 101 in my parent handbook. She then says "Well, we had a kid tip out, so we are making sure that all children are sitting down." I should have asked her if she is checking immunizations and food intake as well. After all, all children need things like food.

Joanns can kiss my fabric covered ass.

Happy fabric

2009-02-17T13:35:00.001-08:00

My fave new fabric. I drooool over it. It is white, and lacy, and pleated. Gorgeous. I might make a dress out of it, or just hoarde it. In other words I have no plans for it, but it wanted to come home with me.

This bunch of fabric screamed quilt. For picnics in the park, or to lay across my bed. It makes me happy.

This is the back for the above quilt. It too makes me happy.

This is the makings of disneyland outfits. I also have pink paisley, black and white zebra. It will be Mickey Mouse cutouts. And my kids will look back on their pictures and make fun of them. I don't care. It makes me happy.

love me some Hootie

2009-02-16T18:58:00.000-08:00

I love his voice.
And I love this song.
And I love this video.
Love. Love. Love.

Darius Rucker

More CMT Music

More CMT Music Videos

Octomom

2009-02-12T10:49:00.001-08:00

WTF #22

2009-02-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

*this is dedicated to ~Singer, sister of Jinger, this one's for you*

This past weekend we were at the Wal Mart. Wal Mart who never fails in it's WTFness glory. You can always go in, and experience at least one WTF. If it's not some lady trying to impress you with her 10 years of Wal Mart service yet doesn't know the standard policy, or the cutting lady in the fabric department who is really annoyed that you *gasp* asked her to cut you a few yards of tulle, or just the type that Wal Mart attracts.

It was during our family jaunt for Valentines, specifically Littlest Pet Shop- that they didn't have so we could have really just walked out, but nooooo we needed to get snack bags. And if you give a girl some snack bags, chances are she'll need some cans of kidney beans to go with it. I was making chili, and needed some beans, killin 2 birds with one stone and all.

We are in the canned aisle of spaghettios, corn and the like. A mom and daughter duo in front of us, and Shirley to the left. Now, to really relate to this story, I need to tell you about her size. I am not one to point out who struggles, who doesn't, etc, about their weight, but this is essential. She was big. Very big. Normally not something to bring up in a story, but like I said, it's a necessary evil in this case. I'm slinking down the right side of the aisle, minding my own beeswax, waiting to get to the bean section.

And then the sky clouded over.

Big Shirley steps right next to me, raises her larger arms, and practically smothers me.

WTF!!!?!?!?!?!

She is in such a hurry to get to the Spam, no lie-- she was loading up on the Spam-- that she didn't notice me, and my entourage of children, cart and husband. She brushes up on me, like body to body, closer than two sardines in a burrito. I'm getting all kinds of claustrophobic and my brains is screaming wtf over and over, I'm trying to get out of the way. Who just steam rolls people, with no regard to personal space? She was literally all up on me, skin contact, being a large space invader, it was..... gross. because of all the horrors, she forgot deodorant. I swear some pit vapors got on my clothes.

I scurry like a rat with a cat on it's tail and say "Excuse me." I didn't know what to say, I was just glad to be alive. The husband is behind me and is floored as well. She doesn't say a word. She tosses an annoyed look my way, because I had the nerve to be standing in front of the canned gelatin cat puke. My bad.

I hate Wal Mart, for about 10,000 ~~pounds~~ reasons.

Me and COACH

2009-02-06T14:00:00.000-08:00

Went to the COACH outlet today. Not just to go to COACH, but really for Baby Gap. I have my priorities. Stopped at Carters...meh...wasn't a fan of anything. Saw a pair of shorts for the Baloney but blah...

stopped in COACH...and they were having a sale. I'm such a sale crack addict. But I have rules...it has to be like at least 50% off to be a GOOD sale. And imagine that it was 50%off.....off the freakin sale price. COACH- come to mama.

so here is my new bag from COACH:

It's kind of ugly...but it was free.

Anyways, I bought this for the sister. Because she just had a birthday and she rocks...and needs a little extra COACH lovin in her life right now. She is a purple lover, and this little gem is purple and silver. (even though it kind of looks green instead of silver, it's not. really. it isn't) And this way I get all the credit and the big sister goddess best person in the world label. I'm very humble like that. (pssst...not to drop dollar amount...but $25 is kind of accurate. I had to sell my soul to the devil but....just kidding) Just try and tell me that 25 dollas make you holla COACH purses is sooo not an amazing sale.

And this baby is MINE. ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL MINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I'll tell you right now, and some COACH lovers will be horrified, but I have never had a designer purse before now. Target and Roxy are so gonna give my new one the cold shoulder. I have had a COACH wristlet before though... so it's not like I am a total COACH virgin. This one... this one called my name out and then jumped in my hand. It whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and promised a life of love and laughter, in good times and in bad..... I knew we were meant to be together. Plus the color makes me swoon. It matches my room. I'm in love.