Where I update you on my most insignificant thoughts and activities.

I've decided that I like Michael Buble. Does that officially make me old or cool, I can't tell? I once saw him on a talk show and he was SO manic, I could have sworn he was a hard-core drug user.

On a related note, I bought a bathing suit at Target, and I can't decide if I like it, or if I look like I'm 95. This does not relate to potential drug-use, but my inability to differentiate between modern and mumu.

L has gone two days without a nap. And it has resulted in her cryyyyyying at the top of the stairs for 10 minutes (after being put to bed), because she cannot find her water bottle. Darkness and half-blindness and tiredness do not mix. Apparently.

And in the spirit of L-themed disasters, let me offer you this photo:

Today I painted 2 of 4 walls in my bedroom. And it took for-freaking-ever. Painting seems like it should only take 20-30 minutes per wall. Sadly, it does not. Mike is officially happy that the main wall of our bedroom is no longer adorned with two, rough blotches of blue paint (as it has been for the past 18 months). Yep, I said 18. It appears I debated paint choices that varied by .000000000001% color difference, bought two gallons of chosen paint....and then got bored.



Lately, I've fallen in love with "Jersey Shore". Holy hell, that's a train wreck. A totally awesome, greasy, tight-tee, train wreck. And I am super curious to know what Schnookie or Schnickers or Snickums would look like if she wasn't orange, as she is seriously reminiscent of an oompa-loompah and it makes me want candy, every time.

I am also officially signed up for the St. Louis half marathon. Which means, I've been running lately, and you know what? I REALLY hate running.



Here's to the start of a new week and new adventures...

Public Service Announcement.

I don't want to alarm anyone, or spread public panic.

But.

Target has received large amounts of spring/summer clothing. And if you think I am being "funny", you have obviously never shopped there for children's shoes (that only cost $14.99) in April, only to be shocked that they only carry toddler size 2 or giant child size 15. I have learned that you need to move fast when it comes to economical footwear, even if it is 20 degrees outside, and just the thought of wearing open-toed shoes makes me want to cut off my feet and surgically replace them with woolly-mammoth Uggs.

On another Target clothing note: The Easter Dresses. Now, I have already purchased tutu-ish skirts for the girls at an Old Navy sale BUT, hypothetically, if the world decided to re-celebrate the risen Christ in, say, June? I would be all over these dresses. Cute, (fake) but oh-so-real looking silk. Though maybe it is real silk? No idea what the going work rate for a worm is these days, but I suppose it's possible they've taken a pay cut along with the rest of the world. Just kidding. I know they are fake because I believe in my heart-of-hearts that Target would not do anything as irresponsible as sell a dry-clean-only item in the toddler department.

In the same breath that I tell you about spring apparel, I will also inform you that I purchased next year's Christmas dress. Yes, Christmas. And it was $6.24, so for that price I can handle waiting 11 months, even though I LOVE this dress. LOVE! But I think you'll agree, it is rather holiday festive, or I *might* try to pull it off in March. Target appears to be my holiday one-stop shop, as this years dress was purchased in the maternity department for $7. Yup, there is no shame in my game. It was an extra small, so I guess what that says is that I am comparable in size to a pregnant woman, be it a very tiny pregnant woman.

Act fast, people. If anything resembling the sun, or a temperature above frozen tundra makes its appearance, you'll be screwed on cute, cheap sandals. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

How miracles occur with themes and polka dots and jewelry making.

Today started as any other, being that Mike dragged me out of bed kicking and screaming, and I went from unconsciousness to being responsible for four lives in a matter of 120 seconds. Well, five lives, if you include me in those numbers. I suppose I am kind of important, but my efforts to sustain my own life begin and end with diet coke. I can't really take credit for that.

Thursdays are late start days for G (thank GOD), so from 8:00 until 8:40, it's a steady stream of commands designed to keep my children on task, so that we may leave for school dressed in attire APPROPRIATE for 30-degree weather. Minus gloves, because they are the frustration OF MY LIFE when it comes to small children.

We loaded in the car, were halfway there in fact, when G called out a frantic warning that she was going to be sick. There were tears involved, which led me to believe this was more likely comparable to Pearl Harbor, verses a test of the emergency broadcast system.

What to do.

We pulled over. We talked. I inquired. G did not vomit and instead began acting like herself. I called Mike for his opinion. I had bible study, the littles had bible study, Thursdays are my free days! And we all know how well I handle unexpected change, after "Jacket-Gate 2010". G said she was alright, feeling better. I was holding tight to the promise of solitude and my grip was so strong, it was likely you'd have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

I headed toward school.

And then I just changed my mind.

Simply and joyfully. I couldn't imagine the day playing out any other way.

Weird.

Except that, for the past two days, I have been praying to see God in my face, right in the moment. Not after I've had a good two weeks to process life and therefore conclude that he is indeed at work. But to KNOW he is there, in real time. I would think that would be the definition of happy--to recognize him, and not just give him a half-hearted shout out, after the solutions to my problems are met. I am often the good little Christian that believes God is all powerful and amazing, yet can't recognize any of the works of his hands, as they are happening.

Problem is, most days (every day), I'm too busy, too frazzled to see. And damn it, I can answer all of my own desires very simply--calmness, cleanness, order, good behavior--if he would just deliver those, thank you very much. Oh, and some sort of sparkly present would be nice. Outside of those parameters, everything I see is a complication that makes my life HARDER.

But today, in the matter of a seconds, because of a prayer I prayed yesterday, I was joyful to have G. Excited really. And I had a great plan in mind, which included a time to sit with my kids and read the bible--1 Corinthians 13: 4-13--probably one of the most quoted passages in the bible (if you attend weddings). Love! And Valentines Day! I see a theme here, you know how I feel about themes! God answers prayers with THEMES! Seriously, if he can monogram, I will pee my pants.

Lest you think I am some amazing Duggar mom, let me tell you that I am not great about reading the bible to my kids. Or explaining it, because I am just getting a handle on it myself. I am not great at always seeing my children as pleasurable, nor do I see every day with them as a fun adventure. Most days it is a job. Where I serve people that I love unconditionally, but the logistics of it are hard. Fun days like these are rare, because my bad attitude KILLS IT instantly.

But today, God was present in my out-of-character joyfulness.

Which we channeled into rice krispie making, Valentine style.




I used heart cutters to make the shapes and added a candy coating--I used the stuff from Hobby Lobby, but I'm sure almond bark would work just as well. Unfortunately, I had a bad experience with adding food coloring to almond bark, and I am a bit gun shy. You KNOW that I have problems if I am scared of a temperamental food substance, but so it goes. And here is cuteness on a stick.



FYI. My children lost interest after cutting the shapes out of the rice krispies, leaving me to add the candy coating and sprinkles, and tie them in the baggies. However, they happily played TOGETHER with legos and puzzles and such. Leaving me to craft in peace. Are you understanding this picture of delight being poured down upon our home????

I have had an idea rolling around in my head for a few days, and as the children were happily occupied, I kept at it. I skewered a bunch of rice krispies. And then I added Reese's cups to the mix. And some boxes of sweethearts. Tape, sticks and baggies for all. To create a bouquet:



Plus a ragamuffin ribbon (like I did with a few Christmas presents), to tie it all together. And polka dot cellophane. My life is complete now that I have discovered polka dotted cellophane. It all came together as a surprise that we dropped off to cousins who just had a baby (they are OUR cousins, not cousins who defied genetic suggestions and procreated, if you are confused). We gifted it on our way to get G her second H1N1 shot, the one downside to our glorious day. But in a way, G fits the theme of skewering--God is plenty thorough in his themes, I suppose.

Oh, but it gets better! Because the littles were still able to go to their anti-Valentines Day preschool, and so G and I headed out for more crafty fun for the afternoon. A stop at the bead store, where we made some Valentines Day bling. And when do I ever have an opportunity to make jewelry with the one child who can handle being in an entire store of choking hazards? Never! But for today, the day that God made perfect so that I would see him clearly.

No dishes, no sweeping, no tidying an endless pit of a house. That is destined to be endlessly pitty, even with my feeble efforts.

Absent from this extreme close-up shot: My matching Valentines Day necklace, that is a bit longer and perfectly my style. I am in love with it. I will post more about this later, as we've used this idea for Christmas gifts for grandmothers and it was a big, EASY, hit.

Guess who showed up for the date of fun? My sweet little 7-year-old. Who, at times, is beginning to be WAY too cool for mom. She is growing up and is often a mixed bag of little and big. But today she was all mine, delightfully, every inch the little girl who never used to be able to get enough of me (verses the cool grade school-er that would happily trade me for Miley Cyrus... I'd LOVE to see how that would play out). I would venture to say this day was heaven sent for her too.

And then the littles returned home and we headed out to get their H1N1 shots, which was less than ideal in the amount of kicking and screaming they exerted (x3), but entirely manageable in the scope of our day. Our perfectly fun, unexpected day.

In all of my days of being a mom, I will never forget this one. It was as amazing to me as seeing him spare the lives of my delicate preemies--because my attitude, in a lot of ways, is just as sick as their bodies were weak.

And all I had to do was ASK...and believe that miracles can happen even when nothing changes.

"For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." Matthew 7:7

Debating Valentines Day, break dancing and the effects of height on parenting.

Friends.



For a few weeks, there have been emails circulating amongst the room parents in Big J and L's preschool class, regarding Valentines Day.



Only, it's not called Valentines Day. It's called Friendship Day.



??.



We are to stay away from the use of "Valentines", as it pertains to the labeling of February 14th. No Valentines to pass out, but possibly a sticker party. The use of anything heart-themed is okay, but it feels like a reluctant measure, and if emails could transmit semi-non-verbals, I would say this "allowance" came with some long pauses and heavy sighs.



???????????.



I picked Big J and L up from school today, at which time I inquired about the offensive nature of Valentines Day? And found out it's not offensive, so much as not a part of the curriculum they work with, which requires them not to acknowledge specific holidays.



????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????


And by preschool curriculum, we are talking about finger painting and story telling and pretend play. NOT that I am downplaying the educational value of preschool, as there is much of that as well. But it's interesting that holidays are where they draw the line.



Which seems like the DUMBEST idea ever to me. Not that I'm any kind of a curriculum expert, or anything, but I think I know a little something about raising preschoolers, and the importance of flimsy, character-themed cards in their little 5-year-old worlds.



Not to mention, it's VALENTINES DAY! The one holiday we all agree on! Because who in their wacked out mind is anti-love????? Curriculum writers, that's who.



On my to-do list: write a curriculum that includes Valentines Day.



Don't even get me started on the fact that Valentines Day is the holiday with the most pleasing of color palates and shapes. Visually, it is my favorite. And I just see a downward-trending of holidays in general that's very depressing.



In other news.



Little J and I had an impromptu dance party in the kitchen tonight, where I pulled out some old-school break dancing moves. Mike questioned the authenticity of such moves, as he does not recall seeing anything similar to my version on the streets between the years of 1982-1988. To which I say, "don't hate the playa, hate the game."



If that is even the proper usage of that term, as it pertains to questionable dancing.



Also.



The Cat in the Hat movie, starring Mike Meyers? Holy inappropriate for children! Thank you, Cat in the Hat, for introducing such phrases as "Son-of-a-Baby" to my kids. Really, thank you.

And lastly.

If you are struggling with getting your children to perform certain tasks, such as eating peas or doing homework, might I suggest bunk beds. It is the kryptonite to their strong wills, as they cannot resist obedience, if it is requested five feet above the ground.

Next on my to-do list: write a book on parenting centered STRICTLY upon the effects of elevation on the child psyche. And then, I will create an entire line of furniture on stilts, and I will sell it at Wal-mart. High chairs. Desks. Toilets.

Cha-ching.

I think I was born with extra muscle tissue in my ribs.

Just in case you were wondering, yesterday I attempted P90X Yoga, for the first time. I figured, it's YOGA. How hard can it be?

Well.

It wasn't difficult to follow (but would have been easier if my head could swivel at 360 degrees), but basically I did a 45-minute lunge. I mean, yes, he did bring us down to the doggie position (or whatever) and some ashuntungarasalanga-something or other, but basically we lunged for 45 minutes.

And then we did this whole series of poses that we held for 30 seconds to a minute (all originating in the lunge position), and this is where Tony asked me to crouch while slowly placing my legs upon my elbows (Is that even POSSIBLE??).

Um. No.

Last I checked, most of my weight is stored in my ass/thighs, making this a VERY unfair match up for my arm joints.

Now my legs were SHAKY when it was all said and done, which had me all kinds of paranoid for the kind of pain I'd be in today. You can imagine my surprise then, when I woke to a small amount of soreness in my legs, but massive-it-hurts-to-breathe pain in my rib-area. Not the abs, but whatever muscle is shaped like a lung.

I have come to the conclusion that yoga would be much easier, if I were boneless, or if I had arms like Popeye.

Anyway. New project.

The blog-world is a-buzz with all kinds of valentines day projects--and sewn notecards are all the rage, it seems! Well, here's my attempt to jump on the band wagon, beginning with a box of patterned cards from...you guessed it...Hobby Lobby. I wasn't planning on making 50, but honestly, the cost to buy 12 was so close to this price, I went for the better deal.


Look closely: they are NOT perfect. They are not meant to be perfect, but messy in their stitching! Character!

Another one of my favorites:

So, today I got a letter in the mail from a dear friend...and it made me think about how nobody sends REAL mail anymore. I used to write letters like crazy, and yet can't remember the last time I sent one. It's such a dying art form, don't you think?

Well, I got all excited about making these cards, because I am going to write me some letters. Randomly. Not for birthdays or any particular occasion (maybe we'll work into that in 2011), but just because. And as we speak, I have already crafted my first, to an unknowing recipient. Who reads this here blog and is incredibly encouraging!!

And my goal is to send one of these puppies out a week! On the condition that once you receive a letter, you give me some comment love. Because, I'm not sure if you know this, blogs live and die by comments. Lots and lots of comments. Hint.

Do you know someone who would love a letter? Why not join me...let's make the world a happy place, one piece of fun stationary at a time?

How a crafty obession uncovered a super hero power.

As of late, I have resumed my obsessive affair with the embroidery machine. It is a love-hate relationship, but as we mature together I have come to understand how it works and how to calm it down amidst its temper tantrums.

Three-year-olds and embroidery machines are a lot alike. However, they do not respond well to lollipops, as this is, in fact, a very bad idea where many small, moving, electronic parts are concerned.

Simple pink shirt ($3.50 at Walmart!) with a chocolate brown monogram. Inspired by this here hair bow. Hair bow inspired by this blog post tutorial.

I have dabbled in making hair bows before, but have never been incredibly impressed by the results. Most times, they've appeared a little flatter than the bows I've purchased. But this tutorial makes PERFECT bows. And it is easy-peasy.

So of course, I headed to Hobby Lobby for some grosgrain ribbon, and found the cute giraffe print. Which matches nothing that L owns. Hence, my need to create a clothing item to match the coordinating hair bow.

But I couldn't stop at just one hair bow. Because sometimes she wears two crazy buns. And what if she'd prefer polka dots? Choices, choices, choices.

I cannot tell you how giddy hair bows and matching monograms makes me. And Mike just doesn't buy that brand of excitement. WHAT? Matching pinks and browns! Does life get any better????? I'm fairly certain we could cure cancer and create world peace if we all wore matching monogrammed shirts and giraffe-print hair bows.

Think about it.

Also, in case you were anxiously wondering how the bunk-bed situation is going...there were no major head injuries in our first 24 hours. Yeah! Bunk bed set #2 (for the girls) has been ordered.

However. The loud thunk that occurs when the children catapult themselves from the ladder to the floor takes some getting used to. I have trained my body not to react as if a large meteor has just crashed through our roof and burned our second floor to smithereens.

What this means: Should a large, fiery rock enter the earth's atmosphere at the precise coordinates of our home, I will be rendered useless....

...but the pink/brown monogram and giraffe hair bow combo would definitely counteract my delayed response. Powerful, super hero stuff.

Of monkeys and amoebas.

We have entered a new phase of parenting, where we accept the monkey-like attributes of our children and, therefore, provide an apparatus from which they can dangle and swing and inappropriately scratch.

Bunk beds.

Following the lamp-breaking-incident of '05, the boys have been "imprisoned" in a room containing ZERO pieces of furniture. Seriously, zero--as in two mattresses on the floor, as they were not to be trusted with light fixtures, end tables, bed frames. There is something strangely Lord-of-the-fly-ish that happens with young boys, where in I catch subtle hints of masculine tribal rituals and battles for dominance at moments when they are left to their own devices.

Hence, no wood. No metal. No items capable of conducting electric current. It is safer that way, as it relates to the rules of social order in our home.

So the boys went from nothing, to a jungle gym with padding (mattresses). I liken it to being a strict Southern Baptist who goes on a life-long heroine binge. Such is their frantic excitement and enthusiasm.

After MUCH research, we settled on this bunk bed set from Wal-mart. It was the cheapest we found, the look we wanted and they are sturdy! Color me impressed.

Also. In the process of readying my van to receive the furniture-version-of-crack-cocaine, it appears that I created/discovered an excellent recipe for snack mix.

It involves the mixing of various crackers and food remnants, over 5 years. In the crevices of a mini-van. Throw in some rocks, some Sunday school reading material. Bits of styrofoam. Oh! I guarantee there is a Lego in there. Bake and freeze, 6 months at a time.

The wide angle shot REALLY does it justice, but the lighting made it blurry and obscure--so you'll just have to trust me when I say that large colonies of amoebas have been thriving in my mini (van) and plotting to take control of the earth.

Here's to thwarting another sinister plan by hairy germs with feet.

The twins have assumed new racial identities and alter egos.

Last night, we received Big J and L's much needed glasses. Their eyeballs thank us greatly.

Interestingly enough, adding glasses to Big J's face makes him appear as a totally different child. Can't put my finger on it exactly, but I feel quite certain that I should no longer be calling him "J", but Raoul. Or Rauol. Or Ra-ULE. Or rrrrrrRa-oul.

You get the point, though I am slow with the spelling of Latin names. Or French names. Or Italian names. Or whatever kind of name Raoul is, because my google search of it popped up references to every country except Japan. In the Orient, he would go by Ra-u-Ru.

Do I think Big J looks Latin with glasses? No. But he looks different and we're just going to blame it on an ambiguous ethnicity. How about Suriname? Maybe his name is Ra-ULE and he is Surinamian. Or Surinamese.

That sounds plausible.

L, on the other hand? Definitely still Asian.

So if we wanted to give her a new, fun alter-ego, I think we should call her Barbara. Barbara from Bismarck. Or South Wales.

L (or Barbara) received the same pair of glasses we bought two years ago, this time in a lovely purple shade. Her face has grown NOT ONE IOTA in two years. And while her little face fits perfectly with her little Asian body, it is possible that we will have a Beetlejuice situation here in a few years (teeny head, normal body). In the meantime, we are utilizing hairbows to create the illusion of width and height.

At one point today, I caught her wheeling her glasses around in our baby doll stroller.

Sigh.

On the one hand. I am encouraged by her maternal love for the glasses. But. The road to keeping these things on her face without the use of glue/duct tape/straight jacket restraint will be long and difficult with this one.

I will let you know if she manages to lose/hide/paint/give a haircut to her new glasses in her first 48 hours of ownership.

Happy Friday!

My priorities, as they relate to crafting and general cleanliness.

Today I decided to paint something. Specifically, a really generic frame.

I read lots of blogs that encourage the liberal use of paint in basic household decorating items. I enjoy the look. The versatility. And that is the story of how I was encouraged to paint a $2 frame that has sat in my basement since 1999.

However, I feel you should see the wide angle of this picture. The true state of my home as I craft. I am hoping this dispels ANY myth that crafters (as a generic category of people) are always neat and organized.

It should be fairly obvious that I craft to escape everyday responsibility. If you feel I was ever lying in these confessions, refer to the picture above (please). And know that there is an ENTIRE sink of dishes untouched as well.

I painted the frame, because I was looking for something with a little "POP" to put a piece of G's artwork in. I'm attempting to fill the space left vacant by my advent boxes, and the frames that I have put on those shelves are various shades of brown that are SCREAMING for a fun bit of turquoise.

Plus, I really like the blue with the orange/yellow picture.

I will note that the acrylic paint I used dries VERY matte. It could use a little luster to it, and I do own a bottle of spray-able gloss. But wouldn't you know? I can't find it. I am sure I will trip on it as I brush my teeth tomorrow, because that's how these scenarios always play out.

I will leave you with one, final, pathetic image, unrelated to turquoise painted decor. Big J came in to my room this morning chatting away, and leading me to believe he was well and able to go to school. Only to find this five minutes later:

Comfy. And sanitary.

He remained in that position for 10 minutes (which kind of made me want to bathe him in Purell), at which point I coaxed him to the couch. No vomit was ever produced, not a trace of a fever. He resumed this position 2 more times today.

Still no vomit.

We ended up at Cici's Pizza tonight, where he downed FOUR slices of various pizzas. None regurgitated.

You might say that Big J has a flair for the dramatic. Particularly in relation to his twin, who suffered with strep throat for FIVE days with no symptoms. POLAR opposites, those two.

It is apparent that I have REAL issues when it comes to genetics and the sickness of my children.

When I spend $200 at Sams and I end up with this gi-normous container on my counter, it just makes me wonder. Do I really NEED five-pounds of cheese balls?

Apparently, yes.

We made our way to the grocery store of giants today, as it was very necessary to the well-being of my family. We've been out of processed American cheese slices for a couple of days, and let's just say that our home cannot function without cheese of an orange variety. It is in 98% of the recipes we utilize (and by recipes, I mean sandwiches).

Also, in the absence of cheese we have unfortunately run dry of all other pre-packaged/ processed foods: Hot Pockets, hot dogs, mini quiches, nutrigrain bars. I don't want to over-dramatize the situation, but it was the perfect storm of desperation and hunger. Mind you, I do have an entire fridge and pantry worth of stuff, but is is all rendered useless without CHEESE.

However. This outing became a little trickier, as Big J has taken ill.

The power went out sometime early this morning, and as a result, my alarm clock blinked random lights at me this morning, which I understand to be alien gibberish. And as I do not speak alien or gibberish, I kindly ignored it.

Until.

I managed to look at my watch sometime later, and it read 9:02 a.m.

Holy crap, lunch is in two hours and they haven't had breakfast yet. Just so you're up to speed, lunch is the sun to which we revolve, as it determines the length of any morning activity or errand, and marks the 2-hour point to maps. We can probably navigate our way clear around the earth simply by tracking the lunch schedules of my children.

Normally, the littles wake me with joyous celebrations of screaming and squealing. But they were also eeerily quiet on this foggy morn. Because Big J was feverish and asleep, and not pouncing all over Little J. Hence, ours was a home of calm and inactivity...and it was weird.

A Tylenol dosing later, however, and he was fine. Not spunky, but fine. And he ate lunch and kept it confined to his stomach/intestines, so we ventured to Wal-mart and Sams. Where we purchased many products involving cheese. And so, apparently, I am the mom who takes her sick child to Sams, but in my defense, YOU KNOW the carts there are totally covered in the ebola virus anyway.

Just kidding, that's not an excuse. But we REALLY needed cheese.

And I learned that fever-ish-ness robs one of the desire to head-butt. Making this the greatest day EVER to run errands at Sams and Walmart.

Here is where I will also tell you that Big J is a fever-ish kid. It is his most common symptom, in times of sickness. And this year in particular, he appears to spike higher-than-normal temps at weird and random times, often as isolated instances from which he recovers in a couple of hours. Partially, I blame the set of genes he inherited from his father, who (at the age of 34) becomes sick whenever he: doesn't get enough sleep, gets on an airplane, eats dairy or makes ANY changes to his daily routine. Seriously.

Also, I am researching long-term medical issues and diagnosis' that involve random fevering. Because this is a definite possibility.

To recap: we have cheese and Big J may/may not have a genetic condition that reacts to change with fever OR a life-threatening disease involving low-grade temperatures.

Oh! And for good measure, let's throw in the possibility that it is STREP, and it will go undiagnosed for a week.

How to show affection with felt and floss and hair clips.

Valentines Day is around the corner! And while I have never been one to decorate in pinks and reds before February 1st, the consensus around blog-ville is that it is currently the season of love.

Project #1: Something I have been meaning to do with G for quite some time, but not necessarily for Valentine's Day. Last summer I began to teach her how to sew on my machine, but I think it's definitely necessary for her to know her way with a needle as well. I see a future in crafting, possibly surgery and definitely clothing repair....

In any case, I picked up that wooden embroidery hoop MONTHS ago (at least, I think that's what you call it). My thought was to have G draw a picture and then stitch over it with embroidery floss--but at the last second, I opted to pre-cut some felt for her, and have her stitch it to the fabric being held by the hoop. It was a perfect, age appropriate idea that she LOVED! I sat next to her and helped her get a feel for how hard she needed to tug on the needle (pretty hard, an embroidery needle is thick) as well as how long to make her stitches.

I do think that I'll do several more of these--I'm thinking of trees and fruit and candy, ya know, fun stuff. I'm working on kind of an eclectic arrangement of art in the girls room, and these will look nice and colorful, don't you think? I'm also digging the fact that it is a round shape, as most art tends to be rectangular and boxy.

Up next: Hair clippies. You might notice I am slightly "into" felt. And embroidery floss.

Busted.

Anyway, I made a flower version of these a while back, and decided to make some with a Valentine's theme. Since my girls wear a lot of pink on a non-holiday basis, we will sport them year round.

I like them best when you use them to pull the hair off their faces--but L needs rubber bands holding her hair back, as the clip, in it's own power, is useless. Allow me to demonstrate:

I don't know why, but this picture cracks me up. Possibly because I am modeling for myself. And wearing little girl hair accessories. In any case, I thought you might enjoy a laugh, and a photo of the clips as they were intended. Mission accomplished!

There are lots more crafts of the pink and red variety to come...but I've got to spread it out.

You know how it is.

Keep you comin' back for more sweet shots of me, the hair model.

I saw Jesus in a jacket.

One of these things is not like the others. Any guesses?

It's Martin Luther King Day, which found us at the St. Louis Zoo. It's a warm 40+ degrees here this week and we have recently spent a great number of days attempting to entertain children with quiet indoor activities. Which I like to compare to taming wild monkeys with art therapy.

So! To the zoo we went!

As I was preparing to leave the house, I was also frantically stuffing clothing bits and food particles in random boxes/closets/nightstands in an effort to "organize" a realistic plan for our cleaning lady. NEW cleaning lady, as I have managed the home for the past 3 years without any kind of help, and that misfortune has resulted in all kinds of ick.

Twenty minutes later and HALFWAY to the zoo, L announces that she needs a jacket.

BLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAsaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgh.

AAAAAAAAaaaaaaarrrgh.

Aaaaaargh.

L thought this was pretty funny. And my brain really hurt from trying to figure out how many minutes made a zoo trip successful WHILE simultaneously attempting to spell the word "fudge-sicle" for Little J.

I do not do well with "issues". Milk spills. Lateness. Lost items. Forgotten jackets. Dirty floors (just kidding! I LOVE dirty floors.).

In the scheme of things, we were fine. L had a sweater on and I had a hat for her, plus we were planning on seeing the indoor animals. FINE. But I was hyperventilating.

And in the mini (van) to a soundtrack of Lady Gaga, I realized, for the first time EVER, that not forgetting things or being on time or keeping a schedule or doing laundry daily or making beds or organizing toys does NOT make me a good mom.

It's what I do with the vomit and temper tantrums and inappropriate nudity and playfully LOUD screaming and playdoh messes that really means EVERYTHING.

Let's face facts--if you have read this blog for any amount of time or you know me in real life, you will know that I own my imperfections and in-abilities. I hope I am honest about them, because I REALLY like the real-ness of people. Straight up, I will like you better if you prefer cheeseburgers to plain lettuce. Very few of the friends I know well, wear designer jeans everyday, or have perpetually sunny dispositions.

But.

I am still tricked into believing that the appearance of calm equals good mothering. That "managing" equals being intentional. That the way I organize my day and the ease with which I survive it determines my success.

I do believe it is my job to be purposeful with the time I have with my kids--BUT being intentional applies to the time that is under my control as well as the situations that are so far out of my comfort zones that you might as well place me on the moon with a box full of legos. I tend to think of the challenges of having children as small blips on a larger, happier screen, but am beginning to realize that the REAL job of mothering is in the moments when I want to rip my hair out. When I am called to love and teach a child who is pushing every single boundary ever known to man.

There is a part of me that thinks I will be able to better enjoy my children if I don't have to dress them/feed them/brush them/scold them/put-them-in-time-out, first. And that is a SURE way for me to miss everything important and meaningful.


I was quiet today. And in those minutes, it was made clear that I was being given an opportunity to be a good mom in a less than ideal situation. And I wish that was enough to choose the right attitude, the perfect response--but knowing the right choices doesn't always make it easier to shake the frustration. I did okay, I got over it (eventually).

But I hope to be lots better the next time. And to show grace to my children who need to know that they are forgiven, debts paid.

I love this girl.

And hopefully she knows that love does not depend on a jacket.

Is sharing a picture of your uterus obsence, or just inappropriate?

FYI--The educational programs at the Humane Society *MAY* be a bit old for a first grader (and her 5 and 3 year old siblings). Unless, at those ages, your children know the full truth about how babies are made and born.



It was not a "full" lesson, per se, but more of an awkward tango around all topics sex-related.



About 20 minutes into our field trip, the Humane Society lady started her schpeel about spaying and neutering animals. "Taking out their organs so that they can't have any more babies," I believe, was the exact phrase used.



Um. To seven-year-olds, that terminology is terrifying AND unbelievably intriguing. In equal measure.



In response came questions of this nature:



"If you didn't take their organs out, how would the babies get out?"



"Do you cut their stomach's open to get the babies?"



There were a couple of other inquiries, but to be totally honest my loud belly laughs and body convulsing shakes made it impossible to hear.



I don't believe there were any questions asked regarding how the babies get in there in the first place. But we came dangerously close! And had the lady been willing to share, it might have been the best $3 I ever spent.



In all honesty, Big J, L and Little J had NO IDEA what she was talking about. They have no clue what an "organ" is, as it relates to kidneys and spleens and uteri and such. But seven-year-olds? They are PRIME for details. Details, details, details.



Why?



How?



Thankfully, I can blame myself for G's first lesson on baby-delivery and her refusal to one-day procreate.



Why?



Because a few years ago (at the age of FOUR) I asked her if she would have a baby someday. And she answered that she didn't want to have a doctor cut her stomach open to get the baby out (I have had two C-sections and she is all to aware of that vicious belly seam). She is afraid of the blood and guts of it all.



To which I reply:



"Oh, G! Most babies don't come out of your belly, they come out of your bottom!"



INFINITELY worse. But if she only knew! It's not the large incision or the big shot in your spinal column that's to be feared, but the all-night-cry-fests and spontaneous vomit and love of all things Teletubbie that take infinite amounts of parental courage and bravery!



To bring it all home, we toured the Humane Society and were privileged to watch a female dog being spayed. Whoa. From my perspective, a canine ute looks tendon-y and rubber band like? Much, MUCH different from the picture I have of my own dear uterus, as it sits outside of my body, in a metal, surgical pan.



Did you know they do that? Because they do.



Take it totally out of your body (I mean, KIND of, it's still attached), but it is pulled out and inspected and fondled and such. All while you are awake and totally oblivious on the other side of a thin paper curtain. After I was made aware of such GROSS intimacies, I demanded my husband take a picture of it.


And that, is how I manage to one-up the Humane Society peeps on inappropriate-ness, as it relates to the delivery of babies. Human, feline and canine.



The only thing that could POSSIBLY make it worse?



The picture itself.....

Play-date philosophy.

G was out of school today. So we went to the Humane Society for a girl scout field trip...I'll elaborate on that later, as it requires more than a brief blog post, in which I describe how G and her first grade friends received a bit of a lesson in the "birds-and-the-bees". Stray cat style.

Following our sex-ed lesson, we headed home for a play-date with a school friend.

Now. Call me crazy, but, I tend to take play dates as a big responsibility.

It's really my only time to get to know G's friends, and to see them interact on a friend level. It's ODD to me that G has all kinds of buddies that I know nothing about. Up until Kindergarten, G's friendships were strictly arranged and supervised.

So I take seriously the play-date, for it's usefulness in stalking the social interactions of seven year old girls. Which today, consisted of playing house in our basement, and some sort of banter about how EIGHT children was enough. Wha? Have they learned nothing about spaying and neutering from the Humane Society?

Story for another time. When I will also share about how my children were exposed to the uterus of a dog. And I AM NOT mocking this, because it was truly fascinating (coming from a woman who has had 2 C-sections and is in possession of a photo of her own, exposed uterus). The "ute" is kind of an obsession, I guess.

All this to say, that I do in fact bake cookies and craft at play dates. Because that is how I get to know my daughter's friends. Hell, that's how I get to know my daughter. It is my job. My only job. To know her and to raise her well--intentionally and with effort.

Yes, I would find it much easier and more relaxing to pop her in front of the t.v. or computer...which I do, on MANY occasions. But I really do take seriously the time I have with someone else's child and the opportunity to encourage GREAT friendships. Because girls have to be taught to love well...and unfortunately, if you've ever been a teenage girl, the pressure to love POORLY is overwhelmingly great!

Ugh, it is hard to raise girls. But a little bit of glitter and some frosting makes it a little easier (wink).

Happy weekend, everyone!

How I almost cooked myself in fleece.

So, today, I went running outside. First time in 4 months.

I *probably* overestimated on the amount of clothing I needed to be comfortable out in the elements. Because it was almost 50 degrees today, but I felt the need to outfit in a turtleneck, windbreaker, fleece pants, gloves. And a hat. Don't forget the hat.

I fear cold, as maybe you gathered, based on my frozen tundra prepared-ness in near-tropical conditions (50 degrees IS near tropical in the Midwest, in January).

And my body temperature was 106 degrees before I left the driveway, which probably qualified me for a good doseage of tylenol based on layering alone.

But I was too lazy to turn back around and rethink my clothing selections, so I continued on my way. NOT a good sign.

I did run, but it was quickly apparent that I will not be any kind of prepared for a half-marathon come April. Unless, you equate being prepared to hyperventilation and debilitating muscle atrophy.

Also, it is hard to run when you skin is liquifying under clothing-based heat.

I picked the little kids up from school and we headed to retreive G, forgetting of course, that we had a girl scout cookie meeting. Which I would have gladly skipped, but for the fact that G really wanted to attend the meeting so that she could run wild for 10 minutes with her friends.


At the meeting, it was made clear to me that L had been wearing her undies all kinds of wrong, for at least 20 hours. I'm not even sure how she managed it, nor, how we overlooked it for almost an entire day. Be that as it may, L wore kind of a puffy-half-thong contraption at a time when I though we were making headway on independent dressing. Sigh.

Tomorrow, we are headed to a field trip at the local Humane Society--which my kids will LOVE, based on their affection for stuffed kitties and such. I am fairly certain that L will find it fascinating that felines have arms and legs and non-bowling-pin shaped bodies. It will be our first lesson in biology, or whatever science relates to the formation of kitty parts.

Here is also where I will put to print my suspicions that my children are secretly made of lego and slowly shedding cube-like skin cells throughout the house. Because the legos are every-freaking-where and I just can't explain it.

Because it CERTAINLY couldn't be my housekeeping skills.

Eat. Laugh. Love. Pray. Enjoy. Smile.

So I've started working on a few random projects. And I say "few," because projects come in packs of threes around here, as a way to trick my short attention span into believing it is being productive.

Last year, I had the bright idea to make new placemats. While it might appear that I love to decorate in Dora/Diego/Spiderman themes, I am not so found of obnoxious cartoon characters on everything I own (contrary to the aesthetic tastes of the littles). Fabric placemats are an option, but extremely impractical in the amount of milk/soup/bodily fluids they soak up in a single day. It kind of grosses me out.

What to do.

Create a hybrid breed of placemat! Cute AND wipeable.

I searched for oilcloth or laminated fabric, but came up short with options. Okay, I looked at one store, but they didn't have anything that would work.

So one day, I was strolling through TJ Maxx and found a cheap, plastic-y type table cloth for $3. Ding, ding, ding. Placemats!!! This one has that fuzzy white backing that allows it to grip to the table you use it on. My vision was to use the plastic side as the placemat, and sew a contrasting piece of fabric to the back, to make it cute!

I used one of the kids placemats as a guide, traced it onto the tablecloth and cut. Repeated, 5 times. Very scientific. I did the exact same thing with random fabrics I had around the house, to create the backings for each placemat.

I was going to embellish with names, but decided that I like action verbs--Eat, Laugh, Love, Pray, Smile, Enjoy. Next, I used "Wunder-Under"--the fusible adhesive that irons on to fabrics--it is PERFECT for making appliques, as it has a nice paper backing that you can draw your letters directly onto (in REVERSE...if you draw them as you see them, your letters will be backward!). My INTENTION was to have each letter backed with this adhesive, so that I could iron them on to the placemats.

INTENTION. Because the iron disintegrated the plastic placemat coating in .00001 seconds, resulting in this:

I'm sure there was some chemistry lesson I slept through that would have taught me not to put a hot iron on a plastic surface. Wait, maybe just common sense would have done it. But in my defense, I ASSUMED that it would be resilient enough to handle a hot dryer, why not an iron????

Needless to say, using the "Wunder-Under" to adhere the letters is NOT a good plan. I repeat, NOT A GOOD PLAN. Without the W.U. (as we'll call it), the fabric will fray as you work with it, but I kind of think that adds character. If you disagree, use felt, and you will be fray-free!

I basically placed the letters on the plastic placemats, and stitched them on using my machine. The stitches are NOT perfect...again, I like to think of it as charm! I used all kinds of thread colors, none matching...PERSONALITY! Once the letters were in place, I added the fabric backing--placed right sides of the placemat and backing together and sewed a seam all the way around, saving a couple of inches at the end to turn it right side out again.

Just to top it all off, and flatten things out, I top-stitched over the entire placemat (on right sides). I'm officially done with two, and have high hopes that the other four will be complete by Thanksgiving. Fingers crossed!

Happy Sewing!

Another one bites the dust.

This morning, Little J presented with severe cold symptoms, the most pathetic being a lower lip that quivered and touched his knees. Following a requested breakfast of Oatmeal bars, he sat himself on the couch and quivered all morning. Very sad.

The Oatmeal bar threw me for a loop, as I asked myself, "Who would ask for the most rough and pointy of breakfast foods if their throat hurt like Satan's fire den?

When asked, Little J has been very consistent in saying his leg hurt. It is completely possible I am missing a fracture of some sort, based on my track record over the past week. Also completely possible that I have done a POOR job in teaching him the names for his body parts (because you just don't think about that with #4). So, in Little J language, leg may equal throat.

However. Since we have covered my AWE-SOME-ness in leaving L's strep throat undiagnosed for upwards of 5 days, I wasn't going to take the fall again. Back to Walgreens we go.

I LOVE that place. LOOOOVE. Because today we walked right in, got a throat culture and BINGO!

Proud owners of another strep-infected child.

However. I will say that I am a fan of strep, as far as infectious viruses go! Because all it takes is a day of antibiotics, and the kid is be-bopping all over the place, no longer passing his/her sick germs to the rest of civilization.

In the spirit of all this sickness, I have been inspired to clean and organize with GUSTO! Beginning with a thorough bleach-soak of the kitchen and bathroom. Plus doorhandles.

And I have organized YEARS worth of children's artwork, including (but not limited to) the large stash I shoved under my bed years ago, in an attempt to de-clutter the visible parts of our home! No strep germs there!

And then! I remembered that some sort of not-for-profit is sending a truck to our street tomorrow to collect household items/toys/clothes and so I decided to get rid of some things--so thankfully, they won't pull up to our house for the MILLIONTH time, and realize I left nothing, 'cuz I forgot.

Included in my donation are an awesome pair of black polyester pants I wore in college. I think it was time, but there is still some remorse involved. However. My house is now rid of the strep germs that linger on synthetic materials, circa 1995.

And I realized that most of what's in my closet is past it's time, but that I am clinging to it for it's emotional value (shocker). Stuff I wore for college graduation, on my first date with Mike (overalls) which might be useful for a barn dance or a Halloween costume, old faithful boots that served me well in their season.

For now, I am dying a small death with the polyester boot-legs.

Let me regale you with tales of my awesome-ness.

This all begins with the issue I may have *unfairly* and inadvertently blamed on L's Asian genetics. Crazy!



On Saturday, after DAYS of fighting L to eat anything, I decided to take her to the Walgreen's clinic. I totally had it diagnosed, though, as I was enlightened at some point that morning to the possibility of an ear infection. Made all kinds of sense, when compared to my preceding explanation, that our Asian ancestors were/are impacting her current health conditions.

The nurse practitioner takes a look at L, who has no signs of sickness, but all the classic indicators of an ear infection.



Until.



She points out her throat glands. And by golly, I can see them across the room.



Whoops. It's Strep. Culture confirms it.



And I am SOOOOOO glad I have been forcing food down L, an hour at a time for the past 5 days, when it probably felt like I was choking her with liquid-hot magma. It explains all the gagging and crying. I am awe-some.



Also.

I made the white chicken chili I talked about in THIS post. You might recall that it was neither white nor chili like in my first attempt at the recipe...but, I am on a diet and looking for anything that provides more substance than a cracker, and this recipe is pretty healthy.

So I mix it all up, careful to follow the instructions, and what do you know? It looks like chili! And it is mostly white-ish!

Which means, according to my calculations (translation: the mad guess-timation skills of my eyeballs), I mistakenly added 10 cups of unnecessary water to my last batch of chili.

Yes. It is this kind of attention to detail that makes me an amazing wife and mother.

In news unrelated in any way to my AWESOMENESS:


We took the kids sledding this morning after church, as the temperatures finally climbed above the freeze-your-ass-off mark (barely). It was an interesting behavioral case study, as it was somewhat of a forced march to get the children there (for THEIR own fun and enjoyment!)--lots of crying and screaming and uncooperativeness when it came to dressing in mittens and boots.



To which we screamed "IT WILL BE FUN! We ARE going SLEDDING!"



The glee of Thursday morning's new snow had been replaced by apathy and disgruntlement... and protests abounded. And then we arrived at our new favorite hill and the children fell right into the pattern of sledding and merriment!



But the picture of snowy fun had an undercurrent of family hierarchy and territorial-ness! They would giggle as they mounted their sleds and zipped down the hill, only to start yelling about who's-turn-it-was-and-who-got-to-carry-the-sled-and-who-got-to-ride-with-whom-and-who-wanted-to-ride-with-Dad-and-why-life-is-so-unfair-because-I-didn't-sled-as-far-as-she-did.



It was very schizophrenic. Innocent laughter and teenage bitchery all rolled into one.

Without the aid of any medication, we ended up getting into a good pattern of turn-taking and Mike did some pretty killer moves on the plastic sled, where he piled children three-high and sent them downhill. It's pretty hard to be any kind of pissy if you're sledding in pyramid formation, FYI.

But back to my awesome-ness. I am thinking of making it a weekly feature. Because I am just getting warmed up with tales of how absurdly and wickedly awesome I am. I'm fairly certain it will blow your mind.

And you're welcome.

Where I debate whether L's small size is a result of feeding challenges or ethnicity.

Sometime between Christmas and the present, our L caught herself a cold. Now, colds for L come with a lot of snot drainage, as her suck/swallow technique is compromised because of her gag-reflex and feeding deficiencies (read here for the back story). Deficiencies, which I believed, we were moving past.

Kind of.

Whatever this little virus is/was, it is wreaking HAVOC on L's ability to eat without gagging. I will admit, that I'm not sure what percentage of this can be blamed on the gag verses the incredibly strong will of this child....But! It took us an hour (and 542 gags) to eat a half a slice of bread and half a container of yogurt this morning.

It reminds me of the days when I would sit and laugh and beg and cry for her to eat anything. Those flashbacks ARE my Vietnam.

It's just the remnants of a cold. It's just the remnants of a cold. It's just the remnants of a cold.

Which in theory means I should just ride it out and relax.

But.

L is five years old, and cannot weigh more than 32 pounds. Probably less. Little J is a TON heavier (he is younger by 16 months), but after his tonsils were removed, that child eats like a morbidly obese 65-year-old, so I'm not sure how to compare those two. In terms of height, she is substantially smaller than most 4-year-olds, probably about the size of a tall 3? So. Let's just say there isn't a lot of fat to trim.

Now, she is quite Asian. And I'm not being racist when I say, they tend to be little. As I learned from being the jolly green giant of Oahu (in my childhood)...and I am only HALF white. L is pulling a STRONG Asian card in stature and genetics. And if she doesn't start bulking up soon, I'm pretty sure that I will be able to carry her in a Baby Bjorn her entire life.

Wait. The placement of that last sentence implies that I have or intend to carry adult Asians in baby slings. I do not.

But the question remains.

Sick? Reflux? Strong-willed? Or just Asian?

You decide.



(Edited to note: While the opening picture is quite pathetic, please be aware that once L was allowed freedom from the table, she went straight into a bossy monologue aimed at one of her siblings. It was delivered with force and obnoxiousness, in case you fear for her emotional health and question my willingness to capture it on film.)



(Also edited to note: L is indeed one-quarter Okinawan. In case I didn't make clear that she is INDEED Asian. I don't just compare her to an entire continent of people based on physical traits. That's about as offensive as a desire to carry them in a front-loading baby holder.)

Baby, it's cold outside.

You know that thing you see in movies, where the "bad guy" smiles and his face starts to crack and totally disintegrate?

I know how you do that.

You harness the weather pattern that is St. Louis, right now. It seems that I am NOT a fan of Alberta Clippers. Because tonight, hubby and I went to see a movie, and on our way out to the car I laughed. And now my skin has cracked clear through to my sinus cavities. Not attractive.

This being the first real snow of the season, our city has been a-buzz with excitement for days. Which means, I had plenty of time to plan for a snowy day! Beginning with....



Hubby warned me that the temps were a-droppin' throughout the day, so our best bet was sledding in the morning. And he was right, per the unfortunate sinus-bearing incident this evening. However, this morning was GLORIOUS (minus the bouts of single digit wind chills). The kids and I loaded into the mini(van) and found a perfectly sloped, untouched hill/field at the park near our house.

We lasted about 30 minutes, and then headed back home...for hot chocolate, which the kids ALWAYS think they want, but don't. Being that they are probably a total cost of $1, I've learned to let this issue go.

On to our next fun project...paper mache! And by fun, I mean activity in which the children are all kinds of excited, until they realize they actually have to touch the icky flour/water paste. I coerced them into approximately 6 minutes of participation. I will go into greater details of this project in a different post, however, at this time, it is only important for you to know that: it will take endless layers and painting steps to reach completion, my children are close to bored with it already, and water and flour make a wickedly strong and organic? paste.

Tomato soup and biscuits with cheese for lunch. I include food in our list of today's recap, because it is important to me. Particularly as I am eating very little of it these days.

While I sulked and ate my tuna sandwich (on low-cal bun), G came up with this cute little mask. All on her own. Be still my beating heart.

How could I NOT jump in on that action?

Up next: board games. G beat me fair and square at Memory, but I carried out my revenge with Connect Four. We are working on getting her to recognize diagonal patterns, but it is a slow process, learning to think on a slant.

She did, however, have the last word in Scrabble Jr. It was a banner, snowy afternoon. And then! The babysitter showed up and I headed out for a date...Sherlock Holmes and sushi. Fantastic (minus the cold and the resulting large and unattractive crevices in my face).

As I know it is cold almost everywhere (minus you HAWAII), I hope you all had an awesome, indoor day. I have no tricks up my sleeve for tomorrow AND it's supposed to be below 10 degrees...brrrrrrrrrr. So let's all say a prayer that the littles don't set my collection of People Magazine ablaze while teaching themselves to light a fire.....

Going green.

So I went to the grocery store on Monday, and I got us some shrimp. Figuring (incorrectly) that I would just "figure" something out. As I discovered, shrimp does not pair well with other foods--well, not when you are on a diet and cutting creams and fats and noodles from your food intake.

A second grocery trip later, and we were in business. Lettuce, green beans, leftover asparagus (broiled), red onion, some feta cheese. Low-fat Greek dressing, as I am TRYING to cut calories. Because, if I wanted to gain weight eating a salad, I'd just grab a quarter pounder.

It was a gamble, as I don't really "do" cooking without a recipe. And fat-free dressing usually has all the charisma of water. I kind of hate water.

But this little concoction was freaking awesome.

I will also note that I hopped on the treadmill for a couple of miles today and it was painful. REALLY painful. It's been almost four months, my foot is healed, and I need to get a wriggle on if I plan to run any kind of half marathon this spring. Mentally debating whether to quit this plan...and if I can really call it "quitting" when I've only put in 2.5 miles of effort.

Also. The big announcement. I have been DIET COKE FREE all day. I can't really believe it, but may reward myself with 6 Diet Coke's tomorrow. In the interim, I have been drinking water. Plain, healthy water. Bleh.

That's all I've got, nothing too life shattering (except for the no d.c., that is HUGE!). I have thoroughly enjoyed everyone's surprised comments over the sexual nature of Grease (the movie)...perhaps the best way to get a comment response is a little controversy??

Okay.

I hate puppies.

Talk amongst yourselves.