Time to change

Everything changes.
We change day to day.
Little things, nuances really in the span of a lifetime.
But daily there are things to notice, to observe about ourselves.
Good and bad things that we acknowledge, observe and either change or embrace.

I have noticed things about myself lately.
Some that I definitely want to change, always there is something to want to change.
But good things too.
Things that I am glad are part of who I am.
Acceptance of of imperfections in myself and others is growing in me.
I find that I can laugh at myself more and let what others say roll off more easily.
I am firmer in my own convictions, the words of others don't sway me as quickly as they might have before.
I find that I care less about things that don't matter. Mind you, these are things that I don't think matter in the grand scheme of things, you may care a great deal about them. So I won't list them.
And as much as I would never want to purposely offend anyone, I am not bothered by lack of agreement with others either.
I am myself. I make tweaks and changes so that I can reach my own particular goal of who I want to be. I am truly less and less motivated by what others think of me.
Does this grow exponentially?
Is that why old people say whatever comes to mind? Because they truly no longer have time to care or be bothered by what others think of them?
Is that why you see grand old ladies in big purple hats and bright lipstick?
Old men who yell at the neighborhood dogs all the time and want to give every child they see a lollipop?
Is that where I'm heading?
Is that where we're all heading?
I hope so.
I will be happy to be old.
To only care about things that matter.
So I should probably figure out all that matters to me, so that I will know what to care about when I'm old.
Yes, that is what I'm going to do.
And you should too.
Unless you're already old, and then, well, lucky you.

200th post

Unbelievably, I have found enough stuff to talk about to last for 200 posts so far.
And if you are still with me, well, we both need help maybe. Just joshing.

So what could be worthy of a 200th post? What life altering event, what happy occasion or ode could qualify as meaninful enough to earn the 200th post title?

I give you this!



This is the O Cedar Microfiber Deck Mop. It was all of 8 dollars and 99 cents, but it has changed my life.

You see, when we built our house, we couldn't afford real hardwoods for the entire downstairs. But we did not want carpet everywhere with 6 kids, and us, we're dirty/messy too.
So we went with a laminate from Shaw. We bought the most expensive one simply because it was the one we liked the most. It was wide planked, tiger wood-ish and quite lovely.

Now being that it was expensive and laminate, I was excited that it would be easy to clean, easy to take care of and therefore make one aspect of my life-the care of the 1200 square feet of it in the downstairs-easy.

But alas. It has been a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.
In the beginning I bought the ultimate laminate floor cleaner pack. Dust mop, cleaning mop and laminate cleaner all in one. Cost me around 35 dollars at Home Depot.

Well, it didn't clean that well and left streaks when I was done and any bare feet immediately left their mark.
So I tried a different laminate floor cleaner.
Same thing.
I researched and got other people's opinions such as:Vinegar and water, your standard mix.
Or Vinegar and distilled water so that there would be no minerals left behind to leave streaks.
Plain water.
Suggestions for every brand of floor cleaner.
And I bought no less then 5 different mops hoping one of them would work. All to no avail.

What I finally found that worked well enough, was plain water that I would lightly mist the floor with, and then I would dry/clean with a towel on my hands and knees.

Needless to say the task was so daunting that it continually got shoved down the list of to do items.

Finally, I had a melt down one day. I mean, I don't have time to wash the floor on my hands and knees once or twice a week. Which is how often a family of 8 with 2 small children who spill everything, needs their floor cleaned.

So I email Shaw. I basically beg them to help me. To tell me what to do because I am lost and a little angry that I spent $8000 on this floor as an upgrade only to have it be a nightmare that doesn't clean well and constantly makes my kitchen look dirty.

The very nice Shaw lady emailed me back and told me that most likely the different floor cleaners and methods I had used had left a residue on the floor that was causing the streaks and easy marking.

What!?

So laminate cleaners or plain water with vinegar should not be used on a laminate floor?

That is what she said.

She kindly asked my for my address and mailed me directions on how to get rid of the residue (which involved spraying an ammonia/water mixture, letting it sit a minute, then scraping it with a plastic scraper for spacking, then wiping that all up with a clean towel, of course on my hands and knees), which I did, and then she sent me a sample of Shaw's laminate flooring that really is the best one for their floors.

Anyone else sense a conspiracy?
So I slave away for a few hours to strip the residue. Then I spray their cleaner and wipe it down with a terry covered mop.

And guess what?

Less streaks, I will admit, but the second anyone walked on it, little foot prints and gunk appeared.

So I resigned myself to just cleaning the dumb floor on my hands and knees and saving my money to eventually install real hardwoods that are way easier to maintain. (I say this from experience, we had hardwoods in Rhode Island and Utah).

Then one day at Target, I once again, because I hope beyond hope, looked for yet another mop that would save my back.

I spied the O Cedar microfiber mop and just had a good feeling.

I bought it, brought it home, and the injured myself, so the first person to use it was Maile when she came to clean my house for me. I was very pleased with the results. But did not inspect too closely sense I could not bend over, and was too drugged up to really care.

So today, I decided to try it for myself.

And it is wonderful. Easy to use, cleans really well, dried with no streaks, uses plain water, and Henry's naked feet have yet to leave one mark.

I am as happy as they come today.
And it only cost me about $150 in different cleaners and mops plus the loss of my sanity, before I finally found the solution.

But, there is always a solution.
Thank you, thank you O Cedar. You have made me a customer for life.

Have a great weekend!
I know I will.

Time waster

I'm so tired of sore backs, and sick children and job change stress, that instead of cleaning and sanitizing my house or napping, I have decided to spend my time revamping my entry way.

Why? Because cleaning, and diaper changes and dishes are there everyday, no matter what I do.
And don't misunderstand, I believe what I do is of the utmost importance to my family, and I gladly, willingly, gratefully do it.
But this is my creative outlet that reminds me that I am more than a housecleaner/cook/wiperofnoses.

So here is the before.

It wasn't bad. It just was a little small for the space it was in and lacked something.

So I shopped my house. That's phrase I learned from the Nester.
I found things either not being used, or not being used well enough in other places.
I spray painted a few items to get the colors I wanted, I grabbed a table from another room where it had just become the Mt. Everest of things that have no home.

Here is the after:





A better use of the space I think. Don't you?
The table is a little modern, but I'm working on fixing that. I just need a pipe cutter to get rid of the metal bars, and some awesome fabric as a runner to cover the grid like bottom shelf.
But I'm pretty pleased with the affect, and it cost me no money.





I have a small collection of antique books. Nothing worth anything to anyone but me. So instead of hiding behind glass, they are there to actually touch, feel and read. I love that.




I especially love the books in the metal basket.
My lovely Aunt Cathy gifted those to us and I love that my mom and her spent time with these lovelies when they were children.




It's amazing how looking around at your own house you can find things that somehow just go together. You know?




On a final note:
I found this lovely, creamy blue lamp at good will last night. It has become the inspiration for when I finally decorate my master bedroom.



The only problem, besides the fact that I'm not so sure if the lampshade is big enough?
There was only one.

I can only assume that someone would give away something this gorgeous because the other one broke.
So my request of all of you. If you are ever somewhere and you see the twin to this beauty, will you give me a ring? Seriously. Call me.


All in all, I felt it was a good use of my time this morning.
And now I'm off to do the real work.
Dishes.
Wish me luck.

Family pictures

So, my mom was the highest bidder at a auction at church. She won a portrait sitting for our entire family. Grandma and grandpa their children and their grandchildren. I'm giving you the viewing pleasure of just a few of ours.


We like eachother.

We REALLY like eachother.

We REALLY, REALLY like eachother.
Sorry.

And we have 6 beautiful kids to show for it.

All the girls had some sort of red on.
Anne Marie had red and white striped tights.
Kate had a red flower in her hair.
Julia had red shoes.
Nora was fabulous in red.
I wore really cool red shoes.
Too bad you can't see them.
But at least my arms are red from the cold.

So I still matched.

Halloween's a coming!

Have I shown you this picture? You're in for a treat.
(I made it so that you can click on it to see it bigger. You MUST see it bigger)



This is reason 829 why I love this man:He LOVES Halloween. He is willing to dress up in the spirit of fun and Halloween good-time-ness.

The year was 2006, he went as Sid Vicious, of the Sex Pistols.
I went as a groupie. His groupie that had just had a baby 4 weeks before. So don't judge her, ok?


We went to a BYU MBA Halloween party dressed up like this.
It was awesome.

And in case you were wondering, he wore my clothes. All of it. Mine.
In order to achieve the proper tightness, and authenticity, he borrowed from my closet.

DId I mention I love this man?

*gaack*

The following timeline is based on real events. (imagine Law and Order guy voice)

Thursday Oct. 1-Nora throws up all over her crib and herself
Friday Oct. 2-Nora throws up all over her crib and herself and numerous spots on the carpet.
Saturday Oct. 3-Nora throws up all over her crib and herself
Sunday Oct. 4-Nora throws up all over her crib and herself
Monday Oct. 5-Charlie throws up, stays home from school
Tuesday Oct. 6-Charlie throws up again, stays home from school
Kate stays home with fever, headache and stuffy nose.
Wednesday Oct. 7-Henry Throws up all over sofa pillow, throws up all over office carpet.
Charlie doesn't throw up, but stays home just in case.
Thursday Oct. 8-2 a.m.-Charlie throws up again
8 a.m.-Charlie stays home again
8:25 a.m.-So far Henry hasn't thrown up. Just waiting it out.
Tomorrow?

So that just leaves Kate, Julia and Anne Marie. I figure if it lasts 4 days for each person, we have approximately 2 more weeks of steady vomiting before this clears the household. And that's IF Jeff and I don't get it.

Welcome to the world of large families, otherwise known as the life and times of those who continually have some sort of virus circulating through the house and family members.

Breath mint, anyone?

Bringing back the white stuff

I am proclaiming before the world that I feed my children.........

Stuff made with white flour!!!

Dun,dun,dun,dun!

How horrid, how perfectly evil, whatever shall we do?

Ok, so it's not that bad, really. Wanna hear my theory?
It's a good one.

When we were kids, no one told us on every t.v. show, in every magazine article, everywhere we turned, that we should only eat all whole grains, no sugar and no white stuff.

We were told to eat our vegetables, of which there was always 2 at every dinner I had to eat, and fruit was a common part of breakfast.

I usually had a peanut butter sandwich made with white bread that my mom made accompanied by a glass of milk and maybe an apple and carrots for lunch.

What I didn't have was 3 different kinds of fishy crackers, cheez its and granola bars to fill out my already bread complimented lunch.

We filled in the cracks of lunch with fruit, vegetables and dairy. Occasionally there would be a cookie in there or some chips, but not everytime.

We ate dessert. Not everyday. Maybe a couple of times a week. But it wasn't this big taboo food item. Healthy is about moderation, not about denying yourself until you can hardly stand it anymore and then you buy a box of hostess cupcakes at the store knowing full well you are going to eat everyone of them before you get home....

Not that I've ever done that. Ahem.

So what is my point, I am sure you are asking yourself by now.

Do I advocate white stuff or not?

I do actually. But not in the way it has evolved to.

White bread for our sandwiches, pancakes made with white flour, I'm sorry, but these are not the causes of obesity and childhood diabetes in our country. They're just not.

We all grew up this way, and there were not chronic obesity problems among children I went to elementary school with.

I firmly believe it's in the fillers we add to our diets and the couch being just too comfy.

The kids come home from school and what do they eat?

If mom is home the choices sound like this:string cheese, apple, yogurt, maybe a granola bar.

If children have free reign on the cupboards, their after school snack choices would most likely be:crackers, chips, bread, cookies.

Who wouldn't choose that if they could?

But when we were kids there were also not video games in every household. Cetainly no handhelds or ipods to play away the daylight hours.

PE was everyday. Yes, everyday.

And after school we rode our bikes, we didn't just plunk down in front of the tv until dinner time. That could also be because there were no Cartoon Network, Disney Channel or the 100 other different children's all day all night channels the way there are now. Which is also why we only have basic cable in our house. But that's another post entirely.

No my friends, white bread and flour are not the problem.

And, this may get me into trouble, but most of my friends mom's either stayed home, or had work scheduled so that they were there when their children walked in the door from school.

Which provided supervision not only for what food choices they made, but for many other choices that would effect them throughout their lives.

So I will be feeding my children white bread. They like it better and they actually eat their sandwiches instead of throwing them away at school.

And I will be making pancakes and waffles for them with white flour.
Again, they like it better and they actually leave the house in the morning with full tummies. Which you know is better for learning.

I occasionally get on a kick and add whole grain wholesomey goodness where they won't notice it because frankly, I like whole wheat and whole grain better.
But I believe that is because I am an adult.

I also like kidney beans and fish now. But as a kid I would have chosen death by firing squad rather than eat kidney beans or fish.

And if your children love whole grain whole wheat things, then good for you. Seriously, that's awesome.
But for now, this is what makes my children happy.

(that's me making white, homemade, eat it while it's still warm, bread)
So I say:
If you possibly can, stay home with you kids. They need you.
Let them eat bread. The white kind.
Turn the tv off.
And then kick their hineys outside to play until dark.

Childhood Obesity problem solved.
Don't you feel better knowing I have solved one of the countries biggest crisis'?
I know I do.

Yet another birthday

So, I'm back.
I'm well.
I can walk.
Yay for me!

But most importantly, my oldest child turned 12 yesterday.
Yes, 12.

This means a lot of things.

It means middle school.
Which means no more walking her to and from the bus stop.
Parents don't do that in middle school, I have been told.

It means no more Primary. She is now in Young Women's.
It means other people can ask her to babysit.
It means she wears makeup.
It means facing different challenges and events in life that make everything you've gone through before pale in comparison.

But that is how life works.
When you are in middle school, you think back with fondness on how easy elementary school was.
When you are in high school, suddenly middle school is remembered as especially simple.
When you are in college, the work load of high school seems minor.

Of course there are all sorts of perks to growing up.
For one: Your mother can meet you at the bus stop with balloons and flowers and embarass you with tons of love and attention.

Oh, wait. That's a perk for ME.







I think she was more happy than embarassed, really.

And I hope so, she deserves happiness.

Kate is the easiest 12 year old anyone could ask for.
She is always willing to help.
Very rarely rolls her eyes.
Loves her younger brothers and sisters.
Babysits whenever we ask.
Easy going, content, and understanding.
Kind and gracious, and so dang beautiful, it's frightening.

All this deserves something extra special, over the top.
At least it's extra special, over the top for our family.

It's an Ipod Touch.




I think she is happy about it.
Yes, those are happy tears.

The evening was pretty great. She made it easy on me.
For her birthday menu she requested homemade lasagna and apple crisp with vanilla ice cream for dessert.
Done and done.

I'm thinking she will remember her 12th birthday for years to come.
I know I will.

Someone to cry over me

As I sit writing this, I am in a slightly drugged up state.
Not as clear minded as normal.

But write I must.

Five years ago, I herniated two discs and tore a ligament in or around my spine.

It was pure agony.
Worse than labor.
Worse than spraining my ankle.
Worse than the time a metal shower curtain rod fell on my nose.

It was bad.
6+ months of physical therapy, prescription painkillers, and things were much better.
And stayed that way for the most part for 5 years.

Then came this last Saturday.
For no special reason, I woke up, almost unable to walk.
The pain slowly built, got worse and worse until I shuffled into urgent care on Sunday, and by Monday was completely confined to bed.
By Tuesday, even with painkillers and muscle relaxers in my system, it took 20 minutes for Jeff to get me out of bed, and down the stairs to our car, so that he could take me to the orthopedic doc.
I felt like the little girl who stands on her father's feet so that they can dance.
I clung to him, and he lifted me up, my own back unable to support my weight.
My legs weakened by pain, lacking the strength to walk for themselves.

When we arrived at the doctor's office, Jeff found a wheel chair for me, again lifted me from my seat, and gently placed me into the moving chair.
I was completely helpless, completely dependant on him.

The orthopedic surgeon, bless him, heard my history, took x-rays to make sure there was nothing new showing up, and then gave me a scrip for steroids. The best anti-inflammatory drug to help reduce swelling, which would in turn help with the muscle spasms, and the pain.

It is Thursday now, and and with the help of a back brace and some awesome, make me loopy drugs, I can walk on my own, use the bathroom on my own, and I'm sure my dear husband is happy to not hear my pathetic whimper every time I move.

But I must tell you about Saturday.
Saturday, Charlie became my hero.
Saturday evening, while Jeff carried 3 sleeping children in from the car, I crawled my way up the stairs to our bedroom.
Unaware that I was being observed, I cried, and sobbed as I made my way up the stairs.
The pain was immense.
But through my own hysterics, I heard someone else crying.
It was Charlie.
Still being a mother, I asked him what was wrong.
He just looked at me through his tears, and asked "what's wrong with you?"
In a flash I saw how it would look from his 7 year old perspective.
His mother, the one who comforts him, who dries his tears and makes everything better, was helpless, vulnerable, and sobbing.
And that scared him to death.

As I made my way to the top stair and attempted to stand up, he came to me, to hug me, to get comfort in a scary moment for him.
I asked him to help me walk to my bedroom.
I could feel his little muscles straining to help his mom make it to the bed.
He plugged the heating pad in for me, arranged my pillows the way I needed them, and continued to cry as I maneuvered my way into bed.

After tucking me in, he came around to the other side and layed down with me.
We both layed there crying for quite some time.
I finally realized I needed to reassure him that I would be alright.
That I was in pain, but that it would be ok, and that I wasn't going to die.
After hearing that, his crying slowed down.
I told him how proud I am of him.
How thankful I am that he is my son.
What a wonderful boy he is.
Then I asked him to say a prayer for me.
He said he would.

Jeff then came in and took him to bed.
Charlie said his prayer, and told his Dad "I have faith dad. I have faith that Jesus is going to make mom better"
Jeff came and told me, crying a little, then I cried some more.
What a wonderful boy.
How glad I am for his faith.

I am better partly because of Charlie.
How could I not allow his faith to also work it's way into my own heart?
If my son has that faith in Jesus Christ, how could I not?
Over the last couple of days I have layed in my bed, wondering what I am supposed to learn from this experience.
What weak thing in me is being made strong through this trial?
I found my answers, some too personal to share.
But I realized that I could learn through this physical suffering.

What did I learn?

First, that our bodies are too precious, too much of a miracle to be taken for granted, to be treated poorly.

That we don't always appreciate what we have until it is taken from us.
I learned that I have friends and family who love us, who have been willing to serve our family and help us when I have been unable to do a thing for my husband or children.
Meals being brought in, friends and family babysitting.
Offers for as much help as we needed.

But as I look back over the last few days, I see the face of Charlie.
Crying with me.
Praying for me.
Hugging me and helping me into bed.
His love for me showing through that tear stained face.
His concern for me beyond that of a typical 7 year old.

Sometimes, we just need someone to cry with us, for us, over us.
No words being said, just someone to cry over me.
That my friends, is love.

Oh Henry!

This was Henry on the day he was born.




And no. He was not born full grown. He was 3 weeks early, but weighed 8 pounds 10 oz.

The guy is still a little tank.



It could be the steady diet of sweets and fat I give him.



Not really. It's his birthday for cryin out loud.

He's 3 now.
We have had 3 years of dimples.
3 years of wavy red hair.
3 years of kisses and cuddles.
3 years of doting on this little man.

But now he talks.
When he is tired or sad,he says "I want you"
And we always say "I want you too"
When we go in to Henry and Nora's room in the morning, he sits up, stretches, and always announces, "I wake up."
When I tell him I love him, many times he will say "You lub me?"
And I'll say yes. Then he'll say "oh". And tell me, "I lub you".

How lucky can one mamma be?



Happy Birthday Henry!!!

Stay around

You know who you are.

You know that you're needed.

You know that you're loved.

You know that your sorrows are shared.

You have 10, you know there are more to come.

You've given 40, please give 20 more.

In the first half, there was growth, learning, experience.

In the first half there were little hands needing yours.

In the first half there was much of life to be figured out, understood.

In the first half there was hard work, and the blur of children growing.

In the middle you have found your faith.

In the middle love reignited, grew again.

In the middle those who you watched over, are watching over you.

In the middle new sets of little arms have wrapped around your neck, given kisses and loves.

In the middle adult children are friends~ eager to talk on the phone, share ideas, share their love.

In the second half life is good.

In the second half there is more to come.

In the second half, we still need you.

In the second half, we will all pray, and wish, and hope.

In the second half we will love.

We love you.

Seriously.



What is a heart to do?
What with the pouty lips, the long lashes, even the crusty nose and drool ring around her shirt, I never stood a chance.
This little lady has wriggled her way securely into all of our hearts. She has us all wrapped around her tiny, pudgy little fingers.
She makes a squeak and everyone jumps to fulfill her every need.
And you know what? She is already 14 months old.
Time is slipping out of my fingers.
I want the moments to slow down, to become molasses, to get stuck.
So much so, that last week I went into her room in the middle of the night and held her. Just because I still can.
I would do that to do the rest of them too, but I can't pick most of them up anymore.
Then a few days later, I brought her into bed with us at midnight. Just because I still can.
Jeff gives me a smile that is a mixture of "your nuts" and "I completely understand, but you're still nuts"
And I know it.
I'm nuts for the little monkey. For her squishy bottom, for her fuzzy, rooster hair, for the gap between her two front teeth.
And for the simple reason that everytime I look at her, I don't just see her. I see all my babies, I remember them all, the different things they did, the way the pulled at my heartstrings.
And still do.
And for all this,I have to thank my Heavenly Father. For loving me and teaching me to love, through my children.

Breakfast

You should eat it everyday.

Really. You will feel better and be smarter. For sure.

My mother was always great about making us breakfast before school.

We rarely ate cold cereal. It was usually a combination of eggs, toast, muffins, bacon, waffles, hot cereal, french toast. Not all at once, mind you. That would be overkill.

I have carried on that tradition. I love to make breakfast. More than any other meal. This is the one I'm good at.

However, hot cereal, the real kind that you cook in a pot, instead of adding hot water to, would not make it's way past most of my children's lips.

Why? Cuz they won't eat it. Sad, really.

But I still love it. I would eat it most days.

I recently discovered steel cut oats, or groats.



They are chewy and kind of nutty.

I like to add berries.



My mom picked these huckleberries for me. They are my fave!!!

I also like to add chopped almonds for their nuttiness and extra protein.



And a tablespoon of flax seed for good measure.



I top it off with a splash of milk, rice, almond, whatever. Some stevia or splenda depending on my mood that day, and I have pretty much the perfect breakfast.



Come on. I dare you to try it.

For Jeff

Date Night!!!!







You ready?

Love emails

Dear Amy,
Just a brief note to say I love you! I hope your day goes well. You are so nice and wonderful! I read your blog and loved it. I cringed with you all over again as I read it.

I emailed someone on freecycle for a 17' fiberglass canoe in Maple Valley. I hope they reply to give it to me. It just needs a little paint and sealer. Then we would have a sweet canoe.

I love you so much and love being with you. I'm so grateful that you were there at the Institute the day I walked through those doors. That has made all the difference.

Love,
Jeff

Hey my darling,

I'm just missing you. I can't wait to see you in an hour and a half. We have such a beautiful family. Anne Marie just colored on Kate's library book. Aren't they all wonderful? :) Luckily we use washable markers. I love you so much Jeff. I really feel blessed to be your wife. I made a little joke with my miss america thing about the nice things you were saying to my mom about me, but I want you to know that I'm fully aware how blessed I am to share my life with you. Do you ever feel like there aren't enough ways to say how we feel about eachother? It's like the feelings I have for you could never be adequately described in words. I think you know what I mean. Anyway, I love you. I hope your days will get a little better. I'm thinking about you always.

Love,

amy

We do love eachother so much.

And what's not to love?

(Close up photos courtesy of one silly afternoon in the kitchen, I'm happy to say we don't really look like this :)

Slobber and other stuff

I love and adore Nora. So much.

But the child drools, dribbles, slobbers it up so much that she was getting frequent wardrobe changes throughout the day.

So much so that she developed an unsightly rash under her chin and a matching rash on her chest from the constant moisture against her delicate skin.

I'll spare you the pictures.

Upon taking her to our much loved Pediatrician, I was informed that it is quite normal for children to drool up to the age of four and to just try and keep vaseline on it as a barrier and to keep her skin dry.

Yikes. Vaseline? That might work and all if that wasn't as bad and icky sticky gooey as the drool. So I came up with my own solution.

Bibs. And not just any bibs.

Most of the bibs I own are those velcro closure type used for meal time. Well, she was not having any of that, she would rip those suckers off in a heartbeat.

I had one with snaps, but just one. And those babies are a good 6 bucks each. Not happening my friends, not happening!

So I thought, I will just make my own, dad gum it!

So I began my search of the house for materials. I found a blanket that Nora used, that has been folded up neatly, unused for the past 6 months.

I bought a box of snaps at Walmart for 2. 37 cents.
And embarked on my first adventure in repurposing with fabric.

I will give you a very poorly written step by step, followed by very poorly done photos.

Not really, but now you won't be disappointed.

Step one: Find A blanket with lovely finished edges like this one from Walmart and a bib who size you like.



Step 2: Use the bib as a template and cut around it. (no patterns or perfection here my friends)
Make sure to keep the lovely edge of the blanket as the bottom portion of your soon to be bib. Less sewing for you, and it's pretty.





Step 3: Sew the sides up. No pins, no turning the edges in. This is supposed to be easy! I just used a wider stitch and got as close to the edge as I could.



Step 4:Pound together the snaps according to the directions on the package. I just used my big ol' hammer from the garage. If you have one of those nifty little ones used specifically for jobs like this, well, good for you!

Step 5: The finished product. Note that I already washed this one as well and there is no fraying or coming apart at the sides even though I left the edges raw. Also, the blanket made 8 of these bad boys. Which means I can switch them out several times a day as Nora drool-soaks them.


Also, I have informed the family that these are for drool only!! We have other bibs that can get stained with spaghetti and chocolate milk and strawberry juice. These are only for drool!!!


Step 6: Place on your beloved and adored baby and watch the rash magically disappear!


And that's all. It's not perfect, and that's ok. It's also a conversation piece since these are a little quirky/too-fancy-for-every-day-wear/obviously homemade. And that's ok too!

Bumbling and humbling

So here I sit. With my snickers and diet pepsi digesting, giving me courage to undertake the task of writing this, the utmost of humiliating tales.

First of all, you may ask, snickers and diet pepsi? Yes, since I have been a child I have felt they cancelled eachother out, and the combo of caffeine and chocolate is as relaxing and nerve soothing to me as I imagine wine before bed is for others.

Second of all. Why would I share this, the tale of my lowest point of feeling stupid?

Simply because I really don't want to give the impression that anything about my blog, life, etc, ESPECIALLY me, is perfect, or that I am trying to pretend to be perfect or give the impression of perfection. If you know me well, well then, my imperfection comes as no surprise. But I can guarantee you may have a new level of disdane for me after this. Ready? Here goes.

Let me start by saying that I am, what I consider to be, an honest person. I walk back into a store if I see that something was forgotten in my cart. I try very hard to make sure I am honest in my dealings with others, that I never intentionally act dishonestly or do anything to cast a pall over the values that guide my life.

That said, I occasionally, unintentionally, can be a complete ignoramous.

In years past, I won't say exactly when, so that you can't pinpoint the exact timing of my utter failure to use common sense, I found myself on the lookout for a double jogging stroller for my sister. She did not have one and wanted to be able to exercise with her two boys.

So I began my perusal of Craigslist and Freecycle hoping to find one free or very cheap.

Low and behold, the day arrived that one appeared on the Freecycle radar. The ad said something to the affect of this:

Free double jogging stroller. 12 years old, needs a little work, don't use it anymore cuz my kids are all grown.
Come get it before noon on such and such a day because the pile it's in behind the house will be taken to the dump.

Now I'm not sure that it actually said dump, but for some reason that is how my mind remembers it.

So I contacted the giver-awayer, and asked if the stroller was still available. The person responded like this:

Yes it is. Here is the address, come get it before noon before it's all gone.

Me: Great! Thanks, I'll be there at 10.

So the following morning, I pack up my children not in school and head off to the address.

We arrive at this beautiful neighborhood overlooking the water, amazing houses on every side. Gates barring the unwanted from entering.

I park on the busy road in front of the house, and try to figure out whether the front is really the front, or if the front is actually the part that looks like the back overlooking the water. What?

It really didn't matter because when I looked in the window, the whole house was empty.

That confused me since I was meeting the owner there. I began to feel that I had been, had. So I pulled my car in to do one more look around before leaving.

As I circled the house, I saw a pile of stuff under a big blue tarp. And poking one portion of a wheel out, was the stroller.

I parked and headed to the pile.

The stroller was indeed a little worse for the wear, but seemed fixable, but the owner still hadn't arrived even though it was around 10:20 at this point. But I figured it was free so I began the process of figuring out how to get it into my mini-van.

As I lifted the tarp, I noticed a ton of other one man's trash another man's treasure type of stuff. Things that seemed unwanted under the blue tarp as the rain came down.

So my little brain began to work. "I wonder if any of this other stuff is listed on freecycle, why would they take decent stuff to the dump?"

Then looking around at the neighborhood I was in, I assumed I could see why.

So I began to feel that everything under the blue tarp was headed for the dump, and therefore fair game. I even called Maile, had her look at the ad again for me, and check for some of the other items under the tarp to see if they were on Freecycle.

None of them were, the ad said they were going to be gone.

So I thought, I'll do a little shopping. Save them the trouble of taking everything to the dump. See what a nice person I am? Ha! Still no owner, by the way.

At this point, a quiet little thought entered my head, one I have learned since never to ignore.

The quiet little thought said "Only take the stroller, that is what you agreed to."

Well, I punched that quiet little thought right smack in the face, beat it down, told it to be quiet and not bother me, and began cramming stuff into my van.

At this happy little moment, when I was ignoring my better senses, a Mercedes SUV pulls up.

Yup, the owner.

Please, everyone, cringe with me.

She hops out of the car, looking at me like the thief I suddenly felt like, and asked me in a not so friendly voice, what the h#ll I thought I was doing?

I tried to explain that I was the one who emailed about the stroller, tried to explain my reasoning, only to sound more like the kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. More and more like the greedy little dumpster diver I appeared to be.

As she let her anger be known to me, I began to cry and to apologize profusely.

Yes, I couldn't even hold it together and act like an adult. I felt like the little punk who thinks their so smart and then falls apart when called out.

It felt like those dreams where you try to find a bathroom, and no matter where you go everyone can see you. Yes, I felt exposed and stupid and definitely in need of a bathroom so that I could throw up from the instant anxiety my lapse in judgement was causing me.

I half expected her to punch me, and I'm pretty sure I would have taken it and thanked her for it at this point.

Did I mention I was pregnant as well when this all took place?

So here I am, pregnant, my small children in the car, and this woman is rightfully giving me the riot act.

But as soon as the water works started, and I apologized instead of being defensive, she softened up like butter left out all night.

She told me that she had kids too, that she wasn't really as witchy (with a B) as she seemed and that she understood and thanked me for apologizing.

Then she kindly asked me to put back all her stuff.

She let me keep the stroller, despite my shenanigans, I loaded it in, drove away, and immediately began sobbing to the point of hyperventilating. I don't handle conflict and/or confrontation that well. Ever. Never have. Probably never will. How am I grown up enough to have six kids? That is a subject entirely worthy of it's own post.

Anyway...

I told my sister, my husband, and two dear friends who I went walking with on a daily basis, since I showed up all red faced and teary eyed and had to tell someone my humiliating tale.

No one else, until now, ever knew that I was capable of abandoning all good sense and making a total arse out of myself.

And what, you may ask, became of the stroller that cost me so dearly in pride and self respect?

Maile deemed it a piece of crap and sold it at a yard sale.

Which is a perfect ending to my tale of how I am soooo not perfect.

But you all already knew that, didn't you?

And thanks for liking me anyway, for looking past my imperfections, and laughing at me silliness and general flustery-can't think fast enough-way I occasionally have about me.

You, my dear friends, are the best.

I'm double posting for 9/11

I wasn't going to write about it. I just wasn't.

I wrote about my humiliating experience and was not blogging again til Monday.

But I can't, not, write about it.

I feel more aware this year, of the anniversary of the terrorist attacks. I don't know why. I just do. Maybe it's the division I feel in our country that feels stronger to me lately. I don't know. But I remember how 9/11 brought us together as a country. How billboards went up everywhere that said God Bless America. And we were not ashamed of that. How people suddenly were friendlier for at least a little while and we could talk about God and His blessings with humility and renewed faith, without any anger or backlash from others.

So I just wanted to share where I was and what I was doing. Kind of like when Kennedy was shot. And I want to know, please, please, where you were and what you were doing when 9/11 happened.

We were living in Rhode Island. I was pregnant, newly pregnant and sick, with Charlie.

Maile and her two oldest, who were 2years and 3 months old were out visiting me.

I had taken Kate to her first day of pre-school when the calls started coming.

Miss Doris got a call from her sister. The towers had been hit.

I asked if there were people in the planes, yes, both towers or just one, at that point just one.

I wasn't from the east coast, so I had to be reminded of what the Trade Towers were. They weren't a fixture for me the way they were for so many living in the East.

On the way home tower two got hit. Maile was at my house and watched it happen live.
Jeff called home and she told him what was happening. He thought she was joking around with him and told his co-workers who were also just starting to hear from people.

Living on the east coast, it felt so surreal. Our friend across the street new someone who new someone that died that day. (Isn't that right Chris?)

We'd all made our trips to New York, become familiar with it as best as you can as a tourist. And watching the black and grey smoke billowing, just didn't seem real.

For hours we sat and watched t.v. Crying, sobbing, unable to stem the tide of emotions as we watched footage of people jumping from the buildings, preferring the fall to the heat and horror inside. Then hearing of the plane that went down in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon being hit. Wondering, wondering how many more attacks would occur before it was over.

Our landlord worked for one of the airlines. Everything was grounded. Nothing taking off. Fear, slamming into us like a wrecking ball.

I wanted Jeff to come home. I don't know why. Everyone at CVS was watching it at work. I'm not sure how anyone got anything accomplished that day.

We watched footage all the next day as well, until I finally couldn't stand it anymore. We had to get out and do something, think about something else for just a little while. The tragedy, the lives affected, was just so much to process.

At first the numbers of dead they were reporting were immense. I hate to admit it was with relief that I heard it was "only" 3000+ dead, not the thousands upon thousands originally feared.

My poor sister had to fly home a week after 9/11 with her two babies. I think she switched planes in Newark, where one that had hit the trade towers originated from. She had to fly across the country one week after our country changed. I'll let her tell about it in the comments section. But can you imagine?

I just wanted to write about it today. And I would love to know where you were when, as Alan Jackson puts it, the world stopped turning.

Who is this guy?


Some little cobbler man that my grandmother had at her house for many a year?
The patron saint of shoes? ~which would be awesome considering how many shoes I have.
A throw back to the age of gilded statuettes?

I don't know.
But I love him.
He's brassy-gold in color.
Chipped and a little worn.
Certainly not a decorator's idea of what "goes" in a room.
But I love him, love him, love him.
And that makes him worthy of a happy spot right by the fireplace, for all to see.

So, I'm curious. What do you have in your house that doesn't "go"?
That maybe your a little embarassed of, but that you love so much you will never part with it?

Is it like my little cobbler? Or something better, like a dream catcher, or that platter with the goose on it?

And for tomorrow, I am going to tell you my hands down, without a doubt, most embarassing story ever! It's better than the time I was doing the splits at school, and split my pants. It's more humiliating then the time I tripped in front of Jeff when we were first dating and could only think to say "ta da!" with a little flourish of my hands.

Stay tuned.

I really hope they don't hate it

When my great-grandmother passed away, I inherited several things that had been hers. An old rocking chair whose upholstery had seen it's day, that my loving mother had reupholstered for me, and a dresser.

Both things have followed me from house to house and across the country. The rocking chair resides in my bedroom so that it is safe from damage and snot and peanut butter being wiped on it.

The dress has been well used. It has held my clothes, odds and ends, toys, dvd's you name it, it has been well loved and put to good use.

But as time has gone on, I have desired very strongly to paint it. Someone lovingly stained it a nice dark walnut color, and I have lived with that for 10 years. But I am not really a brown person (whatever that means) and the need to revamp it finally won out.

Here it is in it's well loved, brown state. (I have yet to master the art of "before" pictures)

After priming, painting two coats and then distressing it, I am officially in love with my "new", old dresser.

I had an assortment of 6 nobs and drawer pulls from back when I was contemplating hardward for the kitchen cabinets. I figured I could use what I have. So I gave them all a light dusting of silver spray paint so that they would look similar enough, and called it good. I like the effect.

So now the real question is, will my Mom and Aunt Cathy, both whom I adore, be ok with this? I know this was given to me, but it was their grandma's. Have I destroyed the memories associated with the old brown dresser? Or will they agree with me that Grandma Mohar would just be happy to know I'm using it?

Hopefully I'll still be invited to family funtions after this. :)