Momma's Magic Moments

It's No Secret...

2011-08-25T12:16:00.001-07:00

...that I am not perfect.

Oh wait...what's that? You thought I was?

Wait...who just hijacked my blog and is posting ridiculous lies about me...of COURSE I'm perfect...

No. No, I'm not.

And this week, was one where God seemed to be teaching me a lesson.

Now, some lessons are fun, like learning how to make a double fudge brownie cake, and licking the beaters every 3 seconds...

But this kind of lesson, is one more akin to learning how to solve a calculus problem while barefoot water skiing across a fiery lake of lava as it rains acid from the clouds and your mouth is jam packed full of killer bees.

It kinda hurts.

If you haven't already noticed, ~~you may be totally blind and should make an appointment to get your vision checked STAT,~~ I may have a slight problem with, oh, being a control freak. There is a reason to my madness, and that is that when I feel like I'm in control, it creates the illusion of safety.

Problem is, it's an illusion. And that became superlatively obvious this week to me.

Our church has a Children's Pastor, and this summer, she had an intern working with her. These 2 people, by just being their totally awesome selves, have aided my growth out of the 100% control freak category, and now I am proud to say, I'm more like only 98% freaky. I know!! Cue the orchestra and dust off the party hats! It's been amazing, yet scary, yet awesome, and stretching, and they probably don't even have the slightest clue.

See, they thought it would be nice to give the moms and dads in the church a break, and take out some of the kids for a half to whole day fun fest. How exciting!

My first thought was OH! THE KIDS WILLL LOVE THIS!

My second thought was WHAT am I going to DO with all this spare time!!?? It's more valauble and certainly more rare than gold these days!!

And my third thought...WAIT.A.SECOND. A whole day withOUT me hovering over them making SURE they have fun and are safe and are entertained and are safe and are getting along and are safe....and are safe....and are safe....

*answering machine message*..."Hi, this is mommabex calling, and I'm sorry to say that my kids will not be able to go with you to fabulous-fun-land-candy-mountain because, well, funny enough, ~~they ALL have gotten malaria this week~~...er...~~they all fell out of a tree and have broken all their lims~~...um...~~they have coincidently been enrolled in a 'How to cook chinese cuisine" class all week, 24 hours a day~~...hhmmm... their mother is a complete and total paranoid control freak and the thought of them being out of my radar for even a nanosecond makes me want to hurl up last nights enchiladas while subsequently gouging my eyeballs out with spoons while singing at the top of my puked out lungs to Rebecca Black's "Friday". Okay. Thanks for the offer though, maybe next time. Or not. Call again. Or don't. Byebye now."

So, when I went to actually leave this message, the funniest thing happened. My body was taken over by an alien and I heard my own voice say, "That sounds lovely. See you at 10. The kids will be ready."

WHAT IN THE CRAZY BLUE BLAZES? I FREAKING hate ALIENS.

So. Not once. BUT 3 SEPARATE TIMES....I allowed my children to be AWAY from the mommabex-o-meter, and *gasp* have fun!

And wanna know something TOTALLY insane?

They came back alive.

And gushing about the great time they had.

And alive.

And asking when they can ~~get away from me~~ go out again with J&T.

Oh, and alive.

THAT, my friends, is what they call...shock and awe.

So, THANK YOU J&T, from the very bottom of my heart.

For not only giving my children the time of their lives and creating memories that will last a lifetime, but for helping this insane momma lose control like Britney Spears...er..I still have your hair shaver btw, ... It means the world to us all. You are SO valued, and SO loved, and we are SO blessed to have you in OUR tribe, OUR peeps!!

Guilty.

2011-07-05T12:35:00.000-07:00

Today, around 2:15 EST, twitter, facebook, and all other social media sites, along with many news sites, lit up with flabbergasted opinion based on the NOT GUILTY verdict read over Casey Anthony.

The shock and disgust is very tangible. This is a crime that took the life of a child. A baby girl of only 2. It's unfathomable. It's inhumaine. And then to be let off...it's unforgivable.

Or is it.

Don't get me wrong...what happened to this precious child is sick in every sense of the word. And absolutely deserves punishment. A life for a life, even.

But.

All that kept coming to my mind was the verse where Jesus is standing in a group of people who are ready to stone a woman to death because of her sin. In the culture she was in, her sin (adultery) was grounds for the death penalty, just as this sin (planning & murdering your own child) is grounds in ours. And instead of issuing what we would deem is justice, Jesus challenges her accusers and instructs,

"Let he who is without sin, throw the first stone". (John 8:7)

You may know what happened next...

^"9 At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. ¹⁰ Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

¹¹ “No one, sir,” she said.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” "

So, Jesus found her innocent? No. She was still very guilty. BUT. She was forgiven. And commanded to leave the life that got her in this predicament.

So, when I think about Casey Anthony today, I am brought to my knees. I pray that her heart will be softened and that a true healing will begin in her, so that she will choose to leave her old life of lies and sin. Will that bring beautiful little Caylee back? No. And that is a consequence that she will have to live with for the rest of her life.

But I can not throw a stone at her today. Although I have not murdered, I have lied. And I have been angry and rude. And I have cheated on tests. And I have sinned.

Sin is sin is sin, and ALL sin separates us from God. All sin, "big or small" deems us in need of a savior. One who will redeem us in front of the Father. One who is found WITHOUT sin. And there is only One who can do that. Who has done that. For me, and for Casey Anthony.

I see now, that as repulsed and appalled as I am by her sin..I must also be of my own. Romans 3:23...ALL have sinned and fallen short of God's glory. ALL. Even if you are a really really really reeeeeeally good person. You've fallen short.

But.

He has sent One to stand in your place. And THAT'S the good news today. You are forgiven.

So instead of condemning her today I challenge you to pray for her. To pray for a genuine work of God to move in her heart, in those secret times, where it's just her memories and thoughts and God Himself. Pray that she will take this second chance she's been given and use it wisely.

And pray the same for me.

And I'll pray the same for you.

uh, Day 31...er...17

2011-05-19T21:25:00.000-07:00

So, 30 days in momma-of-4 land actually means 16 days.

Sorry, I thought that was common knowledge.

So..onto Day 31...day 17 for anyone who has 4 kids.

Cause I like to go over and above the expected.

See how simple that was to explain my complete failure? Yah, I'm a smooth operator.

So, back to the land of the living...some of you know, I have been on bedrest from a surgery just over two weeks ago. It's been a pain. Figuratively, and quite literally. After 2 infections from the surgery, 7 lost pounds from living in major drug land, and 37 stitches later...

today is the first day where I feel somewhat like a human being.

So. Day 17.

Quick catch up:

Don't know if the fact that today I started feeling a bit better had anything to do with the goooorgeous sunny weather, but the kids sure enjoyed playing outside all afternoon!! Momma looooves outside days, drippy popsicles, mud pies and outside voices..alll staying...outside!!

Baby K will be FOUR months this Sunday! WHA??? I KNOW!! Car-a-zay! And he's still the most cute mellow little magoo.

MY Momma, dubbed the BabyGrams, the saint that she is, took Prince L up to her town, for a week to help me heal up faster. She runs a Montessori preschool/kindergarten, and he has been able to take part in her classes. He's had SO much fun. My heart aches for him to be back, but even more than that ache is the complete joy that wells up when I think about how much he's loving having one on one time with BabyGrams and BabyGramps. It must be a bit of how it feels to send your baby off to university...or maybe by that point, there's no ache...it's just kickin their butt out the door and saying send me a post card. :P Guess time will tell. ;) I'm such a suck though, I know I'll be like Andy's mom in Toy Story 3 and bawl in the child's empty room.

And finally, our fun news, we got a puppy.

And then we all died of allergies.

So, ok, there's no puppy.

But I'd really like a little pug one day.
Like, c'mon...do they come ANY cuter??

Day 16

2011-04-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

I was on my way to an appointment this morning when it happened.

I noticed the car behind me was the dreaded cop car.

I don't know about you, but when I see a police vehicle, I immediately sit up straighter. And make sure my hands are at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. And I change the station from lady gaga to enya, cause I'm not a punk. And I leave a full cars length in front of me and the next car at the red light. And I throw my Bible up on the dashboard. And my church bulletin. And my Jesus fish bookmark. And I wipe the fuzz off my teeth with my sweater and practice my most perfect good citizen smile.

And

sweat.

It's funny though, don't you think, that even when you know both of your blinkers are working, your seat belt is fastened, and your insurance isn't expired, you still feel like HE'S OUT TO GET YOU, and those blue and red cherry's will be flashing at any moment. At least I feel that way.

Then I thought, I wonder how often I actually think of God that way.

The big mean ogre in the sky, with a giant baseball bat, out to slam me like that little "slam the gopher with a club game" at the fair, and condemn me for every sin I've even thought of committing.

When really, just like the policeman, He's actually there to protect. To keep safe. To intercede on my behalf. To ride a horse in a cool hat that looks like a frisbee. Oh,wait... maybe that's not God, just the police. Well, they do have a lot in common.

At New Years, I asked God to teach me more about His love this year. And He really is. It's incredible how every day situations suddenly become a metaphor for how God loves me. And only He is the one opening my eyes to these things. I love it. It's so personal. Not some far away God at all, but a very intimate Father who really really loves me. And you. It's quite mind blowing.

Day 14&15

2011-04-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday...

My lovely friend lost her baby. 11 weeks pregnant.

My other beautiful friend said goodbye to her grandma.

The girl down the road who is heavily into all things awful for you, declared she is pregnant and doesn't care to stop these unhealthy behaviors for "some fetus."

A girl in my church, 23 years old, was given 6 months to live. Cancer. She just got married in February.

I am overwhelmed.

I do not understand.

Nor do I guess I need to.

I am called to trust God during these times.

To pray for my friends, their loved ones, their babies.

But my heart is still broken.

It brings me back to a few days ago, posting about how God is deeply in love with every single person, passionately and relentlessly. And then I realize, that any ache I feel in my heart over these circumstances, His heart aches one million times more. Because God is good. All the time. There is no evil in Him. He does not cause disease, sickness, death. And I truly truly believe that He stands beside us when we are faced with these things, and comforts us, as a Father comforts His child, holding on to us with strong arms and a broken heart for our brokeness. He is a good Father. The best Father. And today, I come to Him broken, bringing these people before Him, people He knows intricately. I do not come assuming He does not know the situations. I come to Him asking to give me the wisdom and the words and the actions needed for each circumstance, since He knows better than I. And I ask Him to bundle these people up in a warm fuzzy parka of His love. It's the only thing, the ONLY thing that can ease the ache in their hearts.

Amen.

Day 12&13

2011-04-15T18:31:00.000-07:00

Today was not a good day.

And I just don't have energy to write.

So today is just a BLARGGG blog day.

Toldja you never know what you'll get.

Actually, I WILL leave you with a picture.

Oh my gosh...as I'm looking for the picture, Prince L just peed in his little potty, brought it to me to show me and subsequently spilled it on my lap. Seriously, THAT is the PERFECT way to end this crap day!

Well, let's feel better by gazing on this little slice of perfection.

This is me with brand new Princess B.

Dontcha think her and baby K look totally alike?

And now it's off to bed for me.

Thank the Lord tomorrow is a brand new day!

Day 11

2011-04-13T14:26:00.000-07:00

My husband has left me.

Ok, well, only for 24 hours...but still...it sucks not having him here.

If you are a lady who has a hubby who's in a line of work that requires consistent travel or even large chunks of time away, like the military...I honestly stand with my jaw on the ground in awe of you.

It's not only the little things, like that he always loads the dishwasher and runs it before bed. Or that he puts the lid back on the toothpaste. Or that he knows how to download...er...buy all the seasons of Dex.

And it's not even just the big things, like that he walks the girls to school EVERY morning, so that I don't have to get 4 babes ready in the morning, but rather can take my time with the boys. Or that he massages my back/feet/shoulders every single night. Or that he teaches our children about the Kingdom of God, and how He wants us to live on this planet.

It is all of that, but mostly it's just this:

His presence.

It changes the atmosphere of this home when he walks through the front door. There's a deeper love, a deeper hope, a deeper faith, and it feels warm and cozy, like hot chocolate infront of a fire while it snows outside. The kids laugh more, and show off for him. And even after nearly 9 years of marriage, I still check myself in the mirror before he comes home to make sure I look pretty for him. (Although he thinks I'm pretty even first thing in the morning...I blame that on the fact that he doesn't have his contacts in yet. Bonus for me. :P)

So, yes, there may be cilantro all over the counter when he's here, but if that's the price of having the presence of the most amazing man snuggling up to me as we watch SYTYCD...er, I mean The Shield, it's worth every green leaf. In fact, I may just leave the toilet seat up tonight, so it's like he's really still here. ;)

Day 10

2011-04-12T15:40:00.000-07:00

Because baby K has some eczema issues, I have taken dairy, caffeine and...wait for it...chocolate *gasp* out of my diet.

I think I may die.

I think my body is in massive withdrawal.

And no, it's not quite cocaine, but I think I should be in rehab.

I think I need someone else to cook my meals and do my laundry and I think I need 6 hours a day to sit in the peace garden and think about my choices.

Sounds like an all inclusive trip to aruba if you ask me...so I'll take one of those too.

Lord have mercy on me...and anyone who comes in my path in the next week.

Day 9

2011-04-11T13:12:00.000-07:00

We have these trees that go up our street.

They are called Sakura trees.

Or as you may know them...Cherry Blossom trees.

Our city has a Cherry Blossom Festival every year, and all of these trees in full bloom are incredible looking. When you are walking within their veil, it's as if you are in some fairytale land and you'd almost expect a unicorn being led by several winged pixies to pass you by.

For the past week, I've driven down our street, noticing these trees rich in bloom, and filing a mental note to take my camera the next time I leave the house to get some pictures.

And then I forget.

And another day goes by.

But the thing about Cherry Blossom trees is that it takes about one week for them to go from gnarly winter branches to in full bloom...and then within one more week, the blossoms begin to fall and cover the ground with a pale pink snow, until those trees are back to their gnarly branches once more.

So I can't keep "waiting one more day", or they'll be gone.

On my drive home today from being out with the boys, I noticed the trees again, and I also noticed this:

The pink snow had begun.

I was filled with a panic. I knew I needed to go grab my camera RIGHT then, but what if..in those 3 minutes it took me to do so, a mighty wind came and blew every last petal off?!?! Why didn't I do this days ago?! I had all these glorious days of full bloom and I took them for granted, thinking they'd be here forever...or at least one more day.

You know where this is heading don't you.

It brought to mind all the petals in my life. You know, those people who surround you, that make your life beautiful and even at times, fairytale-ish.

Those ones that no matter if they live in your town or a million zillion miles away, will always be there for you, just as you will for them.

Those special ones who fill your heart up so much, you just can't help but exclaim "I love you"s over and over...well, you will exclaim those' i love you's...

tomorrow...

...cause there's no time in the day today...

...but tomorrow, you certainly will tell them you love them.

...Cause you really really do...and they should hear it from you.

Tomorrow...for sure.

Let's do it today, ok?

Cause like the Cherry Blossom Trees...there's no telling when that mighty wind may come and sweep our precious petals on.

Day 8

2011-04-11T08:14:00.000-07:00

That would be yesterday. Oops.

It gets a big SIGH!

It was crazy busy and then I got a lovely nap with baby K, a movie with my King Daddy and back to bed.

I feel so nice and rested up this morning, looking forward to a fun day with my boys while my girls are learning away at school...

Will be back for a Day 9 post after we see what's in store for today!

Day 7

2011-04-09T20:27:00.000-07:00

What do you see here?

Let me tell you a story.

When I was teaching a few years ago, there was this 5 year old boy in my class who could spend the entire day at the art table. He LOVED to create.

I remember one of my professors in university reminding us students over and over again that artwork with children is about the process, not the product.

And for this boy, that was certainly the case, as his finished products were no rembrant replicas. Yet, he would mold, or paint or draw, or glue all day long, with determination, passion, and enthusiasm.

Then came a day, about half way through the year. It began as any other, the moment he stepped into the classroom, he headed straight for the art table and planted himself infront of the colored charcoals, paints and blank papers.

But instead of diving in to all the colors, he just sat, with his hands clasped together in his lap, staring intently at the blank page before him. He stayed like this for 5 straight minutes without making a move. I did think to encourage him to chose an art medium to work with, but felt oddly, like I would be interrupting something...something strangely holy.

That's when he looked up at the charcoals, and made a calculated choice to begin with the red.

I shook my head, thinking it was a bizarre beginning to the day, but moved on to another area, and let him be.

It wasn't until his artwork was half done, when I checked on him again. What I saw on that paper absolutely took my breath away. He had used every color in that charcoal case, and was purposefully and carefully mapping out the most beautiful underwater scene. With a blue, grey and white whale taking center stage, surrounded by a school of bright yellow and red tiny fish, complete with several shades of green seaweed and brown and tan rocks for an ocean floor.

I was already wondering in my head if it would photocopy well, because I wanted a copy of this for MY home. It touched my heart in a way that no child's artwork had up to that point. It drew me in, and made me feel somehow safe, and excited and free of worldly cares.

If you have ever found yourself completely lost in a piece of music or in a stunning piece of architecture, then you know what I am talking about.

I was very much anticipating his completion of this masterpiece.

I walked away from the table again, and began preparing my group time stories, music, and flannel pieces. Once I was finished, I rang the bell for clean up, and like a giddy little child myself, headed back to the art table to behold the finished creation of this 5 year old boy.

When I saw what was on the paper in front of him, I was confused. It was not at all what I had seen before. All that was on it was blue. I looked around the table, on the floor, on the art wall, to see where the divine portrait of the sea had gone, but to no avail. It was nowhere. I asked him, with what must have sounded like a desperate plea, "Where is the beautiful ocean you were working so hard on, Colton?"

That's when he looked at me, with a confused expression on his face, then looked down at his blue page in front of him, changed his expression to an enormously proud grin, and said, "Well, it's right here Mrs.Campbell." Then continued with a whisper, like he was sharing a very juicy secret, "But you can't see the fish, because they are all under the water."

I kid you not when I tell you that a tear brimmed up in my eye as I realized that the majestic picture I had seen earlier was now fully covered in blue charcoal. No one would ever know what that boy made, except for me, and him.

I hung his blue square up on the art wall to take home at the end of class.

When his mother arrived, she collected his jacket and backpack, and went to the art wall, knowing her son would have something to take home, as he did every day. As I was walking over to her to share this amazing story of what was hidden undreneath, she caught my eye as she was taking down the blue square and winked as she mouthed to me, "File it!" Which of course meant she was going to throw it out once her son was not looking because obviously it was nothing special and her home was already brimming over with artwork.

She did "file" the blue square.

And when all the students had gone, I took it out, and took it home.

I still have the blue square.

It is THE most precious piece of art in my house.

This story is to go along with the thoughts of Day 5.

WE are God's artwork. HIS masterpiece. We've been created with these amazing colors and shapes and lines and shades. Within each of us lays such beauty and truly divine and unique properties.

Yet so often...when we look at each other... talk to each other... work with each other...

...all we see is a plain piece of blue paper.

I'm challenging you.

And me.

To look beyond the blue, and to see the hues, the shades, the brilliant colors that make us all the most marvelous pieces of artwork.

Day 6

2011-04-08T13:28:00.000-07:00

April 8th is a great day. Can you guess why?

I know you're thinking it's because on this day in 1893, the first recorded college basketball game occured in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania.

You're so smart, but not what I'm thinking about.

What's that? It's a great day because in 1911, Dutch physicist Heike Kamerlingh Onnes discovered superconductivity? Uh, yeah, that was pretty cool...but believe it or not, I know something even COOLER that happened on this day.

Oooohhhh, cause in 1873, Japan began celebrating Buddha's birthday on this day?

Um, No.

But.

You are getting warmer.

Someone WAS born this day who in my humble, yet always right opinion, is much MUCH more awesome, and certainly better looking, than Buddha.

First, go here, and reminisce with me... about my very special April 8th birthday girl!

Ahhh, wasn't that fun.

My Julia Goolia has been on this planet now for 3-0 years today!!

She lives way far away from me now, in another country in fact, (Thanks a lot hubby of Julia Goolia! ;) ) which makes my heart sad. And I REALLY wish I could be with her today and celebrate big and party hard...well, not too hard, we don't want her fragile 30 year old bones to crack...gotta be taking that Caltrate now!

My love, it's been a pleasure watching you "grow up". Well, kind of. Who am I kidding. We'll never grow up. Well, then, it's been a pleasure being on the planet 30 years with you and always acting like we're 15 together. Archery pit forever. :P

In honor of your big milestone, I whipped this up in between loads of laundry this morning.

The post office said they couldn't mail it though, so I guess I'll just have to eat it all myself. Think of all those calories I am sacrificially taking on myself rather than giving to you. That's right, happy birthday, from your most selfless friend.

Have a very special day, and get ready... because the best year of your life thus far has begun today!

Heaps of love darlin!

Day 5

2011-04-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

I am CONVINCED there must be little people...no, not like the Roloff family...but like teeny people, like leprechauns or fairies or something reeking havoc in my home today.

Because I know that I'd NEVER lose my purse...3 times...within 15 minutes. I know I didn't put it by the baby car seat. But, wonder of wonders, there it is, by the baby car seat.

And I know that I turned the stove burner on to boil the pot of water, but alas, when I go to dump the box of kraft dinner...er...I mean 100% organic soy beans... in it, it's as cold as the arctic and the burner is off.

And seriously, who wears their slippers to drop off their kids to school? Oh, you do? Well do you go into starbucks after, still wearing them, forgetting you're wearing them, and thinking you obviously must look more fabulous than you feel because EVERYONE is staring at you? Apparently I do, even though I was sure that I put my mom runners...I mean Jimmy Choos on this morning.

And finally, the rock solid proof that there's some mischievous little beings up to no good was when I was driving to pick UP the girls from school, and while sitting at a red light, was surprisingly joined in the front seat by a very pleased 2 year old. There's NO way he knows how to undo his buckle. Heck, his Grammas can't even undo his buckle. Which leaves one very scary realization. The leprechauns escaped out of my house and into my van and undid his seatbelt. And I would hate to tell you that they did it TWICE today. This has NEVER happened before.

So if anyone has a cure for leprechauns, fairies, or baby brain....please email me. And when I don't reply, don't take it personally. I just probably forgot why you wrote me.

Day 4

2011-04-06T17:02:00.000-07:00

Love others as yourself.

Is that really possible?

Well, today I think I was given a key as to how to begin to do this.

I think before you can love others as yourself, you need to SEE others as you see yourself.

Today, I was stopped at a red light, and I looked at each single face that walked across the crosswalk, in front of my van.
It struck me that God loves each single one of those as much as He loves me. That lady with the hat that does NOT match her jacket and glasses that are WAY too big, and pants that are at least an inch too short even to be called flood pants...the one that would be easy to make fun of or even just dismiss....she is loved and wanted desperately by our Heavenly Father just as I am.

EXACTLY as I am.

It's not that I'm self centered and think, "Wow, how could God love someone as much as He loves me? Cause I'm so awesome." ;)

See, I grew up singing Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. And something happened in me from a very young age..I actually believed it. And still do. I DO believe I am His favorite. And in the same breath, I believe that every single person who has lived and who will live, is also His very favorite. Each one is His craftmanship. His design. His pride.

THAT makes me want to KNOW every single person!!

Because I REALLY want to know God.

I think once we see others how HE sees them, it will be only natural to love them and serve them as you would for yourself.
It's a revelation hard to put into words really, but I know that it changed something in me today. And the world suddenly looks a whole lot brighter. Since it's full of HIS artwork, in the form of all of us.

Day 3

2011-04-05T16:15:00.000-07:00

Kay, what on earth??
Canadians are known for their politeness.
Well then, I musta crossed the boarder for our lunch at McDonalds today...

I know that if I saw a mother with a preschooler running circles around her legs while she was carrying a heavy baby carseat on one arm and balancing a very lopsided meal tray packed with drinks and mc-nuggies and possibly a mc-cinnamon-bun thingy on the other, I would SURELY open the door to the play place for her. Cause that's what people do. Right? Well, Canadian nice polite people...right?

I was appalled today when the above mentioned lady was myself and I literally made EYE CONTACT and smiles to more than a few MOTHERS sitting inside the playplace, and not one even flinched to move to open the door for me! One lady looked right at me, assessed the situation with her eyes, and then went right back to the (musta been very important) newspaper she was browsing!

Appalled.

So, I'd like to take this moment to apologize to myself on the behalf of those selfish and unhelpful ladies for acting truly UN-Canadian! And Un-mothers-helping-mothers-ly. Rude. Have I mentioned appalled?

Ok, I forgive you. But if there happens to be mini ketchup packets smushed onto the front windshield of your minivan...it wasn't me.

Day 2

2011-04-04T09:57:00.001-07:00

Two things on my mind today.

First...how come I keep getting wiffs of something that smells like burnt plastic?
My first thought was that Daddy G maybe was using the stove this morning and left a burner on with our plastic colander on it...um, not that that's ever happened before. (Thank goodness for 2.99 replacements at Ikea.) But alas, no stove was on. Then I thought maybe something was resting on our floor heater, I did notice my wool slipper sox laying on it yesterday...maybe wool melts? Nah, nothing on the heater. Maybe my glue gun is on somewhere slowly letting out tiny bits of melted glue that over time has created a mile high plasti-mountain. Nope. Glue gun's off.

Now are you ready for the big reveal of what the mystery smell is?

Yeah, me too.

Sorry, I still don't know. It's driving me nuts.
So anti-climactic.

Second...I love grammas. In the last 3 weeks, both grammas have made visits to our home, and the joy and craziness of the kids just melts my heart.
Maybe that's what's melting....sorry, sidetracked.
Here's a couple pics of baby K with the grammas.

King Daddy G's momma:

My momma:

That's about it for today...

edited to add: JACKPOT!!! Found the plastic culprit!! Mr. ducky has seen better days. I rescued him halfway through his cremation INSIDE the heater!

Day 1

2011-04-03T19:39:00.001-07:00

So here's the thing.

I have 4 babies running around my legs all day long.

So those 40 page, ultra witty posts are of the days of old.

But I have had all this guilt about neglecting my blog and really WANTING to write, but seriously not having a spare second in the day.

So I have decided to do a 30 day "Thoughts of the day" post-a-thon for the next, well, 30 days. :)

Who knows what you will get. Maybe a picture. Maybe a story. Maybe nothing more than a "Blaarrrrggg".

But I promise to share whatever randomness is on my mind that day. Time for some blog love.

Today is:

DAY 1

All I can say today is that I am SO glad that it's the last day of our 2week spring break. The kids are going stir crazy in this house, as it's rained way too much lately. I am so looking forward to packing their lunches and waving them off with a huge smile on my face, as they go to the Academy of Higher Learning tomorrow morning. (That's not really what their school is called. But it sounds regal right? :P)

I love my babes and love having them home with me...so...Yay for spring break.

But more so...Yay for the END of spring break! Momma needs a break now!!

Who Sucks?

2011-03-04T12:40:00.000-08:00

Ok, lurking smart mommas out there...time to reveal yourselves and all your wisdom, cause this momma needs some advice!

See that super cute pic at the top of my cartoon family (done by Cara at Sweet Memory Graphics...go get one! ;)) ....well would ya look at the newest teeny addition? Adorable..and the best part is, he's suckin a paci.

HELP!!!

How do I get my NON cartoon boy to suck a paci??

I know that there are lots of opinions out there about paci sucking...I don't want those. I've decided already to try my darndest to get Little K to suck one, but since NONE of my other 3 babes would, it's either a genetic thing, or their mother doesn't know the secret to sucking. Probably the later. SO!!

REVEAL ALL!!

If you have or have had a paci sucking baby...
What brand worked for you?
What age did you first offer it?
And is there some secret method to making him like it?

I'm very proud of my cartoon son for mastering this so quickly, and have no doubt, with a little help from you, my Little K will be a paci sucker in no time. ;)

THANKS IN ADVANCE!!

YOU DID IT!!!

2011-02-09T14:22:00.000-08:00

Ok, so maybe you didn't do the deeeetails, BUT your prayers...they do something!! They DID something!!
You may remember this post, when I asked for you to join me in believing for new life for my lovely ladies, J and S.

WELL!!

I am AAAAABSOLUTELY over the moon excited to show you this:

The most lovely, perfect spine of a baby who is 18 weeks, 6 days.
(sorry it's small, I'm kind of tech-tarded.)

This baby's life began the week you began to pray with me. After 6.5 years of fertility drugs, interventions, disappointments, why's, loads of prayer, and much much hope, J is expecting their first babe this July!!

And what's extra exciting about this particular baby for me is that s/he will make me an Auntie for the first time on my side! Yep, this is my brother and sis-in-law's babe! YAY!!! So look forward to July for another birth story, and a million and one pics of the newest and totally miraculous teeny addition!

THANK YOU for your prayers!

Psalm 56:8 says
You've kept track of my every toss and turn
through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
each ache written in your book.

If every tear is recorded and remembered, do you think every prayer is also heard? I do.

So on that note,
keep praying!
My beautiful friend and mom-to-be, S, is still waiting and hoping and praying for her womb to be full.
Keep praying!
She has some appointments coming up that may hold some answers.
Keep praying!
Pray for wisdom for every Dr, specialist, nurse, and medical person who sees her. That answers will be clear and fast and easy.
Keep praying!
And of course, pray and believe with me for a supernatural miracle, that God's hand will move over the problem and remove it. I can not WAIT to give you her good news!!!

Much love and appreciation!

Calm Waters

2011-01-28T22:02:00.001-08:00

This is a birth story.
It is long and intense and amazing and funny and detailed.
If that kind of birth story is not your cup of tea, here is the short version:

I was pregnant for 9 months. Then I had the baby. He's fully awesome. The end.

Now if you'd like a little more information, please continue…but remember you have been warned, this IS a birth story, which includes all the UNedited thoughts and experiences of a girl who commonly is known for stepping over "the line".
You know...the "is it appropriate to say or not" line. I offer no apologies. Just that warning.
Now, go grab a cup of red raspberry leaf organic tea to strengthen that uterus as you read, sit back, and enjoy…the story of birthing our last baby.

40 weeks pregnant

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

It seemed like a fool proof plan.

When I observed my history of going into labor, I noticed that it seemed to come a few days earlier every time. So this time, with baby #4, I would assume that the trend would continue and would put us delivering about a week earlier than my Jan.15-19 due dates.

Perfect. I love knowing "the plan".

So goes into overdrive my multitasking, event organizing, control freak self, in setting up my schedule, my kids schedules, my moms schedule to help with the birth and week after, my hubby's schedule and that of my girlfriends who will be present for the big day…all this consideration for a day that not only was I hoping to go into labor, but I was counting on it. And I would make sure I had control of the situation by depending on my old faithful companion…the 4 oz bottle of castor oil. (You may remember him from this post.)

I would promptly take the required amount of the rancid stuff the morning of the pre-planned birthday, wait the allotted 2-6 hours for the effects to begin (with my mother by my side, as she had arrived the day before), call the midwives, husband, and birth team by noon, deliver the baby by dinner, and relax for a few days in the hospital where we had decided to have him, since I "should take a few days off from home to rest", as I had kept being told by everyone.

Fool proof.

The morning came to take the plunge. At 9 am, after dropping the girls off for school, I starred at the tiny castor oil bottle sitting on my counter, calling out to me that it held my destiny within. It was as if inside that little brown bottle, my beautiful new son was gestating, just waiting for me to take off the lid and release him. I could taste the sweet (gag) victory as I gulped the ounces required, quickly chased down by orange juice. And a coke. Ok, 2 cokes. And half a root beer. And half a tube of toothpaste. Seriously, have YOU tasted castor oil? Not what I'd serve at a new years eve party! Although…hehe..that COULD be a funny experiment to substitute the vodka spiked punch with a CO spiked one…filing mental note. (You should also file a mental note not to attend any of my future parties. Or at least bring your own drinks. You're welcome.)

Moving along.

I nonchalantly glanced up at the kitchen clock, oh, every 30 minutes, as I eagerly anticipated the first tummy rumble, followed by the first massive contraction, leading into this glorious birthday. Tick tick tick…1 hr, 2 hrs, 3 hrs….By 6 hours post oil gag down, I tell no lie when I say I felt absolutely nothing. Not a flinch, not a spasm, not a bubble. My heart dropped to my feet. How could this be? So, I did what any totally depressed and deflated woman would do in that situation. I grabbed my van keys, drove directly to my town bargain shop, and (Daddy G, if you are reading this, skip this part and go to the next paragraph.)… stocked up with 23 dollars of Christmas sale chocolate. And hid what I didn't devour on the way home, so that teeny fingers wouldn't rob me of my comfort. I needed this. My plan had failed me. My faithful friend, castor oil, had completely betrayed me. Oh the total disloyalty. Forgiveness would be a long hard road paved by many moons of therapy sessions. And many many chocolate covered marshmallow santas. 23 dollars worth to be exact.

Needless to say, the birthday would have to go into emergency plan B. Except plan A was fool proof. So there was no plan B. My mom was at my house now, being the complete saint that she is. She spent the days cleaning, organizing, doing laundry, walking the girls to school, playing with Prince L so that I could nap, making dinners, grocery shopping, and taking me on dates to "walk the mall" to try to convince the boy inside me to come out and play. She put up with my whining and complaining over every ache and timing every false contraction and saying I THINK THIS IS DIFFERENT about a thousand times. She made my red raspberry leaf teas for me, brought honey bagels to my room, and even offered to buy me another bottle of castor oil. Now, I try hard not to hold grudges, so I thought, that MAYBE, I had had enough chocolate to move past my disappointment with old faithful castor oil, and would give him one more chance to redeem himself. Everyone deserves a second chance right? Wrong. Backstabbed me again. Never again will I ingest that repulsive poison.

Over the next week…yes WEEK…(plan A is WAY out the window at this point), I find myself googling every little known fact about natural induction methods from around the globe. The teas, the herbs, the oils, the sex, the bumpy car rides, spicy foods, laying naked in a field on a full moon drinking lemon tea…there were a lot of suggestions. And minus a few that were WAAAAAAAY out there, I tried them all. And guess what, nothing. I began to wonder if he had set up house in there and had decided to stay in till at least 18. Although this would be fairly uncomfortable for me, I'll bet every parent of a teen out there may see the appeal of remaining in utero through the teen years. But, for me..I just wanted him out. I wanted to meet him. To know him. To love him. To fit in my size 2's again. K, so that could be pushing it…maybe my 3's.

All of the due dates my midwives and ultrasound techs had given me had come, and gone. I was now officially in the totally covet worthy category of overdue. It royally sucks to be a member of that club. And I thought I had revoked my membership 7 years ago after Queen S's birth…but apparently something got lost in translation, and here we were, invited to play tennis, at the clubhouse once again.

Side note about the location we had decided to birth at. As many of you know, Prince L was born in our home. It was a beautiful birth with midwives, family and friends around, and truly a unique experience and very different from the 2 previous hospital births I had experienced. At first, we had planned to do the same this time, but as the time came near, all I kept hearing was, "Oh, you are doing it in the hospital this time right? You know that you'll need that rest…with 4 you'll have your hands full!" Any positive comments were few and far between.

**rabbit trail from side note** Now, in situations like these, I find a waring personality within me. One side of me (the side with rocker pink spiked hair, and a variety of piercings and tattys) scoffs and says who the h*#@ cares what anyone else thinks. My birth, my way, you're not invited, neither is your opinion. And then there's the other side (she wears a chenille pink sweater accented with pearl buttons and her hair is in a nice proper bun, and her lip color matches her sweater perfectly, bubblegum pink), and she totally cares about what others think. She is a people pleaser to the core, and wants the important people in her life to approve as much as the random stranger ordering his extra hot vanilla latte behind her in the starbux lineup. She knows she can't make everyone happy, but she will darn well try. And she'd never say darn. That's a bad word. These two fight each other constantly, and I'd say it's usually a toss up as to who will win out. This time, this situation, bubblegum pink won. She just cared too much about opinions, and was swayed to do it the way that was considered "expected" and "understandable" by 99% of the opinion poll. ****

I had felt disappointed with the decision to go to the hospital, and actually cried as I packed a hospital bag (read: 2 gigantic bag/suitcases, a food bag of snacks, drinks and games, 2 king sized pillows, a nursing pillow, 2 velvet blankets, and yes even my own bed sheets, pink of course). But after the u-haul was packed for the hospital, I shut down a part of me, and told my punk rock star to suck it up, and began trying really hard to visualize what this experience would be like. I did the virtual tour online of the hospital/birth centre, saw the admitting desk, imagined myself walking the hardwood floors, soaking in the jacuzzi tub, laying holding my babe in my arms, surrounded by an unfamiliar environment and sterile medical gear. It was hard to give into the images, but I really did try to find a peace in them.

Wow, that was a long side note. But it will come in handy later to know this.

If you are still with me at this point, please take a moment and pat yourself on the back, and say, "I am an awesome friend, and Bex sure loves me!" And now go heat up the bottom of your tea, and grab something sweet, chocolatey and packed with calories…I'll wait.

Welcome back! Mmm, that looks good. Ready for more?Ok where were we?

Right. Overdue.

The morning of the 21st, I woke up crying. Like not a princess tear on the satin pillow type cry, but the type that involves snot and crusties all over the left side of your face, mascara from the night before stained on your pillow-and husbands pillow, and pure, deep, inner heaving sobs. I was startled to awake like this, and rushed back into my dreams to see what had brought me to this place. That's when I was met with this beautiful picture of a birthing pool set up in my room, at the end of my bed. Candles all around. My family and friends, some on the floor on pillows and blankets, some on the bed, cheering me on. I heard the sound of angels singing as they sat around the roof, awaiting the arrival of this prince of God, and everything was SO peaceful. I had a huge smile on my face, and gave birth right there, in my house, surrounded by people I loved. That's when I knew. I knew that even if others view me as the rebel pink haired punk who homebirthed, that's who I was in this moment, and that's who I needed to be. I rolled over in bed (NOT a small feat at this point by the way), and woke up Daddy G. I asked him if he would support my decision to give birth to our son at home. I did expect him to waver a bit and seem unsure since he thought we'd already decided on this point, but instead, he looked at me and without hesitation, said "Of course I will!" Oh how I love this man! His one stipulation was that he didn't want our 3 older children in the house when the time came, which I thought was totally fair enough. So, I woke up that morning, with a renewed excitement and vision, driven to find good places for our babes to go during the blessed event. I felt a release that morning, a peace that I had so desperately been looking for in all of this preparation. And it felt wonderful.

My midwives came over around noon, and I discussed our new plan with them. They were excited for us, as I think they always knew that's what was in my heart. They left the birth pool at my house, and said that we need to get a liner to go in it. Apparently there is only one place that carries them in my whole city, so I was encouraged to call them immediately since it was Friday afternoon, and they didn't think I'd make it to Monday still pregnant, bless their hearts! When I called, the lady said that she delivers once a week, and her next delivery date was next wednesday. I told her that I was already overdue and expected to have this babe in the next couple of days and I needed it. Now! I was nice…well, maybe a little pushy, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do sometimes! If I didn't get that liner, I couldn't use the pool, and THAT was not an option! She was suddenly very lovely and said that we could come to her house and pick it up that night. Which is just what Daddy G did.

He returned with the liner at 10:30 pm.

My first mild contraction was at 10:35.

The next one didn't come for 12 more minutes. Then 14. Then 21. Although these certainly hurt a bit more, (like a charlie horse in the uterus) I was sure this pattern was not bringing us closer to meeting our baby. They stayed like this, off and on, sporadic at best, yet still semi-painful when they hit, no closer than 7 minutes apart until 12:30. At that point, I thought maybe I should call the wonderful lady, Miss T, who said she's take my girls when the time came. I felt reeeeeeally guilty to call her past midnight. Especially since I wasn't REALLY sure if this was real or not. (I just knew I was going to look like a total moron when I was still pregnant 5 weeks later.) I was leaning on a stack of pillows on my bed when my mom asked if she should get the girls up for Daddy G to take over to Miss T's house. I told her I didn't know. I said to just let me go through one more contraction and I'd let her know. When that next one came, lemme tell you… I… KNEW. This was the real deal. That was the beginning of the REAL labor for me, that one contraction that declared, IT'S TIME! I had been waiting for weeks for it, and when it appeared, it did not disappoint. There was no denying it. My eyes crossed a bit and I looked up from my pillow castle and said, PACK UP THE GIRLS!

At this point, my mom mentioned I should call my midwives…just to "give them a heads up". It's not like they had to come yet. I knew we'd probably be doing the 7-10 minute contractions for a few hours yet. I was fine to do that on my own. And really, I was hoping to let them sleep as long as possible. (Why I always feel like I am inconveniencing others with my "petty" problems like oh, going into labor, is beyond me. Someone maybe with 20 years of doctorates in therapy school or something is bound to have an answer…have them call me if you find them.) But my mom urged me to call, so I did, again, feeling reeeeeally guilty for waking her up, and we talked for about 20 minutes, in which I had 3 contractions during that time. We agreed that I would call when they became 5 minutes apart. The moment I hung up, things really picked up. Daddy G was setting up the birth pool in our living room, I called my 2 girlfriends to come over as I promised we were pulling an all-night party, (as I crossed my fingers hoping I was right…still didn't *quite* believe it) and then suddenly noticed these contractions were all coming only 3 minutes apart. Where the h#$% did the 5 minute mark go?!

I suddenly felt panicked, and thought for a moment, "What if the midwives don't make it?" Daddy G has a book called "Worst Case Scenarios", and I was really hoping he read the page on delivering your own baby. I called them right back, and they said they were on their way. When I got off the phone, I was SO ready to jump in that pool. I went into the living room, expecting to be able to strip down and dive in (Oh wait, there is a note on the floor of the pool that reads: ABSOLUTELY NO DIVING…I kid you not. Bahahaha, well there's goes my birth plan….what on earth??) Instead of a pool full of nice warm water ready and waiting for me, I was met with the scene of my dear husband with the liner over top his head, trying desperately to figure out how it fit properly into the pool. Part of me wanted to laugh, he looked hilarious, but the other part of me, the part who was probably already at 12 cm with a head half out of me, took over as I roared "I NEED THAT POOL! LET'S GET A MOVE ON!"

Things are a little blurry as to what happened next. All I know is people began to show up, and my house was suddenly filled with 6 women, one husband, one 2 year old son fast asleep upstairs, and a whale of a momma ready to close this pregnancy chapter! It was 2 am, the pool was filled, I was inside, candles were lit all around, inspiring music played in the background and I swear if you listened close enough, you could hear the angels whispering. It felt just like my dream. It was beautiful. And all I could do was smile.

When contractions would hit I would sing, or laugh, or try the hypnobirthing breathing/relaxation methods I had been practicing (yeah, that book's out with the Tuesday trash! Ha!) There was one contraction where suddenly I began to bawl. My midwife asked if they were getting more intense. I told her no. At this moment, I was realizing this was it. The last time that I would be birthing. And it was instantly very very emotional. I wanted to remember everything. And feel everything. And be present for it all. Before it was all a memory. A birth story. Words on a computer screen.

If you remember Prince L's birth story, you may remember the moment of transition. When you feel like a caterpillar whose guts are being squished out by a curious preschoolers sticky fingers. I kept waiting for that moment, because then it'd mean we were close to meeting our babe. The thing is…it never came. The contractions never got more intense from the very first one that declared it was birth time. In fact, the only way I knew that I was in transition was because they were suddenly only 1 minute apart…and then…BLOOP…out popped a bubble. Yep, I birthed a bubble. It was the size of a baby's head. But it was not a baby's head. It was a white bubble.

I felt confused and asked my midwife if that was the baby's sac. She said it was. But of course! My water had not broken. Side note: in the last few days of this pregnancy, I tried to go out every day to as many public places like malls and stores and restaurants as I could. Not just to distract myself and pass time faster, but call me sick and twisted, I ALWAYS wanted that movie scene to happen to me…you know, the one where the girl is standing in the grocery store check out and suddenly POP, water breaks everywhere, and she exclaims OH! MY WATER JUST BROKE! And everyone shouts hoorays and congrats and applause fills the air and flowers are thrown at her feet, and that hot fire fighter whose in line behind her sweeps her up and carries her into the ER.

Well. Apparently MY waters…they're made of fiberglass, and they don't break. So, this being our last babe and all, I will have to surrender to the fact that this walmart flower fireman water breaking moment will never happen to me. So, IF it happens to YOU, please take pictures, or better yet, video, and send it to me so I can live vicariously. Appreciate it.

Back to the bubble. There I was birthing a bubble, when suddenly, I felt, what can only be described as a very tribal roar rising within me, and then, in that bubble, was a beautiful boy's little head. And 2 moments later, his shoulders and body followed. I broke the water sac off of him and pulled my sweet boy out of the pool and onto my chest. I was laughing hysterically, and could not believe that only an hour after my midwives arrived, here I was, holding my boy on the outside.

Kade Jackson Dean was born at 3:06, January 22, weighing 8 lbs-2oz (my smallest babe), measuring 20 inches, and with a beautiful head of dark brown hair!! (ALL my other babes were bald bald bald, so this was an awesome surprise!!)

Getting weighed:

Daddy cutting the cord

Smiling at Gramma:

His name means calm waters, which is so appropriate since he was born into calm waters and also, as we are getting to know him, it's very apparent that he has a very calm and peaceful nature about him. And apparently to be born in the sac as he was, or in the caul, is considered very rare and a sign of great blessing, and that the child will have an important destiny…but we already knew that. ;)

The water sac he was born in (possibly a good shower cap? I know, I'm crazy.):

We are all absolutely smitten with him…well…Prince L is still a little unsure…but as soon as Kade can burn the ants with the magnifying glass with him…I'm sure they'll be best of buds. ;)

**Thank you God for Your presence all around during this pregnancy and birth. And most of all, thank You for this precious gift of Kade. We pray that you bless him and keep him and make Your face shine upon him all the days of His life.**

The people there:
Proud Daddy G

My girls, J & J

Gramma

Cousin R

Plus J and S, my wonderful midwives. Shoot, didn't get a picture of them together.

And of course, the star of the show, Kade!

With proud sisters!!

And a very satisfied and son

Need YOU.

2010-10-10T22:33:00.000-07:00

I am on my way to bed, as I am dead tired, but I have something on my mind, and I need to share with you and ask for you to join with me in prayer.

I have two of the most beautiful ladies in my life, J and S, who are both dealing with infertility. They will both be amazing mothers and they both have amazing husbands, and I am so so so excited to see their families expand. But it's only through a miracle of God that this seems to be possible for them.

That is so strange for me. I get pregnant when Daddy G sneezes on me. (Ok, not really, go look at page 274 of your biology 10 textbook if you need a refresher.)
It just breaks my heart, and I cry..like heave cry, like the ugly cry, over the longing in these ladies hearts for just ONE of what I have been given many times over. It seems not fair to me. And I had to really come to God with my feelings of guilt over me being able to get knocked up so easily while they travail. Ugh, it tears me apart. But you know what He told me..He said to not feel guilty, but to feel thankful. And He said to pray. On my knees beside my bed, in my car, at the grocery store, while watching a movie, while on my computer, while riding a bike, while watching MY babies play and laugh and bring me so much joy, wherever I am, whatever I am doing, anytime I think of them, which is a lot, I can pray!! And I do, and I have been, and now I want YOU to join me!

So, tonight, again, it is heavy on my heart to pray. And to believe...that God is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think. (Eph 3:20).

J is in the midst of an IUI process right now as you read this. PRAY with me. BELIEVE with me. That a new little life will begin THIS WEEK!!

S has plans to try IUI again down the road, PRAY, and BELIEVE that she won't have to because the Lord will open her womb naturally before then.

Can not WAIT to share the GOOD NEWS of babies on the way with you very very soon!!!

Thank you friends!
Now I am REALLY going to bed.

Stream of Consciousness

2010-10-03T18:03:00.001-07:00

I am 25 weeks pregnant this week.
With a baby boy.
Which I'm really really excited about.
I can't wait to meet him.
His name changes nearly every day.
Hopefully it won't change every other day after he's born.
Yesterday, after I assured a stranger that I was not actually due until January, his eyes bulged as he looked at my belly, and asked if it was twins. I lied. And said yes. Cause I wanted him to go away.

Queen S is in grade 1.
She is a very diligent student, her teacher says.
This doesn't surprise me.
A boy in her class asked ME if he could marry her.
This did surprise me.
Although it shouldn't have.
She's a catch.
And the boys already know it.
I may home school her. ;)

Princess B is in kindergarten.
Her teacher believes she's a genius.
That makes me smile.
B still talks about the "humans" as though she is not one.
That also makes me smile.
She woke up this morning and told me she was happy because her cough was gone.
Then she puked in the bathroom sink.
That does not make me smile.
Poor baby.

Prince L is 2 years, 3 months and 6 days.
He loves trains.
I hate the Thomas the Train TV show.
He's never seen it. So far.
He is such a little lover.
Much more affectionate than either of my girls were at this age.
I told him the other day as we were driving that I really like the moon in the day time.
He looked at me, knit his eyebrows together, and nodded like he sincerely cared, and said "OK."
He may actually think I am nuts.

Daddy G is a good Daddy.
He reads the girls Jesus stories before bed.
And they ask him really deep questions.
I like to listen in, when he doesn't know I'm there.
His answers are always better than mine would be.
He actually teaches me most of the time too.
I love this man.
He's a really good husband.
He rubs my back or my feet every night.
With lotion.
It is bliss.
I don't think he *loves* doing it.
But he does it anyways.
Because he know I do love it.
And that makes me adore him even more.

I guess that's mostly what's on my mind.
These lovely people who are mine.
Oh, that and I think I'll boycott dinner tonight, and just make Eggo waffles.

Heated Marble Floors

2010-08-02T10:15:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have seen pictures on Facebook of our recent boat trip.
Seemed like a great day of fun, no? (Besides the crying baby...)

Well, it's time to confess...the crying baby was the LEAST of our issues that day!

We have a FABULOUS babysitter. Lexie. My girls ADORE her and want to be JUST LIKE HER when they grow up, which btw, I am totally ok with, because she is a total gem! On Saturday, it was her 14th birthday, so our two families decided to take our awesome boat...fine...THEIR awesome boat...out on one of the many lakes around our area to celebrate with sun, fun, and bbq food on a private beach. GREAT idea, right?

There were two lakes we were debating between, and decided on Lake A over Lake B because, "being a long weekend and all, Lake A will probably be less busy." After an hour of driving, (and listening to enough "Mommy, I'm hungry"'s to make you want to stuff an entire burger bun in your kids mouth just to keep them quiet) we were getting close to the gates of the park...when we began to notice both sides of the road lined up with parked cars and trucks and empty boat trailers. For miles. Parked cars. M-I-L-E-S. Once we reached the boat launch, Daddy G and Lexie's dad dropped us off to hurry up and wait in the boat as they went to the back of the car line up to park...and then walk back to us. Another hour, and almost an empty hamburger bun bag later, the men returned already looking a bit frazzled, and our FUN trip hadn't even begun yet!

After all our lifejackets were on and everyone was situated in their seats, both of my girls decided that was the perfect time to announce that their bladders were going to burst. Being the good mother I am, I told them they could hold it...for an hour...over rocky, bumpy waves...ok...that's not going to happen. I inwardly sighed, (read: tore my clothes, poured ashes over my head and wailed uncontrollably), smiled understandably (read: glared at Daddy G, begging him with my eyes to do the portapotty duty), and undressed the 14 layers off the girls (did I mention there was NO sign of sunshine on this JULY 31, and I actually brought along our winter parkas...just in case we ran into a snow storm out there, which felt like a real possibility at this moment) to take them back out of the boat, up the hill to empty themselves in a glorified, yet still reak ridden, hole in the ground.

Upon return, nearly 2.5 hours after the time we had PLANNED to set sail...Lexi's dad turned the key to crank up our kickin ride. Time to get this party started!! Chick chick chick....again....chick chick chick....nothing. No motor sound. No roaring engine. Dead. The battery of the boat...dead. Really? Ok, at this rate, let's just toss the kids in the lake...they all have life jackets after all, and lets just float over to the private beach that glows with the promise of vacation relaxation, complete with beach boys bringing us all virgin pina coladas at beckoned call. Lexie, always the optimist, said, "It's ok dad...we have another battery in the truck." Have we forgotten that the men needed to run a near half marathon to GET to the truck? My kids were still saying they were hungry, since it was past lunch time now, and I thought that the smoke piling out of Lexie's dad's ears could have at least served a purpose to heat up the hot dogs.

Lucky for us, the boat behind us in line to get out on the lake had jumper cables and was so kind to jump our battery. After 3 tries, Benton the boat roared to life, and we were FINALLY on our way...I could hear Shania Twain singing somewhere off in the yonder...oh oh oh...it only goes up from here... I mean, it HAD to get better now right? A few minor obstacles, but now the vacation begins!

Blood-curdling SCREAMING. That's what filled my ears for the next 30 minute boat ride. It was very windy and the waves were very choppy and my 2 year old was very very loud! He HATED being tied into his lifejacket. He HATED being on the boat. He HATED the water splash his face. He HATED the wind whip his eyes. I was holding him so tight, b/c I was sure at any moment he was just going to decide he had had enough and toss himself overboard.

Just as his face was turning a nice shade of purple and his vocal chords were becoming hoarser by the second, we saw the first glimpse of the beach. There were several inlets to chose from, so naturally, we picked the one with the fewest boats anchored. And unbeknownst to us, possibly the worst place in the whole lake to try to dock a boat. Lexie's mom, Tina and I and all of my babes, all swam on to the beach...ok, who am I kidding, I am a girlie girl, and a total wimp...yes, I got Daddy G to piggy back us all, so that no part of my body would have to touch that freezing cold water. He's my hero. For real. Because after we were on the beach, we watched him dive down to the bottom of the lake over and over, with the boat anchor, trying desperately to find a lone rock in the sand to secure the boat. After an hour and a half of this, Lexi's dad thought we should try a spot further down. As he backed the boat up, he passed another "parked" boat, and the owner, who was on the beach and watching our whole anchoring fiasco, started FREAKING out that we were going to "cut his line" that anchored him to the bottom. Our boat wasn't even close. He started yelling obscene profanities at Lexie's dad and I could already see the upcoming bloody boxing match between these two once he finally made it onto land. We weren't making friends.

It was about this time that I needed a break, and really, I needed to pee. Have I mentioned I am a girlie girl? I don't camp. Unless it's in a fully equipped RV, complete with running water, a kitchen, a hot tub, cable TV, heated marble floors, and of course a toilet. Then...maybe. But there were no RV's around. And no toilets. So I enlisted my girls to hold up a towel in front of me, as my cover, while I attempted at least 7 different squat positions. Finally, just as I thought I may have found a winner, Bree got tired of her duty, dropped her end of the towel, and the whole lake and anyone on it, got nice view of a pregnant , half naked woman peeing all over her yoga pants.

The men had now successfully anchored the boat to a rock and a tree, praying that it wouldn't suddenly drift away, and were lugging the bbq gear over to where we were. FOOD! Finally. A good 4 hours "late", but none the less, we were going to eat! We slapped those hamburger patties and hotdogs onto the bbq, closed the lid, and drooled as we anxiously awaited our nostrils being filled with the smells of the promise of tastebud heaven. We waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and then after that...we waited. Finally, we lifted the lid to see 10 very raw dogs and burgers. The bbq wasn't working. Ok. Improv. How bad was it REALLY to eat raw patties? Like come on. All that salmonella stuff...does that REALLY happen? Come on kids...eat up! YUM!

K, maybe not.

After tampering with levers and buttons, the bbq suddenly decided to work, and now nearly 5 hours after lunch time, we had the BEST hot dogs and burgers known to mankind.

Seeing as though it was now dinner time, we had to head back. So our relaxing beach day, ended up being about 45 minutes on a rocky terrain, being whipped by the wind as we picked the sand out of our teeth. Happy Birthday Lexie!

We did end up tubing on the way back, which was A LOT of fun...for the kids...MY heart was about to jump out of my chest at every wave they crossed.

Last, but not least, would a long weekend/birthday boat ride be complete, without returning to your vehicle to find it had been broken into, your locks had been completely wrecked and your ipod, cash and various small item ripped off?? Yeah. Good times. That was Lexie's dad's truck. The smoke again, from his ears, could have easily cooked a better hamburger than that bbq any day.

Next time they may just want to leave the boat behind, and join us in our heated marble floor RV.

Inside the minds..

2010-07-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

Kids have this fabulous sense of, well, I guess wonder is the word.

Today, someone dropped off a bag of hand-me-downs for my girls. Now, this bag was not the kind that included skid marked undies, tomato soup stained onsies and hole ridden flood pants. This was the Osh Kosh/Carters/Children'sPlace/Gap bag of hand me downs. So needless to say, some super cute stuff.

Although I DO live in the freezing cold north, apparently my country DID get the summer memo (albeit MUCH later than we were hoping), and it has been GLORIOUSLY in the mid 30's...oh...for you Yankees, that's like 200 F...oh, maybe not...um, hold on...google says that's 95ish. So, hot. And lovely. And hot. And I LOVE it. Moving on.

Much of the new duds in the clothing bag will be PERFECT for my girls...in the winter. Sweaters and ponchos, heavy pants and jackets. This is where the "wonder" sets in. Who the heck cares that it's 'fry an egg on the sidewalk' hot out...new clothes MUST be worn. So I am, in as little clothing as I can get away with, watching my children play in the backyard, by the pool, in a winter jacket and a wool poncho. I asked several times if they were hot, and both replied with a resounding NO, and I was even informed that it's actually quite cold and windy out. (As my popsicle melts the second the freezer door opens.)

Speaking of wonder...do you ever wonder HOW a child can watch the SAME movie or episode of a show a MILLION times and still laugh at the same places and still find it so entertaining, and still have their eyebrows raised in anticipation as they wonder what...oh WHAT will happen next? Like seriously? Lightning McQueen gets Sally the Porsche and they live happily ever after...you KNOW that don't you?! Did you miss that little fact the last billion times you watch it? Oh...NOT that my children watch shows a billion times** Ahem** For, naturally, as the receiver of multiple "Mommy-of-the-year" awards, I am fully aware to only let my child watch an hour a day...er...a week...oh, what? ...a month, I mean. Yes, of course, an hour a month. Don't want their brains to go to mush or their eyeballs to go crossed or their Mommy to get any laundry done...I digress.

What else amazes me is how my 2 year old BOY (I must add that in here because my girls NEVER did this) , could find hours of pleasure in following around random critters on our cement patio in the back. I mean on hands and knees, scraping the baby soft skin right off his precious little shins, with his eyes as big as saucers as he doesn't let them out of his sight. Well, until they crawl into the line of Juniper trees. Then he scowls, sits there wearing an utter look of defeat, and in his best Swiper the Fox voice, says, "Aww Maaaan!" I guess he had about had it the other day when a tiny little unsuspecting ant he was stalking was just about to disappear into the juniper jungle, and instead of letting him go his merry way, he immediately placed his pointer finger right on top of it. He lifted his finger to his face to peer at his prize, and as the little ants legs all squirmed in a futile protest, something came over my little man, and he popped that treasure right into his little mouth. Seeming completely proud of himself, he glanced over his shoulder, looked at me and gave me his best toothy grin. I was far enough away, that I could not tell if that grin included little black legs in between his teeth. Ew. I shudder even now. I am such a girlie girl. Like honestly, what in BLUE BLAZES would make anyone want to put something moving and creepy in their mouth. It is far beyond me.

Children, creatures of wonder. Sometimes it makes you grimace and gag, and other times, it's a great lesson to maybe, yourself, find a little wonder in the everyday world we've become so accustomed to. I don't recommend eating bugs though. Even on Fear Factor. ESPECIALLY on Fear Factor.

NOT ME MONDAY

2010-07-05T20:46:00.000-07:00

5 months it's been.

I'm so sure your lives have been so depressing without my insanely wise ramblings. I apologize for your increased counseling bills, the higher than normal chocolate consumption, and any wild and irrational neon hair colors that have resulted from my absence. (Ahem, Julie.)

What better day to come back to the bloggisphere than a NOT ME MONDAY ?
So for your Momma Bex update, I give you 5 months of NMM's that have been piled under my TOTALLY clean carpet...

1) We do not live in the freezing cold north. We do not throw massive parties when the mercury rises above O. And we certainly would not throw our children outside to swim just to get some peace and quiet inside the house...especially if they still needed a cheetah fur coat on to fill the pool...

2) My "baby" is not a total piro, and did not knock over a candle on our dinning room table, only to singe off Queen S's most favorite doll's hair. And he is such a sensitive boy, he definitely did not laugh hysterically at the sight of her prized possession aflame.

3) This is Princess B. Remember her? She's super sweet and caring and gentle and actually quite shy. So there's no way that only seconds after this shot was taken at a local park, she let out a scream that would put any horror film star to shame, and then grabbed this poor unsuspecting boy's ear, stared him down with fury in her eyes and breathed in his face the words, "My wheel. Don't ever touch again."
Never! NOT my kid. Nope.

And now a few point form NMM updates:

My Queen S is not growing up way too fast and certainly did not graduate kindergarten last week. I do not officially have a grade one-er. Sigh.

It appears that Queen S will be the only school aged girl in our family as Princess B will not be going into kindergarten this September. There's no way that she's already that age.

I am NOT old enough to be mother to TWO school aged babes!! I will NOT be turning 30 in less than 3 weeks. I will always be 18. Forever.

My precious baby boy is still a baby. He did not have his 2nd birthday last week, and he is not amazing me every day at how much he has changed and learned in his first 2 years. Not that he IS two. Just saying, uh, if he WAS 2, he'd sure have learned a lot. Yeah.

And lastly,

this is not me.

At 12 weeks pregnant.

With baby #4.

Because we are, ahem, were , done at 3.

My sunshine

2010-02-05T23:24:00.001-08:00

I like to think of this blog as kind of a journal. (Uh, one that the whole world is privy to.) I want to be able to look back when I've lost my mind (which could be next week at the rate things are going), and remember the little moments, and the big moments which when all melded together, created my life. (The guy in charge of the slide show at my funeral should have it pretty easy. Just stick this on the screen, and you'll pretty much get the jist.) So, in lieu of sharing moments, it just so happens, today is the anniversary of a very special moment indeed. Let me rewind waaaaaay back into the past, where all things were in black and white and men were always in suits...yes, 6 long years ago. It all began when...(insert austin powers type multi-color tye-dyed spinning swirl here)

**Jan.31, 2004**

Well, here we are. The day we've been counting down to. And it's going to come...and go. I have a feeling baby wants to stay in the tropics a bit longer- which I'd say is pretty smart since we just got 2 feet of snow dumped on us! Although I don't think baby will join us today, there still seems to be something magical about the due date. It still feels a bit like Christmas. Is that strange? Hmm. I am JUST beginning to get better from a 2 week stint of laryngitis & strep throat. I have a little bit of a voice today...finally. It's been SO frustrating! I want to be ALL better when I deliver. Only thing now is I think I made King G sick. Ooops. :( Anyways, baby, I can still feel your feet up in my ribs, and I am SO excited to finally touch them and kiss you. Come and join us! I can't wait any longer! Mommy and Daddy love you SO much!! xoxo

**Feb 3**

...and I wait. wheezing in between the odd clear breath I can get. The mountains outside my window actually look warm, like they are wearing a white velvet blanket, in all that snow. The repetitious sound of our washer and dryer hums a rather soothing note to my soul. The softness of our "right out of the dryer" bedsheets and the fresh smell of fabric softener brings me back to being a well cared for child. Makes me want to stay in bed all afternoon. And then, of course, there's you. My precious miracle who constantly reminds me that you are completely out of room in there, with your not so gentle kicks and squirms. The question of "is today the day"? has long lost it's wonder. As the clock ticks and each second brings you closer to me, it may as well be an eternity today. So, I wait. For 2 hours, 2 days, 2 weeks, who knows? And what does it matter? Soon you will be in my arms, and we will begin to experience a love that is far different than all we've known up till now. I will be a mother...your mother.

**Feb 5**

12 Noon:
I AM GETTING CONTRACTIONS!! My back is SO achy. Is this it? The real deal?Oh please Lord, let this be it!! Time to start timing these, see what we are looking at here! **Lord God, be with me. Give me Your strength. Please please keep baby safe and healthy. Give me, G, doctors, nurses, Jen and Mom wisdom, and may the final stage of this journey be a testimony of your amazing mercy, love and peace to all involved. WELCOME TO THE WORLD PRECIOUS!!**
(Oooo, I wonder I wonder...are you blue or pink????) :):)

**Feb 6**

(My amazing friend Jen (who has been with me in every delivery) writes from here on...I was a little busy. ;))
(warning: the following is a birth story, and if you are a man, you may be disgusted and possibly hurl if you continue on, and if you are a pregnant or hormonal in any way woman, you may bawl your eyeballs out. Please prepare right now accordingly.)

Jen & mom arrived at the hospital around 8am. You have been laboring since noon yesterday and are 2-3 cm dilated. You still look strong and confident. Contractions are every 5 minutes. You just spent 45 mins in the shower and I told you stories (at your request). :) G and mom went to the cafeteria for some breakfast. You are doing amazing! G is now awake and ready to go! Haha. You two are hugging right now...awwww. :) It's just about 10 and you are going to walk around for a bit. In the last 15 mins you have had 4 contractions. You keep saying they are in your bum. :P They are much stronger now and Carol (nurse) just came to put the monitor on to check the heartbeat, she will check how dilated you are shortly.

You just threw up during a contraction. They are suddenly getting really intense. The nurse is coming to examine you. UGH! It's 11 and you are still only 3 cm and contractions seem very painful right now. Nurse is calling Doc. M to ask about giving you some drugs. He said yep! She just gave you some gravol and fentanyl ...they are kicking in ...ahhhhh, better. :)

12 noon and you had a nice little rest and the fentanyl was a GOOD thing. :P

Doc.M will come after lunch to break your water. They have put a drip on to induce your labor - oooooo- the contractions are back and intense. 3-4 mins apart. You got sick again, cause they are so strong. But you are now sitting on a lazy boy chair with a cold cloth on your head.

My guess for when baby comes is 4:19. Daddy G says 2:55. Gramma thinks 5:30. Tick tock, waiting to seee-eeee!!

12:55 and G and I just came back from eating and are hearing the nurses talking about an epidural.

Lord, we pray that you would bring peace and that you would cause the baby and Becky's body to do what it needs to do.

The nurse will examine you at 1:30ish and hopefully you will have dilated. LORD PLEASE!!

It's 2pm and you are in the shower. G is with you. Doc.M is on his way to assess things. Hoping baby is in the right position so we can get this party ON!!

Oh baby...hurry...mama is looking so tired.

Doc.M broke your water at 2:20. "Coolest feeling EVER" so you said. :P haha. Contractions were strong and consistent now. YOU ARE 7-8 CM NOW!!! WOOO HOOOO!

3PM, and you are exhausted. It's been 27 hrs of labor so far. So you said YES to an epi. And it's in...ahhhhhhhh....feeeeeels gooooood.

It's now 3:25 and baby will be here very soon. You have a BIG smile on your face and are singing along to a Christina Aguilera song. Haha. Daddy G and Doc.M are talking MAC COMPUTERS!! HA!!!

Gramma predicts its a boy. Doc.M and I are thinking girl. Daddy G is leaning towards girl, and you are SURE it's a boy...but really have no clue.

5:20 and the epi is wearing down, you are feeling a lot of pain again. Dr. Coz (the epi man) can't come yet...OH!!! You are FULLY DILATED nurse just said!! YAY!!! BECKY YOU ARE DOING IT!!! I am so proud of you!!

You are pushing!

GOOD GIRL BECKY!!!

(Oh, and your mom got her peanuts) <-----I STILL have no idea what that was about. :P

7:10, you look SO tired, but you are doing well.

You are pushing!

AHHHHHHHH!!!!

Born 7:46pm
Feb 6, 2004
8 lbs, 3 oz
19 inches

BECKY YOU WERE AMAAAAAZING!!!!!

WELCOME TO THE WORLD LIL PEANUT!!!! :D

(If you remember Baby L's birth story...yes, this one was a weeeeee bit different. ;))

**Feb 7 am** (the new mommy writing again)

Welcome to the world Queen S! :D
You are SO beautiful! You were born with copper hair!! I can't believe that! I LOVE IT!! There were TEN babies born here last night!! Nurses blame it on the full moon. Riiiiiight. So, needless to say, the maternity ward was loud with crying all night...but not from you. :) You are quiet and peaceful. One nurse told me that out of all 10 babies, you are the only one who picked up breast feeding right away! You smart girl you! You are so amazing. I am absolutely overwhelmed with the love I have for you!

Thank you Jesus for this precious gift. Thank you for choosing ME as her Mother. Guide me and G as we raise her to be the woman that you have designed her to be. Bless her in all that she does, in her comings and goings, be right beside her. Place in her heart a hunger for You, to know you, to honor you, to love you! I feel speechless, like words can not grasp the intensity of this precious gift You have entrusted us with. Thank you God, for her life, for every breath she takes. She's been breathing for less that 12 hours and I already feel like I have been blessed beyond measure. You are a good God. All the time. All the time.

6 YEARS AGO TODAY!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY PRECIOUS GIFT!

It has been SUCH a joy being your momma and watching you grow and learn and love life the way you do over these past 6 years. You are such a shining star! You have a gift of gentleness, just like that first day you were here. You are kind, and thoughtful and sensitive to others. You make me so so proud. Such a big helper, and such an amazing little friend I have in you. I love having our date nights and talking about heaven, and how reindeer fly, and how to say words in french. You are my sunshine...when skies are gray...
I love you truly, madly, deeply.
Have a wonderful day today princess.
Butterfly, Bear, Fish and sloppy kisses,
~Momma

Timing Is Everthing

2010-01-20T08:53:00.000-08:00

Cindy* climbed onto the huge 747 plane with blueprint plans in her head and giddy expectation in her heart. The time had come to finish building the school she had designed for the children of an impoverished country,who had stolen her heart 3 years prior. Had she packed all she needed? Toothbrush! Did she forget her toothbrush? Surrounding her were many other passengers eagerly awaiting take-off, and contemplating their own questions. There was the large man in 17B, wearing the blue striped button down dress shirt, who was listening to Enya on his ipod, trying to calm himself, as flying was not on his top 10 favorite things to do list. There was the young couple in 22E&F, who were holding hands, despite their sweaty palms, chattering non-stop about how exciting it was to finally, after so long, be on the plane that would take them to meet their first adopted child. In row 5, seat A, sat a woman who had just lost her husband to a long and tiring fight with lupus, and was now hoping to get some peace as she flew back to their homeland to bury his remains there.

The flight attendants rehearsed their safety spiel for what was probably the one billionth time, and then they were off. It was a 6 hour flight, and besides the orange juice that spilled in 27C's lap, it was a relatively uneventful one.

Upon landing, Cindy stood in line as the passengers were anxiously watching for the grand door of the plane to open and release them. This next chapter of their lives was calling, which at this point, unbenownst to anyone, was one that very much tied them all together. When Cindy reached the opening of the plane, she was slammed with the powerful heat and smells and sounds of a world much different that what she had been used to. She walked down the extended metal stairs, right on to the tarmac, and smiled as the Caribbean style bongo and xylophone band welcomed her to their country.

Once inside the overcrowded, dimly lit airport, she clung to her passport as the passengers were herded like cattle through 5 different customs gates. Some made it through within seconds, receiving their stamps of approval. While others were being questioned and scrutinized for what seemed like forever in the thick muggy heat. Cindy was praying that she would be part of the first group, and be whisked through, so that she could make it for her 5pm check in at the prestigious hotel that was awaiting her. All she could think of was laying her tired body on a nice soft bed in a room that was blissfully air conditioned! Once the man ahead of her was through, she pulled out her best smile and semi-confidently strode up to the gate. A small dark man with a bald head and large beady eyes snatched her passport with a huff, flipped through in a rush, then suddenly stopped. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the stamps on page 12. He slowly looked up at her, his eyes, little judgmental slits, and commanded her directly into a holding room.

UGH! Cindy was completely baffled and totally disgruntled. How unnecessary! How annoying! What on earth could she have been sent in here for? She was a stand up citizen! The very worst thing she'd done in her life was when she stole a pack of cough drops from the local corner store when she was 9. Oh, and her mother made sure of it that she'd never do that again!

After an hour of waiting and contemplating and sweating, a customs guard poked his head in to the tiny holding room, nodded once, said that she's free to go, and slammed the door behind him. No questions. No prodding. No interrogation. Annoyed, she picked up her luggage, which had been tossed off the carousel on to the cement floor, since most everyone else from her flight had already left. In fact, she was 1 of the last 5 passengers from her flight that got on the airport shuttle bus that was to take them to the promise of a cool room in a quiet spacious hotel.

She lay her head back on the tall vinyl bus seat, and tried to relax as they bumped through the pot holed gravel road. There really should be seat belts on here, she thought. The bus had only been plodding along for less that 5 minutes when it happened. It reminded her of a ride at Disneyland where the vehicle shakes violently with you inside it, trying to invoke thrill and fear all at once. Only this time, it was no ride, and as the cinder block houses on either side of the road began to crumble and fall into the street, the fear was very real. The deafening slams of concrete, the crashes of metal vehicles, the shrill screams of people, so so many people, was soon all that was echoing though the debris filled air.

*******

As stories began to come out over the next couple of days of death tolls and damage quotes, Cindy sat shocked and even humbled as she stared at the front of a newspaper. On it was a picture of the decimated ruins of the hotel she had had a 5pm check in time at. Many of the passengers she flew with on that American Airlines flight, who did not get held up at customs, were checking in right at the time that all hell broke loose. Many were now buried under tons of concrete rubble. And she, she had been detained. For no apparent reason. Held back. Saved. What seemed like an utter inconvenience, was now the sole contributor of her having breath in this very moment. How humbling. How coincidental? How divine.

**This is my fictional version of a real event I read about in the paper this week. Cindy* is a lady from my area who was in Haiti, at the time of the earthquake. She was spared, when many others were not. May this be a reminder to you. The next time you can't find your car keys...the next time the train fully stops when you are parked at the railway crossing...the next time your spouse is 2 hours late to pick you up...just think, maybe, just maybe it's all part of a divine plan, one that may even include sparing your life.**

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

2009-11-17T16:51:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-06T20:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-24T13:25:00.000-07:00

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:

2009-10-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

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.

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

2009-10-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-21T22:53:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-17T15:15:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-14T15:53:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

2009-08-10T21:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-04T20:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-31T19:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

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.

Bedtime Bliss

2009-07-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

And there you have it.
A perfect rendition of how every evening looks at my house during the pre-bedtime marathon..er, routine.

What's that? You say I don't have 4 darling children? Well, I will inform you Daddy G tends to sit on my lap from time to time for a good story too.

Ok.
Who am I kidding?

This beautiful picture of serene bliss at bedtime is the farthest thing in MY head when 7:30 rolls around. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading to my children...but at the end of the day when I am aching and tired and usually in dire need of an adult conversation, well, let's just say Cinderella may have gone from popper to princess in 4 pages rather than 24.

And EVERYONE knows how important oral hygiene is. Which is why I would never tell the girls that Mommy's too tired to run downstairs to get the toothbrushes and paste, so tonight we get to brush with our fingers and magic paste (water). At least they thought it was fun. I hope I'm not paying for a therapy bill 10 years down the line for it though. (Or a dental one for that matter.)

Bedtime baths.
Why I like them: You can use lavender soap/shampoo/bubble bath which really is not what it says at all I am convinced. This stuff is magic! Within 10 minutes of entering the tub infested with this miracle potion, I notice the yawns start to crack out. Then the rubbing of the eyes, followed by droopy lids and then finally the most bless-ed words to an exhausted Momma, "Mommy, can I go to bed now?" (Before that last word even gets out of her mouth, she finds herself tucked into her bed, light off and soft music playing. Yeah. I'm THAT good.)

Why I don't like them: Apparently, "Keep the water in the tub," are 6 words my children do not understand.

And finally, the great PJ debate. Baby L could care less what he wears to bed, being only one and all. In fact there have been many a night when he just may have donned a cute pair of ballerina leggings to bed. And he doesn't even bat an eye at me. But then there are the girls. Being GIRLS to start with, apparently gives them permission to demand the exact kind of personalized fashion that they need to express themselves. Well, it's no different with jammas. Why can't we all just sleep in our undies and keep it simple? Have you been to the Disney store lately? Do you know that Little Mermaid pj's with satin edging and full long multi layered skirting goes for 49 dollars? FORTY NINE, people! Heck, I'll buy a plain tee and draw the dang mermaid on it with puff paint! That should come to....oh...5.99. Much better.

At the end of the day, with all the drama that is to surely occur, is it any wonder why I just want to get a sheep dog to herd the children upstairs, firmly close the door as I run for the hills as fast as my feet will carry me? (Or run to McD's to swallow a chocolate milkshake Guinness world record speed?)

I absolutely adore my kids, no doubt about it. But when it's time for bed...I just need that super power click remote again....click....night night babies.

Version 2.9

2009-07-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

I've noticed this trend.

When you're old...and it's your birthday...you just laugh and say you're 29.

Have you noticed this too?

Have you ever asked....why 29?

Is it because 30 is officially old?

Or because it's your last hurrah in the 20's, which is supposedly the glory years of freedom and discovering oneself?

In 4 days, I will be 29.

I am very intrigued to find out how glorious my life becomes for the next 365 days....starting Tuesday.

I do fully expect that suddenly my bank accounts will be bursting at the seams.

I do sense that my lady lumps will magically perk up as they simultaneously grow anther cup size.

If 29 is nothing short of fabulous, then of course, I fully expect to have Sven serving me martinis at 11, Pablo ready at a whim to massage my every ache, and Stephan (pronounced Stef-ON) ridding my pool of each and every buggy intruder.

And since my eggs will be rotten the day I turn 30, I better make one more perfect spawn this year to complete the zen like serenity in my home.

I also have a very strong sense that since everyone apparently wants to stay 29 forever, there must be some sort of personal super-power one receives upon the bless-ed day. And if I get to pick, I am choosing the pause-o-matic life remote...kinda like Adam Sandler's Click movie.

Whining child...click....silence.

Husband talking about film crews forEVER....click....stillness.

Best kiss you've ever had...click...holding on to that enjoyment. ;)

Thousands of fans screaming your name as your music echos in a packed out stadium...click...stare into Bono's eyes as he reaches out to you from the front row just to have you touch his hand....hey....my clicker....my super power!

So, I will surely take extra stock in the lessons of being a poor desperate housewife for these next 4 days.

For after that...I upgrade to version 2.9...

TWENTY NINE!! Let the lustrious, Bono-fied, immortality begin!

Home

2009-07-15T17:35:00.000-07:00

We've been on the road for the past 22 days.

That's 3 weeks and one day.

Or 528 hours.

It seems like a lot longer, since plenty of those hours were spent in a cramped minivan filled with the sounds of hot, irritated children and the smell of stale cheezies and old Tim Horton's coffee.

Today, we brave out 5 more hours, and then we are..."home".

Can someone please tell me what exactly home is?

According to an ancient Proverb: People long to be at home. Your home is whatever place you long to be.

Hmm. Well, if that last proverb is true, then I guess my home is here:

or here:

or here:

or here:

(That would be front row at a U2 concert as Bono shakes his talented sweat all over the lucky few. ~ You didn't know sweat could be talented did you? Oh...it can. If it's Bono's.)

So, the definition of home really, could change every time you long to be somewhere new. And in my case, as a hormonal, mind changing woman....that could mean I have a LOT of homes!

So, as we travel back to the city that our house resides in, I am reminded, that today, actually, that is not my home. I do not long for this vacation to end and to go back to the same routines as we were in a month ago.

I still long for adventures. I still long to NOT cook. I still long to relax while the sound of grandparents and grandchildren's laughter fill the air.

The home IS apparently where the heart is, so I guess it makes total sense then, why I feel this aching emptiness as I pack up our four thousand suitcases, and head west, to a place that to me only really holds a house full of our stuff.

Julia-Goolia

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

Had I known her in grade 5, she's the one who would have yelled for me to hide under the bleachers with her to escape the mob of boys rounding the corner with sling shots aimed just at me.

In grade 7, she would have been the one who kicked the boy in the shin after he snaps your newly awkward bra strap for the 10th time that day.

In grade 9, she's the one who doesn't mock your totally lame poem you wrote for the mysteriously handsome new boy in 10th grade. (But encourages you to keep in in your journal for now, an NOT give it to him until your wedding day, cause then it'll be sweeter.)

In grade 10, she spends hours in the archery pit at camp with you as you both perfect your carvings in the wall of your initials and "his" initials...forever...and eternity....blah blah blah...

In grade 11, she's the one who sits in your closet till 3 in the morning with you, stuffing caramel coated chocolates in your face as you bawl and curse out that mysteriously handsome new boy who turned out to be a not so mysterious jerk.

In grade 12, she's the one who pours over YM Prom Dress magazines with you, looking for the perfect piece, only to discover, that ordering anything from a magazine and expecting it to fit perfectly probably is not the best idea.

She's the one who forgives you for stealing a boyfriend....or two. (Even if it takes 4 years, its better than never.)

She's the one who after being out of contact for 4 years, writes you a letter, telling you that her heart was absolutely devastated when she heard of you losing a baby. And, you really believe her.

She's the one who travels right across her country to come hug your fat 7 month pregnant body and make up lost time like like there is no tomorrow.

She's the one, who unless she lived RIGHT next door to you, will always live too far away. And in this case REALLY does live too far away...who likes Texas anyways??

She's the one who has been there, time and time again. Who exemplifies what a true friend is. Who says it like it is. Who is an example to many, yet humble in this fact. She's the one who has taught me how to be a better friend. And when it comes right down to it...though many many love her...she is, and always will be, MY Julia-Goolia.MINE MINE MINE!!

AND I GET TO SEE HER IN 22 DAYS AND COUNTING!!!!!

When we were 15...

When we were 18...

My Jewels now...

My Boy

2009-06-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

WARNING:
The following is a semi graphic birth story that may not be appropriate for everyone.
(Doesn't that just make you want to read it now!!?? :P)

June 25-27th, 2008...9 months pregnant.

Every time I walked into my kitchen, that fateful Wednesday night, the tiny 4 oz bottle sitting atop my microwave taunted me. I rationed in my head, it was only going to be used for it's primary purpose of a laxative. After all, it IS natural, and my bowels WERE in crazy pain for over a week now. A small "in house cleaning" wouldn't hurt. It's not like I was going to stick on my red pleather miniskirt (oh lord) and do shots with the whole bottle...just dooooo it. C'mon.

I opted to hit the hay before the lil angel on my left shoulder was drown out by the screaming castor oil bottle on my right. I felt proud of my resistance...until 4:30 am. The tight bowel cramps (NOT to be confused with contractions...these were not those, they were purely "haven't pooed in a week" cramps) pushed me over the sanity edge and I entered my out of body experience as I watched my hugely pregnant body waddle down the stairs with a definite mission.

Two tbsp of castor oil, one bottle of Nestea green tea iced tea...done. That wasn't so bad. What's the big deal everyone talks about? Huh. Ok, back to bed. I slept with one eye opened for the remainder of the night, expecting to cramp up and explode like so many stories from the castor oil martyrs who had preceded me.

Nothing.

Not so much as a bowel bubble.

Hmm. Ok, well the internet said that there should be SOME kind of action between 2-6 hours after ingestion. Tick tock, tick tock...yah, nothing. So at 11 am, I thought since that worked SO well, we'll try one more dose of 2 tbsp, since it probably wouldn't work anyways.

Famous last words.

Thursday was the day that I became good friends with the porcelain throne, and you know, it felt goooooood!! Still no hallucinogenic cramps, just a good ol cleanin, that brought much relief. I figured that since I never had any of the tell-tale signs of "nausea, cramping, headache,or EXTREME diarrhea", that it definitely was just a "wee colon move along" and would have no effect on the little babe growing inside.

Weeeellllll, that was until later that night, while firmly planted on my birth ball, deeply engrossed in Last Comic Standing, and I dunno whether I just laughed too hard or what, but

**BAM**

~GUT WRENCHING minute and a half squeeze session of the uterus. This one was MUCH more sharp and acute than any braxton hick up to that point. Seeing as though I had been telling daddy G every day for 2 weeks straight, "OOOOOoooo...contraction, start timing, this is it"

...I decided to NOT to cry wolf again until I had good solid, stand up in Judge Judy court type evidence that we were indeed entering the birth zone.......which at this point, may have actually taken a head crowning to convince my dear husband.

I was coyly tracking the progress on contraction master (a fabulous internet tool for those of us who are mathematically challenged) , just leisurely pressing the space bar about every 8 minutes when a contraction hit. Love how oblivious men can be sometimes. He had no clue what I was doing. After a couple of hours of this, I decided to lay down to see if they'd hang around. The minute my head hit my ultra down pillow, my eyes were shut and the next contraction that shot me right out of bed happened at 6 am. WHAT? I made it through the night? Dang it! I thought I was having a baby....another false alarm. ARG! What is UP??!!

OW!! What was THAT? Another contraction?...what...like 4 minutes after the one that shot me awake??? Huh. Weird. OW! AGAIN! K, I have to roll over...this hurts!! This went on for about 2 hours...every 4-5 minutes and was NOT pleasant to say the least. I STILL wasn't convinced this was anything though, even though my eyes were crossed at every tightening.

10 am and I am on the birth ball again, timing with contraction master again, and DEFINITELY breathing through these ones. Ok. Maybe we're having a baby. I look at Daddy G who is packing up his laptop, grabbing his hat & jacket to head off to the office, and hesitantly say...

"um...maybe you should stay here for a few more minutes. Or...at least till the midwife gets here and tells me that I'm not dilated at all and what I actually thought was a baby was just a gigantic watermelon stuffed under my shirt and then she'd pull it out and we'd all have a mid-morning snack."

He skeptically looked at me, and sighed, "yah, ok, give er a call." I actually felt like I was inconveniencing him with my silly birthing drama since it was more and more apparent that neither of us REALLY thought a "birth-day" would ever happen.

When my m/w came over and checked me, she said I was 4-5 cm dilated and 100% effaced. I nervously chuckled and asked, "Soooo, we're doing this thing?" COMPLETELY expecting her to say, "well, I'll come back at Christmas to check again and maybe you'll be closer to 6 or 7 by then and then I'll take you seriously." BUT, to my absolute and utter surprise, she said, "YEP! It's birthing day!"

Suddenly I was obsessed with getting SOMEONE to tell me the date. Was it the 26th, 27th? Was it Friday, Saturday? What numbers were going in the baby book? What was the...OW!!! FREEEKING OW!!!! OK, forget the dates. How are we going to do this? Are we going to the hospital? Staying here?

I still had not committed to a "birth plan". I had more like 4 or 5 birth options. Let's see..1) birth in a Brazilian rain forest...hmmm, I guess that one was out, 2) do a home birth using a birth pool...still an option, 3)birthing on A Baby Story..c'mon, you know you wanted to too...but I'm Canadian, so apparently I don't qualify...so that's out too, 4)birthing at a hospital, with my m/w...yep, still an option, 5)getting a museum caveman actor to conk me over the head with his club and when I awoke, have a bouncing baby in my arms, yet remember nothing...yes...definitely still an option. Ok, so maybe there were only 3 options, home/hospital/caveman. I just always said I'd KNOW in the moment what we would do. Now that it was the moment, and the contractions were so sharp and present, the caveman was looking the most appealing by far.

***Something you should know about me. I am by NO MEANS a martyr who was GOING to have her drug free home birth no matter which poor unknowing passerby needed to lose a head in the process. I'm ALL for drugs in birth. Heck, I'm all for caveman clubs in birth. Whatever works for YOU in the moment is all good as far as I am concerned. That said, I honestly have NO clue what made me think having a natural birth was the thing for me. I had been reading birth story after birth story on babycenter.com and I always noticed the pride/boarderline cockiness of some women who felt compelled to report that THEY had an ALL NATURAL (in extra bold CAPS LOCK underlined in italics) birth and that b/c of this they somehow were more of a woman or had a more important birthing experience than anyone who used drugs in their labor, or even *gasp* succumbed to the dreaded SECTION! Just putting it out there...I'm not one of those. I think whether your baby came out head first, bum first, cut from your tummy, in a hospital, in your home, in a canoe with a shoe on a slew...a baby...YOUR baby was born...to you...and you are an amazing and powerful woman and mother. Ok, rabbit trail complete...on to the next chapter....where were we....***

Ah, yes...the pool. I had several conversations over the past 9 months about using a birth pool in labor...not necessarily to BIRTH in, I mean, maybe...remember, no real birth plan set out...but I figured since this was my last shot at this L&D thing (3 babes is plenty for me!) (this was written days after his birth...this "last baby" little piece of information must be taken in the context of JUST having been pregnant for 9 months and birthing a bowling ball. Just saying...things may or may not change on who in fact will be the last in our family. ;)) that I at least wanted to TRY something I hadn't done...so a pool was a nice option.

Around 11 am, my midwife told me that I should probably set it up now since she thought this wouldn't be a very long labor. So while my sister-in-law Jillanna, girlfriend Jen, and Daddy G blew the inflatable jacuzzi up and filled it with nice warm water, I continued to bounce on my ball, coming to a complete and frozen statue state when the contractions would hit. Honestly I could NOT get in the pool fast enough!

And LET...ME...TELL....YOU.....Oooooooohhhhh the pool. It was like fireworks on New Years...peanut butter and jam on white bread....50 year old women in cheetah stretch pants...me and that pool...we just belonged together. It brought SUCH great relief to my aching hips and pelvis (which I had separated 3 months prior). I'm sure if you just painted a blowhole on my head, I now LOOKED like a whale more than ever, but I felt completely weightless. I think part of me now expected the contractions in water to just feel like a mosquito bite every now and then. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but they still sucked. In fact, I distinctly remember having 2 back to back and feeling like my brains were going to be squeezed right out of my ears, and I looked at my midwife and said, "WHO DOES THIS???" She laughed and said that there were a few of us crazies left still...geez, I still didn't consider myself having membership in that group. I still had my hospital and caveman as VERY real back up options at this point!

Suddenly, while floating like an exotic water lily, my feng shui was burst.... well, with a burst! Who knew that you could actually feel your water break...in the water! My midwife confirmed it was the water and said it was clear and looked good. Well, good. Cause if it was green or purple or full of cheerios or something, I was SO out of that pool. As spiritual as some claim it to be, I'm not one who wants to bathe in membrane/placenta/amniotic soup thanks.

Well, it was only another 30 minutes anyways until my midwife suggested I get out of the pool and try some other positions. I thought she must have snuck some of the 9 month old liquor from above my stove with THAT suggestion, and said, "Oh, no no, I'm good here." What she wasn't telling me was that I had stalled out around 7 cm and the water just wasn't helping the labor progress anymore. I'm actually REALLY glad she didn't tell me these facts in the moment b/c I was fully convinced with all the insane pressure I was feeling with each contraction, that we were more like 11 cm and this babe would be floating to the surface within one or two more dreadful squeezes. Not so much.

After a few tries, I was finally able to get out of the pool...now if I thought I felt heavy in the last weeks of pregnancy, that was NOTHING to how heavy I felt after being in the water for hours and stepping out between contractions. I thought the ground beneath me might just crumble and cause the faultline beneath our city to cause a massive earthquake and then of course a domino effect tsunami. (Yes, I must still have a bit of my 5 year old mentality that the world somewhat still revolves around ME.) Ok, it's like trying to jump on the ground right after jumping on a trampoline...NOW you know what I'm talking about right? We've all felt that one, like how on earth did I just gain 500 lbs in 3 minutes??

Once out, the contractions felt like they were not only ripping through my insides, but I swear I could feel every pore expand and contract on the outside of my body as well. I remember reading somewhere that once you got to the point where you are saying, or screaming, or violently declaring..."I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE !!" then you are officially in transition...and although that's the most intense part, it generally is the shortest and then the timer dings, the bun in the oven is done, and your baby is in your arms as you conveniently forget every shred of pain that brought you to that moment. So, I figured if I started saying the magic words, "I don't want to do this anymore", then the baby would just take his cue and shoot down the canal. I was shaking my head side to side, crying the desperate cry of transition, with one eye half open, hoping to view his head pop right out.

HEY!

I'm saying the words!

Where's the head?

After saying the "not so magic words" over and over, my wonderful birth team began encouraging me "Yes you can!! You can do this!" Bless them. I knew I could...I think? I just wanted to trick myself into transition. With the intensity that the contractions were coming at now right back to back, I'm sure, had you put me in a southern gospel church setting, I would have fit right in (well, minus the naked part) with my flailing arms high above my head, shouting OH LORDY OH LORD OH LORDY!! every time!

It was only about 20 minutes after trying to trick myself into transition that IT HAPPENED. What is IT? It, my friends, is THE moment where you know...beyond a shadow of a doubt...that

YOU

ARE

TRAPPED.

It's been horrible, yet manageable up till now, but suddenly...you can't stay there anymore. There's one more level in this real life video game...it's time to beat the BIG BOSS at the end. And THIS is the time when I REALLY started to ask WHO DOES THIS?...

I don't wanna be in this club anymore...revoke my membership, I'm a bad natural birther, I WANT MY EPIDURAL!!!!!

At this point, the realization that you are IN transition isn't nearly as satisfying, cause baby...you just want OUT of it!! We had tried several positions since out of the pool, but once in this zone, NOTHING seemed to be better. It felt like I was a fly who is drawn to the porch light, only to be zapped over and over and over...and you know you HAVE to go back to the light, but you also KNOW you are going to be zapped again...it's a cruel rotation. I could feel I was losing it, and no matter who told me I could do it however many times, I was quite sure now that I couldn't. My midwife checked me and said that there was a bit of a lip left but other than that, it was pushing time.

PUSHING TIME?

I've been pushing since I was in the tub, remember? I was 11 cm in there!

She also informed me of a lil surprise...I had ANOTHER bag of waters. And it was HUGE. This new knowledge TERRIFIED me!! I had always heard that contractions AFTER your water breaks are 1000 times harder and the pressure is 1000 times worse. OH, I could NOT do that. No FREEKING way could I do that. I was AT my pain tolerance level, and I sure as heck wasn't letting ANYONE near me with that water poppin crochet hook thingy, no matter HOW many years of baby school she went to!!! My midwife looked straight in my eyes and asked me in a way like I was from another country,

"What...do...you...want...to...do?"

We CAN go to the hospital...or BECKY...I could break your water." I was like HOSPITAL....CAVEMAN...YES!!! I NEED TO GO!! She then asked if I was sure, but before I could assure her that I was sure, she offered me the GOLDEN TICKET. She said if she broke my waters, she could almost guarantee me that my baby would be here within an hour.

Suddenly the heavens parted, the angelic choir was cued and the beam of sparkly dusty light shone through my curtains and illuminated my midwife's halo. A time limit, that's all I needed. Ok. One hour of what I assumed would be the worst pain of my life...but it's one hour and then that's it. I grabbed that offer faster than Britney Spears grabs a McDonald's cheeseburger. Let's do this thing.

I lay on my back, between contractions, we had about 30 seconds to do the pop before I figured I'd go into rigor mortis from the pain again....and GUSH...GUSH GUSH GUSH SPRAY TITLE-WAVE...it surprised everyone to find I was housing the entire Pacific Ocean.

While I worked my way through my first post-pop contraction, which I have to admit, wasn't as bad as I was expecting, my (new best friend) midwife brought out the *drumroll please*

....birth stool.

This is a rather ingenious invention that looks like a tall kiddie potty, just missing the front. Ok, that's a poor description. Um, google it. Google knows all. But beware of what you may see upon that birth stool if you do look it up. It basically allows you to sit and bear down, yet giving the midwife a good catching zone. Anyways, the SECOND I hopped up on that thing, it's as if the floodgates opened.

You know when you have something like a peanut stuck in your throat, and you are swallowing, coughing, gagging, to try to dislodge that thing and then suddenly it's loose and ahhhh, freedom. Well, it was like that, but instead having a 10 pin bowling ball drop from your throat to your vagina. Good times. So was it any wonder to discover that only moments after the huge drop that his head was half out!? NO FRIGGIN KIDDING. So much for an hour. It was literally 6 minutes from when she popped my water to when....

...my heart was stolen by the piercing eyes of my tiny SON staring right at me.

I can not explain to you what this moment is like. It must be one that is experienced personally, because the intensity of such love lacks true definition in the English language.

Hewas PERFECT, and really, I thought he was tiny...that is, until my midwife exclaimed "WOW...that looks like a 10 pounder to me!!" I thought she was joking. He didn't seem that much bigger than my 8.3 girls. Well, good thing I didn't bet anything on that, because the scale apparently doesn't lie and it said TEN LBS EVEN. I think there's a good reason why you weigh the baby after the birth and not before...cause had I known he was going to be a 10 pounder...I may have had that caveman on speed dial.

Truth be told, it sounds unreal these days, to hear of someone giving birth to a 10 pound baby in their own home drug free. And I get a lot of big eyes and sarcastic, "That must have been fun" comments when people become aware of this. But really, I found this way of birthing, for me, the easiest way of all my births. It was my shortest labor, and the one I felt most in control of and most empowered in.

This was one year ago today, June 27th, that Levi Jett joined our clan.

~Baby boy, you are loved beyond words. You are a man of great courage and strength and will do many mighty and valiant things in your days. I pray the blessing of God to cover every step you take, every word you speak and every life you touch. You are such an incredible gift to us, and we will eternally be grateful and humbled that we were chosen to be your family. You are my jewel, my sweet prince. Happy 1st birthday! ~

2009-06-26T17:20:00.000-07:00

No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Although...close.

Our family has traveled to the wide open plains of the Canadian midwest...and there ain't much here.

Just wanted to let you lovlies know that I am in fact alive, I am in fact relaxing, and I am in fact going to post a revisit to baby L's birth story tomorrow...in honor of his FIRST BIRTHDAY!

I am just beside myself that my amazing boy is one tomorrow. I am crazy over this kid, and can't wait to spoil him even more than I usually do tomorrow....and squish a chocolate cupcake in his face of course.

So hang tight, I will feed you some hearty blog food in only one sleep.

But because I am SO nice, I will leave you with a little midnight snack....mmmm, so yummy.

2009-06-26T07:00:00.001-07:00

WARNING:
The following is a semi graphic birth story that may not be appropriate for everyone.
(Doesn't that just make you want to read it now!!?? :P)

June 25-27th, 2008...9 months pregnant.

Nothing.

Not so much as a bowel bubble.

Weeeellllll, that was until later that night, while firmly planted on my birth ball, deeply engrossed in Last Comic Standing, and I dunno whether I just laughed too hard or what, but

**BAM**

I was coyly tracking the progress on contraction master (an fabulous internet tool for those of us who are mathematically challenged) , just leisurely pressing the space bar about every 8 minutes when a contraction hit. Love how oblivious men can be sometimes. He had no clue what I was doing. After a couple of hours of this, I decided to lay down to see if they'd hang around. The minute my head hit my ultra down pillow, my eyes were shut and the next contraction that shot me right out of bed happened at 6 am. WHAT? I made it through the night? Dang it! I thought I was having a baby....another false alarm. ARG! What is UP??!!

HEY!

I'm saying the words!

Where's the head?

YOU

ARE

TRAPPED.

I don't wanna be in this club anymore...revoke my membership, I'm a bad natural birther, I WANT MY EPIDURAL!!!!!

PUSHING TIME?

"What...do...you...want...to...do?"

While I worked my way through my first post-pop contraction, which I have to admit, wasn't as bad as I was expecting, my (new best friend) midwife brought out the *drumroll please*

....birth stool.

...my heart was stolen by the piercing eyes of my tiny SON staring right at me.

I can not explain to you what this moment is like. It must be one that is experienced personally, because the intensity of such love lacks true definition in the English language.

This was one year ago today, June 27th, that Levi Jett joined our clan.

What time is it Mr.Wolf?

2009-06-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

It's PICTURE PUKE time!

(cue applause signs)

(loud ruckus of cheers)

(squeals of delight)

Well, I'M excited anyways. Cause it HAS been a while since these pages have been graced with mugshots of the babes...so that's what time it is....Mr.Wolf.

Disclaimer: The following are a conglomeration of several events from several days and in no way do these photos imply any political/social or economical views other than, my kids are freaking cute. Oh, and all events occur in real time. Beep Boop beep boop beep boop....(If you are not a 24 watcher, I am sure you are dialing the psych ward now. Again, put the phone down, and quickly, VERY quickly, run to the nearest Blockbuster and rent all 15 seasons. Now!! Okay, after you look at these cute mugshots. Then quickly. Go.)

Ancient Art

2009-06-12T15:01:00.000-07:00

So.

It appears that just like in any culture, the blog culture seems to have rules and codes of it's own.

And it appears...I have been tagged.

I was thinking I *could* just ignore this as I do the thousand and one FWDS and spam messages I get sent to my inbox in a day. But then , I recalled ancient times, when Colossus the gladiator did this, and forever became the reminder of why you never ignore a blog tag. I, for one, certainly don't have the desire to be packed liked spam in a tin and fed to the lions.

So, here I am, honoring the age old code of a blog tag and subsequently, passing on the sheer merriment to 6 others. Joy. Of. Joys.

My taggers are (stripper names being used for uh, well, no reason at all.)
1) Isis Glitz-hooter &
2) Dallas Glitz-theighs
(Hmm, I am beginning to think these two may be distant relatives, which explains the double tagging. Or doesn't. At all. )
(To find your own ultra cool stripper name, go here.)
(I'm going to use parenthesis again.)
(Just cause I can)
(And it's fun.)
(Like Mckmama pointed out here.)

The Rules of the ancient art of tagging are as follows. Be diligent in your quest for understanding. * List Six Unimportant Things That Make You Happy * Mention and link to the person who tagged you * Tag six of your favorite bloggers to play along {and comment on their blog to let them know they’ve been tagged} And Go.

1) Starbux Peppermint Mocha. Full fat. Full whip. Chocolate shavings. Love in a cup. *sigh*

2) Reading the Twilight series. Again. And again.

3) Baby Mum Mums. AKA in our house, the mute button. No matter when, where, or why, if one of these blessed snacks is placed within Baby L's personal bubble, the atmosphere becomes eerily and blissfully silent. Great to take to malls, churches, playdates all across the planet. Love in a cracker. *Joy*

4) All of the cutlery being in the exact place destined for each piece in the plastic holder within the drawer. You may think this is no big deal. Oh but it is. When that drawer is unorganized, my life feels like chaos. On days when my life feels like mayhem, and I look in an ORGANIZED cutlery drawer, I am washed with peace. I know. I'm sad. I've been to therapy for it already. Put your phone down.

5) Baby L is in a phase where he LOVES to yank on my sheer, non-starwars, very grown-up-y living room curtains. So, we have begun to lift them up during the day and wrap them around the rod. My happy place is when the children are in bed, and I can unwrap them, and hang them just so. Like a good grown up should.

6) KD. You think you know, don't you? No, it's not Kraft Dinner. After 25 years of eating that...I'm kinda over it. KD is code for Killer Deals. I don't care if it's a package of gum that has been on the shelf since 1932. If it's marked down 50% or more, IT'S AWESOME! It's a KD!

And now, that the gauntlet has been completed, I hold within my power, the capability to require 6 others to honor the blog tag code of ethics. And must I remind you of Colossus if you chose not to comply. You. Tin. Spam. Lions.

Heidi Velvet-theighs@ http://jenisearlene.blogspot.com
Dallas Heaven-hooter@http://jillannajoy.blogspot.com
Isis Leather-ridge@http://myprinzcharmings.blogspot.com
Heidi Glitter-glitter@http://brooklynnnoelle.blogspot.com
Chesty Glitter-fire@http://lovesthislifeilive.blogspot.com
Heidi Glitter-spank@http://candyrambles.blogspot.com/

MMETIW

2009-06-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

In lieu of missing Not Me Monday ONCE again, I have decided to thrill you with, instead, a
"Me Monday-except-that-it's-Wednesday" post.
Here are a few absolutely exciting things you may or may not have known about...Me.
I'm sure your life will be so much more enhanced after spending your precious valuable time reading the following:

I can't stand the smell of lilacs.

Jim Carrey is my all time favorite actor. (Dumb & Dumber being one of my all time fav films)

I use cheap shampoo, and seem to get the same results as when I used Redken's lineup.

I prefer raspberry anything over strawberry.

As much as I try to grown-up-i-fy my house, I still feel like I'd rather glue old Roxy ads and rock n roll band posters overlapping all over my living room. And paint the ceiling black. And have star wars curtains. Mmm, this living room is looking funky in my visions...and SO not grown up.

Even though the Mary Kay lady said that when you go to bed with your make-up on it ages you 30 years (every time?), I still do it. Nearly every night. Cause I'm too tired by then to wipe a cotton ball on a circular motion. Guess that would make me like a billion years old.

I am in the midst of having another tattoo hankering. Maybe Edward Cullen's face on my entire back? Yeah?

I bite my nails. I wish they were long and strong. But they're not. So I punish them, by biting their nail heads off.

I despise oak furniture. Or a bunch of mixed types of woods all in one room. Before you get all defensive, my whole house is like this. For now. Until I'm rich. Which will be soon. Because I invented a device that keeps your baby asleep all night from the moment it's born. It may be illegal here, but China looks excited to buy it all up.

I suck suck SUCK at saving money.

I don't know who decided that women were to be the ones to cook / clean and do laundry, but I'll bet you...it wasn't a women.
I am glad my husband married me b/c he wanted a wife, and not a chef/maid. Cause he would have been sorely disappointed.

I LOVE road trips, and in 9 days, we're heading East for a few weeks...YAY!

I wish I had a Star Trek "beam-me-up-scottie" transporter to beam in all my friends from all over the world to have one gigantic party.

I love gaudy fake rings.

And now, I'm going to make lunch. If my kids have it their way, taco salad. My way, perogies and carrots. I win. Why? Because I said so. And I'm the Mommy.

NMM story time edition

2009-06-01T20:22:00.000-07:00

You know how people will say, "Oh, you'll be thankful you look young when you are older..." Yah. Today is not that thankful day, and I guess I must not be "older" yet.

When I was 23, I had long blond hair reaching to the middle of my back. I also had a large protruding belly which in it held one Queen S. You should have SEEN the looks I received...on many occasions.

From the "tisk tisks" uttered by the 80 year old lady at Tim Hortons (for my non-Canadian friends...repeat after me...Tim Hortons is better than Starbucks...now look at this dangling medallion and again repeat after me...I will send Momma Bex Tim Horton gift cards once a week for the next year....goood.....and...GO!), to the patronizing clerk at the movie store saying I could not in fact get a membership card unless I had a parent/guardian sign for me...you know...being under 18 and all...with a hugely pregnant belly...SERIOUSLY people.

In a season where one is suppose to GLOW and be proud of creating new life, I rather began to feel shame since obviously everyone in the free world thought that I was a sorry misfit of a teenager who had no self control, was irresponsible and bluntly just couldn't keep her boyfriend's snake in his pants. (No one seemed to notice the 500 carats of diamonds hanging on the 4th finger of my left hand...details)

So, on one blustery day, I walked into an uppity salon while on vacation. Daddy G was not with me as he was talking business with some film crew dudes, and so in turn had NO idea what his new, hormone filled wife was about to do.

When I said to the "salon artist" (hairdresser is a curse word in there), "Just hack it off", the silence that filled that place could give a Sunday morning Baptist church congregation a run for it's money. All eyes in the joint were on me, as I was politely, yet firmly informed that, "We don't hack, here." Right. Oooookay, can you please craft my locks into a lusciously short do that makes me look somewhat like Sharon Stone at 40. (And if I actually DO look 40 at the end, I'll throw in an extra tip.) That worked. Well, after being asked a thousand times if I had really thought this through, you know, since I am obviously in a horrible time in my life, filled with depression over being 18 and knocked up.

The result...let's just say, I was STILL asked, that VERY day in fact to have my parent/guardian sign for release of information to apply for a cell phone. I cried on the spot. That sales clerk, who I can guarantee was younger than me, probably wished he stayed in bed that morning after I got through with my snot-faced, hormonally charged, tearful explanation of being old enough and married enough to not only be pregnant, but to also have my own cell phone.

Oh, and I think Daddy G might have cried on the spot too, when I walked into the office to greet him. Nothing like a good shock to the system. As much as he assures me he 'just didn't recognize me, but surely loved it...after some getting used too'...c'mon ladies, we all know what that REALLY means..."What the blazes did you do?!?!?! You used to be semi good looking, now you look like a man, baby! How am I going to hold your hand in public now that people are going to be photographing the first pregnant man everywhere we go?!"

All this to preface the fact that today, 6 years later, I am sure that no one would assume I am a teenager, or that I am unmarried (500 carats, still hanging there), when they see me with my 3 children driving a minivan....right? RIGHT? That scene just DRIPS responsible mommyhood, does it not? For pete's sake...a MINIVAN people!!! That is a BIG deal!

So, there is NO way, that when I was on Queen S's field trip today (with darling kids in tow), that another mother (not ON the field trip, but at field trip destination) would come up to me and say..."I am sure I know you from somewhere"...Humming and huhing...."Oh, I know..what's your boyfriend's name?" (As I shove a mum mum in baby L's face, wipe the boogers off Princess B's nose, tell Queen S to keep her hands to her own body, and try desperately to restrain my self from punching presumptuous women in the nose...) "Husband?" I reply, "Daddy G is his name." Hmmmm, nope, doesn't know my husband, which is good, or she may get a punch in the other nostril. "Oh, do you know my 17 yr old daughter Brandi?" Are you for REAL lady? I could be your 17 yr old daughter's teacher! Nope, this surely didn't happen today, and I surely didn't make an appointment at the salon for Friday. As I was writing, I thought, I am going to take a picture of me right now, and let you tell me...do I look like a 17 yr old unwed mother?

On second thought...don't answer that.

A REAL Wordless Wednesday

2009-05-27T21:46:00.000-07:00

Hands

2009-05-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

After praying and believing for his healing, a man in my small group died on Sunday. Do I feel sorry for him right now...uh...no. He is looking at the face of Jesus at this very moment...and I think THAT is something to be excited about! But. I have questions.

After praying life over a 5 year old boy from our church who fell in the creek for over an hour last week, he died. I have questions.

Our close friend's daughter had a sudden diabetes attack (they did not even know she HAD diabetes.) They almost lost her. But didn't. I have questions.

My body has let go of pregnancies long before it should have. I have questions.

How many more things can each of us add to this list. It could go on for a long while I am guessing.

But in the same breath, there is another list. Full of questions.

I have 3 absolutely beautiful healthy babies. Why me?

I was born not into poverty and sickness, but rather a country of wealth, health and influence. Why me?

I am free to wear what I want, say what I choose and believe what I will without a prison sentence impending. Why me?

I have truly amazing friends who encourage me, laugh with me, cry with me, shop with me...I am not lonely. Why me?

Even in my "lack" I have much MUCH to give. Why. Me.

Today, I feel humbled, and thankful.

Not because I have millions of dollars that can rescue millions of orphans, or because I have stockpiles of food to feed all the hungry, or because I have all the answers to sooth every mother's aching empty womb.

But because I am me. And I have these hands. That can hug one person who needs a friend. And I have these feet. That can walk to the store to bring that sick woman some soup. And I have this voice, that can speak for the tiny lives whose voices can not be heard, and so their lives are taken from them.

The feelings in my heart today remind me of a Jewel song...Hands. I leave you with the lyrics, and to consider, what is it that YOUR hands can do today? Don't judge your day on the harvest you reap, but rather by the seeds your plant.

"Hands"

 If I could tell the world just one thing
 It would be that we're all OK
 And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
 And useless in times like these
 I won't be made useless
 I won't be idle with despair
 I will gather myself around my faith
 For light does the darkness most fear
 My hands are small, I know
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 And I am never broken
 Poverty stole your golden shoes
 It didn't steal your laughter
 And heartache came to visit me
 But I knew it wasn't ever after
 We'll fight, not out of spite
 For someone must stand up for what's right
 'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
 There ours shall go singing
 My hands are small I know
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 I am never broken
 In the end only kindness matters
 In the end only kindness matters
 I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
 I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
 I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
 My hands are small I know
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 And I am never broken
 My hands are small I know
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 But they're not yours, they are my own
 And I am never broken
 We are never broken
 We are God's eyes
 God's hands
 God's mind
 We are God's eyes
 God's hands
 God's heart
 We are God's eyes
 God's hands
 God's eyes
 We are God's hands
 We are God's hands

I am.

2009-05-21T17:25:00.000-07:00

If I have to one more time.....

...eat taco salad for dinner this week...

...say the words, "Put your whiny voice away."

...clean poo off my baby's NECK from an explosion that big...

...see another wrinkle carving it's way under my eye...

...get hit in the head with cheerios while driving...

...take 4 T3's just to curb a stress (or cheerio) induced headache...

...cry in front of my husband as I decide I am far too young to be "grown up"...

...buy the store brand instead of the name brand to save a whopping 50 cents...

...put off getting my roots done so that my 5 year old can bring a present to her bff's party...

...go to church music practice with a mixture of baby food and puke in my hair...

...trip over a pony/barbie/crown/purse/teddy/shoe...

...get up at 3:30 when all is still just to make sure 3 sleeping angels are still breathing...

...know my life is no longer my own...

...then I guess...

well,

I guess

I

am

a

mom.

NMM

2009-05-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

*Disclaimer...Not Me style*
I do not love to teach.
I did not graduate at the very top of my class with honors.
I did not get chosen out of the whole university to receive the Governor General's award for top grades and character.
I do not pride myself in what a great classroom I have.
If there is one thing that I feel good at, it would not be teaching.
I do not sound like a total pansy who is tooting her own horn...there is a point...as I am sure you have figured out by now....
***************************

As I mentioned before, we were finally able to get together with 'Pumpkin Muffin play date Momma'. She has 2 darling boys who are similar in age to Princess B and Baby L. She is, also as mentioned before, one of the sweetest people on the planet. She has a lovely voice, and sings with me in our church. She has a beautiful smile that lights up any room. She has a love for pastries...I think, since our dates seem to include these things...which I am eternally grateful for. One more thing you should know about Pumpkin Muffin Play date Momma is...she's a teacher.

PDM (Play Date Momma from here on out) and I are both staying home for now with our growing babes. I, for one, am enjoying the time off, spending the days watching my children discover their world in only the most fascinating ways a child knows how.

But it's time to admit, I was not totally put to shame when I walked into PDM's home for the first time, and realized a fact that somewhat shocked the socks off of me.

Some are teachers because they study and learn, and some are teachers because they have no choice, it's who they are at their very core. PDM is a CORE chick!

I did not encounter anything that looked like this in her living room/kitchen:

Or this:

Or this:

And even though, she totally did not shoot my 'amazing teacher' self-view right out the back door...I still couldn't break it to her...that the alphabet on her caterpillar...it's a bit messed up. ;)

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

And now for a story that I could fill with "didn't happens" and "not me's", but instead, I'm just going to preface it with a great big GIANT "This did not happen at my house last night at 1:30 am."

The night was dark and still. I was deep in a non-conscious type slumber. Dreaming of a land far away full of warm beaches, lemon trees, and scuba gear. I am being roused by the sound of something clinking, something close. In my half delirium, I was able to peg the sound as the venetian blinds in my bedroom, only a mere 3 feet from where I lay. It has become a regular night habit as of late, for Princess B to join King Daddy and I in bed during the wee hours, and so I flipped my arm over to 'lovingly' prod Daddy G to ask him to get B away from the blinds. My arm landed on an empty space...he was not there. Hmm, probably watching a movie downstairs as he is a total night owl. Ok, guess I have to convince B into bed with me and to stop the annoying blind bashing that she was doing for an undisclosed to me reason. The goal for me, is not to move while attempting the coax into bed. I am comfy and warm and half dead feeling, so words are the first method..."B, honey, come to bed and snuggle Momma." *Nothing* "Baby, stop hitting the blinds and come jump into bed, it's sleepy time sweet pea." *More blind bashing, no B response.* Two or three more attempts at this, and I am getting a little miffed. Finally I open my eyes in the darkness, peer towards the window, and squint. I think I can *kind of* make out a little shadow, so direct my voice towards it, and coax, "Come here baby!" When I still didn't get a response, and my eyes were now beginning to adjust to the darkness, my whole body in a SPLIT instant became VERY aware...that Princess B was NOT in my room. For that second, my body was like it was in a horrible dream where I was paralyzed, and I could not move. But after that second was over, I bounded out of bed and sprinted to turn on the bathroom light outside of our room. I still heard the blinds bashing, and quickly peeked in on the girls...yep, both of em, faaaast asleep in their beds. So, then I creaked the door to our bedroom open just a crack, and with only the sliver of light from the bathroom behind me lighting the room, I was confronted with the banging blinds bandit...a HUGELY fat cat FLEW through my blinds and right onto the floor. I was SO stunned by this, that I immediately went into flight or fight and I guess decided to fight...I started hissing at the thing like a snake on steroids, and clapping my hands louder that any hockey fan, and freaked the living poo right out of that cat, that it jumped from the floor straight up to the height of my curtain rod and whipped himself back at the blinds, falling back out the second story window that my husband had opened when he came to bed...unbeknownst to me. It's still a toss up as to who was more freaked spitless, me or that cat...

That is what did not happen at my house at 1:30 last night.

I never thought...

2009-05-13T19:01:00.000-07:00

...that my vote REALLY made any difference.

Our Provincial election was yesterday.

I actually never even knew that little fact, until noon, when I opened the door (braless -awesome) and standing there was a candidate making sure he could "count on my vote." Right, voting. I guess we'll do it if we get around to it. I know, apathetic right? Honestly, I didn't even know who was running or what they stood for etc. Bottom line, I hadn't paid much attention to the elections this time around...and really...what does MY vote really do anyways.

In fact, if it weren't for King Daddy G doing some research and tossing our butts out the door to "go for a walk" in which we just "happened" to pass the voting polls on the way...I would not have marked an X on anything, but possibly a facebook survey that night.

And would you believe...the one time I was wishy washy, and actually just voted as my husband voted and to be a good citizen...our newspaper front page boasted this in the morning:

In the riding of ------X------, Tuesday night's provincial election proved every single vote counts.

As of 12:30 a.m. on Wednesday morning (May 13) Elections BC had tallied a two vote margin of victory for candidate W.O who received 9,619 votes compared to 9,617 for long-time councilor and independent candidate V.H.

W.O was our guy. TWO votes. Hmm. Guess my sore gluteus maximus from that walk was somewhat worth it.

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

And now for your random windows into my random life. (Notice how they might look a little different from yesterday's post.)

We did end up finally getting together with pumpkin muffin playdate momma , and I found it quite interesting to have a shining example of the difference between boys and girls when we made cookies. (Can you sense a pastry theme in these playdates? Me thinks my children or I shall never be sick again when she calls!!)

Proof that spending hoards of cash on baby toys is essentially pointless.

The smile that came right after...

she secretly did this...

That IS an awesome attempt at a self-pedicure, and did I mention there was bright pink lipstick also smeared into my carpet? Nothing that WD-40 couldn't whip out, but it's only because of this sweet girl that I am privy to this wisdom.

Our science class...discovering the circle of life.

My happy teething little man...

...and it's all due to this:

A hazelwood teething necklace. I haven't had to give him any pain medication since he started wearing this, and I can say I notice a difference in irritability when he is not wearing it...so for now, it stays on, and he stays happy. Works for me!

Old Fashioned Honesty

2009-05-12T17:08:00.000-07:00

In honor of NotMeMonday...that was missed...

I just wanted to be REALLY honest with you all, and post some pictures of EXACTLY how things are in my house. I'm sure most of your homes will be JUST like mine...

I know, that when it's laundry time in my house...THIS is definitely the bliss that is felt:

It's true, on some days, I just don't have as much time to make a stellar meal, and on days like that, the family will just have to deal with something sloppy and thrown together like this:

I have some great friends whom I adore, who love to just pop in unannounced as they stroll the neighborhood drinking a latte, and on one such day this week, I was UTTERLY embarrassed when my house looked like THIS: (See the misplaced blanket?! TRAGIC!)

One thing that TOTALLY bugs me is when you order something, and are really really really looking forward to receiving your something, and when it finally arrives...it's the WRONG something! That's what happened this week, when we received Queen S's new bed. And unfortunately, I am too lazy to do anything about it, so after many tears and tantrums, she has accepted that she will just have to settle for THIS:

After a whole 3 weeks of being COMPLETELY inconvenienced by our backyard reno's, they are finally done. And to be honest, I'm not sure they were really worth it. I wanted something with a little more wow factor, but now that it's done, I guess I'll have to suck it up and try to like it:

And that about rounds out my week.
Just like yours right. I know. I'm just every other average girl.

Smashed Up and All

2009-05-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

As soon as I heard that sound, I knew...this can't be good.

With my fists balled and my face tensed, I hesitantly rounded the kitchen corner and winced as I saw and realized that what had happened was actually much more than just the simple incident.

I knew there was a life lesson happening in my midst, and as I took a deep breath in, held back a solitary tear, calmed the voice in my head telling me these emotions are so silly for something so small...I actually thanked Jesus for being beside me, and for reminding me of this simple, yet profound truth:

He loves me...JUST the way I am.

Here's how I know.

In the last month or two I have begun to collect little things to add to the decor in my home...which if you know me at all...is WAY out of character. I'd much rather spend Daddy G's hard earned money (chuckle) on fun things for the kids, family outings, or a new summer wardrobe. But just recently, I have discovered, if I REALLY like the space I am living in, it makes for an overall happier Mommy, which in turn affects the whole fam-i-lam-i-ly! One of the things I have learned about myself on these home furnishing extravaganzas, is that...I have NO CLUE what my taste is. I see things that are beautiful, but are they attractive to me just because I know ____ will love them, or I saw something similar in ____'s home, so when she comes over, I know she'll approve? I am sensing a little of that achievement issue rising up, and at the end of the day, none of those pieces say ME...I need to choose things 'cause I like them...end of story.

Recently, I was sharing with my girlfriend Kirsten all of this and her Socrates-esque wisdom was to "not decorate your home for others, but just for you." Easy right? Hmm, not for the president of A.I.A. My goal had been to have my home look good so when we have people over, I am proud to have them in a beautiful space. Now, I am on a self discovery road that is showing me that even if I live in a place like...oh...I dunno...this

or this

(so sorry if you are reading my blog and this actually IS your house...just saying...uh, maybe a new paint job is a good investment? Or not? Whatever you like right?)

or if the sign to my place says this

..it actually doesn't even matter to the people who matter! Because apparently, they just wanna hang out with me...and my family...and they actually LOVE me, no matter what vases are in my window.

Remember this:

I am thankful for my kitchen window.

I am thankful for the 3 vases with flowers that everyone can see from the front of my house, so that they all know I have the prettiest window on the block. So that they all know I can impress. So that they all know I have a perfect life inside these walls. So that they all know I have achievement issues. Guess what?

I have become informed that God loves me with my pretty vases, or...

...without.

When you have a moment, go over to Angie's post that was done almost a year ago exactly, that is so similar, and so beautiful, and says so much more eloquently, what I have learned here today.

Although, the smashed vases were an accident in this case, what God had in store for me to know about myself is not.

He wants me. Smashed up and all.

Just. The.Way. I. Am.

Wordless Windows

2009-05-06T23:46:00.000-07:00

NMM

2009-05-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

I am SO happy to report that Mckmama has resumed her NotMeMonday posts, and now that most of you have been introduced to special boy Stellan's Momma, you best get on over there and read all the comedy in her carnival of confessions! HEAPS of others take part in this and link back to each other so you can calm your conscience with hundreds/thousands of admissions that *might* even be worse than your own. I actually have not, as of yet, joined in the whole link thing with everyone, as I kind of like to have an idea of who's reading my ramblings...type A control freak, remember? Maybe one day, I'll get the nerve, or the permission not to care, and sign up for the crazy blog traffic...but for now, you, my chocolates, are the special ones who get to read MY NMM's...and there are...a few.

Just tonight, as I was piling up the dinner ingredients in my arms from the fridge, Mr.Funny man Daddy G apparently thought it would be a great idea to tickle me...with my arms full. Subsequently, I can tell you, that of course, being perfect as I am, I did NOT drop a thing, especially a full glass jar of salsa RIGHT on my 4th toe, splitting in in shards. (Really, can you be mad at someone for tickling you? Well, when your bone is sticking out of your toe and your 3 year old brings her play Dr's kit over and your 5 year old it trying to sound out the expletive you just screamed out and is writing it on her report card I have to send back to school...yeah, he gets the silent treatment for a few minutes at least. NOT that this would ever happen in my house...I'm just saying...)

Evening church service. My baby is insanely tired and clingy, seeing as though it is almost 2 hours past his bedtime. I am holding all 29 pounds of his 10 month old self, when I notice his little girlfriend has just fallen and is now crying. Knowing I can not put my boy down, and remembering I actually do have two arms, I bend down to pick her up. There is NO way that she grabbed my shirt for leverage, and ended up pulling the right side completely down over my lacy bra-ed boobie. Of course, I was NOT at the very front of the church, and with no arms free to make this horrible situation right, I certainly would not just walk past rows of people, bra bared, and right out the side to go find a back room to die in. (Really hoping that 84 year old man in the 5th row keeps his head bowed to avoid a possible heart attack.) That poor poor girl. Whoever she is.

My pastor came to pick up King Daddy G yesterday. As he was waiting in his vehicle, windows rolled down, enjoying the sunshine and fresh breeze, our wonderful neighbor did not decide to scream at her son to come in like this," Hey you little s#it, stop b*tching and get inside now!" Awesome. Real classy. So glad that did NOT happen on my street...in front of my pastor.

We had a fabulous playdate planned for Friday. Baby L did not decide to boycott that by coughing all night and then puking right after I got off the phone with playdate Momma. And once I called playdate Momma back to inform her of the new circumstances that were not happening, she did not inform me that she was disappointed because they had made me my VERY favorite pumpkin muffins with cream cheese icing! (All pumpkin baking can be sent to my mailing address, complete with those envelopes exploding with cash I'm still waiting for.) After informing playdate Momma how bad I felt, she, being I am convinced, the sweetest person on the face of this planet, brought them to MY house!! And I can tell you that there is no possible way that all 10 of them were gone before the moon came up that night...cause who does that? Obviously someone who needs a 12 step program for pumpkin addictions...and we all know that's NOT ME!

Ok, class~ Lesson time

2009-05-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

(*Disclaimer: This is a loooong one, so you might want to make sure that baby has the whole box of cheerios to keep busy, and give your coffee a reheat...I'll wait....)

Just like you are totally obsessed with my blog (chuckle, snort), I too, am an avid blog stalker of a few witty blog mommas.

Tonight, as I was having my quiet time (yes, 3 year olds aren't the only ones allowed quiet time...the only difference is she throws a fit to let her out, and I throw a fit to let me in.)...I clicked on of my regular stalkees (that is a word...don't look it up), and the words screaming at me in bold font at the top of her page were, "Show Me Your Kitchen!"

Uhhh, come again?

Why in God's green earth would you want to see my kitchen? Oh, you're not really talking to me. You're talking to the other 2.5 million readers who have Martha Stewart and Ty Pennington personally come an accessorize their cooking spaces...ok, in that case, yeah...I wanna see those too. Oh, and you'll go first? You are too kind.

I had to laugh at the "I'm really interested in your kitchen" cover to show off my own beautiful things to you post.

Ok, now before you jump down my throat for being all judgmental, or maybe just mental, I have a point. And you might still like me after I make it, so just hang in there.

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

Just over 7 years ago, an amazingly smart, bright, handsome and compassionate man asked me to be his wife. After I reminded Will Smith he was already married...baa hahaha...just kidding, King Daddy G was, and still is this fabulous man...and in agreeing to the good, bad and ugly with him, I was fully aware...I really WAS getting the ugly...not him you goobers, but his 1980 silver Buick. Hmm, silver sounds too distinguished...grey, it was grey. This car was as big as a motor home. Don't believe me? I still have 3 outstanding tickets from parallel parking too far out from the curb. No joke. I'd like to see that cop try to do a better job with what I'd been given! This car has plush bench seats...back AND front. Oh yeah, it'd be a swell make out car. But we were married...and we all know married people don't do those things. (**angel halo**) I was apparently a grown up now, since I was sporting double rings on that all-telling finger. And I felt like I needed a grown up car to match my new title and position. The Buick...was not it. So the moaning began.

Day and night, woah is me, who's lot in life is to crouch down as low as I can when I drive to avoid being seen by any cop who I owe parking ticket money to. I'm so embarrassed. This is so not me. When will our day come? Woah...woah is MEEEEEE.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....you get it.

And guess what? Nothing changed. A shiny new Beamer didn't just show up in my driveway one morning because I had reached the magic number of complaints to get the "New Car" angels to step up some action on my behalf. Apparently, whiners get nothing. (A motto, now very commonly heard, from my lips to my children's ears on a daily basis.)

My old...ahem...wise in years and very knowledgeable husband made an off the cuff comment one day as he was heading out the door that has stuck with me to this day. He simply said, "You know...you are going to be driving that Buick until the day you decide to be thankful for it."
Rewind. Huh? Thankful...Buick...parlez vous anglais? Don't quite comprehend.

I thought to myself...would God...you know...my loving Father who wants to give me all good things... REALLY withhold that sleek sports car just to teach me a lesson? Nah. That can't be right. Right? Guys? Awww, crap. I feel a lesson coming on. I hate lessons. Unless I'm the one giving them. Which is why I opted to become a teacher. Just to make sure I was on the giving end of lessons as much as possible...I know...control freak. And I know. In a class of 30 five year olds, I am the one who usually goes home having been taught something new. Vicious.

Back to the Buick. Ok...if being thankful is the key to my new Lexus, then I better stick on my best "company's here" courtesy smile and be...choke, gag, thankful, for this great car...mumble mumble. Ok, I'm thankful...going to sleep now...car fairies, I am asleeeep...go ahead now and put those fun new keys under my pillow....

...nothing.

So it appears that God knows when you're faking. Not a great quality, when you know...you're faking. How in the world am I going to pull this off. To actually BE thankful for this horrifying eyesore that gets us from A to B.

**3:30 am~ phone rings**

Friend of a friend is in trouble. No one can pick her up. No one has a car. YOU have a car. Can YOU pick her up? Yes I can, here I come. I am thankful, I have car. WHA?? I am thankful! For this car! Call the presses!

**one week later**

~Sunfire for sale,special deal for cheap, you interested? Um, yes? YES! I am thankful! King Daddy G and I picked up that Sunfire with hot mags and tinted windows from a town of less than 5000 people. And you better BELIEVE we cruised that one main street up and down pumping out the Shania Twain from the only radio station that gets picked up there, and showed off our new ride to every Gramdma Popoofniack taking her evening stroll.

"You are going to be driving that Buick until the day you are thankful for it." Hmm, close. Very close. Is there a principle in effect here possibly? Hmmm, quite possibly.

**fast forward 5 years**

We have 2 children. We are renting a townhouse. It is small. We are pregnant. The house just got smaller. And...go.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

How can I be thankful for something that is so obviously not meeting our needs? Yeah yeah...roof over our heads Charlie Brown teacher...wah wah wah wah...what was that, can't hear you?

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

**1 year later**

Still in townhouse. Baby is here. 3 babes under 5 in small living quarters. Not thankful. Nothing changes. I wonder why. Walls are not painted, not decorated. Don't want to stay here, not moving in is my position. Not thankful.

Suddenly. I get a hit in the head with the memory stick. Not literally. Don't go filing charges against an abusive husband. This memory stick only contained one picture. A grey...ahem...silver Buick. Awww man. Didn't I learn this lesson? Apparently not. For, I am still here.

And now insert reading aforementioned blog post about "Show me YOUR kitchen."

My kitchen is the size of a closet. There are no stainless steel appliances. No large bay windows with a sitting area beneath. No breakfast nook with leathered bar stools. There are certainly no marble counter tops and not even a dishwasher inside the actual kitchen...did I mention small as a closet? But. I CAN do something with what I have. And I CAN be thankful for the sunlight that does come through my teeny square window that doesn't even open. And so. Today, I begin my thankful for my home journey, to open the path that will one day lead us to our new hardwood floored destination. I am thankful for my home, one window at a time. (And just for the record...kids could care less about marble counter tops and hardwood floors. Tonight, when Queen S and I were talking about Heaven, she started to tear up and said she didn't really want to go there, because she likes living in HER house. *Tear*. Precious babe. Thank you. Mommy needed that.)

I am thankful for my kitchen window.

Candies and Cullens

2009-04-27T13:02:00.000-07:00

It reminded me of when I was six.

My mom had taken me with her on a much anticipated day of errands. (I now know that she probably wasn't as excited about this as I thought she was...or at least should be.) We lived in a SUPER small town (read: cows owned the road), and so going from one store to the next pretty much consisted of just walking straight down the one main street. After hitting up the IGA food market, the town bank, and even the barber shop (complete with blue/white & red swirlie sign out front), we were nearing the end of the street, which I knew meant we were coming to the "Pharmasave" drug store. And if there was anything I was 100% positive about as a kid, it was that Pharmasave had the GREATEST selection of rot-your-teeth-out goodies.

I just knew, that because I had been on my utmost best behaviour throughout our whole day of gallivanting, my mother would really have no choice but to reward me with something terribly and sinfully delicious.

The shopping speed seemed to slow to a snails pace once inside the Pharmasave, as my mom read every label, letter by letter, on every shampoo bottle/dish soap box/window spray. Just pick one already and let's get to the goooood stuff.

Finally, the moment came.

(This is where I want you to take this occasion to recognise the emotion that is about to be presented. Because as you begin to relate...I will show you, how it is possible to have an identical emotion, whether six year of age or thirty six. Not that I am 36. Cause that's just prehistoric.)

Back to Pharmasave....

The row of chocolate/sugary goodness was now within eyesight, and like Pavlov's dogs, I instinctively began to drool. Oh the choices. Oh the decisions. Oh the responsibility. My head became light, and suddenly, I had no rational thought in my brain whatsoever. In fact, I don't even think I could talk properly. When my mom asked me if I was ok (after noticing obscene amounts of drool cascading down my pretty flowered dress, I'm sure), all I could squeak out was, "Ab-duh-uh-bus-fan-tide." My mom just shook her head and I knew the question was imminent. Right on the threshold, stood the query, "Becky, you are he world's #1 outstanding daughter, and because you are perfect in every way.....would you like to pick a treat?"

I waited.

And waited some more.

We were standing right in front of the rows upon rows of candy mountain goodness....the question must be coming.

***********Fast forward 20-some-odd years into the future************

I had just finished reading the greatest series about love, drama and yes, vampires...but not the kind you think. For Edward, oh sweet Edward, he is not anything but glorious. Agreed? WOAH...I heard that resounding Amen! Ok, ladies, so here I am...mother of 3 magnificent babes, wife of 1 dream hubby, and suddenly...as I am driving to pick up my love-in-a-cup (aka St@rBux peppermint mocha-full fat, full whip, full pleasure!), I see it.

It's that thing that sent me back to my 6 year old self in the candy isle. At age 6, and at a few years older than 6, the same emotion of hardly being able to restrain myself took over.
Couldn't think...

couldn't speak...

could not focus...

hearing echos of everything...

And with that, I nearly drove my soccer-mom mini van- packed full of diapers, strollers, and half eaten muffins smushed into the floor- right on to the set of NEW MOON...filming in my blessed city. Right there. Before my eyes. Edward. Jacob. Bella...who cares about Bella...did I mention Edward?

Do you think it would be weird if I asked Edward to sign baby L's bottom? Hmmm, I might never again wash it though, and that could create some hygiene issues.

Just as I desperately wanted my mom to ask me if I wanted a treat from Pharmasave, (which for the record, she never did, and I stole a pack of Halls cough drops...but that's a story for another day), I just as desperately was waiting for Edward to see me, can Bella, and scream out that I was to play the new Bella because he loved me so much more. Which..um..never happened...yet...still waiting for his call...after leaving my number on the baseball I threw through his dressing room trailer window.

He'll call.

You'll see.

Click to watch New Moon teaser trailer

Window Wednesday and then some

2009-04-22T18:41:00.000-07:00

Here are a few windows for your Wednesday, and then at the end of this post, I am demanding, er, I mean strongly encouraging you to check out my friend Julie's latest post entitled "The Wal-Mart Mom." I know that I, of course, have NO idea what she's talking about, being perfect and all, but maybe some of you can relate. I know. What am I, other than a fantastic friend, looking out for your well being??
But first, ready to be picture puked on?...No, I am serious...this is a puke like no other. It's that "I've been sick for 24 hours straight out of both ends and it just keeps comin" kind of puke...now that you have a pretty mental picture...these photos will appear much nicer than what's in your mind. See how clever I am? I know. Genius. For a low $19.99, I'll send you the book with all my sly tricks...and if you order right now, I'll throw in a magnifying glass/flashlight combo, so you can read that small print on the menu that advises you NOT to eat this restaurant food unless you want to be puking for days...and you can even use it in the dark...beside an aardvark...at the park...no I will not eat green eggs and ham...ok. I'm stopping.

Why does everyone always blame me when the chocolate goes missing? Injustice, I tell you.

Look who came to visit!! Surprise!! It's Gramma!!

AND Grampa!!

And if you know ANYTHING about Gramma's and Grampa's, they generally LOVE to spoil grandbabies with lots and lots of toys, gizmos, books, and CANDY!! Good thing Princess B had THIS appointment booked!

Oh, and whoever's bright idea to add this...was brrrrrrilliant!!

Getting rid of the sugar bugs!

"Look, I got me a pretty pink glove just like the lady. I don't think it's warm enough to play in the snow though."

Does the pompom on this hat make me look fat??

BUSTED!! Peeking on the neighbors...AND unconsciously making a demo video for the "What NOT to Wear" show! I think this consists of a dress tucked into a bathing suit, that is then tucked into the bottom of a different bathing suit, all of course piled over pink Hello Kitty tights. (Which have become the staple in EVERY outfit of my girls', and will result in HUGE crocodile tears if told the tights need to stay in the drawer today or *gasp* be WASHED for once!)

LOOOOVING this warm bubble weather!

I wonder if I can get that teeny bit left at the bottom...

Momma Bex...on the other side of the camera for a change...totally not posing...just doing what I always do..thinking of what I should quilt/knit/crochet/cook next.

Oldest and youngest

Aaaaand, the middle child...who is SO ready for summer!!

Bumping along in my little red wagon...

HAHA...Can you not TOTALLY sense the emotion is this picture?

After a loooooong day outside....

Even though these girls may be wearing the same dress,

...there is little similar about them. One could pose and sit pretty all day long,

And the other...who cares about pictures when there are ANTS to spy on!

CONGRATULATIONS if you made it this far!!
Now as your prize, go Julie's blog, and realize you are okay...cause everyone does it.
Oh.
Except me.
Cause I am perfect.
And have no clue what she's talking about.

A.I.A

2009-04-19T21:24:00.000-07:00

I belong to a group called A.I.A.

It's kind of like AA, but not at all, cause I am not addicted to alcohol.

It's kind of like WW (weight watchers), but not at all, cause somehow I just can't seem to gain weight. Yes, I am that girl, hate me if you must.

And it's kind of like Santa, the Tooth Fairy and calorie -free chocolate...it really is...because it doesn't exist. (So sorry if your parent's never told you, now go eat a brownie a feel better.)

But it should exist.

And if it did, I would be the President.

And we would be called: Achievement Issues Anonymous.

We can blame the media for photo-shopping enough perfection into cover models that we feel insecure about every tiny flaw...not that I would know of course, cause I have none...

We can blame a crappy childhood due to the fact that your Daddy never bought you that pony in 5th grade, or your Mommy forced brussel sprouts down your throat. Oh the injustice.

We can blame the schoolyard bully who stole your lunch money, the English teacher who embarrassed you in front of the whole class when you misspelled baccalaureate, or the best friend who hijacked your grad dress pattern for herself...

But at the end of the day, what I am learning in my make believe A.I.A group, is that the only one putting expectations on me...is me.

If I choose to care about what that person thinks, or those people say, then I give them the power to make me insecure, which in turn makes me try even harder, which in turn completely depresses me when I fall short. And the cycle goes round and round and round...until...

I say DONE! I will no longer see myself through the eyes of others, or try to live up to who they all say I should be... as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a teacher....there is always someone who does things better, or more detailed, or more pretty than me...and I am learning to accept...that's okay. It's okay.

You wanna know why? Cause let me tell you something that my best friend did for me a while back. He made a list of things about me that are great, so in times like this, which he knew would arise, I could look at them and be reminded, I don't have to try...I can just be. These are a few things he said:

I am forgiven. (Colossians 1:13-14)

I am blessed with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 1:3)

Because of Him, I am free from guilt and condemnation. (Romans 8:1)

I am the recipient of His grace, given to me before the beginning of time. (2 Timothy 1:8-9)

I have been reconciled to God by the blood of Jesus. (Ephesians 2:13)

I have received the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

I am joyful, prayerful and thankful according to the will of God.
(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

There's so much more, that's just a taste. So tell me why on earth I would feel like I need to strive to be a porcelain faced, fashionista when He has informed me that I am all of THIS!!

I think that's pretty great, and let's just be down right honest here...when those fashionistas go home from their photo shoot, slip off their Jimmy Choos, and place those skinny little feet up on their microsuede chez lounge...they are desperately wishing they could say the things that I can about myself!!

How backwards to think I have something that Bill Gates wants...Paris Hilton wants...Britney Spears wants...

I may not have the biggest brand names, the hottest sports cars in my 7 car garage, or 12 nannies on call...but I have something more...

I have the knowledge and experience of the love of a KING that puts all these earthly gems to shame.

Little do they know...I love to share...and so does He...and they can have His riches too.

Cookies & Pirates

2009-04-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a humbling place, here in my heart, in the last month+.

When I am reminded of how blessed I am by stories such as Stellan's or Audrey's or April's...I find I have little want to do anything but fall on my knees and praise my heart out to the One who is covering me.

I could tell you about the cookie that Princess B hid in her panties OVERNIGHT to save for "dessert after breakfast", or that Queen S has decided that Baby L is going to be a pirate because "all he ever says is -ARG-".

But then I think...how insignificant in comparison, to a 5 month old fighting for his life. Now THAT'S something to write about.

As I was contemplating my triviality, I realized something.

I have seen days when the world is black around me, and life hangs in the balance and subsequently leaves...but today...is not that day for me...This is my story. Cookies in panties is my story, on this day. Do I want my child to be fighting for his life, just so that I feel I have something worthy to write about? We all know the answer to that. How much would Mckmama give for today's largest decision to be deciding what Stellan's pirate name should be?

So, I tell you truth when I say, I am absolutely content with puke on my new shirt, a mess to sweep up under the craft table, a sadly-slightly burnt dinner, and a body that aches like it's 90 years old. Because at the end of the day, my babies are fast asleep in their own beds, with no machines beeping out their heart rate or O2 levels, with nothing but dreams of unicorns and candy mountain.

This is why my story is significant, why cookies and pirates are significant...because my precious babes are significant - to me, and to their Heavenly Father.

And that's worth writing about.

My 2 cents

2009-04-14T17:26:00.001-07:00

As mothers, we are constantly forced to cut corners, find shortcuts, and all together just ditch some things only to fit other things in...and the cycle continues...

My 2 cents on shortcuts and what CAN be ditched if it comes to that.

Ok, first, the 5 minute dinner, that is healthy AND yummy AND leaves your tummy feeling very full AND the kids LOVE and beg for....
When in a jam for time, I always make sure I have these ingredients in my cupboards:

small round tortilla chips
pre-shredded cheese (you can buy it like this, and it usually ends up being cheaper too...cause how many people REALLY like fighting with the cheese grater only to come out with a hand covered in Dora band-aids...what's that...it's only me? Oh, ok, then. Please send me your "Cheese grating for Dummies" book once you have it published.)
beans (black, brown, green, purple, doesn't really matter.) Although, my babes prefer the brown in molasses.
a head of lettuce (I would say a bag of pre-done green leaf salad, but I've heard nasty stuff about that, and I do prefer my veggies fresh, and it only takes 38.4 seconds to shred it into a bowl...I know, I've timed it.)
salsa
sour cream

Stick it all on top of each other, usually in that order, and in less than 5, ok, maybe 6 minutes, you have a seriously delish taco salad that the whole fam will be asking for over and over. Of course IF and WHEN you have time, there are a bazillion and one other additions to this, including a mean seasoned hamburger, chicken, or even salmon, nuts, lentils...you name it, you can pretty much throw it in.

And now, the second way to save time...don't shower. HA! Uuuum, I'm actually kind of serious. In my oh so humble opinion, showering is a HUGE time waster, and really really over rated. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for hygiene. But there is no need to fully shower oneself daily, unless of course you are a hot steamy fireman who NEEDS to wash off all that manly sweat that was worked up saving babies from fiery infernos all day. Then, by all means, crank that water out and clean off that perfectly chiseled 6 pack...oh, sorry, sidetracked...see, waste of time, showering that is...or thinking of showering...
My point is this. Need to go out to grab a jug o milk? Have greasy hair and a splotchy complexion? That's what hats are for m'dear! Well, that and hiding a 5 year old's hair cut gone wrong, but I think we already tackled that issue here. But for real, throw a hat on, over a pony or two cute pigtails, spray a heap load of Calgon's body midst all over ya, and PRESTO! No need to waste 3 hours in the salon. But I'm sure you already knew that. In fact, the next time I see you, I am gunna whip that hat off and see if you are taking my advice.

And thirdly...stop blogging, and pay attention to the screaming baby behind you who wants to go to bed. Oh, that's mine. Ok, I better get one of my 9 nannies on it.
Love and sleep to you all.
Oh. And be thinking of my friend Miranda this week. She was due three days ago, and if any of you have been overdue before, you know how it feels to gain 10 pounds every 24 hours as the sun seems to never set. Time for this momma to POP!!

Eggcellent Wednesday

2009-04-08T23:43:00.000-07:00

Yes! It IS in fact Wednesday still...where I live anyways.
And here are a few spegg-tacular windows into our Wednesday afternoon...

(Eggie death row. Hehe, get it, they're getting ready to...dye. BAH hahaha...blame my Dad for my lame joke skills. So sorry.)

Project Momma Runway

2009-04-07T15:37:00.000-07:00

See my hand? It's raised. Because I have a question.

But first, to preface this query...

Today, Queen S had her first day of "kindergarten readiness" classes. These run for 2 days a week for 3 months, and introduce her to the school and the children who will be in her class in September.

I think this is a genius idea, for many reasons. Not the least of which is Mommy gets two more days of "get stuff done" time. (Yes, with only 2 babes at home it DOES make a difference, specially when baby is sleeping! The 7 loads of laundry that just got put away is proof!)

Sidetracked...moving on...So. I have no doubts whatsoever that she will fit in wonderfully, make many a new friend and maybe even learn a new skill or two before she jumps into day 1 of her 13 year school career. The question I have in fact has nothing to do with her at all.

Have you seen (insert any teen drama chick flick here) in which there is a scene with the 5 hot cheerleader type girls walking in slow motion towards the camera, sun gleaming in their wind blown hair, skirts incredibly too short, and every guy who got the call that morning to be a background extra is counting his lucky stars....yah..that part...well, no one told me that kindergarten would be like that...WITH THE MOMS!

Except it more looks like this:
Mom A walks up pushing her brand new Phil & Ted's Vibe inline eye candy stroller (http://www.philandteds.com), while talking on her cell phone and balancing her Starbux non-fat,half sweet, half soy,extra hot, half shot vanilla latte, all while sporting the new black tight mini dress by J.Lo, and matching accessories, including sunglasses, watch and 6 inch heels.

Mom B immediately up & downs Mom A, like she's a huge slab of boneless steak just discounted half price, and after the initial disgust and jealously fades, she plasters on her best fake smile and struts over, interrupting Mom A's phone call to introduce herself, with only what I can guess to be as a completely fabricated Texan drawl.

Mom C has been watching the interactions intently, and as she nervously arranges the pleats in her skirt and smooths down her son's cowlick, again, she straightens her shoulders, takes a deep breath and then, like using a shield in a protester attack, holds her son in front of her as she baby steps towards the social slaughter ring that is slowly forming. Her introductory words include a slight stutter as she states, "M-my son h-a-as the same shoes as yours, we found them at the thrift st-tore." Honest intentions, she tried. She wanted to display some common ground. She's out. You NEVER tell Hollywood wannabe, Mom A, that her son's shoes are being sold for 3 dollars at the local bargain shop.

Mom D is apprehensively biting her nails and looks as though she may just puke.

Mom E is white as a ghost, and if I am correct, which I think I am, those look like tear streaks that have lined both sides of her flushed cheeks.

There is of course the peanut gallery...the mom's who will for no reason whatsoever interact with other parents. Recipe is drop off child, turn 180 degrees, and BOLT, not making eye contact with anyone even if there is blood!

And then, there is me. I was so busy with what is my crazy life, I whipped on a pair of yoga pants that matched the tee I wore to bed that I still had on and ran out the door. Little did I know that I was to be on Top Mommy Model that morning. Who in their right mind has 5 hours to get themselves all dolled up EVERY morning just to drop off their 5 year old to school? AND have time to go through Starbux. I did overhear her saying that her two nannies had their work cut out for them now that they had to be at the house by 6. Ridiculous...
My question is this:

Will the REAL LIFE MOMMY please stand up??
How am I going to survive this primitive competition of kindergarten mothers?

Maybe next class I'll hire some Men In Black to escort Queen S in. That otta get the tongues wagging...like DON'T they know WHO I AM?? I have a BLOG dang it! I am SOMEBODY! Oh, and maybe I'll get out my old gear, and show up in this:

BBBaaaaahhhhhh HAHAHAHAHAHA.

WW for a superboy!

2009-04-02T00:30:00.000-07:00

Shoot the dog.

It's 12:30.

I guess that means it's not Wednesday anymore. Buuuut, maybe somewhere in the Pacific ocean it's still 11:30, so since it's my blog and I can cheat if I want to, hehe, I'm going with it's still Wednesday.

So don't shoot the dog.
Or if you already did, better go buy a new one before the kids notice.

So, today for your Window Wednesday, I really only have 3 words for you. Oh, besides all the mumble jumble up there I just wrote. So really, it's almost a Wordless Wednesday. K, so not really, but like I said...my blog...I cheat. Here you go loves...word 1....

Pray.

Words 2 & 3

Thank you!

www.mycharmingkids.net

2009-03-30T12:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life hands us something that we will remember forever. It may bring us to tears, or send us into convulsing fits of laughter. Or it may be SO gross, that we are scarred and damaged for all eternity. I have a story that does all of this. But, you will have to wait, before I divulge to you this sweet nugget of horror. Well, at least until the end of this post. But FIRST...you, oh lucky readers, are going to get a few NMM moments Speedy Gonzalez Paparazzi style!

I am a full believer in a child's autonomy when choosing clothes/hairdo's. You just feel free to pick what you love and feel comfortable and confident in and then, let's rock and roll and go out into the big ol public...except..uh, are you sure THAT'S what you want to wear? I mean, it's great and all...but...ugh...fine, let's go. And this is what the lucky Wednesday noon shoppers at Safeway got.

At least Princess B only wanted her hair straightened. Too bad she looked like I kidnapped her from Who-ville.

Secondly, I would never get so flipping excited to see the sunshine after many dark damp winter months, that I would drag my family to the beach...even when we had to wear sweaters and scarves cause it was not warm IN THE LEAST! That is just cruel.

Third, I only eat organic. Everyone who knows me knows that. I would NEVER touch anything with refined sugar...let alone indulge in any of this on a pms whim...

And lastly, before the big kahuna, I would never get sentimental about Queen S's loss of over a foot of hair, and keep some stands in a bag...and then forget to put the bag away...and subsequently find Queen S getting creative with her treasured find. Although I do think it's super cute, it's hair...and I will admit, that kinda grosses me out. (Oh, and apparently, our family now has a dog. ?)

And finally...the one picture that one day will end up in a wedding slide show. In fact, probably 2 weddings...for it involved both of my girls and a mixed up mother.

Recently, my niece stayed with us. She is a single 24 year old, who is by every meaning of the word FABULOUS. Well, after pulling off a couple of days of extremely good behavior, (threatened by loss of dessert..hehe), my darling children could not hold in their little impness any longer. And oh, did they decide to go big. My niece announces that she has found some, ahem, poo...in the toilet. Well, that's not unusual is it? I mean, she IS from Saskatchewan, and maybe they don't have toilets there, but here in BC...it's pretty common. She then informs me that the poo is actually in the pretend "Baby Alive" potty. Okay. Again, this IS disgusting, and my blood IS beginning to boil, but I've seen worse. Wait, that's not all? The baby alive potty, now full of poo, is actually sinking to the bottom of the REAL potty. Good. Great. Let's go fishing. This can ONLY be the work of ONE child I know, and her name begins with drumroll.....uh huh...B. Well, I put her face reeeeeeal close to that potty, and say, "WHAT is this?" She does not even bat an eye, and claims that Baby Alive did it. Ohhhhh, now, I am starting to fume. My children KNOW that I do NOT tolerate lies. I tell her, she has ONE more chance to tell me the truth and then she has to help me clean it out and no dessert for 3 days. She looks down, contemplates a moment, then looks right in my eye and says, "Queen S did it." (Did I mention, that the potty of poo also has a blue plastic SPOON stiff in the middle? Mmmm hmmm. Not the work of a 5 year old me thinks.) So, I take that bowl, and say, Hold this. She grimaces and reluctantly does as she is told. I, of course take a photo, for the record books when I know one day it may be humorous. Little did I know HOW funny that picture would be. Let's just say, the guilt finally got the better half of my little queen, and she could not bear watching her sister take the blame any longer. Yep. I have a photo now of B holding a potty of S's poo, complete with plastic stirring spoon. Oh, was I ever a cruel Mother. (Side note, the ahem, "bulk", of the waste was removed before this picture. There was a lot more fun where that bucket came from!)

Without further ado, a disgusted B, taking the blame like a star!

For Forsta Gangen

2009-03-25T18:42:00.000-07:00

This is a common phrase in our house.
No, we are not Swedish (although, those red berries are to DIE for!)
But King Daddy G, back in his pre-married, pre baby, pre-happy life (:P), had the privilege of hanging out in a few countries, and picked up a few things along the way.

This one, in particular, means, "For the first time."
Having small children, we get to use this phrase constantly, as they are continually doing things...for the first time.

Today, we had another 'For Forsta Gangen' moment.

Queen S, had her hair cut for the very first time. What's that you ask? Her hair has NEVER been cut? Oh, me..yes, I have cut...er...mangled her tousles a few times...in fact...I believe her first introduction to scissors was at the tender age of 8 weeks. You know how babies turn their heads side to side when they sleep, and subsequently rub their hair off, creating an awesome bald strip in the middle of the back of their little heads? Yeah, Queen S did that BIG TIME, and since she had little hair on top, well, let's just say, have you heard the term 'skullet'?

Yeah. Not good. So, while she lay peacefully sleeping, her little 8 week self got her first feel of clippers. But that doesn't count as her first haircut in my books, b/c getting a haircut to me implies that you are creating a new style, whereas in this case, we were more eliminating an unwanted, encroaching style. And the 3 or so times since then, that I have hacked, er, trimmed her tresses, well, those don't count either...for a similar reason. No style was ever achieved, rather she just wore a hat for a month.

Getting a new hairstyle can help you feel more powerful, flirty, confident. Queen S certainly never had those emotions in results to a hack job, um, haircut until this day. Because on this glorious day, I had a REAL hair stylist do it. You know, one who actually went to school. It's makes a huge difference I found when you aren't constantly chanting to yourself, "How hard could this be?" or thinking, "Now where did I pack the summer hats away?"

So, here are a few windows into my Wednesday...into Queen S's For Forsta Gangen hair cut.

You know you have an awesome stylist, when instead of a shelf loaded with Redken products, her shelf boasts Kahlua and Bailey's.

And only at this place might you also be able to hold a hamster while getting your new look.

But all in all, the end product speaks for itself...there's a new Queen in town!

Ps. A HUGE thank you to Ashley from SMG for giving Momma's Magic Moments a new do!! Loving all the bright colors!! YOU are a STAR!!

Just for you

2009-03-24T08:44:00.000-07:00

Seriously, I have like 30 seconds on free time...this week is going to be a whirlwind...but I wanted to post a blog link for you to check out. By now, you probably know I am a fan of photography, and I am also a fan of big beautiful pregnant bellies...ok, you might not have known that last one, but now you do. LOVE IT!

So, go here
http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com
and check out what this Daddy-to-be is doing with his wife's pregnancy. I think it's a fabulous twist on the classic belly pics we all take!

K, loves, I will be on soon again...and keep your eyes peeled, cause Momma's Magic Moments will very soon be going to the salon to get a whole new look!

Much love to all my chocolates!!

No words necessary...but...

2009-03-18T18:18:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

Who signed me up for this?

And why don't they ever sign up my darling husband?

And what kind of sick mother just lets their kid sit in it while they take pictures?