Teeth and Tutu's and Tv's, Oh My.

Any woman who has had the opportunity to care for something like, oh, a child, or even a beloved pet, might know all too well about what I am going to share with you.

If you have a man in your life, a husband, a boyfriend, a partner in crime who helped you create, adopt or purchase that something special to care for...you may have similar stories to contribute at our virtual latte table here.

Disclaimer: Daddy G is a fabulous, hands on Daddy, who adores his children, and I am so very beyond blessed that he is the Daddy in our home. I have several evening committments throughout the week, and I completely trust him with all 3 of our (never-rambunctious) children...

....he just may do things a little different than I would at times...

I know that DG certainly would put all the darling babes in mountain-fresh laundered pj's before bedtime. No way would I come home to find B fast asleep in a *way too small* ballerina tutu on her bottom and my wedding veil wrapped around her top. And no way would baby L be sawing z's in a *way too big* pair of flannel overalls(don't even know where's those came from) with hardened pieces of macaroni encrusted on it. Lucky for S, she just got to peacefully drift off to dreamland wearing the same clothes she went to school in that day.

I'm also fully aware that, just like me, DG is a stickler for hygiene, and therefore would always give the children baths, followed by a leave in hair conditioner treatment and comb-thru, and of course the mandatory and completely necessary tooth brushing. He's not the type who would
-give the babes a wet face cloth and say to just wash your pits
-take their finger,cover it with toothpaste,and say that's a good as a toothbrush
-and hair? What hair? The children have hair?

I also would be fully shocked to come home at an hour that is encroaching the morning, only to find the oldest 2, fast asleep, in nothing that resembles clothing, with the only light in the room coming from a screaming loud tv movie that had been set to "replay forever". That would never happen in our house.

And lastly, my lovely lady S lost her second tooth this week. The day after the tooth fairy came, the tooth was placed in a little box on top of the fridge. **What? I keep my kids teeth? Yes, I do. I'm sure it stems from some childhood issue like when I didn't receive that pony for my 7th birthday, regardless, I admit it's weird, but something won't let me just chuck them.** So when I walked into the living room and saw the little tooth box upside down with no lid on it, I asked the very obvious question to DG....Where....are the teeth?? **Not saying this ever happened in our house**, but if it had, I'm sure DG's face wouldn't have gone white as a ghost as he stuttered..."Ooooh. Oh. Oh. I was thinking that didn't quite look like a cheerio that baby L swallowed."

Yes. So it's possibly true that all is not done just as I would do things when I am away from the house, but I would like to thank my DG for the valuable time he spends with out little ones. For without him, I'm pretty sure they would not have been able to accurately share the differences between the Canon 7D and a Nikon D300 at kindergarten show & tell.

Two Evils

After 7+ years of marriage, I think it's safe to assume that the toilet seat is not going to be put down every time I wander in to the bathroom. {Or ever. Let's just be honest.} You'd think that growing up with 2 older sisters, KDG would have learned the rules of the potty rim. And, looking back, it is actually very possible that at one point in history, he did learn them, and even abided by them. But lessons learned in that time period did not stand a chance against the 19 years of bachelorhood that was to follow. Living in a house of 6 men, er..boys...created a new set of rules, which unfortunately did not include putting a toilet seat down. Fair enough. I can deal. I will not relent, but I can deal.

But today my beef is not with KDG and his alive&well bachelor habits.

Ladies. We know better when it comes to bathroom behavior. I thought. We are the ones who {socially speaking anyways} are cleaning/disinfecting/toothbrush scrubbing this nasty room. So one would assume we would know better.

The very last straw I had in my tolerance quiver was violently ripped out today when, in a rush, accompanied by three overtired and {never}demanding children, sat my white as snow arse down on a public potty {gasp} before I needed clean up in isle 5.

Only to find my aforementioned lovely bottom soaked in someone else's pee. Ok. I get it ladies. I do. You don't want your precious backside to come within 3 inches of that filthy/grubby/polluted public washroom seat. Cause who knows what living organism is just waiting eagerly to glom on to you and leave you with oozing sores all over your entire body for the remainder of your days.

But for the love of all that's holy, is it too much to ask, to wipe/dab/mop your own urine off before exit of the stall? Seriously? Promise I will do it for you. PUH-LEASE do it for me. Cause I swear to you, if I have one more wet bum moment, I may just get gender reassignment and begin leaving the seat up. Seems the lesser of the two evils to me.

Never Again

I would really like to say never again, but, being part of a fickle people short of memory and fat in self centeredness....

...let's just say...for today....never again.

Never again will I complain about having taco salad for 3 nights in a row, when this man is eating his first meal of the week...on Thursday.



Never again will I tell myself, "you can brush their teeth tomorrow" as I forgo the evening routine due to tiredness, when this sweet babe is learning brushing hygiene for the first time at age 3. She has already lost 4 teeth, due to not having a toothbrush and toothpaste.



I will never again feel embarrassed for driving a minivan, when this man's chariot has no brakes, no roof to keep the rain off of him and certainly no trunk room to carry all of the "necessary" things I need daily.



Never again will I complain about my 6 year old extremely warm Columbia winter jacket being out of style, when someone in my city will be donning a jean jacket throughout the entire winter, considering it their salvation.



Never again will I feel sorry for myself for not being able to afford to get my roots touched up "this month", when this man was so grateful to get the mats cut out of his hair that had accumulated over the past 2 years. (It brought tears to my eyes watching the joy of his moment.)



Never again will I complain about my closet not being big enough, when this man's entire life fits in a duffel bag and a garbage sac.




This past Wednesday and Thursday, I was here:



I was asked to be the photographer for this city event and what started as a mere job, transformed my thinking like I could not have imagined. Sometimes it takes getting on a plane and flying to a Guatemalan dump to feel the radical shift of culture and let it shock your system and your world thinking into the proper place where it should be. Thankful. And sometimes it just takes stepping out in your very own city, to remember that there are many many people who would LOVE to have ...your problems.

Note to Self:

You may know the type.

The days that you suspect are part of your life if ONLY for teaching you patience.

I've had a lot of those all sandwiched on top of each other for weeks now. But just recently, may I possibly *whisper* this without the cosmos hearing me and crashing in on the party...I think it's getting better. Like a LOT better. The routines that we began in September are now getting done like we're on auto-pilot. And Momma is feeling at home again in this new chapter of life. *Big sigh*

So. I just wanted to write down a few things, if not for you, than at least for me to look back on, if for some unbeknownst reason to me, the crazy days pop up again, which I am SURE they won't, then I can try to see the silver lining if I squint hard enough.

1. When you have spent an entire week wearing sweats, the *ahem*same sweats, at least your booty still fits in them after consuming untold amounts of Oreo Cakesters while sobbing over Grey's Anatomy.
2. If You're so desperate for adult conversation that you spill your guts to the telemarketer that calls...and HE hangs up on YOU...well, at least you still have a phone, and you can always call Skyla, she'll put you on speakerphone and "uh huh" mindlessly for hours.
3. If popsicles have become a staple food group, remember the sound of silence that follows is priceless. And chocolate milk ones count for one dairy serving, it's the law.
4. When your feet are sticking to the kitchen floor, crank up that old Snoop Dog song and work the sticky sound in with your killer dance moves.
5. If you are singing along to the Elmo song that's in your car's CD player long after you have dropped the kids off, well, there's no silver lining on that one. Please get help. Immediately.
6. If your purse contains packages of Pepperage farm goldfish, a juice box, assorted wrappers and and two soothers, at least you can zip that thing shut and everyone will just think it's a lovely bag... oh, except for the fact that your 3 year old has written her huge name backwards in permanent marker on the side that you are unaware of... yeah... except that.
7. If Tylenol PM has become part of your daily vitamin intake, remember this is just the "light" stuff. People take much more heavier things to sleep. You are practically an organic druggie next to them. *Pat pat* way to go.
8. If you need a dress for an occasion and realize the night before that you don't have one and if you do, you don't have shoes other than Keds with grass stains on them, mmmm, don't forget how HOT you look in those sweats. Grab the Cakesters, throw out the scale, pop on a Grey's DVD, and forget the party. We all know chocolate and McDreamy are the only friends who are consistently faithful anyways.
9. And finally, when the baby eats 3/4 of the dog food, remind yourself, it's vitamin and mineral enriched, it's probably great for him too.

Now that I feel better about my crazy transition into a full time "school mom", I hope to be around this blogisphere a bit more. The air is....a little more sweet. Missed you my chocolates.

The shark did it.

Um...my computer fell in the bathtub?

Er...my best friend had septuplets and I had to go wet nurse 4 of them?

Mmm...both of my arms were gnawed off by a shark while swimming at the kiddie pool?

Hm. There must be SOME reason why my blog has been utterly rejected, ignored and snubbed by me?

Couldn't be that baby L started walking and I have not sat down since...

Or that Queen S began Kindergarten, and getting 3 kids out the door by 8:30 is a routine I am still getting used to...

Or that I have gone to bed 3 minutes after the kids are asleep for the whole month of september??

I want you to know that you are loved, so I have decided to give you a bullet point teaser list of the kind of glory you have sadly missed out on in the last month.

• After a morning music class with B and L, I noticed a stank coming from L's pants. Upon inspection, I realized it was only one lone poo ball, no bigger than a grape, reeking havoc upon my nostrils. What would ANY cheap *ahem*...thrifty, penny-pinching momma do? Of course.. pluck the poo ball from the top of the crack, gingerly toss it over her shoulder in the half filled parking lot, pull the sunglasses from top of head over eyes, chuck the kids in the van and STEP on it before the music teacher comes to get the binder she forgot in her car, and subsequently ending up cursing under her breath as she wipes off the 'dog poo' she traipsed upon.

• After her first full day of french kindergarten, imagine the pride I felt when I asked her what she had learned that day and she answered point blank, "I learned that the Stacey girl just should not wear red. It makes her hair look too bright." Wow. Good. Glad we are feeling proactive about Stacey's wardrobe misjudgment. C'est tres bien.

• There are few things I like more than a delish breakfast of waffles, eggs, hash browns and bacon. While in the kitchen one school day, preparing such a morning delight, Princess B meandered in, asking if she could help. I had put all of the waffle ingredients in the bowl, except the water, and it was perfect timing for her to pour it in, then whisk it up. I informed her of the plan, showed her the measuring cup which held the water, then went to the other side of the kitchen to stir up the hash browns. After a few minutes, I glanced back to notice Miss B stirring up a storm, yet the measuring cup of water strangely untouched. When I encouraged her again to pour the water in, she looked at me with those big bambi eyes, and replied, "But I did Mommy, I poured ALL the water in," as she held up a very empty large bottle of peppermint extract.

A few golden tidbits for the memory vault. Oh how these busy days with 3 young children make me laugh. I do believe I may just be living in the best days of my life.

The Duck

So here's the thing.

I wrote this biiiig post the other day. The time came to press PUBLISH POST, and the strangest thing happened.

I could not...for the life of me...carry that post to the publishers.

It was MUCH too H.E.A.V.Y!!!

So. Until I find some of David's mighty men to help me lift this heavy post, I will bring you something that I found I could carry myself...something much MUCH lighter.

I'm going to use 5 simple letters to open a box in your mind, full of sights and sounds and emotions and fears and possibly joys...yah, not sure about that last one....

Today, I get to add some more memories to MY box. For today, I visit the

O.B.G.Y.N

Lord have mercy. Immediately I am plagued by the terror of the metal duck clamp. The one that was "thoughtfully" warmed up under water before use. The one that was "thoughtfully" under TOO warm of water...more like SCALDING water before use, and of course the testing ground to see if the temperature was acceptable...well, let's just say it was not my wrist.

I have changed OBGYN's about 6 times until I found one with whom I did not feel the need to smack upside the head, and say LOOK INTO MY EYES. Yes, I realize, that by profession, the eyes are not the focal point at any of these appointments. I have to wonder though... If you are of the male persuasion and in med school...what oh WHAT possesses you to want to specialize in gynecology? We are taught to treat it like it's professional..but in my VERY humble, but always right, opinion...it's just weird to pretend to be all professional when your job entails looking up 30+ skirts a day. I don't want no dude looking at my girlie bits! *ahem* (Well maybe one...but THAT'S the limit!) That's why I have found a woman, who actually is only 2 years older than me. So after she roots around for an hour in 'the cellar', we can just go out for a drink and forget all about it.
No. I'm joking. Cause that's weird.

I don't think I will ever...EVER...feel comfortable wearing a recycled paper drape and sticking my legs in the stirrups in front of ANYone. And this is coming from someone who has been in plenty a delivery room with plenty a medical staff hovering around the regions, with absolutely NO modesty allowed beyond the L&D front doors. You'd think after all of the medical staff in this city have seen my certain things, that said certain things become, well, like a knee, or an elbow. Nope. I still get nervous. I still feel like a school child. I still wonder,
"Do they all really look the same?"
"What's she thinking about me?"
"Why didn't I shave my mammoth legs?"
"Does the A.C seriously HAVE to be cranked to the point of shivering in here?"
"I hate the metal duck. I hate the metal duck. I hate the metal duck."

I am already freaking out inside about stepping into that office today. I already know I will make too many humor attempts. I already know that I will laugh too loud one too many times. I alreday know I will prolong the talking part as long as humanly possible. I just don't know...how hot that metal duck is going to be. And THAT scares the living daylights outta me.

Covered

Journal entry 2 years ago:

August 22, 2007

Just got my surgery done. Lump is gone.

Whew.

God just blows me away. My main RN taking care of me - total amazing Christian man. He prayed with me, and sat and listened to me read my book on grace that I brought with me while I nervously waited.

I felt like God set that up just for me.

He sees me.

I matter to Him.

He wanted to calm my fear.

I am humbled by this, and beyond grateful.

Thank you Jesus for never leaving me, and for your tangible presence through this entire process. Your peace and grace are more than enough for me. Now, I thank you for keeping my body infection free as I heal.

I randomly came across this entry tonight. On the eve of this exact date. I think God might be reminding me that He's got my back. It's been a bit rough in the past few weeks. But in all the stress, uncertainty, unexpected changes, tiredness that this life can present us with, at the end of the day, He's got our backs. At the beginning of the day...He's got our backs.
He sees us.
We matter to Him.
I am reminded.
I am thankful.

NMM

I knew we were running low on diapers. At midnight, 2 nights ago, the word "low" became the word "out" of diapers. As Baby L is bellowing the alarm to let all the world know his shorts are full of sloppy green blueberry poo, I am frantically searching every nook and cranny, for one precious hiding diaper. To no avail. What is a girl to do when no stores are open and her baby is in desperate need of clean and dry manly bits...I don't know about her, but I definitely would NOT suggest snagging a pair of his 3 yr old sisters princess panties, sticking an extra long/with wings pad to it, and praying to the powers that be that the "Super absorbency" claim would hold true to it's promise. And upon inspection in the morning, when noticing that the super pad had saved the day, it certainly did not cross my mind to permanently trade in the diapers for the pads seeing as though it would be SO much cheaper!!

This week I received a huge gash to my forehead. Sometimes it's just the price you have to pay when you are a hero like me, jumping into busy hi-ways to save runaway baby carriages. Not everyone is called to the life of a gallant daredevil goddess of liberation. But those of us who are, don't even think twice or bat an eyelash when duty calls, even if we incur some harm in the process, it's all totally worth it. I can assure you that I am not embellishing the story whatsoever and that this gash was not just a huge zit. I can also assure you that after living with this atrocity for an entire week, I had not exhausted all of my first aid options for such a nasty laceration, and so decided to smother the entirety of the right side of my face with Butt Paste diaper creme as I slept. Glad to say, my hero scar is diminishing nicely.

And to make us all feel a little better about ourselves, and to remind us that it really can happen to anyone...a few pictures of things that any mother would tell you did not happen.

Just watched 17 again.

I am a HUGE SUCKER for anything chick-flick-ish.

I loved this movie.

And now I have discovered I am a huge sucker for Zac Efron.

I know he's like 12 and all, but he's a cute 12 year old who personally I think can actually really act.

My one question is this though....

In the movie there was the young character (Zac) and then him as an older man (played by Chandler. HA! Can't even remember his real name...but y'all know Chandler.)

As much as I love Chandler, I couldn't get my head around the fact that Zac looks exactly like a different older hottie actor who I think would have been a much better choice for the role...

I'm just saying...

Zac


John Stamos

I KNOW, right?? Just saying...

A worthy cause

Alright already, I hear you!


You can stop screaming at me demanding pictures of the 3 cutest kids on the planet!


Here they are...



BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....Oh the things I do to bring you joy. I know, I'm a saint. You can thank me later. Or I am accepting all things covered in sugar, since it is Sugar Awareness Month. At least in my house it is. And I am doing my part to be very aware of it. And all the goodness it entails. So I might expand the awareness to next month as well. In fact, I do believe a year is the very least we can do for such an important cause. A year it is. The phone lines are now open for your contributions. It's for the children.


And here are some sweet,warm fuzzy images to help soften up your hearts and wallets to this worthy cause.

Emptying her piggy bank for this honorable charity.


Hoping the Fairy Godmother fills up her purse!


Hypnotizing coins out of even the smallest and wettest of pockets.


Rebelling against all things sugar-free...apples and perogies...forget it.


And if all this can't convince you, I leave with you images to burn into your subconscious of the beautiful lives you will be helping. How can you turn away from these? Have you no soul?





Give now. If I have to eat another blueberry, I may just shrivel up and die. Oh, I mean the children, right, it's all for the children.

NM(C)M

Another Great idea from MckMama. And so, I steal. You read. We all realize our kids do gross stuff. We laugh. It's all good. And go.

Three hours into our road trip home, I looked in the rear view mirror only to notice that my eldest child was not sucking all of the chocolate off of her Glossett Raisins, carefully looking both ways, and then promptly shoving just the raisin in her baby brother's mouth. Which he seemed indeed very grateful for.

When house sitting at my parents place, the Fed-ex guy pulled up. As I opened the door, I suddenly became very aware that my 3 year old was, shall we say, completely void of clothing, and standing right beside me. As this twenty-something man began turning shades of magenta, I whispered to said little person (who may or may not be my child at this moment) to go put her swimsuit on to cover her naked parts. At which point, she bent fully down to take a good look at her girly bits, and then did not declare loud enough for China to hear, "NOPE, my sugar bowl seems quite happy naked thanks. It's just breathin' you know!" Nope, not my child, cause she's a perfect model of modesty at all time. Just like yours, I am sure.

Baby L was gifted this very cute and entertaining manly toy. (Cause he don't play with girl toys. Ever. Moving on.)



I always know when he's playing with the basketball, b/c from any room in the house I can hear the score sound and then the subsequent music ringing out his victory. The only thing is, the two balls it came with are somewhere in the black hole of my van's trunk that has yet to be fully unpacked from our journeys. So we have been trying, unsuccessfully, to find the perfect small sized ball to substitute the ones it came with. Until today. I was in the kitchen, when suddenly the bells and whistles are screaming and declaring a slam dunk and baby L's laughter is echoing in my hall. As I peek my head around the corner, I saw that Baby L did not have one side of his diaper unattached and dragging on the floor, as a nice sized poo ball lay proudly at the bottom of the net, music still bellowing out his achievement.

is back!

Gift Boxes

Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight.



Today, as I looked at the above verse, I was shocked to find that within my heart are several multi-sized gift boxes. Some are shiny and wide, and could maybe fit a notebook. Some are larger, with patterns, and maybe could fit a plasma television. Some are bigger yet, with stripes, and possibly could even fit an elephant. What I know for sure is that all of them, every single one, is too small.

Let me explain.

As much as anyone tries to plan their life, one can never know exactly how the every day, minute by minute life will for sure play out. I have been described as a type A person. When I looked this up, Wikipedia shoved this definition in my face...

...warning...it ain't pretty.

Type A individuals can be described as impatient, time-conscious, concerned about their status, highly competitive, ambitious, business-like, aggressive, having difficulty relaxing; and are sometimes disliked by individuals with Type B personalities for the way that they're always rushing. ^[1] They are often high-achieving workaholics who multi-task, drive themselves with deadlines, and are unhappy about delays. Because of these characteristics, Type A individuals are often described as "stress junkies."

WELL! I NEVER! At first glance, I thought "What a horrible thing I have been called!!" But after my outrage subsided slightly, I took another glance, and when I re-read it, I saw things a little differently.
~on time
~competitive
~ambitious
~high achieving (A.I.A president, remember)
~multi-task
~drive

Hmmm, seems like maybe this isn't all bad...and it is a little how I am...but regardless of how you see the definition, in a positive or negative light, one thing is for sure. Type A people (me being one of them) may be stress junkies, but when you wrap all of these characteristics into a ball...I think more than being a stress junkie, we are TOTAL control freaks.

This is where the gift boxes come in.

Scenario A : My closest friend moving to a new far away city. My heart is bleeding. I am broken. In the midst of this agony, do I trust God? My friend said they prayed and know this is where God is leading them, even though she is hurting from leaving as well. Do I trust that God loves us both enough to know what He's doing with moving her away from me? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fill a medium sized box, maybe one with a purple ribbon. I will place God in that one, let Him control that little bit, and then figure it out myself.

Scenario B : First of the month is tomorrow. Bills are all due. Just enough money is in the bank to cover said bills. Van breaks down. Will require half of amount in account. Need van next day for travel to far away city for business. Do I trust God with our finances? Does He use cash in Heaven? Will He send some to me? In the shadow of the worlds disasters, is he aware of our situation? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fit a small black and white patterned box, maybe one similar to one you'd get from Tiffany's. Yes, I would place God in that one, then take care of the rest myself. For this IS our finances, our livelihood, food in my children's belly's, yes, I better just take care of this pretty much on my own. You want something done, do it yourself, that's my motto. Cause remember, I am type A control freak.

Scenario C : My bank card is missing. I promised Queen S that we'd go back to school shopping today. I try to remember the last place I used it. I look all over my house. I look in random drawers, baskets and cupboards. I check jean pockets, every purse fold and even the Barbie purses and clothing. Do I trust God in this situation? Do I think He can put the right place in my mind and lead me in that direction? Do I think He can see it right now? I have decided that I do trust Him, just enough to fit an elephant sized box. You may think this is a lot. And it kind of is. But trust me, as an A type, I know what I am doing. I know that I can risk trusting God this much because if He fails me, then I know it won't be that big of a deal to postpone the trip and just handle it on my own after I have bought more time. There are only so many places it could be, so if God decides not to help me, then I can fall back on me, because I can depend on me.

Wow.

Even just writing this, I find it embarrassing and disgusting that my mind has been in a pattern of thinking this way. Is this what the verse at the top says? Doesn't it go,

"Trust in the Lord in increments of gift boxes,
and lean on your own understanding when he fails you,
When you are desperate, acknowledge Him
And he may or may not pull through for you."

You know what I did tonight? I had a bon fire. I used my boxes as kindling. I have decided to be vulnerable and trusting with a God who has yet to fail me, who in fact has given me every reason to trust Him. A God who says that He catches every one of my tears in a jar, because He remembers my sorrows, and grieves with me. A God who says He knew me before I was in my mother's womb, and who knows the number of hairs on my head. A God who says that the number of GOOD thoughts He has toward ME far out numbers the sands on all of this worlds shores. THAT is a lot of good thoughts toward me! A God, who layed down His life, so that I do not have to feel judged in His presence. So I can come to Him in all my A type personality, and so I can know that I can trust Him.

Just enough to fit...no box at all.

Two men

Can I just be mad for a minute?

I know.

So many others have it so much worse than me. I do, I know this.

I know.

I am just complaining. But you know, sometimes I just have to let it out.

These last several weeks have been filled with great GREAT things. Family, friends, food, travel, new experiences, new adventures. We have been incredibly blessed to have taken the last part of June and the entire month of July and just be. Wherever we feel like be-ing.

And in the same breath, these past few weeks have held some of the most irritating moments I can remember in my life as of late. Have you ever felt like...someone's out to get you? Like all these little bad things keep happening all in a row and after about the 6th one, all you can do is laugh and ask, "WHAT THE %$*!@* DID I DO TO TICK OFF THE POWERS THAT BE?"

I can't sleep.

That makes everything worse by the way.

Example:
Normal life...Van breaks down = angry expression and half a tub of Ben&Jerry's.
Sleep deprived life...Van breaks down = uncontrollable sobbing on the side of the road as you tear your clothes and pour ashes on your head, screaming in between sobs, "Why me? WHY-HY-HY-HY-HY MEEEEEEE?" knowing that you'll never drive again and thinking of how your children will be class rejects because they are not on the soccer team since their mother has no way of transporting them, because as aforementioned, you'll never drive again. Oh, and 2 tubs of Ben&Jerry's full fat, full whip, full calories double fudge everything covered in chocolate sauce with dark & white chocolate shavings on top.

Do you see a difference?

And when ALL your days' activities are tainted with these pretty sleep deprived glasses...oh it gets fun.

Needless to say, the van breaking down actually DID happen, although the response may have been a wee bit exaggerated...well, minus all the ice cream part...Oh Ben and Jerry, I never knew I could love two men so much...

Tired and HOT.

It is BLAZING, fry your egg on the sidewalk hot here on this side of Canada! Yes, my igloo melted and we are actually seeing the sunshine....waaaaay too much of it to keep any normal Canadian sane in my humble opinion.

So take your sleep deprived responses and couple them with seeing and hearing everything in echo from he heat, and physically being drained and having your stomach twisted in knots, and then also expected to pull in every nomination for the Supermom and Superwife awards, and you know what?

I'm done.

I am not going to think another second about the fact that we were only suppose to be up here (4 hours from home) for 3 days, and that I didn't leave a key with the neighbour so our fish are probably all dead. Or that we are fish-sitting our friends fish. And it's most likely belly up as well. Or that I have done a load of wash every night since I only packed one set of clothes for each of us. Or that it's the first of the month on Saturday and all the bills are due AND our van is broken and in my husband's comforting words, "possibly toast." Awesome. Or that my best friend in my city who lived 2 blocks from me just moved to another far away city on Thursday. And I am bleeding internally from that separation. Or that my mom is coming home tomorrow and I have to make it look as though 3 kids have not squished, smashed, popped, twisted, gnawed on, puked up, peed on, or damaged a thing in her beautiful 7 bedroom estate.

Hold on, phone's ringing...oh, it's Ben and Jerry. I have to go.

See

See Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L see Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L reach for Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L pull one of Momma's pretty flowers.

See Momma's pretty flowers fall.

See baby L jump back in surprise.

See baby L wipe his tears.

See baby L's peace offering.

See Momma's new arrangement of pretty flowers that were salvaged.


Momma just loves this boy.