Gymboree Listens part deux

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.

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'

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....

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.

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.....

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....

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

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

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

Find something in everyday that makes your heart smile

Confessionsof a shopamomlic

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'

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

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

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

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.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

I loved this.
Taylor Swift.
For her mom.

WTF wed # 39570235

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

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'

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

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

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

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

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

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!