yes

Who knew how awesome my etnies would look below my apron?! Simply delicious. I don't know what it is about these enormous shoes that makes me so happy. There's just no better way to start the day then to slip into these browns first thing, even before brushing my teeth.

It made Evan so happy to see me in them bright and early that he gathered his church socks and shoes leftover from yesterday. Almost just as cute is him in his formal attire below his jammies.

skirt obsession

jcrew.

This one is $20 x 4.

flirty

Ann Taylor Loft has these awesome skirts on sale for $20 in various colors.

of admitting my ignorance.

Remind me to tell you about the time my husband took us to an Ethiopian Restaurant. I KNOW. Who does that? Like they have all this extra food to go around and set up restaurants and all. Anyway, remind me to tell you about the part about the baskets coming out with the tray of food and how I didn't want to use those dirty dishrags in the baskets to wash my hands. Only. That was the folded up cold bread (think giant grey crepe). For eating the food with. As there were no utensils.

And how often I kept looking for dead flies in my soup. Because the only thing I knew about Ethiopia was that my mom always used to tell me children are starving there and I had to eat everything on my plate. And the commercials depicting these children always had flies crawling on their eyeballs and in their mouths. So naturally, it would be all over any of the food they got. When they would get some, right?

And then I had no idea what I was eating off the huge sampling platter, but I was a good sport and tried almost everything, using pieces of the dirty dishrag. Naturally.

And then Sylvia busted out that whole 'hey I have to crap in my diaper only my intestines aren't fully developed yet so it sounds like machine gun diarrhea explosions over a megaphone' while we pleasantly carried our conversation over it. As if it's ENTIRELY normal for sounds like that to come from a dinner table in public. Until neighboring dishrag eaters stopped eating in unison to stare in awe of the fabulous mouth watering sounds coming from our direction. Sounds we have apparently grow too comfortable with and barely noticed prior to gawking. Which then sent me into teary-eyed, red-faced laugh resist mode.

And THEN how awesome do I feel when the waitress asks if I want to take the rest of the food home once we pay the bill? HELLOOOOOO flies on the kids' eyes come to mind again and I feel so guilty for not taking home or eating those last 3 tablespoons of brown and green foods and all those folds of dishrag still in my basket! She waited and asked again as if I should have read her mind 'I know kids are starving, I got it.' I really hesitated and then thought- well maybe they have some special program where they take care of their own and send the leftovers back to Ethiopia. I decided to leave with that idea in my head. It feels less.....wasteful?

On my way out I scratched my head in confusion when I passed framed pictures of resort-like tropical beaches and beautiful buildings.

Apparently, I don't know so much about Ethiopia.

Meanwhile, back at the car, Mike has this hidden knowledge about anything and everything Ethiopian. Like he might as well have lived there. And eaten flies. I love this about him. All the while we were eating he was thinking about their former wars and history while I am trying repeat in my head 'it's not a rag, it's not a rag' while I choke down the bread and wonder who else in their right mind decided on Ethiopian tonight as I glanced around the other filled tables. Making jokes about how I want to grab my bread at both ends, twist it up like we're in a locker room and give him a kinky snap on the rear.

I love this about us. Often each of us is on a much different page.

i call it the volcano exploded

So. It turns out. I'm really good at making cake.

Oh! And frosting, too!

conspiracy theory

I have a bone to pick with The Wipes Industry. I'm pretty certain we are being had. Played for fools.

You see, I distinctly recall using them for the first time 5 years ago with my first child. I would open the lid, pull out a wipe, and receive one. Another would be waiting in the wings, happily, like a proper tissue poking its head out of the box just so. Waiting for the next use whenever I needed it.

Now? NOW wipes are all crazy connected. You pull one and get 25 of them interlocked and stuck together. My friends, this is no accident. I know exactly how this has come to be.

You see, I envision The People within The Wipes Company sitting in a conference room. Many with grown children no longer needing a wipe. There are profit and loss statements scattered about the room, charts on the wall indicating a fall in sales, pressure to find a way to make the numbers look better. Members of the Advertising and Marketing teams are present. They rack their brains to figure out how to make people have more babies. Or how they can steal market share in The Wipes Category. They complain about how low the prices are with independent label. They study proto types of new wipe containers to get an edge above the heavy competitors. They review market research data.

Then someone realizes there is no advertising campaign sexy enough to entice people have more babies. BUT! He realizes there is a way to manipulate the product to cause people to use more of it. This will cause the consumer to buy it more often. By simply making LOTS of wipes come out instead of just one. Genius.

Because when you have a 30 pound kid in your one hand by the feet and a load of smeared diariah clinging to his rear, there's no way you are going to set him down to use both hands to get one wipe at a time. You are going to take what comes out and deal with it. Which is essentially 34% of the package. Even with a 2 wipe job, you are managing the number of wipes that comes out waaaay more than you need to; working to shove some back in while you get sprayed in the face by a rogue stream.

It's actually a brilliant business plan. But completely SUCKS for the consumer. When I change my kid's diaper I'm not thrilled with the friggin magic trick of 625 scarves that come out of the hat. I want one wipe at a time. What happened to one wipe at a time?

Could be a far fetched conspiracy theory. But you better believe the next time you change a diaper, you'll be with me on this one.

8 is great

I admit it, I actually love this show. It's one of the things I miss about not having cable. I used to watch the show after putting the kids to bed when I lived in California. I would watch it while folding laundry before going to bed alone while Mike was away for work. And I would enjoy watching the couple work through the episode and realize they were imperfect just like every other couple. And that's what I enjoyed about it. It was real. They were real. I shut the television off at night, missing Mike and even appreciating our own imperfections as a couple and the challange to work through those times when they would arise.

You know, kids changes a lot of things in a marraige. 8 kids that fast added into a marriage must change it so far beyond what the rest of us could imagine. In fabulous and challanging ways.

I haven't seen the show in a long time, so I don't know the current story or any details about what's going on that has caused her to file for divorce. But have you ever had a disagreement with your spouse in front of someone else? Or brought someone else in on the two sides of the story when you're at odds? It gets handled a little differntly, doesn't it? When there is an audience, we tend to beat our chest a little more and have a stronger desire to 'win' because now we have to save face. And that desire sometimes grows greater than the actual circumstance and greater good of the situation at hand. I can't imagine what bringing in a national audience and media reports does. It must amplify and confuse those feelings like 1,000 times more.

The fact is, every marriage has components that wouldn't make sense to an outsider. Every couple has individuals in it with quirks the other person learns to live with because they know and love this other person infinitely. And over time we come to understand and appreciate each other even with our weaknesses. And we are human, so we all at times don't handle situations perfectly well or treat the other like the king or queen we ought to treat them as. And we are human so we love and forgive and move on. Only...... if there is an audience telling us we should care more about those quirks, we would start to see them differently. We would start to feel like a fool or like we ought to battle every imperfection as if it were a mountain when in reality, we would normally accept it as a mole hill. Or a non-issue altogether.

I think these are the reasons reailty couples struggle so much and crumble. Because they are trying to please each other AND the general public. Few marraiges could handle that kind of pressure.

photo from cnn.

3

these two bonding well so far.

this one is pure sweetness.

window shopping at naartjie

Thanks for the outfit for Sylvia from Naartjie, Mariah. Now I am in love since going into the store to check it out more. I love every single skirt. Very unique prints/styles for kid clothing. And I love how everything feels soft like pajamas.

*

My head is spinning at a loss for words at the moment, which always seems like a good time for me to write. And sort my thoughts out like a messy deck of cards strewn across the floor. Shuffle them all up nicely as the fingers hit the keyboard.

I remember taking my son with me to get my drum set in a faraway suburban town in New York where they have vineyards. It was less than an hour from Montauk, so it was close to the water and had a very beachy scent to the air. I found the ad on Craig's List and knew very little about the woman selling the drums. As I arrived I learned bits and pieces of her story that centered all around this drum set. She was moving out of the home and it was her son's drum set she was eager to get rid of. Her son, now an engineer. A grown man on his own. He used to play the drums in the finished basement with his friends and took very good care of it. I instantly loved that she was a mother that supported and encouraged her son to play such a loud collection of instruments. And provided a space for him and his friends to routinely rock out in the basement. I loved her smile when she spoke of him and I wondered if she missed having him around to take care of and watch over. As she assisted me in dismantling the drum kit and sticking it piece by piece, much like a game of tetris, into my tiny CRV, I kept my own little son tucked close to my side. He was less than 2 at the time. I wondered if he would one day play my new drums and have a band of his own as well. But I knew for certain if he did, I would find a space for him and encourage it.

I wondered about this mother's story as I drove away, wanted to know more about them. And how we were at such different places in life with motherhood. Me just starting out and her selling the drums he left behind years ago all dusty in her basement. Mother and son relationships especially intrigued me then as I had never been a son nor a mother before. I'm not sure how the script should read. But we're all writing our own as go, aren't we.


The past couple weeks the script is out of sorts. It has scribbles on it, lines I wish I could have said better or not at all, moments I wish I could redo, and some I wish I could enjoy over and over with this little son of mine. Who is now the oldest of three children in our family. He's getting harder now, more challenging and smarter. And I think and wonder often of his future, all the ways we can help him prepare for life and all that he needs to know. These days I consider more important things than what kind of instrument he will play. All along the way just really wanting to do it all so perfectly. And really kicking myself in the head when I don't.

***


Tonight I just read an email about a nice women who visits me from church once a month. She is one of my visiting teachers. I loved her immediately for reasons I couldn't place right away. She has a quick wit about her, an easy but sure smile. She's raised several children and I believe many are around my age. I read tonight that her oldest son passed away last week. I don't know any details and I don't need to know any of them to imagine the grief she must be feeling.


As I rocked my freshly bathed baby girl to sleep tonight I watched her face and thought about how new she is. How much I still get to experience with her. How many memories we still get to build and firsts to explore with her! How easy her needs seem to meet right now and how it might also get more complicated to teach her the older she gets.


I also thought about this mother and how many memories she has with her son. I hoped her mind is able to flash through them like a slide show of all the special moments they had in his life and how important their relationship was to each of them. And finally, I thought about how the children we get are just on loan. They really aren't ours. They are The Lord's and He's going to want them back one day. We don't get to pick when that will be. And that has been a nice reminder for me to have right now.

The Update

Week One: Was bliss. Dad home 100%. We got to enjoy each of our children and blend Sylvia into the family smoothly. It was easily one of my very favorite weeks of my entire life. There was just something special about feeling together as a new family of 5 fo so many days in a row without anyone missing.

Week Two: With Dad back to work we knew help would be welcome. Meals brought in, grandparents stopping by to help, and friends bring by gifts and cookies almost every day. Busy. Doctor appointments. All kids got sick. Although Sylvia started sleeping 4-6 hours at a time at night, I was up checking for fevers often and stressing out to the max about the two littles the most. Friday was my very first day by myself and let's just say we're grateful for movies. I was official sick by Saturday. Week Three: I have to say being one man down in a one man operation is sort of a problem. 4 nights in a row I have been up through the night coughing my brains out. Finally today I got proper medicine and diagnosis to get better. Oh if only I could sleep for longer than a 2 hour stretch and cough-free. That will be a glorious night. Almost as glorious as the evening of the six week mark. Which is taking a really long time to arrive for some reason! Kids are on the mend and help once again will be needed this week while I get better. I am so grateful for family, friends, neighbors. Bonus- I found my waist again this week. It's barely starting to show itself, but I was happy to see it again none-the-less.

It's so interesting how easy a baby's needs are when you compare them to the ages that come after newborn. She's a piece of cake! Well, more like a little doll I get to dress in all sorts of outfits, try out accessories and brush her hair all pretty.

The Transition

So. Today's my first day on my own with three. And I have to offer- I am getting sleep. So the hardest part of having a newborn isn't even a factor somehow. It's a miracle. The miracle baby. I don't deserve what a gift both her and this sleeping gig are for me. World of difference.

While I was in the hospital I had time to think about how I want this transition to go. I made a list of the needs of each family member so I could look at it often and make sure I am remembering each person. The ways they are used to feeling special, the things they enjoy doing, and things that make them happy. Including myself and my needs to stay hydrated and snack often to keep up with all that is being sucked out of me around the clock (literally and figuratively). It's funny how easy it is to forget about your own basic needs so easily and how those needs keep you moving like fuel in a car.

I also decided I need to look at each day the way Hugh Grant does in the movie About a Boy. 30 minutes intervals. Most of those are peaceful chunks of time and needs are being met for one or more people. There will also be some 30 minute intervals where everyone needs me at once and there is crying and a ringing phone and an exhausted mommy that want to escape. But that hectic 30 minutes will end and the next 30 minutes is bound to be better. Or maybe the one after that. We can all deal with anything for 30 minutes- even screaming kids and burning dinner, right? With an unpredictable nursing schedule this is a good way for me to allow for demand feeding and not feel chaos by the lack of ability to predict the entire day. And also a realistic way for me to approach a window of time where my arms are free. It's not likely I can clean the whole kitchen at once because within 30 minutes something else is going to need to be addressed. So when I start into something I want to accomplish, I realize it's most likely going to be interrupted a lot more often than I am used to. For a while, anyway.

BUT! I still have goals! And they start small. This week all I care most about making sure we are all clean and fed. The dishes, laundry, crumbs on the floor, developmental kid activities- it can all wait for another week until I can integrate more into my daily life and juggle better. Only adding a little at a time at a pace that I can handle.

And so help me if we have ONE MORE MISSING FLIP FLOP in this house I am going to start stapling them to heads. Really, I'm doing great! Totally holding it all together here.

The Labor

So labor, huh. Hadn't really known the word very well before this year. AT ALL.

With my first "labor" I heard/ felt my water break as I was drifting off to sleep one night. Mild cramping was felt in my lower tummy on the way to the hospital. Once checked in, all cramping stopped so petocin was involved. I would say there was discomfort, exhaustion from mild pain for too many hours, but an epidural brought relief before it got unbearable.

With my second, I was 10 days late and scheduled to be induced. I showed up already dilated to a 4. I remember some faint contractions throughout the prior days, but nothing too uncomfortable. I got the epidural before the petocin kicked in. Virtually painless labor and delivery.

With my third, it seems I spent much of May having uncomfortable contractions. 3 false alarms where I really thought true labor was happening: 2+ hours of contractions moving upward and increasing in pain. And then they would stop. For a few days.

But Friday. With my third time experiencing the birthing process. That was something new.

From about 2:30 in the afternoon on I noticed constant contractions happening. Like I had much of the month. Nothing to break my stride, but enough to pause and notice them. And that they were 10 minutes apart and not stopping for several hours. By dinner time I was holding my stomach through them and taking some deep breaths. Maybe some grunting through them. Richard and baby Roman stopped by for dinner, so it was nice to have company to take my mind off the discomfort. The following hours, however, got pretty ugly.

I kept thinking about what my doctor said about how bad they should be before I should go in to the hospital. She said I shouldn't be able to breathe. So I waited. I took a bath. I groaned. I rested on the bed sideways. And realized this was not false labor. I started to pee buckets every 10 mintues. Where on EARTH was all this pee coming from?! I waited for my water to break. It didn't. And then the pain got so bad I started to cry. That's when Mike and I knew it was time to go in.

So this pain, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. The mean glove-squeezing I talked about before was the precursor. Like the rumbling of thunder before a storm. I knew to brace myself into a sitting position. And then everything and everyone around me sort of faded into a distant world. As if a glass dome (or a cake plate cover) was over me. Voices, noises, people seemed muted and so far away as the pain set in. And the pain- it was a minute or more at a time and it was like a long dagger was slowly cutting me in half across my abdomen. From one side to the other in a smiley face motion. An evil smiley face. Like a clown. A mean clown.

And then it was crazy- after a minute the dome lifted and the pain was gone. It was so bizzare. I knew I then had 4 minutes to be completely normal and pain-free. And those 4 minutes were amazing. I would take a deep breath and remind every part of my body to relax from the top of my head, through my tense shoulders, to my toes. Then it would come back, a little harsher at times, a little less other times. But sheer pain nonetheless. And I would bury my eyes deep into the thickness of the carpet twine and feel the knife rip through me again. It was as if I could remove the top of my body from the bottom and set them next to one another. It was so confusing to me after the contraction that I was intact. That I didn't flop in half and break into two pieces.

I think the best way to describe harsh contractions- it's like that one minute of pain is a gory, cheap horror flick. And then the next four minutes you get to flip to Seinfeld. And it just goes back and forth between the two. It was such an odd experience.

And for the moms who don't get pain relief by choice or circumstance? I have a new found respect for them, extended even more beyond what it was before. They should have gold stars every day for life. I got drugs only dilated to a 5. So what on EARTH does it feel like after 5?! Those women on this earth who have and will feel the entirety of pain from start to finish in the birthing process should really have special privileges. Like a free trip to the Bahamas for 2 weeks every year of their life.

The Name

These were the names that were on our list:

Juliet

June

Amelia

Beatrix

Colette

Corinne

Audrey

Stella

Laila

Victoria

Veronica

Caitlin

Nora

There was one nurse in particular that ADORED my daugher, she couldn't stop telling me how beautiful she was. I commented on how this made it more of a challenge to name her as we could not find a suitable name. She looked deep and long into her eyes and said 'she looks like an Olivia' and also raved about the name Juliet had I offered. After she left, the name Sylvia popped into my head. It was 5am, too soon to call Mike. But the name rang in my head over and over as I looked at my nameless baby girl and out the window of a clear Sunday morning. I knew he would either immediately love the name with me or dismiss it, there would be no inbetween. He loved it. He imagined calling her 'Sylvie' down the hallway in our home. We sealed the deal when he came back to see her with the boys that morning. And that's how we found Sylvia's name.

hey.

Um. I have my daughter now.

And you know. I've seen shooting stars. Bright rainbows. Northern California. Paris. I've seen some amazing things with my eyes, but nothing prepared me for the feeling of looking into the eyes of a breath-takingly beautiful daughter quite as elegant as her. She's amazing. It was really hard to place a name that fit her beauty. Her special sparkle. It took us a couple days, but we found one that suits her perfectly.

Her name is Sylvia.

She was born Saturday morning (5.23.09) at 3:23am.

8 pounds 10 ounces.

Daddy's dark hair. Long, curly eye lashes. Bright blue eyes.

I couldn't be feeling more grateful. We are home and healthy and well.

Smooth and fast delivery with zero complications.

gap window shopping

This is what she is coming home in:

window shopping

....at Janie and Jack.

Harajuku Lovers Baby

I fell in love with this scent and packaging before I knew any of the awesome details about it. And because I'm such a Gothic Lolita.

Harajuku Lovers Baby is the one I liked. It's fresh, crisp, and clean. And has a touch of baby powder aroma. It's like Love's Baby Soft Perfume has an older, more polished sister.

Turns out it's one of the scents on Gwen Stefani's fragrance line! She explains on the site how she went to Tokyo for the first time in '96 and fell in love with the Harajuku scene. Found inspiration in the people as they were expressing mad creativity and unique style, mixing and matching all sorts of different clothing together.

Anyway- love the line even if it is targeting a much younger crowd. You can score some at Macy's.

photos

I'm finding a WHOLE lot of creative inspiration looking at my favorite photos by Lowe Photography. Pretty much the most affordable, creative photographer in Arizona. I hope I can get on her calendar for my newborn photos! All of these are her shots.

I like how she is able to capture a mixture of feelings and emotion that seems to really represent her client. One shot could be Tender. Another sexy. Another innocence. Playful. Happy. Peaceful and serene. I think a photographer does a great job when you can look at a photograph and find that it emits a feeling without explanation. As if the photographer was a fly on the wall. That takes a whole lot of talent and experience and Lowe Photography is there.

girl room idea #2

My sister-in-law Beka introduced me to the fabric store this year. As soon as we walked in I spotted this dazzling fabric I can't stop thinking about. All I could imagine was how cute it would be for drapes in a little girl's room. It was the kind of fabric that looked like you would use it for the skirt of a prom dress. It was fluffy white with little blue sparkles all over it.

This is not the fabric, but I like it as well for a magcial girl's room. I saw this image on A Cup of Jo.

I remember when I was pregnant with Zane browsing at art and stumbling across a beautiful poster of a sweet fairy. If he was a girl, that was going to be his theme.

So here's another idea I wish I could pull together on my own. Vintage Fairy Theme Nursery. Again, somehow I keep imagining blue walls. I know, not very girly. Soft shades of blue, white, and fairies. Sounds enchanting to me.

----

image from here

the girl's ideal room

I still can't decide on how I will do this little girl's room. I am so drawn to this light shade of blue paired with red. I am seeing it all over the place now that I am looking for it. There are several variations of this blue/ red combo and I love them all.

My apron.


The kids' place mats.


Cute invites Sheri made.

This book (thanks to Katie's reminder, btw check her awesome dresses she made inspired by the colors in this book!). And ps. notice this same blue/ red color on her blog.
In the spirit of trying to be frugal, I am going to refrain from creating my ideal nursery for her. For now, anyway. But isn't that what's great about having a website? In my imaginary nursery I would paint her walls this light shade of blue. I would get white bedding with a matching bedskirt and curtains that have a little touch of of red (tiny cherries in a row or a simple red line). And she would have this really cool red bookshelf I saw at a furniture store along with the matching dresser.

And I would have chunky white square picture frames above the dresser of photos I took of red things. Shiny Mary Jane shoes, shiny red round gourmet lollipops, maybe some red balloons in the blue sky or a shiny red ball, etc.

You would have this awesome Eames rocker in her room (in white).

And a really modern and sassy white crib- I would try to find this in all white.

Your bookshelf would have white baskets on it with your rattles and toys in them. I would find a way to get the matching bed skirt/ curtain fabric to line the baskets. Or a coordinated ribbon to tie around them. And then I would get very special Blabla loveys to fill the spaces in your shelves. I love how it would tie the blue into the bookshelf in addition to these little guys being super soft and lovable.

Then I think your room would be complete. I know this messy way of putting images and words together doesn't really create the visual I have, but it feels good to get it out in one space and the way it works in my head looks really awesome.

-----

BTW- If I guestimated the cost of putting this nursery together I would come to over $3000. If we painted it ourselves.

dude.

I just turned a corner. An ugly one. And I'm searching for a better corner to turn. Cos this one, it involves grinchy mommy back pain kind of feelings. I want to whimper at the thought of bending over to pick up that fallen ice cube. Front load washer? I fuh-ree-king hate you. Packing in the 30 pound kid into the car- wait aren't you old enough to stay home alone yet? Getting a pot out of a bottom cabinet - I get stuck in the squatting position for about 5 minutes. Until I can get Zane to push me back upright while I grip onto surrounding counter tops. Diaper changes for Evan on the floor require about 30 minutes start to finish. Most of that time is getting him to come back to me once he escapes my grip. And the rest is figuring out how to get myself back up off the floor. Only to find him ripping the dry diaper off himself 5 minutes later.

But! It's okay because my friend Kristy is going to win this awesome bike and give me a ride in it and then I can rest my back for a little bit. I'll bring along some big pillows with some gin and tonic. I mean gingerale. Help her out by going to her site and clicking on her sidebar ad so she can win. And I can get a ride. Maybe even be the first ever to give birth in the bucket of a Madsen bike!

Let's make history people. Help a sister out.

i never really liked short stories

I'm at that point in pregnancy when the doctor visits are weekly. For your entire pregnancy you begin the visit with a trip to the restroom where you leave a deposit of urine on the counter for them in a sterile clear cup with lid. It always reminds me of drug testing for a new job and I get really nervous when another patient's specimen is sitting on the counter when I enter the bathroom. I write my name EXTRA careful and large on the label and place it as far apart from the other as I can. You know, since there is a rash of pregnant druggies out there switching up samples.

Once I entered the restroom and the prior patient's sample was shockingly dark. I couldn't stop worrying about this other mother. Why was her pee so dark? Maybe she needs to drink more water? But it wasn't just really yellow, it was like brown. Brown pee! This concerned me. It was the kind of brown you would find in a beer. But not a pale ale. More like a dark Irish beer, say perhaps Guinness. She had Guinness pee. I had to restrain myself from entering the waiting room to find her and make sure she knew this wasn't normal.

I wanted to sheepishly peek my head out, make my announcement: Excuse me everyone can I have your attention. Someone left a cup of suuuuper dark pee in there. I just need to let you know it's not normal and I'm worried about you so please look into the matter. I hope everything is okay with you and your bladder and body. Thank you! And then I would sneak back into the restroom to finish my own business.

Only! There was another week something happened that has never happened in the 8+ months I have been leaving pee in a cup. Something I never considered would happen. I got stage fright. Not a single drop. Nothing. How could this be?! I twisted around trying to shake my belly and bend over my bladder to get something, anything into this friggin cup. To no avail.

So I waited. And tried to think of waterfalls. Flushed the toilet 12 times. Ran the water in the sink. Twisted around again. Did a little jumping in circles dance to shake it down. Nothing. Then people start trying to come into the bathroom. The handle must have been jiggled about a dozen times. Other pregnant women wanting to leave their samples. Maybe a nurse wanting to collect. I even heard a mother with a young boy- I could just imagine him freshly potty trained eager to use the potty while I sat with my empty cup. Good thing there wasn't any pressure added to the situation. Such as the line forming in the hallway waiting for me while I failed to perform. I think 20 minutes passed before I finally gave up and faced the music. Sorry nurse, the well is dry today. What happens now? Do they send me home? Put an F on my chart? It was like that feeling when you didn't study for a test. Why oh why wasn't there another sample I could 'borrow' from this week?! I might have even considered sharing the tragically dark pee.

bangs

Denise was my friend in the apartment across from ours. She was probably one of my very first friends stored in my memory bank. I was five years old. She lived with her mom. I remember her mom spoke differently, but I did not know country she was from. I remember her feeding Denise an open piece of bread with melted cheese on it. That seemed odd to me, but I figured that was what they did in her mother's country.

Once my mom said I could go to the grocery store with Denise and her mom. Denise said she always rode under the basket below the shopping cart and it was fun. I knew my mom would never let me, but I climbed under with her anyway. As her mother spun the cart around aisles and down the meat department I threw up orange chunks all over the floor. I never had the desire to ride under the shopping cart again. They also never invited me on their grocery shopping excursions again.

Another time I was playing at Denise's house. I told her I needed to get home before dinner time because my mother would be cutting my bangs. She told me she had scissors, that she was six, and she cut bangs all the time! I thought it would be nice for my mom to not have to do it, she hated to cut my bangs. She said it was so hard to get them straight. I let her cut my bangs, Denise was pleased with her work. We played some more and then I went home for dinner. Completely forgetting about my newly cut bangs.

I walked into our door wondering what was for dinner and trying hard to not forget about how they make cheese sandwiches in other countries so I could tell my mom about it. Once I walked in the whole room burst into laughter. I looked all around me, I had no idea what the joke was I missed out on. My mom couldn't get her laugh under control for a few minutes, but immediately came over to me and through her giggling she wiped away a few tears she asked me who cut my bangs.

It was totally a Ramona Quimby Moment. I told her the story, totally stressed out I was going to get in trouble. I remember telling everyone "She said she was six! Six year olds know how to cut bangs! She does it all the time!" It made perfect sense to me, why would my friend lie to me?


The best part, the next day would be picture day. My mom tried to even them out a little, but there wasn't much left. She made sure I would wear the prettiest dress I had and assured me they would grow out. That it wasn't a big deal. So that was how I decided to feel about it.


That day I learned some lessons. Six year olds really don't know how to cut bangs very well, afterall. Not every friend is going to be honest even if you would never ever lie to them in your whole life. And you know, some situations really are so ridiculous you have to laugh about it. I love that about my mom, she never really got mad at me about anything. She was good about finding the humor in situations and not making a big deal about it. Was never one to scream about spilled milk. I enjoy that at times I can laugh at myself instead of getting to upset. And I am working on laughing with my children instead of getting too upset more often.



My favorite memories of my mom are the ones where we are laughing together.


Thanks mom for all you have always done taking care of me and laughing with me. I can't believe we were in the hospital this week under the impression birth was a go with Mike in London. I can't think of anyone else I would want by my side in his absence. Although I'm glad it was a false alarm so Mike can be there for the birth, I really appreciated being excited with you and having that time together. Thanks for running that red light for me. And trying to fix my bangs that day. And everything before that, between those two times, and whatever comes next. You're the best!

rump shaker

I don't have my Liz Baby Girl Clothing Rules quite together yet (as some have asked out of curiosity). And I don't know that I will have many as I do for my boys. But I do know that I hate it when I see a little girl of any age with a diaper exposed under a dress or skirt. It just looks icky to me.

So my first rule: always cute rump coverings when in skirt or dress.

This seems like it might be pretty easy as 'bloomers' {as I hear they are called} come paired with most skirts and dresses! But just in case they don't, I have this pretty little diaper cover-up waiting in the wings.

ollie

Hey guess what today is. Today is the day you can learn how to ollie from Tony Hawk via CNN.

Is this country great, or what?

Forget about swine flu and the economy- go out and try to ollie today. You can even come and borrow my board if you don't have one. We should have National Ollie Day. how fun would it be to see people lining the streets with skateboards trying tricks. It's best to try it out on gravel first or carpet holding on to something. Then move it to the pavement once you get a little more comfy.

I think 2009 needs to be the year I teach my oldest son how to ollie.

toddler beds

found here and here

Arizona: It makes you wish you had an air conditioner in your pants

Mostly I forget I grew up in this place. My routine and world circles around the town I live in, which is not a town I knew much about or spent any time in during the 22 years I was here before I left. So there was about a 10 year break and I'm back at such a different place in my life. A seasoned wife and mother. A Mormon of some tenure. A homeowner. An SUV driver (how did we age so rapidly from the carefree life of little responsibility?!). Since I have been back, there is rare occasion I cross into Old Life Territory.

Friday I met a up with a friend at a park I have much history with. It made me smile to pull up with my car/ tummy full of kids and realize how fleeting time seems to be.

I remember hot afternoons training with my cross country team back and forth across the fields at this park. Ending relays by pushing my toes into the hill at the end. That brutal little hill. The scent of the fresh cut grass always reminded me it was fall and time to retrain my muscles, to push them, to enjoy the sweat because it meant I was working hard.

I remember sitting under a tree at this park with a boy and listening to his hearbeat. And wishing upon a star in the dark. Now realizing that wish came true.

I rode down hills on skateboards with a friend at this park.

Stood with a boy in the rain one night on the bridge. Watching the water droplettes fall into the little stream. It was the night before I would leave to meet my father for the first time in 14 years.

My favorite memory of this park was when my mother had to collect me one night after she got a phone call from the police at 1am. Four of us girls met up with four new to us boys. Apparently, Gilbert was pretty serious about its curfew rules. I wish it was a better story with more scandal, but that was it. A bunch of girls probably wearing too much perfume planning to go to a club later that night and a bunch of nerdy boys in polos that weren't even worth getting grounded for.

I remember going to this park with Mike, he wouldn't let me pay for the bread for the ducks. I think we got some of that fresh cut grass in our hair rolling around together in it while we kissed.

Many years later, during a visit from NY, I remember pushing my niece up a grassy hill in her wheelchair at this park. I remember her soft hair in the breeze and her tiny, delightful giggle. And my sister shouting 'don't let her tip over!' My mom was with us and we all had a lot of fun that day. I wish my sister and her family lived here now so we could have those kind of times some more.

And Friday I got to watch my own kids feed ducks and run around on the hills while my baby girl kicked in my tummy at this same park. It all looks a lot different from this part of life. The trees are bigger. I never noticed them blossoming before. The grass not as soft as I remember, much more crunchy. It made me miss the parks in California. It was kind of neat to visit a famliar place again and remember I'm kind of home. Or at least in a place that I didn't know I would leave for so long and the good it did me to step away and grow.

.

I made a new friend. And she just left from our first play date. I'm good at being interested in new (and known) people, I am not so good at making plans to spend time with them for some reason. So I was happy to have committed to and followed through with a play date. Every week I make a list of friends I want to see or have Zane spent time with, but somehow I never make it enough of a priority and we end up with a spontaneous park day without friends.

So this new friend, the more and more I come to learn of her and her life, the more interesting she becomes. It's fascinating to me the variety of benefits that come from having
friends. Some become emotional support systems for a hard day. Some always have a great story to make you laugh. Some have great teaching/ educational ideas for children. Some are spiritual beacons. Some are wildly positive and uplifting just to be around. I'm glad I learned an important lesson in my mid 20's that no one can be all of this in one person. In addition to the lesson that you can never have too many friends, and that there is almost always something to learn from someone else.

So now I get to remember that it's not a game of weighing how much I offer back in exchange for what I gain. Just keep befriending and being who you are. Don't worry about the scale of expert levels you each have on your talents list, it may never feel perfectly equal. And it doesn't have to be. Just as I cannot expect another person to be everything, I also cannot expect that of myself.

The thing I love about my new friend is I got to meet her at a time in my life that I am really wanting to feed my family better. I have been thinking of resources to collect for reading material and discussion. And as it turns out, she is incredibly educated and passionate about this area of her life. She fills me with inspiration already and has me thinking about things I wasn't thinking about yesterday. Things I want to do to better nourish the bodies of my family and in turn, their minds. I don't mean just food pyramid wellness, but more in-depth discussion about pesticides and other environmental concerns I have been really lazy about learning.

I really do think we bump into people at times in our lives that we need to. That's it's not an accident.

journaling my inspiration

Pretend it's not a recession and imagine how awesome this crib is. The color combo of the crib is a newer to me look I really like. I found this off the Skip*Hop site looking at their bedding. If I were in the market for a new crib, I would shoot for this look. The bedding is cool, but not what I am looking for.

Here is another sample of this look of furniture I like from The Amy Coe Westport Collection. Not crazy about the colors of the nursery in the photo but love the furniture.

I like this bedding below from Pottery Barn Kids. Still working out my color scheme desire. I think it would look nice with pale pink matte walls and another pale color of artwork framed on the wall. I imagine having my own photo shoot with some of those pale sweet tart suckers that are not perfectly round, a little chalky. It would be easy to go with a round theme for decoration.

the fam

For Family Home Evening we each had to draw a picture of something we are thankful for. Zane drew the family. Without any prompting or direction, he thought of that on his own. I thought that was pretty cool. So here is our family. In the order he drew us:

Zane, Evan, Daddy, Mommy, and the little baby sister in mom's tummy.

I'm glad to see he drew smiles on our faces. Well, except Evan for some reason.

Probably because I was yelling at him for eating crayons.

I know, I was just thinking the same thing. Way to invite The Spirit, MOM.

I spy something round*

I try to avoid finding child care for my kids when I have a quick appointment. So I take them with me. It's cute for them to hear their sister's heartbeat. And in the middle of keeping them quiet and entertained in the office, I mean closet, I always regret this decision.

My last doctor's appointment was no exception. It took thirty minutes before she came in to see me. THIRTY MINUTES. With a toddler and a hyper-active 4 year old. In a closet. With no windows. Did I mention one of those two is a screamer. And when I say screamer, I mean the one you hear echo through the corridores of a mall and exchange looks with your spouse like 'thank goodness that's not OUR noise to contain!' kind of scream. The kind that makes you instantly look for the source because it is so shrill you are certain the kid just had an arm ripped off by an alligator and then got slapped in the face with it 54 times. But in all actuality, just a lone goldfish cracker dropped to the ground. You could say one of us has anger management issues to sort out.

So I do one of two things. Grit my teeth and speak to them in my demon mommy voice that starts with "so help me if you two don't pull it together..." or I am mommy sunshine and we play I Spy. That was the route I choose to go. Only because I didn't know I would have to hold my $hit together for THIRTY MINUTES inside that closet.

So in the process of playing the game, Zane asks if the item I spy is the pink brain. Then he declares, "Hey, I want to have a closer look at that brain! Can I touch it?" It's then I appreciate that this office doesn't have the usual self breast exam* poster on the back of the door. Or labor positions complete with curly hair groin sketchings. Or wait, is that only in The Joy of Sex book?

Regardless, thank you doctor's closet for being PG.

panic at the disco

It's no secret that going #2 for pregnant women can be a struggle. No, that's not the right word. Outright painful is more fitting. In my head while these 'episodes' occur the whopping two times out of each month, it seems as though I am working a small melon out of my intestines. Surely it's three melons coming out........it seems, at times. That's when the whole Lamaze class I took so long ago comes back into full force and I feel like a pioneer woman. Despite the fact I have always planned and executed confidently the choice to be drugged during labor. That's right, Lamaze only comes in handy for me when I am getting my dook out. Could I be more classy? Would you rather have smiling pictures of my children posing for you when you come to my site? Too bad.

So! Speaking of dook! I remembered today when I was in labor with my first child for, oh I dunno, what was it 392 hours? I had my beloved drugs, so I was resting and thanking GOODNESS I wasn't in pain. Then I started to feel like my whole body was being squeezed by a giant glove. A suffocating glove, not a cute garden one with ruffles. It was like one with spikes on the wrist and it was made of black leather with motorcycle gang logos scrawled on it. It was a mean glove.

Kind of like that scene in Star Wars Episode IV when Chuey, Luke, Leia, and Han are stuck in the trash compactor and the walls start closing in on them.

Nurse more drugs please! Only with this nurse's visit I began to notice this intense feeling that the biggest poo of my entire life was about to shoot across the room from my bum.

The nurse entered the room, upped my numbing dosage without even asking me about that Lamaze class I took {bless her heart}. Being a lightweight in the pain department has never been an issue for me. Who wants to be squeezed to death by mean gloves anyway? When you don't have to be? Not me, I say. Okay so the nurse. She was all about to leave when I made her stop and listen to me tell her about this intense poo coming out. I told her I needed to use the restroom. She sort of laughed, as if I forgot about that whole body-numbing thing going on. Which I did. For some reason. Totally forget about. So when my brain joined my mouth I demanded sternly for a bed pan because THIS POO I CAN'T STOP IT! She went off to get the bed pan. Only poking her head back in to ask {as if we were in the maternity wing of a hospital or something} if I felt the "urge to push".

Urge to push? What was she talking about? Here I laid for days in this freaking hospital bed and find myself awakened by a mean glove squeezing my body and now my poo is about to jet out of me and break windows and she peeks back in to ask about "feeling" and "urge"? I was so confused- what part of me telling her it's just going to come right out here on the bed! was she not getting? Nothing was cute about this. NUH_THING.

She came back with the doctor. Not a bed pan. I was finally a 10. Something none of us thought would ever happen. And it wasn't poo. It was my baby. It was Zane. I thought Zane was poo. That will forever be funny to me.

Can you see this in a Hallmark birthday card? One with a picture of pine trees and a lake.

Son, when I was giving birth to you it felt like I had to take a huge dook, but really it was you. I love you.

fun?

It goes without saying the best part about elementary school for me was P.E.

It was especially exciting on the day they would bust out the awesome parachute. Never fail, every year all us kids would knock into each other when 'everyone wearing red' got to run under it and trade places while the rest of the class held the edges down. I think it was the time in school where everyone would be smiling and laughing at once and no one would get in trouble for it. I always wondered why we didn't do the parachute games more often.

You wanna know what made me think of that this month? Because it marks the beginning of the end of my pregnancy. And that essentially means that my underthings consist of enough fabric to make an entire parachute. How fun would it be to stitch one together for this little baby girl after I give birth? Who needs a quilt made of baby blankets anyway? Parachutes are waaaaaaaaaay more fun.

Photos from here and here.

payson, az

I loved hearing your stories of you as a kid in the woods as you looked up at the trees. Plus, the way your hair naturally twisted into this 80's 'do without any effort whatsoever.

Tired boys snoozing while I made hot chocolate and we waited for the sky to get dark enough to see bright stars.

trying to bring it back

The weekly family photo. Hope you had a Happy Easter!

Plus the baby girl:

this piece of mind is keeping

I read this quote from a friend's site this week. I love it.

'Pride is a sin that can readily be seen in others but is rarely admitted in ourselves. Most of us consider pride to be a sin of those on the top, such as the rich and the learned, looking down at the rest of us. (See 2 Ne. 9:42.) There is, however, a far more common ailment among us—and that is pride from the bottom looking up. It is manifest in so many ways, such as faultfinding, gossiping, backbiting, murmuring, living beyond our means, envying, coveting, withholding gratitude and praise that might lift another, and being unforgiving and jealous.

"From "Ezra Taft Benson, “Beware of Pride,” Ensign, May 1989, 4"

There's no better time for taking in personal character inventory than conference weekend. I like thinking about areas in my life I have improved upon with much effort/ prayer in addition to areas I want to work on with regard to my character. I've been thinking a lot about that this month. And find it most refreshing to work on ignoring that of others' flaws and remember I am accoutnable for knowing about/ working on my own, being a great example to my children, and also ignoring others' impressions of my flaws. My purpose is to live to please my Heavenly Father, not the people of this earth.

girl talk

I love this simple little decorative spot

I spied in a hallway at the gym.

*

Those little pom pom guys remind me of

the flower the dust spec lands on

in Horton Hears a Who.

{sleep}

I had a dream last night that I went into labor, but my dream was nice to me and skipped the dramatic part about how I got there and what arrangements were made for the boys and even avoided that part about the giant needle I choose to have inserted into my back. It plunked me right into the delivery room with scrubbed up nurses and some doctor with a face I never saw.

But somehow in this dream birthing was more like pulling groundhogs out of their hole. And a t.v. was on and Mike was reading a book. He was brilliantly blasé about the whole thing, like oh another birth, pfffft, whatev.' And they kept pulling out babies. Three of them to be exact. And the third was trying to swim into my neck or something, it didn't want to come out. So it was this really crazy thing where I didn't understand how no one ever knew there would be three. And Mike was still reading a book like pshaw, three babies, such a bore and I had some doctor climbing inside my body to get out that third stubborn baby. And I wasn't mad at Mike for being removed for some reason in this dream, or uncomfortable that my body was a mini hotel for so many people (including this doctor walking around my uterus trying to catch the third), and there wasn't any pain. I was just trying to figure in my mind out how to get all those car seats into our car so we could take them all home.

Needless today, I'm not one for practical jokes on April Fool's. Too much planning. But my dreams seem to think it's a great time to be funny.

You're not even gone yet and I miss you like crazy. I know it's a whole lot of added hormones with this pregnancy thing and all, so every single emotion I express explodes into a ticker tape parade as soon as I open my mouth and eyes to express it. So thanks for understanding that about me right now. And handling it all carefully, every single shift and spike and lull and sob.

I remember falling asleep with you in your bed (with all our clothes on!) in that house on Magdalena when we dated. I would sit up and look at you as you slept. Just watching your chest move up and down with breath and the peacefulness of your eyes gently closed as you drifted off into dreamland. I would push your hair back off your face over and over just to feel it in my hands. I remember just tracing the lines of your face with my fingertips wondering how on earth I could possibly love you any more than I did in that very moment. In that instance I could not imagine any more depth that could expand and grow within the confines of my heart. I couldn't fathom being mad at you or ever fighting or going more than a day without seeing you.

So all this time has gone on and all these experiences rolled into numbers of years that don't make a lot of sense when I say them out loud. How is it possible that it will be a decade of 'us' at the end of May since that night I watched you sleep so long ago? And how grand it is, this variety of feelings that have combined to bring us here today so far away from then. And how love feels different the longer you're in it. And how much defining it changes the more you know a person, create other persons with this person, and then have to miss this person on a regular basis.

And although we have learned to refine the way we cope in your travels and understand better how to communicate with one another the ways we need it, I am glad for the hurt and ache I feel when you are absent. Knowing and expressing the void I feel when you are gone has made me realize how much more important we have become to one another and non-replaceable right now more than ever.

And while my favorite part of many of my days are watching you make our children laugh, my most favorite moment this month was looking into your loving eyes after my tears left mascara on your perfect lips before we kissed goodbye.

I wish I could open my chest and write I love you with the bleeding tears I feel on the inside when you are away. Just so you could comprehend the love I have for you and how intensely powerful it feels right now. I wish I knew it in a language that would reflect the appropriate level of expression I want to convey.

Somehow I miss you doesn't really cover it.

So.....thanks for being around and asking me out that first time. I am glad I get to be the one to love you. And make babies with you.