Where I prove that technology knows my weakness for logical thinking and problem solving.

Technology is threatening to RUIN my anniversary. I think it's payback for dropping my iphone in the pool, bringing it back to life and calling it my bitch. I am SO SORRY technology, I take it all back.

All this to say that I *simply* wanted to find a wedding photo of Mike and I, almost TEN years ago. Tonight would be the anniversary of our rehearsal dinner, officially 10 years to the day that I flipped out at a local salon because I didn't think my "wedding" nails looked good enough.


I mean, what a catch I was.


Anyway. About 4 years ago, I scanned a couple of our wedding photos in, because we were married in the pre-digital dinosaur era. I have referenced these photos at various times. If you are my friend on facebook, you'll even notice that one of these photos is my PROFILE PICTURE.


And yet, I cannot find the damn things anywhere on the computer, which can only mean one thing. My iphone ate them and is currently pooping them out as electronic diarrhea. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I KNOW the iphone and the computer are separate beings. Kind of. The iphone still kind of wigs me out in the sense that it knows all things about my location and general preferences, so really, is it too much to believe it is sabotaging MY LIFE via some sort of wireless love affair with my rather slow and kind of psycho computer?


Deep breaths.


On a related anniversary note:


I have been told to pack a bag that contains clothing suitable for: lounging, swimming, sleeping, casual dining, golf, aerobic activity, spelunking, skydiving, snorkeling, bonfire watching and yogurt eating.


No really, my sweet husband has told me to be prepared. For anything.


I will not see my children for two full days.


We are not leaving St. Louis.


I am prepared to gain 10 pounds in 48 hours. Because for me, the kind of freedom that comes without kids is generally high in calories.


Any ideas on what we're doing, blog world???? I, for one, am hoping it includes frozen yogurt and cupcakes.


**Edited to note: of course the pictures in question were filed somewhere OBVIOUS. Like my blog folder, under the title "Wedding Pictures". All just part of the conspiracy between my iphone and my computer to prove, once and for all, that I am stoopid.

When misguided love and attention actually serves as a nasty crack habit.

Today, I was fortunate to learn the limits of my overall patience and well being.

Those limits would be attending a swim meet with four children, all by myself.

Dressed as if I was attending a *casual* brunch. At the White House.

With children wearing either: seersucker, madras, Nantucket red chino shorts and NO cartoon characters, of any kind.

It was a cool 80 degrees, which helped.

But my four-year-old spawn of Satan made it...difficult. It would have been more helpful, had he blown fire and engulfed the pool area/crowds-dressed-for-badminton-at-the-Kennedy-compound in flames. It would then have made drowning myself socially acceptable.

I didn't give my children naps today. But here's the thing. Three of my four children don't need naps, they are just fine and in control of their physical and emotional selves without a mid-day snooze. Child #4? Not so much.

In our household, a four-year-old without a nap is a portal straight to h-e-l-l. I'm sharing this advice, in the event that you also happen to see your child's head spin clear around his/her body. This is why.

I think this summer has been so tough on me, because I assumed we were entering the age of all-day-fun-at-the-pool-with-an-afternoon-ice-cream-treat-thrown-in-for-good-measure. My kids have gone to school in the afternoons, they've proven themselves without daytime sleep for a whole year now.

But it's taken a month for me to figure out Little J can only do it with the structure of school. Regular naps on Mon/Wed/Fri, school on Tues/Thurs. He thrives on routine. He did not get my memo about trying to be a FUN mom this year who is crazy spontaneous! Little J! I would LOVE nothing better than a daily nap, but I am dragging an obnoxious bag, diving torpedoes and 10 kinds of sunscreen and floatation devices to the pool for your amusement, so get on board, buddy!

My other three are enjoying our fun summer, but they think the overall soundtrack of whining, moaning and crying is kind of lame.

Because he is so miserable, I have tried loving on him. Catering to him.

This has made it 1,000,000,000x's worse. I have enabled his equivalent of a nasty drug habit.

Breaking said behaviors? So painful. I would love to enroll him in Celebrity Rehab (for whining). Course of treatment? LONG DISTANCES away from a mom who has basically shot him up with crack. Or tried to make him HAPPY, which apparently is the same thing for a 4-year-old.

Also. I have been checking his throat everyday FOR A MONTH, because I would swear his tonsils have grown back. He has reverted to pre-tonsillectomy Little J and it is exhausting.

I KNOW he is testing some serious boundaries right now. With ME, let's be clear. For everyone else, he is fun, life-o'-the-party Little J. I love him to bits, but what I am realizing is that sometimes, love doesn't look like happiness and smiles and fun. Sometimes love looks like rules and discipline and consequences for bad attitudes.

I REALLY want my love for my children to look like tea parties and the circus and movies on rainy days and special treats when they are sick. Sometimes it does. But mostly, it looks like the consequences they receive when they hit their siblings, or lie, or deliberately disobey me. We are speaking differently languages, for now.

And the suckiest part of parenthood is knowing they WON'T understand this for 20+ years. And I won't really be able to explain it, because once my children leave the nest, my blood-alcohol levels will serve as a memory suppressant/mood regulator intended to keep me in my happy place.

This is the post where I take you on so many tangents, it will feel like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

Let me start by saying I did NOT invent this craft. I saw a version last summer, and I just jumped on the bandwagon a little late. G and I spent Saturday afternoon tying fabric scraps on to the rubber straps...but I just felt like it was missing something. So, on our weekly field trip to Hobby Lobby, I picked up some of those buttons you can cover in fabric (1.5 inch diameter).

A little embroidery later and BA-DA-BING!

So this was going to be a little weenie post about footwear, but then I hopped over to a blog I read on a daily basis, where her topic was babysitting. If you haven't heard of OMG Mom yet (link here), go check her out, because she is HILARIOUS.

But she does not like to use babysitters (this has been an ongoing theme in some of her posts) and today she asked for thoughts. I don't give thoughts on the blogs of people I don't know very often (doesn't mean I'm not lurking). However, this would be the point in the post where I plead for your comments because they fulfill an inmost part of my being that longs for acceptance and approval. Blogs are all kinds of passive-aggressive psychodrama in my life as it pertains to my worth in cyberspace. Discuss.

Whoa, I am on a tangent. Someone feed me my ADHD medicine.

Just kidding I don't take Ritalin. My dog does.

Just kidding.

My dog takes insulin.

It tastes like funnel cakes.

Just kidding, you don't eat insulin.

Just kidding, you do.

Just kidding.

(Sorry, channelling Saturday Night Live. Just kidding. Okay, not kidding about the kidding.)

ANYWAY.

Mike and I have always had babysitters, to varying degrees. When I was on bedrest, we hired a full-time nanny, though I HATE that word, it makes me feel like I should be drinking martinis and going to the opera, or some fancy crap like that. For the record, I was a bi#$! on wheels when we had a nanny, because I really hate someone trying to "do" my life. Which I fail at daily, so it's awesomely horrific to watch someone handle it seamlessly. I probably should have told her she needed to cry in a closet for 15 minutes everyday, that would have brought it back to reality a little, I think. Anyway, as I was confined to my lazy boy, our nanny used to have to do EVERYTHING, including grocery store runs, and it KILLED me that she bought the bag salad with the carrot shavings in it. I SAID ROMAINE LEAVES ONLY!! The horror.

For a lot of our years, we've hired a part-time sitter for 10-15 hours a week, with a varied schedule, just so I had some down time, and we could get a night or two out a week. We felt we needed to hire someone, because at the time L was on her feeding tube (and we had 3 other kids), which meant we couldn't just call up someone random and ask them to just be-bop over for an evening. Not without learning how to hook a tube straight into L's stomach. Sitter prospects that didn't vomit on the spot were usually hired.

But even when it was just G, we got sitters. Everyone we know did. Maybe that's why I didn't think it was weird? Well, and then the wonder twins came along and it was VERY APPARENT that I couldn't do it alone. Not with having a 2-year-0ld at home and twins in the NICU for 6 months (not to mention the 13 weeks of bedrest). There was NO way. I was barely serving all three of my children at the time, and that was with the help of a village.

If I think about it, I would definitely have to say that it was good for me to have sitters. Because I have the tendency to be a perfectionist (no, you say, not after that Romaine lettuce comment). I am DEFINITELY that way with my oldest daughter, and there is some work to be done to reverse some of the damage I've inflicted. Mostly because she is very hard on herself and doesn't try a lot of things because she fears failure. For me, anyway, sometimes it's good to let someone else be in control, because it's totally okay if they wear dress-ups to bed. No one dies.

These things are not so much an issue with children 2, 3 and 4. It takes all my energy just to make sure the house doesn't burn down on a hourly basis, so let's just say there is NO time to work on phonics or sign language or make baby food.

I am not for or against hiring sitters. In fact, I've never really thought about it from the effects on my kids, because I don't see any negative ones. You can make a case for having a regular date night, or devoting your energies to your child. It's legit, either way. I just did it, because I needed it. And at the time, I thought I needed it for my SANITY, but really I now see it as training for letting them GO.

For which, 18 years is not enough time.

We are very fortunate to count our pastor and his wife as friends, and they are INCREDIBLE examples of great parents (fyi, their daughter was our first non-family sitter EVER). We've been to every parenting class they've taught, and one of the things that always sticks out is the way they raise their kids to be independent. To train them, over 18 years, to handle life. If they stick to certain rules throughout high school, then they live curfew-free their senior year. Brilliant idea, as far as it lets you see how your children will react to freedom, before they actually leave the nest.

You would think that training them to be responsible, in terms of making good choices, managing money, taking care of themselves, studying, etc., begins in middle school/high school right?

Wrong.

Those lessons might click for them at older ages, but it's all about how I am training myself, as a parent.

I can't pick out my kids clothes everyday (still do) for fear that they won't, GASP!, match with a coordinated hair bow...and then expect that I'll be *okay* giving them the freedom to study for a test. As it stands, I am on my way to being the mom that does her kids science projects, because I don't trust they'll put polka dots on their posters. I don't let go very easily. No really, I don't. I know I seem all cool and relaxed and yeah-man-let's-just-see-what-it's-like-to-bathe-a-baby-in-pudding. But I'm not. I can't handle change. I can't handle doing more than one thing at a time, because it means that those things are not getting my full, undivided attention.

Dear God, I have got to learn to let go. And watch them succeed on their own! And watch them fail a little bit, too. Life cannot be easy and perfect and full of A+'s and athletic honors and prom king titles. I have to know what they are going to do when they fall short, and where they will turn. Because if I make everything okay, all of the time, they are going to fall really hard at some point. And I guess, the older they get, the higher the stakes.

I don't know many moms that don't use babysitters, but I am curious about what you all think. Why you use them. Why you don't. If you've ever bathed a kid in pudding and how that turned out for you.

You know, whatever bone you want to throw my way in the form of a comment, which will surely boost my cyber-esteem.

Taking it back to 1987.

Remember this? Friendship bracelets, the stuff of social crafting and, in the case of 6-12 year old girls, another opportunity to impose the rules of cliques and popularity.

Well, so far, my daughter just thinks it's cool string that she makes bracelets with. But the "clique" garbage is just around the corner, I'm absolutely certain.

This particular bag of embroidery floss was purchased as a kit at Hancock Fabrics. And what you see is only HALF of what it included. I am starting on the friendship bracelets which will be given as favors at G & L's wedding.

Also. WHAT DID WE DO BEFORE THE INTERNET EXISTED??????? Thank you Al Gore, because I self-taught myself how to do all kinds of crazy voodoo with this colorful string and my next project just might be a bikini. I like, so totally rule.

Lately, we are suffering from a bit of craft ADHD. There is a latch-hook rug that was started about 3 weeks ago. Today its the friendship bracelets. Oh, and the 4th of July is quickly approaching.

Maybe next summer we'll introduce needlepoint.

And then it's on to world domination.

Adding to my job description: Part-time vet tech

Just in case you thought I was *lying* about our diabetic beagle, I kindly photographed the lesson in which I became certified to administer insulin.

Also, Bailey has been switched to another kind of specialty dog food. One that is now low-fat and suited to dogs with diabetic AND gastrointestinal issues.

A vet tech kindly suggested we leave our kids in the waiting room. Um. No.


As you can tell, they were in awe. And I feel like I taught them something to do with math and science. Or possibly, helped them to identify and sufficiently operate the MANY sharp objects/daggers that will now be available, in our home, to torture their siblings with.

Hmmm.

The shelf life for fat in a hairy blanket is LONG.

And now, I am going to tell you how the UNHEALTHIEST dog in history is probably going to outlive me.

We have a dog named Bailey. If you have read this blog for any amount of time, you might recall that I cried for hours one day this winter because I was sure she was dying. If you have ever seen her in person, you would understand this, because I'm not sure how long fat can survive in a furry tube before it explodes.

When we got Bailey, 6 months after our wedding, she was the runt of the liter.

And then we got her spayed, and her stomach swelled in a weird and disproportionate way, and we knew something was really wrong. And that something was an allergy to disolvable stitches. A second surgery and a drainage tube later, she was good as new.

The dog has eaten COUNTLESS bags of chocolate. We have called the vet so many times of this very issue, I can't even tell you. M&M's, candy bars, energy bars, a half tube of Crisco, too many loaves of bread to count. Our sugar container has bite marks on it, from where she once tried to violate it.

Two years after we added Bailey to the family, we had G. And the dog started to get lazy and lethargic, which we attributed to jealousy. But eventually, after much Internet research, I became convinced that she was dying of heart worm. See, I've always been crazy.

To the doctor we went. They drew blood, and OH! It turns out she had a thyroid deficiency. Which meant, she would take doggie uppers for life. They have ZERO effect on her, fyi.

Fast forward a few years. We had the sick chickens/twins and Bailey remained fat and lazy. And one day we noticed that she seemed to be in pain. And she wasn't eating, which is the ONLY activity she did beside sleeping. Dying, of course.

Back to the vet. Blood work, x-rays. HUNDREDS of bladder stones. It appears her body cannot process something in normal dog food. All of her food must now be purchased from the vet from this point forward, which is REALLY freakin' inconvenient at midnight on a random Sunday.

But now, she is 10 years old, and has had a slew of health problems since, well, birth.

So for the past week, I've noticed her peeing A LOT. Mostly because I step in it, just so we're upfront and honest about how her health is becoming totally gross. And I was about to kill her myself one day when I noticed blood.

Which got continually worse.

HAS to be organ liquification, right? Ulcers, some incurable cancer?

I made Mike take her to the doctor, because I knew they would tell us she needed to be put down. After the episode in February, I've kind of made peace with it, knowing the time is near. I figured we would bring her home and snuggle her and feed her ice cream (and chocolate) and let her sleep in our bed where she would proceed to snore louder than an 80-year old.

Only to find out she has the sugars.

Diabetes.

Totally treatable, with DAILY insulin shots.

I am not kidding when I tell you that she looks like she could drop dead at any second. And she's looked that way for 6 YEARS! But apparently she is the queen of obscure, yet treatable, disorders.

When asked how long Bailey would last with proper treatment, we were told YEARS. As in more than a week. With insulin shots and special food and non-disolvable stitches.

**As a sidenote, thanks to all of you who are praying for my friend, Becky. I got to spend some time with her tonight and meet sweet Sadie, and it was awesome. Sadie is doing great and Becky is hanging out and giving her body some time to get itself back in order--there aren't a lot of answers, but she looks and sounds better than she has in, well, awhile.

Becky and Sadie.

So, my best friend had a baby today. A little girl named Sadie.

Everyone say, "YEAH BECKY!"

Sadie was born about five and a half weeks early, because her pregnancy has taken quite a toll on her mama. Who has asthma normally, but literally has been unable to breathe without steroids and oxygen for quite some time now. It's been a ROUGH month for her.

But Sadie has now been surgically removed, and is currently taking up residence in the NICU at a local hospital. The same NICU, in the same hospital that my wondertwins once lived in, for six months.

And I can't say that I am sad, or anxious that Sadie is there. I'm a little jealous, even.

Because I LOVE that place. I don't associate it with losing a son or terribly premature babies. Or surgeries, or strokes, or feeding tubes or endless alarms. Though, that is DEFINITELY the events we witnessed there.

But that NICU, for me, is nothing short of a miracle. What do you say about a place that, literally, saved the lives of my children? I don't have words for it, really. Except that it has been 5 years since we have left it, and I still ache for it a bit. I still think of it as a place that breathed life into my soul, when I could have gone on living a predictable, selfish and highly expectant life.

Don't hear me say that you have to have a sick child to be a better person.

Cause I'm still rotten.

But I guess I always thought that babies were born healthy and wore onesies from the GAP. And all families wear matching seersucker. And children never whine. And math is easy. Scratch that. I didn't *think* those things, I expected them.

And then we had our horribly sick chickens (translation: premature babies), and in ONE SINGLE INSTANT, I knew that none of my crap mattered. Because when faced with my sick kids or a perfectly monogrammed family, I would have taken their ventilators and scars and oxygen monitors any day.

Though. I *might* have monogrammed their equipment.

And the doctors and nurses! Don't even get me started.

All I can say, is that it is amazing to be served by people who fight so intensely on behalf of your children. I wish everyone could know the kindness of (then) strangers, who literally saved their lives. Not just with medicine, but with hope and grace and strength and humility. You can say it is a job, but I will tell you right now, there isn't a monetary amount that could possibly pay them what they are worth, and what they survive on a DAILY basis.

But.

On top of all this hub-bub, Becky is still struggling a bit. Her body has taken quite a beating, and we need it to get better, pronto. I NEED it to get better, like, 5 minutes ago. Because I miss her and she is walking the tightrope of some heavy stuff, if her symptoms don't clear up now that she isn't pregnant anymore. I don't know exactly what it is that's attacking her, but it is playing dirty and aiming for her heart and lungs, and well, she NEEDS those. And I am praying that she is as well attended on labor and delivery, as I know little Sadie is in the NICU....

So, if you have a moment and could say a prayer for Becky and her family, I know they could use it. Because it's been a hell of a road, and they are tired and running on fumes and steroids. And they need to get some good answers, over which they have ZERO control.

Healing, comfort, rest, ANSWERS, wisdom, trust, faith. Got it?

Thanks blogworld, I owe you one.

I have a firm grasp on my psychotic tendencies, and just need an army to defeat them.

Okay. Just so that you don't think I am terrible, I did in fact, get my husband a blu-ray player for his birthday last week. Let's be clear that I don't just embroider him clothing for major holidays/celebrations. In which case, you must think I am SMOKIN' hot with a size-0 body, because my husband certainly would be insane (or desperate) if I was that out of touch.

Also to be clear. I would embroider something for my husband on every holiday and twice on weekends, if I could indeed be smokin hot with a size-0 body. He would probably agree.

**Transition***

Anyway, it struck me as I was watching G's swim meet tonight, that I might be a "winter-only writer". Because swim meets are the breeding grounds for GREAT life tales, and yet the only words jumping to my mind tonight were:

HOT.

HHHOOOOOTTT.

H-O-T.

It's just a theory that the heat is liquefying my brain and draining it out of my pores. Bummer that this does not happen with my fat.

Anyway. It's becoming a really curious thing for me to actually observe how parents react to their children's athletic endeavors. Myself included, because if I had the ability, I would prescribe anti-anxiety meds and twice daily counseling sessions, based on my neurosis. Which I am getting a handle on, fyi.

I've never paid attention to the PARENTS before. And I'm not talking about the obnoxious ones that yell and scream and belittle their children/coaches/other children/spectators. Haven't seen any of those around the pool this summer, thank goodness.

But LOTS of us are quick to notice the faults in our children. And I include myself in this bunch, not because I go through a checklist of things G missed in each of her races, but rather, there is that part of me that sees her as not ready, not mature enough, not competitive enough to really "get it". Which is partially true, but also suggests that there is a magic pill for it all coming together somehow with fairy dust and unicorns, blah, blah, blah.

Truth is that only one kid in every race WINS. And we ALL want it to be our kid. But mostly, it's not going to be.


And the excuses fly FAST. They are young, they are new, they've never done it before, their stroke isn't quite there yet.

Except, when I think about it, there is probably always going to be someone faster than my kid. The odds are just stacked that way, and if it isn't someone on her team, then it's someone on the other team, then it's someone older, or someone built more aero-dynamically, or someone who swims year round or someone who takes steroids. And if none of them are better than G, then I'm pretty sure Michael Phelps will smoke her every time.

I guess I'm realizing that "ready" doesn't mean that she's the best. Or close to the best. It means she can handle swimming a length of the pool with confidence and pride without throwing a fit about finishing last. It means she can handle finishing last. And that there is more to it than winning, because she is going to lose A LOT. I say that not because she is terrible, or that she'll never get better at it, but because that's life...and if she won all the time, then that first loss would be beyond crushing. Not to mention, she is performing an athletic event in a bathing suit. Which sounds like a NIGHTMARE to me.

You can substitute "swim team" with "math" or "soccer" or "cake baking" or "goat herding". I want her to succeed, for sure. I want her to know what it's like to win something, and to have hard work pay off. But also, I NEED her to lose. Because I need to be able to watch how she handles it, and what she does with disappointment, and how she sees herself in the scope of things. I need to opportunity to show her I love her, regardless. Because she ISN'T defined by winning, and I never want her to think that.


But really, it all starts with me getting out of the winners/losers mentality. And maybe taking a couple of Valium. And possibly finding a hobby outside of my comfort zone. Ideas?

So I might not be totally in tune with my husband's idea of appropriate gift giving.

Ah, friends. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement, re: my humorous and unknowledgeable attempts at video slide show making. While my computer remains on my sh#! list, I did not eat it on a bed of pasta. Yet.

What you are looking at is a photo of Mike's second Father's Day present...a t-shirt personalized by his 8-year old. On a piece of white cotton, which I frayed a bit and then sewed on to a Target t-shirt. I LOVE it. Mike, however, likens it to a piece of apparel that may contain cartoon-cats-with-scary-bug- eyes-wearing-human-clothing, which one might purchase at various gift shops on the Jersey Shore. Or in Appalachia.

Kind of awesome. Kind of awful?

He wore it PROUDLY on Fathers Day, and while I envision wearing it on casual Saturdays when we grab breakfast and run errands, I believe he finds it more appropriate for float-tripping or Six Flags or noodling or growing a mustache or Nascar races or ______________ (insert redneck activity here). Please don't be offended if you like these activities, because rednecks are all kinds of awesome in mullet packaging.

It is REALLY hard to craft for men. And generally goes over with the excitement/enthusiasm one might reserve for watching grass grow.

Father's Day 2010

Fathers Day 2010 from Sara Denckhoff on Vimeo.
Watch this. Right now.
It's part of my homemade efforts to celebrate Fathers Day. And it has taken me 8 hours and 50-frickin-million tries to post it here on this blog. Seriously, my computer crashed somewhere in the range of 84 times, just trying to get the damn thing on here.
I am totally in the mood to eat my computer, just so it can die in my stomach acid. And then, for fun, I will vomit it back up.
Also, my hourly rate as a videographer is $100,000,000,000 per hour. Computer eating/stomach acid/regurgitation is included.
Watch the frickin video. And leave comments. Please.
I need you to reconfirm my self worth.

How to hang Dad's head on a string.

If any of you out there are looking for an easy Father's Day idea...here's the details on the "Daddy garland" we did this week for Mike's birthday. This project was done with four kids, ranging in age from 4 to 7...VERY do-able for young ones. Plus, I tend to like the "Daddys" that have three eyes and a little bit of impressionism to them...


I bought a huge pack of Manila paper at Hobby Lobby (only used about 8 sheets). Then I cut out blank heads, and honestly, I just free-handed it. All of you who claim you can't draw...I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! We are talking about a circle with two bumps on the sides for ears, you CAN do this!!

I cut out 40 or so. We had LOTS left over, as one garland used 6-8 heads.

Next, have your kids go crazy drawing "daddy's" face. I also got some construction paper out so that my kids could put hair on dad's head. I think having some with construction paper hair, and some with drawn-in marker hair gives the whole thing a little more texture and variety. And I am all about texture and variety.

Next step: I used our cereal bowls and traced large circles on to various patterned and solid color paper (purchased in the scrapbooking section of Hobby Lobby). I could only fit two circles on to a 12x12 sheet of paper, so I bought quite a few to give myself some variety. If you are a saver, you'll have lots of big scraps left over...this is not the most efficient part of the project.

After I cut the circles, I hot glued the faces to them...I could have let the kids glue them with plain ol' Elmers, but I was awake late one night and just decided to get it done. Consider it an option for saving time. Also, you'll notice in the photo above that my hole puncher has gone missing (argh)...so I used a scissors and cut a small hole at the top to attach it to the garland ribbon. A hole puncher would make it look prettier, BUT no one died because I cut a jagged, messy hole. Phew.


At the end of the day, we had LOTS of Daddy heads...so I took some of those paper scraps and used them as backgrounds, and framed a few as art. They looked great on the table and tied the whole "theme" together.

To make the garland, I measured out a length of grosgrain ribbon that I thought would look good hanging from our mantle. Then I cut smaller lengths (approx. 6 inches), which I slipped through the hole in each Daddy circle, and knotted them at intervals on the longer garland ribbon. I didn't measure the spaces in between the circles, because I like a more chaotic/messy look--I feel that most closely resembles our REAL life. At least that's what I tell myself.

In addition to the circles with the Daddy faces, I also cut smaller circles, and glue gunned them in between each circle with a daddy face. For the smaller circles, I cut TWO, and sandwiched the garland ribbon in between with glue. Make sense?

I also think this garland would look all kinds of awesome if you took more smaller ribbon lengths and tied them randomly on the garland ribbon. Fabric scraps would blow my mind. Fuller and messier. Like life...or maybe, like Dad?

In any case, I hope you have a great Father's Day weekend...doing whatever it is that Dad likes to do! Happy Father's Day, to all the proud pops out there!!

Movie, golf, swimming, swim meet, GO!

8:00 a.m.-- Wake-up call

8:17--Actually get out of bed

9:03--In the car on our way to FREE movie Thursday

10:00--Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Squeakuel

11:20--Play (without money) in the arcade at the movie theatre

11:45--Back home for lunch (hotdot quesadillas)

1:15--Off to the driving range to teach my children to play golf. Even though I don't know how to play golf.

1:26--Narrowly escape major head trauma

1:35--Hello sunshine, how ya doin' back sweat?

1:38--Narrowly escape major head trauma

1:39--Narrowly escape major head trauma (I think you see my point here...repeat 23 more times)

1:47--Little J throws MAJOR tantrum because he isn't hitting the ball. Tell me about it.

2:05--Back home for swimsuits

2:10--Pool time

2:12--Little J asks to go off the diving board.

2:13--Little J asks to go off the diving board

2:14--Little J asks to go off the diving board

2:15--Little J goes off the diving board

3:30--Friends arrive, thank goodness, my children begin to play independently.

4:20--HOME, to do anything that doesn't require moving.

5:30--Dinner

6:20--Mike takes G and L to G's swim meet. Boys play together, nicely. All. By. Themselves.

7:20--Pop the boys in the bathtub

7:40--Lubricate Little J's ENTIRE body. I suspect he has leprosy.

7:45--Mike and the girls back home, G in the shower.

8:00--Children BEDTIME.

8:02--Decide I am TOO hot and TOO tired to go for a run. Brownie for dinner instead.

8:35--Blog.

That's all I've got for ya, dear readers. My day. My very busy, non-stop day. I guess the biggest surprise to my summer is that there is NO downtime. I can't even imagine what my life would look like right now, if I had signed my children up for any activity beside their swim team.

Though, I've gotta tell ya, it's not so much the physical activity that's killing me, it's the lack of MENTAL break. No time when I'm not giving orders, or playing games, or breaking up a fight, or negotiating a compromise, or answering a question, or asking a question, or trying to plan for what's coming next. I'm trying to find the balance between being HERE and present and purposeful...but also having a few minutes to myself.

It was pouring when I got out of bed this morning, which meant no swim practice...but also that we NEEDED to get out of the house. They are stir crazy here, because these days we are here a lot. It means they are all more rowdy and in each other's space than usual, and it never ends well. Also, they are full of sun and chlorine which makes them a little bit tired almost all of the time, which also adds to the issue of most situations NEVER ENDING WELL. Which also adds to the reasons I am hella tired, because it's always something.

Clearly, we are all adjusting to summer.

Celebrating 35.

What a day, what a day, what a day...perfect blue skies and *milder* humidity to celebrate my hubby's birthday. He did me a HUGE favor by being born on this day 35 years ago, because today was one of the most perfect-est pool days ever, which means that everyone and their awkward cousin was suited up to float in water...

....but I got to miss all that lycra love to go and have a glass of wine at lunch, with the birthday boy. Not that I don't mind playing pool toy police with our diving torpedoes and all, but it was NICE to be away during daytime hours, because the first 3 weeks of summer are kind of killing me softly with swim equipment.

Following TWO swim practices (at different times), one cake baking and a grocery store run, I proceeded to get in the shower and actually make an effort regarding my appearance. Hubby's birthday gift #1. To which I added the orange flower and RUINED it for him.

After lunch, I put the three littles down for a nap because Josh had reached NUCLEAR meltdown. If summer is taking a toll on me, then it is severely beating my youngest child in a dark alley with all kinds of black market weaponry.

Our theme for Mike's birthday was child drawn art, representing their dad. Last week, I bought some manila paper and traced/cut out about 40 blank faces. Whenever we have had a free minute, the kids have drawn "daddy".

For some, I cut larger background circles out of patterned and solid paper, and made a garland. We framed a couple, put some out on the table top, added one to our gift, etc. A lot of times, Dad appears Asian, cross-eyed, sporting BAD hair and wearing heavy make-up. Hey, the kids call 'em as they see 'em.

Here's our finished party table. I think everyone needs a little festivity, even if you are 35 and could care less about CRAFTINESS.

And after we went for a swim and dinner at our pool, we headed to a church meeting (non-ideal birthday festivities) and then back home to this:

Chocolate gooey butter cake. Which is really a fancy way of saying brownies. But maybe not if I cook it right the next time. Gooey butter cake is a tricky thing...you almost have to pull it out of the oven when it is in liquid form and just pray it solidifies. I think they should list PRAYER as an ingredient, because I have yet to get it right.

That's about all for our day...on to 8 hours of sleep before I begin tackling Father's Day!

Happy Birthday to my favorite husband!!!!!

Welcome to your mid-30's.

Happy Birthday, Michael!

I am pre-setting my post to hit the blog waves at precisely 12:00...guaranteeing that I am the first to write odes of celebration to you, on this, your 35th birthday.

I have known this man since he was 21, and have loved him for almost that entire time.

He is amazing to me, even when I call him FREAKING out over where G's goggles and swim fins and kickboard are (just this very morning, to be exact). Because G will DIE if she doesn't have her proper swim gear for practice.

Just kidding. I will die if she doesn't have the proper gear. And I am being dead serious about this.

But hubs, he can handle it if the swim bag isn't stocked. Or he can't find his ipod. Or he has to teach 1st grade math. Or his shirt doesn't match his shorts. He does not lose his sh#$ over any of these situations.

And that makes him my hero.

In the past 8 years, I have lived a life that is IMPOSSIBLE for anyone to fully understand. Except for this guy, because he walked it right along side me. I take that back, he threw a bag over my head, slung me over his shoulder and carried me through it like an army commando. Because I don't "do" life-threatening medical trauma very well, and yet that seems to be a major theme in our married life. My instinct was to curl into a ball and die at the first mention of cancer and premature triplets.

But he fed me milkshakes and bought me large oatmeal-craisin cookies from the St. John's hospital cafeteria. Oh, and he survived cancer. And visited the NICU with me every night (for 6 months) while our kids were there. Which is HUGE because he likes to be in bed by 8:30.

I'm sorry, blog-world. Did I hurt your feelings when I said you don't fully understand me? You're a close second, okay. No really, I mean it. Really.

Really.

But Mike is the absolute best and knowing me. And my baggage, which manifests itself in things that match, an inability to say NO, obsessing over a children's swim team and looking like I have my crap together (which I don't).

Happy 35th birthday, Mike...I love ya!

Now it's become a vomit-inducing contest, and other tales of my summer

In case you've been wondering, THIS is what we've been up to lately. In my 12 years living in St. Louis, the pool pictured above is rarely warm enough to be a comfortable temperature by mid-June. But because we've been living in a damp sauna, it's water temps are currently perfect. Which means, that come August 1st, we will be swimming in sweaty soup.

I took this picture with my iphone. But really, I need a neck strap that keeps it secure to my body when I am this close to water. This picture alone proves that I tempted fate in all kinds of inappropriate ways....but then, I figured out how to get the pictures onto my computer and up on the blog, which means I am all kinds of awesome and in control of my suicidal technology.

My children insist on wearing goggles when the swim. In L's case, this actually makes her void of all sight, as she is technically blind-ish on the right side of both eyes. WEIRD, I know. In any case, on top of her deficiency, she wears goggles that are constantly foggy, filled with water AND distorting her facial skin/muscles/bone structure. She likes it that way, because apparently, that makes life EASIER.

Oh! And update on the swimsuit debacle of '10. Which, we've discovered, is a defining line for the sexes. Thanks to all who commented...your thoughts were very insightful, as to why men HATE this particular suit. But as I've mentioned, Target's lame-ass return policy has mandated that I keep this fat suit, so I have now turned it into a new game, in which I attempt to repulse my husband by adding random accessories to it.

Enter huge flower. He NO likey.


Up next, maybe a fanny pack. Suggestions are welcome for the most offensive accessory known to man. Maybe a cone bra.

Lastly. I decided to get on top of the 4th of July with a couple of canvases for our front door. Turquoise background, white dots (both acrylic paints, fyi). I used an old baby bottle, dipped the top in paint and used that as my guide for the dots.

Next up, I found a font I liked, typed a "d" in a document in Microsoft Word, and enlarged it to 500 (I think). As big as it would go on an 8.5"x11" paper. I cut it out and traced it on to fun red polka dot paper. Mike claims it is pink, but it's not. It's RED! Muted red.

Stuck my RED letter to the canvas and Mod-Podged the life out of it. Voila!

Happy Monday, friends!

I don't want you to faint. But I have found the fat head with feet.

I. NEED. THESE.

As in both. But maybe four.

Roborovski hamsters, located at a local PetSmart. Fatness on feet, and they are like 2 inches tall. MINIATURE fatness on feet!

OHMYGOD!!!

And they came scurrying and pacing and frantically running on their wheel as my children stared and laughed and pointed and tapped on their glass prison! SO cute. Notice the belly-tickle action happening in the top shot. Yes, these are MY images.

I want to buy them and feed them marshmallows and spoon them with my pinky toe at night. Possibly sew tiny dresses for their fat head bodies!

And they will be called Pinky and The Brain.

Yes, I know Pinky and The Brain were mice. But they's nasty. Robo-hamsters are furry fat bubbles with feet. BIG difference.

The problem: Apparently, they are fast movers. Which means, we would be allowed to hold them/spoon them/dress them in silly attire, IF these actions are conducted no farther than 18 inches directly above their cage or cardboard box, in an environgment void of noise.

They *might* be tamable, but this would require training for weeks (performed 1-18 inches above a box). And by tamable, I mean they can be taught to tolerate being held in your hand and petted with the tip of your pinky, because that is the entire size of their body. But probably, they will never lose their startle reflex, which will send them running with any sound that a child makes (voice, toy, movement, you pick).

Just so we're clear, this ISN'T enough to deter me.

It is, quite possibly, an argument for teaching my children sign language, and NEVER using our voices in the house. For the sake of the cute, fatness.

And if you REALLY want to get crazy. Google hamster houses. Oh. The. Possibilities.

It's like having a zhu-zhu pet for adults. I might even see if they can drive the car we bought for our fake hamsters.

I'll keep you posted.

What I almost forgot to show you, and other tales of blood and gore.

Good thing I found this old post, which I meant to share a while back. Because the only exciting thing to happen to me today was watching my 7-year-old exit the pool with blood running down her chin.

PANIC!

Until I realized it was her tooth, that's been hanging on by one skinny, gummy tendon (or whatever) for the past day or so. Bummer though, that tooth was sacrificed to the bottom of the pool, where I'm sure it will be recirculated to the shallow area, only to be eaten by a toddler.

Kidding.

Any-hoo, here is another variation on the pillowcase dress, which is nice if you have older daughters (I think the original is better suited to younger wearers). It is EXACTLY the same dress with lining, only, I sewed two lines of stitching in the middle of the dress to form a casing for 1/4" elastic.

I intended for this to be more empire wasted, but the elastic band ended up hitting G at her waist line. That's what you get when you don't measure anything. However, I still like the end result.


Also. A matching embellishment never hurt anyone. The next time I sew a dress or a skirt, I am going to add button-holes to the waist line...then, I'll have a way to use G's hair clips as a clothing accessory.

When I get my crap together for a sewing night, this might just be something to keep in mind. If you're diggin' it. Because it takes 7 minutes more than the original dress, which is SO do-able in a night.

Somebody feed me valium and hide me in a closet.

If you have a child who might not care for sports, and they ask you WHY they have to play, or be on a team...

Tell them, it's because they will have CHILDREN who play sports someday. And if they don't personally know what it's like to be a child athlete, then one day it will result in serious mental illness and a wide variety of health issues.

We survived G's first swim meet of the season! Let me rephrase...I survived G's first swim meet of the season. Really, of her LIFE. Mike and the kids just showed up all cool and collected, while I have internalized this particular event with such gusto, that I am now showing warning signs of an ulcer and a nervous breakdown, on top of my already-present-and-yet-undiagnosed fatal heart condition.

Just another argument for HEAVY medication. And/or hospitalization.

But here's the thing--I didn't play sports. None. Ever. And so, the thought of doing something athletic, in front of an audience, is quite frankly, as terrifying as eating cockroaches dipped in the Ebola virus.

Last year, G swam in the 6 and under age group, which was all kinds of awesome, because they just let the little kiddies jump in the pool, one right after the other, to swim one length in every given stroke. Everyone got a ribbon. General theme: Sunshine and rainbows and hi-fives and baby kittens.

But when you advance to the age of 7, you are COMPETING. As in, time trials, and coach placements and actually trying to win (versus, simply trying not to drown). Swim practice started last Tuesday. And as of this week, I had yet to see G put any serious effort into practices, nor had I seen her swim a length of the pool without touching her feet to the bottom. As of 3 days ago, she would not dive off of the starting blocks, preferring instead to gently slip into the water.

There were no time trials for the first week, as the coach was giving every 7-8 year old a chance to swim in a meet. I LOVE that. But it also made me kind of manic.

Here's the thing--most of the girls that were new to this age group were placed in a relay. It's a nice, relaxed way to enter the world of competition, sharing the effort with 3 others.

G was ALSO placed in the backstroke. Which is her best stroke, without a doubt (and also requires no diving...BONUS!). Swimming with girls who are already used to swimming in this age group. I will say that G's backstroke is quite good...but she has only worked on it for, oh, 5 days before the meet.

Enter CRAZY.

Then I got to thinking about the relay. Where she was put in the anchor position, swimming freestyle. Last one in the pool, to finish it off for the team. Only, she's never competed. Or swam in a relay. Or willingly dived (dove?) into the pool. She's one of the youngest and newest in the age group. Ohmygod.

G is not competitive. She places herself last in line during swim practice, because she doesn't like to bump into the other swimmers in the lane. She does not hate swimming (in fact, she rather likes it), but she doesn't really focus or concentrate when she's at practice. It's really hard to gage what she'd be like during an actual meet, given that she had yet to really apply herself at all in our first week with the team.

The other thing I know, is that she could be quite good at this, if we motivated her. Last summer, she chose to swim a mile (they do this at the end of the season, and it's optional). She did it in a little over an hour, and was given the option to break when she needed to and use a kickboard for all or part of the time. She took no breaks, and used a kickboard the entire time.

Part of me thought the kickboard sort of took away from the fact that she did, indeed swim a mile...until her coach pointed out that she swam the entire thing using ONLY her legs. Which, he added, was kind of impressive.

Why is it that other people can ALWAYS see what I am missing? Particularly when it comes to my kids?

I tend to think the coaches were a little crazy for putting my daughter into competition, when I REALLY doubt she knows what she is doing. She's just not ready. She needs more help, more practice.

When what they see is someone who can DO this. Yes, with a little tweaking and some guidance to come. But she can.

And she did.

She was awesome. She ran into the lane lines a few times in the backstroke, which slowed her down. But she swam both of her events without touching the bottom, or stopping. And she dove. And she concentrated. And she swam hard and well.

I had it ALL wrong.

When I think about G and how timid she is, I know it is because I have spent the better part of 7 years "protecting" her from the things she's not ready for. The things that will hurt her, the things her heart can't handle yet. But when my husband crushed 12 valium and served it like salt on a margarita, I lost the ability to use my words and G actually swam like a rockstar while Mike hid me under a pile of wet towels. Just kidding.

But I do know that LESS of me is what she needs in the equation. Because she has got it.

Where my cool factor takes a MAJOR hit.

Okay, blog-friends, I am coming to you with an ONGOING debate. Really, my husband and I have been discussing my choice of swimsuit for 4+ months now, but I have also noticed similar confusion around the Internet. Regarding my exact bathing suit.

So now you get to weigh in.

And since you would only catch me in a full bathing suit shot if I were, 1.) dead, 2.) comatose, 3.) the age of 16, or 4.) so wasted that I wouldn't care if I was showing you my liquefied belly skin and my boobs, while I was at it...I am going to show you a more socially-appropriate example of what I am talking about.

Standing in my place as swimsuit model, is headless Target girl. We are going to assume she has a large abscess growing out of her eye sockets, since the top of her face is obviously unsuitable for our eyes.

This is the suit I bought, in a slightly darker shade of blue. I think it's cute. And functional. And likely to hold my loose stomach skin to my bones when it threatens to puddle around my ankles. You know, I would LOVE to rock a tiny, string bikini, but we are 30 pounds and 3+ surgeries away from that.

However.

The MOMENT my husband saw this suit, he kind of gagged. And I wasn't wearing it, I was simply holding it. Let me also preface this by saying that he NEVER gives me criticism over my clothing choices. NEVER. Even when I wore overalls on our first date (gimme a break, it was 1996, people).

But he told me to try the suit on, because it would probably look much better on my hot, liquid-belly-skin bod.

And then, I'm pretty sure I saw a little vomit come out of his nose, as he attempted to keep a straight face and breathe. In kind words, he said he didn't like it. And because he NEVER has a negative thing to say about my appearance, I wasn't offended. But I knew I had to return the bathing suit.

Which I did. Four months later. After my 90 day return window had expired.

So. I own an ugly blue bathing suit, but decided I would rock it when hubby wasn't around.

Also, let me state, that I am kind of on-the-fence about this suit, so don't think he shattered any kind of frail confidence I have in picking my own clothing, or anything. It appears to me as a conservative suit with some style to it, but Mike (and others) seem to think it's intended for 75 year olds. And while I like the idea of a strapless suit (with a detachable strap), it seems that it keeps wanting to *slip* below the line of decency, and when I add the strap, my neck feels like it is being bullied by lycra. I suppose I have a sensitive neck, but that's uncalled for.

OBVIOUSLY other women think this suit is cute--click HERE and HERE to see other

women who have purchased it, only to be faced with the same dilemma! And I consider both of these women uber cute and stylish....so what's the deal? What are we missing??

After reading OMGmom's post last night, Mike and I had a good laugh, as I tried to get into his brain and figure out what his problem with this suit was. It went something like this:

Me: So, why exactly don't you like this suit?

Hubs: Um, there are a lot of reasons. But I guess I don't like strapless suits on women, I don't think they are flattering.

Me: So, when I add the straps it's better?

Hubs: Hmmm...maybe. Also, all those wrinkles in the middle are...a bit...much.

Me: So, it's the gathers (real term: ruching)? That's what's wrong with it?

Hubs: Honey, there are so many things wrong with it, I don't think I can pinpoint any ONE thing.

Me: So, if the suit were "flat" and fitted, then it would be okay? It kind of defeats the point of trying to hide my lumpiness, then.

Hubs: If that's your goal, then this is not the suit. That thing adds all kinds of lumps and pounds. It's the worst suit I've ever seen.


So. I might not LOVE it, but the worst suit EVER? Someone put this into terms I can understand, because hubby aint speakin' my language. I have obviously seen enough debate to know that this suit can trigger World War III, and I definitely know I won't be wearing it in public unless I want people to laugh/snicker/ask me to borrow some Geritol or Depends. But I am somewhat worried that my sense of appropriate clothing is slipping, and that I will soon be wearing my pants up to my armpits and sporting floral polyester.

I need OPINIONS! And explanations that spell this out for me.

And also I want to know how many of you own this suit?????????? Because it came in, like, 47 colors, so I KNOW one of you out there has it. Fess up.

I'm not sure if this is a warning against sun exposure or pregnancy....

I NEED to remember to start putting sunscreen on my face.

We are 6 days into summer. And I fear that I will look like a scrotum come August.

But here's the deal. It takes 47 minutes to lube my many young children up for the sun, and even with their fair, baby skin I do a pretty crappy job. And the LAST thing I want to do after sunscreening young children, is then apply it to myself.

What I REALLY want is a margarita and 15...no, 30....no, 145 minutes of *alone* time.

True story: I went to the dermatologist for the FIRST time last December, and I was so freaked out about it because I was SURE that I was dying of skin cancer.

I am not.

But when you have been pregnant 3 times, and have stretched your skin over 60 extra pounds on all of those occasions, freckles and moles that you have had your entire life do *tend* to look like they are changing shape and color. Child-bearing friends, this can give you the appearence of cancer. When really, they are just ill-placed, stretched out, and never-to-return-to-their-natural-shape sunspots.

My kids are handling the pool REALLY well this year. As in, we have 3 of 4 swimming. It's a whole NEW world. One day, I might actually graduate to the group of women who sit in pool loungers and read, and occasionally throw a grilled cheese sandwich into the water for their kids who are too busy stealing my kids pool torpedos to bother with sitting at a table to eat.

In the near future, I might even be able to check facebook on my iphone, or some crap like that, if I didn't think that there was still a 50/50 chance that it wouldn't try to escape my clumsy grip, even 20 feet from the nearest entry to water.

Now you know, blogworld, it is a TRUE miracle that my children have survived 4+ years of summers without drowning, seeing as I have managed to kill an iphone in about a month flat.

An iphone, I will note, that has RISEN from the dead. As in, I can still hike Mount Kilimanjaro AND check the stock market...you know, if I wanted to. It appears that these technological tumors are designed with an *instinct* to survive major trauma.

Happy Weekend!!!

Nothing says summer like a craft that has the potential for disaster.

Alrighty then. My first "official" craft project of the summer. With all four kids. And dye that is VERY permanent. VERY.

I had always planned to do tie-dyed shirts with all of the kids, because G and L made some for the boys as Christmas presents and it was a huge hit. But as my girls don't wear many t-shirts, I decided to try creating a dress. Because why buy a cheap dress at Walmart when you can be like Gisele, the princess on Enchanted, and make one from crap you already own. It appears that our curtains may not be safe when it comes to crafting...oh wait. We don't have curtains. Seven years of no curtains.

So anyway, the "dress" is made from a man's white Hanes t-shirt...I cut the arms off, as well as the neck binding, creating, essentially, the wardrobe of lakes and rivers across Missouri, or Mike's outfit for hip-hop night. Next I folded those raw edges in and sewed new seams, just so it didn't look so skanky. THEN, I took elastic thread and hand wound it on one of my bobbins...using regular thread as my top thread. This combo makes a nice little elastic-y/gathered look, and I sewed three seams around each large opening (two armholes, one neck). Also, sewing with the elastic thread will "shrink" these holes up a bit, making it more appropriate for little girls vs. rednecks.



Next. I bought dye. I decided against the name brand tie-dye kits and went old school with the Rit.

However, I did have some of the fancy-schmancy dye left from our Christmas t-shirts, so I used that. And I stole their idea to use squirt bottles, because that is pure GENIUS.

Here is Little J's shirt--he wanted a "starburst" pattern. Basically, you twist the shirt from the middle outward and then wrap rubber bands around it. Directions also included with the fancy-schmancy kit, but you could probably google it.

G, L and Big J all went for a striped pattern. Here's what that looks like. For each child I created a work area that began with a layer of plastic garbage bags and was topped with newspaper. If you have a large, ventilated bubble, that would work too.

Big J is workin' hard for his money. Just kidding. He is workin' hard for his tie-dye. As a disclaimer, my mom was here to help and I did almost have my head pop off my body 6-8 times, but still, we managed without staining anything. My hands were a bit discolored for a day, but eventually it wore off.

And the finished product......

In the end, we decided they would become our summer jammies. And here's why: after being washed and having some of the excess dye come out of the fabric, it appears that my color choices might have been a bit.....

Feminine.

You think?

Math has been replaced by swimming, as the activity that rattles me to the core.

We are two days in to summer vacation.

I have ONE official commitment this summer, which began today.

And so far, it is kicking my a-s-s.

It will get better. But, our one commitment is G's swim team, which practices four mornings a week at 9:00 a.m. Followed by Big J, L and Little J's swim lessons at 10:20 a.m. Plus, some evening swim clinics (like tonight). Plus two swim meets a week.

That means four children, in swimwear, all lubed up and ready to party by 9 a.m. Yowza.

Eventually, I will drop G off at swim practice and come back home to suit the little's up. But as this is her first week at it, I want to hang around for moral support, which really just ends up being 23 goggle adjustments. I am beginning to *hate* goggles because they are effective .00067% of the time.

Just to recap the current list of things I hate: math, diving torpedoes, the word "panties", milk, people who kick puppies, pollen, Farmville on Facebook, my winter fat layer(s), bananas, The devil, bullies, foam stickers...and possibly, goggles.

Swim team went okay, G hung in there pretty good, despite being challenged to physically exert herself (which would, probably, make her list of things she hates). No diving off the blocks, but I have decided that it is going to be Mike's responsibility to encourage her, as I took one for the team this year by *teaching* her math, and I refuse to learn/model the art of diving.

To add insult to injury, my mom left this morning, and she was pretty much running interference between me and the kids for the past 12 days. Which means I am now dealing with an average of 3.4 requests every second, and my brain HURTS.

And then it got all kinds of grey and ominous, and outdoor play was out of the question for a while today, so I loaded up and took the kids to the mall, because it is the first week of June, we are hitting 90 degrees and I am learning that my boycott of shorts is UNREALISTIC. Oh! I tried to buy one of those jumpsuit thingies, you know with the shorts attached to the tank top with some sort of elastic waist band?

BAD. IDEA.

Then we went to pick up G's swim fins and her team suit (swimming is wicked expensive, it seems). The lady at the swimsuit shop tried to convince me to order G a suit that would fit an 18-month old. I might have been insecure enough to believe her, but G has -7% body fat and her skin was bulging out of this thing, AND she was walking all hunched because the suit was exerting great pressure upon her spinal cord.

Then we stopped for ice cream and came home and baked a cookie cake. Before heading out to swim practice #2.

I promised you pictures on our first official craft of the summer! It was a success...kind of. But I will let you be the judge when you see it tomorrow. After I get four kids to the pool. And the grocery store, because I am out of soup, and that is all I am eating for the next 6 weeks.

Famous. Last. Words.

Born in the U.S.A.

Summer va-cay is officially in full-swing! While it is true that 3 of my 4 rugrats were out of school most of last week, my mom has been here which has allowed me to lay in my bed, and craft, and read, and go running at my leisure.

One of my mom's requests this week was that the kids make her a custom work of art. Done and done. I even got to introduce her to HOBBY LOBBY, since Hawaii is void of any crafting super-stores. She was uber-impressed.

Anyway, my mom is REALLY patriotic and she LOVES anything red, white and blue. So we decided on a torn-paper collage, and as we are just a month away from the 4th of July, I am going to post it with a simple tutorial, if any of you want to customize some artwork for the holiday.

We started with a canvas that measures 16 x 20 inches. From there, I drew straight lines across it, each 2 inches wide. DISCLAIMER: I did not include 13 stripes! I'm not going for accuracy, but for *looks*, so in my world our country had 8 colonies. Deal. Or reconfigure the math to give yourself 13 stripes.

To make the blue box where the stars would go, I just eyeballed an area that looked visually pleasing. I used pencil to make the outlines for the star box and the stripes.



Next, we tore various shades of red paper...you'll see here that I opted for red polka-dots, a white paper with various stars and a red gingham. I like to choose paper that has varying colors in it, even though I wanted the stripes to appear red. Having a paper like the polka-dots pretty much assures that red will be your dominant color, but the white with the stars adds some extra depth and personality to the overall look, I think. The point here is to be a little abstract, ya know?

Here's our torn paper, so you can get a feel for the sizes we used. You'll want to vary your sizes too, again to add depth and character!

Now get your Mod-Podge out and go to town, one strip at a time. You are alternating, remember...one strip you cover in your torn red paper, the next you leave blank canvas, etc. Put a light layer of Mod-Podge down and stick some of your paper to it...as it dries (you'll notice that you begin to lose some stickiness), add more Mod-Podge, painting it over the papers you have already placed on there. You are going to overlap these suckers like crazy, and you will want to make sure the ENTIRE stripe gets covered in a final layer of Mod-Podge to give it a good schellacking. Also, DO NOT over think the placement of your torn paper...the more random the look, the better.

Here is a close-up of some of our finished stripes...in some areas, the paper was layered 3-4 pieces thick, just depending on how it all laid out. I made a point to cover all the pencil marks (you don't want to have to erase them). Also, if your paper hangs over the edge, you can use Mod-Podge to glue them down on the sides, or just trim them with a scissors when you are done.

We were going to end there, but the blank white strips looked a little dull. They needed something, but it had to be white (duh). And I didn't want to use torn paper, because I wanted to add something with...you guessed it...DEPTH.

A quick search of Hobby Lobby, and I found a container full of buttons in shades of white. BINGO! Bring in the hot glue gun, and we were back in business.

And the finished project...our American Flag collage! I'm loving it myself and thinking we will be adding this to our list of craft projects in the next couple of weeks.

Thanks for the inspiration, Mom!

Also, as this was my mom's last official day here, the kids and I enlisted her help on a DOOZY of a project. And I think it is going to be super cool and 10 shades of awesome, but it won't be ready until tomorrow, so stay tuned.