MY KIND OF TREEFrom Shanghai China, this tree was made with 1,000 full Heineken beer bottles. I don't really know why, but I would have never guessed you'd see a tree like this in China . . . my front yard perhaps, but not in China.
12.23.2009
12.18.2009
DIDN'T WE COVER THIS IN PRE-MARITAL COUNSELING?RULE #3
Never mock your wife for having a chocolate stash.
RULE #2
Instead, a husband must try very hard to appreciate and understand the importance of the stash.
RULE #1
Never take the last Ghirardelli dark chocolate caramel square from your wife's stash and leave the empty bag (insert dramatic gasp here) without fessing up to the crime or replacing it with something of equal or greater value within minutes of the incident.
Bottom line: A stash isn't a stash without the goods. Don't mess.
11.27.2009
11.24.2009
IT'S GOTTA BE THE POLKA-DOTS
So last week was my birthday and I was given this card by Tierney and Parker via Casey. The words were sweet but after I read the card aloud and showed the picture to the girls, Casey-- apparently not knowing any better-- asked, "Who does that look like?" To my horrific surprise, both Tierney and Parker responded (in unison . . . with much confidence and enthusiasm): "M-O-M-M-Y!"
Shall I just make the Ambush Makeover call myself?
10.30.2009
TEXTBOOK MOTHERING
So it's Halloween and while we've done our fair share of celebrating the season, I've certainly had better years. (Okay, so . . . Martha would probably snub me in a crowded room, but I'd tell her my story anyway). My only excuse is that I caught some kind of crud a couple of weeks ago that has by far, without a doubt, been the most bizarre illness I've ever experienced: fatigue, sore throat, cough with impressive green stuff on day one, more cough, chills at night, fatigue, a shift up north into the sinuses, dry cough, fluid in ears, fluid in sinuses, more fatigue, not much of a voice (Tierney and Parker insert thank you here), cough attacks in the middle of the night, cravings that only consist of sweet and salty things-- Diet 7-up, chocolate and popcorn to be exact . . . including 4 day old popcorn from Target-- with no signs of getting better. In the scheme of things? No biggie. Could have been swine flu. But as mentioned before, it is a big deal when your job is a stay at home mom. But we've already covered that topic and I'd hate to come across as a whiner. . .
And so the one night I should probably just stay home and watch a movie with the kids, I decide we should carve pumpkins. Casey had to work late, the kids had had a long day, I was still hacking up green stuff . . . the stars were aligned. It was the perfect night to be crafty. Since my doctor didn't prescribe me any of the "special" cough syrup, I figured I'd take matters into my own hands and grab some wine at the store. Imagine the scenario-- Fred Meyer liquor store, shopping cart full of Halloween goodies, misc. groceries, 3 pumpkins and two toddlers. Tierney and Parker are behaving fairly well considering the overwhelming anticipation as the 3 pumpkins stare at them in the face while I try to concentrate and focus on finding something-- anything-- that will satisfy my bizarre cravings. I grab a bottle of white, a bottle of red, and a bottle of champagne (random, but it sounded good at the time). Tierney and Parker, entertaining themselves, are jumping up and down while watching themselves on the security monitor. Not perfectly behaved children but not bad either. I'm just relieved that they're not tipping over bottles of wine while I'm not watching. My selections had been made and I was checking out when all of the sudden out of the corner of my eye I see our shopping cart falling on top of Tierney . . . pumpkins and all. After realizing that Tierney was going to survive the incident, I couldn't figure out whether or not I was mortified or relieved. Of course there were 3 or 4 others in line who kindly helped me pull the cart off of her, handed me my keys, purse and Hippo but I couldn't help but think to myself, "Am I that mom right now?" I concluded that I, indeed WAS that mom, carried on and decided to brush off any/all judgements that may have been made in that line. Not my finest moment. I get it. I cared, but I really didn't. Because that would require energy that I didn't have. But it was awkward and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. At least Tierney was okay. It could have been worse. Much worse. Like her accident resulting in a trip to the Emergency Room where I would be forced to tell the nurse the story about Mommy needing a cocktail to "cure her cough". . . I'd never live that one down. Yes, it could have been worse.
Anyhow, we made it home safely-- with a few minor bruises-- where we had a fun night of carving pumpkins (turns out it was more like "Lets watch mommy carve the pumpkins while we supervise"). But we all had fun, the wine was my candy, and my cough was cured for the night. It wasn't pretty, but we all survived the night together.
10.15.2009
TWINKLE
It's been 22 days we lost Casey's dad. Just the other day we were sitting side-by-side in his cozy, memory-filled living room talking about the remodel, the lake, pre-school, licorice, cookies, Casey, our dreams at night, my dad . . . and about losing someone you love. Over the years I've heard people talk about the tremendous respect they had for him as Mayor, how he was a tough negotiator, and how he ran a tight ship at home. But when I think about him, one word comes to mind: sweet. In my mind, Mr. Sullivan was the epitome of sweet. And love. And gentle. And warmth. And kindness.
And his eyes really did twinkle.
Especially when he was in the presence of, and talking about, the love of his life, his children and his grandchildren. My heart breaks for Casey because I know. I feel sad for Tierney and Parker because they probably won't remember Grandpa. But we will certainly show them pictures, and tell stories, and share memories and celebrate him every day which will hopefully paint a clear picture of everything and all that he was.
But for now, Grandpa is on vacation-- an extended trip where he is finally with Grandma, Gramps and Nana. Among many things (the moms having already exchanged soup recipes), I envision Grandma asking Mr. Sullivan, "What took you so long?" . . . Nana wanting to know all about the details of the children and grandchildren . . . and Gramps, with a wide grin on his face and a scotch in each hand, asking him, "Can I buy you a drink?" as he anticipates finally telling Mr. Sullivan his version of the break-in story.
10.01.2009
only a mom could love that hair . . . only a daughter could love those glasses. unconditional love at its finest. 6 YEARS AGO TODAY
It's hard to believe that it's been 6 years since I lost my mom. While I've stopped the instinctual habit of picking up the phone to call her, sometimes it feels like just yesterday we were sharing a soft pretzel together on the white bench at the 5th avenue mall. If I knew our time together would be cut short, I would have never insisted on always bogarting the nacho cheese that accompanied her pretzel. Of course there are a few more things I'd take back, but all in all, I couldn't have asked for a better mom or relationship with her. I know I was lucky to have that. I just miss it-- and her-- terribly.
8.30.2009
ASHEN
So I've been neglecting my blog these days and I feel guilty about it. But not as guilty as I feel about me being here and my husband being over there . . . at the new house. Much to my own surprise, this might be the first time I've written about our remodel. Odd, considering the project has seemingly dominated our lives over the past (insert gulp here) year? Dare I say (big dramatic sigh, slow-motion head nod, hands on hip) I think the end is in sight. Exciting things are happening and we are incredibly fortunate to be where we are. Casey was painting what was probably our last accent wall of the project (for now) this morning and as I watched him roll away, I had to walk away because of the overwhelming emotion that came over me. I couldn't quite put a finger on it but watching Casey paint "Ashen" on our wall was seemingly symbolic and made me reflect upon a ton of things all in a just sliver of time:
1. We are close to the finish line.
2. The road has been long, FUN, yet unpredictably and indescribably hard.
3. He trusts me with things.
4. I trust him with things. Just little things like electrical things, and what not.
5. The final product will be overwhelmingly beautiful and perfect (but only if he abides by my rolling technique rule).
6. Just when you thought you could never eat Burger King, pizza, cookies, beer and tater tots in one day-- just to survive-- you do. And it doesn't really matter, because the excitement takes over, and you really could care less if you're going to be bloated the next day.
7. The project has been therapeutic for both of us during some difficult times.
8. I married Bob Vila.
9. I am far too anal to perform many home improvement projects, but Bob loves me anyway.
10. In one year-- perhaps less-- we will have forgotten the stress, the late nights, the decision-making, the arguments, the fatigue, the juggling, the sacrifices . . . because it will have all been worth it.
So I've been neglecting my blog these days and I feel guilty about it. But not as guilty as I feel about me being here and my husband being over there . . . at the new house. Much to my own surprise, this might be the first time I've written about our remodel. Odd, considering the project has seemingly dominated our lives over the past (insert gulp here) year? Dare I say (big dramatic sigh, slow-motion head nod, hands on hip) I think the end is in sight. Exciting things are happening and we are incredibly fortunate to be where we are. Casey was painting what was probably our last accent wall of the project (for now) this morning and as I watched him roll away, I had to walk away because of the overwhelming emotion that came over me. I couldn't quite put a finger on it but watching Casey paint "Ashen" on our wall was seemingly symbolic and made me reflect upon a ton of things all in a just sliver of time:
1. We are close to the finish line.
2. The road has been long, FUN, yet unpredictably and indescribably hard.
3. He trusts me with things.
4. I trust him with things. Just little things like electrical things, and what not.
5. The final product will be overwhelmingly beautiful and perfect (but only if he abides by my rolling technique rule).
6. Just when you thought you could never eat Burger King, pizza, cookies, beer and tater tots in one day-- just to survive-- you do. And it doesn't really matter, because the excitement takes over, and you really could care less if you're going to be bloated the next day.
7. The project has been therapeutic for both of us during some difficult times.
8. I married Bob Vila.
9. I am far too anal to perform many home improvement projects, but Bob loves me anyway.
10. In one year-- perhaps less-- we will have forgotten the stress, the late nights, the decision-making, the arguments, the fatigue, the juggling, the sacrifices . . . because it will have all been worth it.
8.14.2009
7.29.2009
JASON JONES
he's funny . . .
he's funny . . .
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Quitter - Leave Sarah Palin Alone | ||||
| ||||
7.16.2009
REVELATION
It's become painfully apparent that my 4 year old and 2 year old need less sleep than I do. This discovery falls under the category of: "Things my friends with young kids should have warned me about before I gave birth." Uncle Andy, Aunt Kelly . . . are you listening dears?
On a completely separate subject, although somewhat relevant, I found out that Wal-Mart sells little 8oz. cans of Diet Coke. An 8-pack of 8 oz. cans. Cute concept. Perfect size. I'm in. Now I won't need to reheat my morning coffee at 2:00 for that much needed perk since my kids will no-doubt be up for another 8 hours.
Less than 30 minutes until my sweet lovin' Irish leprechaun gets back from DC. Now if I can just remember where I put the baton . . .
It's become painfully apparent that my 4 year old and 2 year old need less sleep than I do. This discovery falls under the category of: "Things my friends with young kids should have warned me about before I gave birth." Uncle Andy, Aunt Kelly . . . are you listening dears?
On a completely separate subject, although somewhat relevant, I found out that Wal-Mart sells little 8oz. cans of Diet Coke. An 8-pack of 8 oz. cans. Cute concept. Perfect size. I'm in. Now I won't need to reheat my morning coffee at 2:00 for that much needed perk since my kids will no-doubt be up for another 8 hours.
Less than 30 minutes until my sweet lovin' Irish leprechaun gets back from DC. Now if I can just remember where I put the baton . . .
7.07.2009
SUNNY DAZE IN ANCHORAGE
This crazy-fun vacation weather we're having is incredible. For the past couple of weeks or so every moment has been spent outside with the kids. Dirty faces, mosquito bites, late nights, hot dogs, dirty toes, pool time, popsicles, bug spray, . . . endless backyard fun.
I feel lucky to be me.
Sunny weather is, without question, high on the "Top 10 Stay-at-Home-Mom Perks" list. These long, hot, carefree days make me reminisce about our latest trip to Mexico. Just recently I was picturing our arrival after traveling all day (4 airports later . . . or was it 3?) with 4 toddlers and 4 tired adults salivating over the thought of our first vay-cay / we-survived-the-flights celebratory cocktail. Luckily, I still had some goodies stashed in my bag so the girls were able to partake in the airport while the boys worked on getting us our stylin' mini van. We packed into the rig beautifully. 4 kids, 2 car seats, 4 adults, 4 obsessively decorated Trunki's, plenty o luggage, toys, books, snacks, hippo, bluey, cozy night-nights, pacifiers and blankies (thank the Lawd we hadn't lost one along the way). First stop: beer and food. Mission accomplished. Second stop: Casa La Paloma. I was delightfully crammed in the front seat between Tadd and Casey while Amy, acting liaison between the kids and adults (and much too far away), was practicing her newly acquired yoga moves just inches behind us. The kids--surprisingly cooperative -- were packed in the back and just as excited as we were to find our new pad for the next 10 days. The adventure had only just begun but for some reason the cozy, comfortable and safe feeling I felt in that minivan during that evening ride from the airport sticks out in my mind with utmost vividness.
Magical anticipation at its finest, perhaps.
But unequivocally much more . . .
It was just getting dark.
The moon was spectacular.
We had survived the flights.
We had the car.
We had food.
We were together.
And we had each other.
Beer had never tasted so good.
Friends had never meant so much.
This crazy-fun vacation weather we're having is incredible. For the past couple of weeks or so every moment has been spent outside with the kids. Dirty faces, mosquito bites, late nights, hot dogs, dirty toes, pool time, popsicles, bug spray, . . . endless backyard fun.
I feel lucky to be me.
Sunny weather is, without question, high on the "Top 10 Stay-at-Home-Mom Perks" list. These long, hot, carefree days make me reminisce about our latest trip to Mexico. Just recently I was picturing our arrival after traveling all day (4 airports later . . . or was it 3?) with 4 toddlers and 4 tired adults salivating over the thought of our first vay-cay / we-survived-the-flights celebratory cocktail. Luckily, I still had some goodies stashed in my bag so the girls were able to partake in the airport while the boys worked on getting us our stylin' mini van. We packed into the rig beautifully. 4 kids, 2 car seats, 4 adults, 4 obsessively decorated Trunki's, plenty o luggage, toys, books, snacks, hippo, bluey, cozy night-nights, pacifiers and blankies (thank the Lawd we hadn't lost one along the way). First stop: beer and food. Mission accomplished. Second stop: Casa La Paloma. I was delightfully crammed in the front seat between Tadd and Casey while Amy, acting liaison between the kids and adults (and much too far away), was practicing her newly acquired yoga moves just inches behind us. The kids--surprisingly cooperative -- were packed in the back and just as excited as we were to find our new pad for the next 10 days. The adventure had only just begun but for some reason the cozy, comfortable and safe feeling I felt in that minivan during that evening ride from the airport sticks out in my mind with utmost vividness.
Magical anticipation at its finest, perhaps.
But unequivocally much more . . .
It was just getting dark.
The moon was spectacular.
We had survived the flights.
We had the car.
We had food.
We were together.
And we had each other.
Beer had never tasted so good.
Friends had never meant so much.
6.29.2009
RAIN OR SHINE
Just a few pictures (courtesy of MOFO) from our golf outing. It poured on us, we were frozen and drenched by the time we finished, but it was a great time. My golf game was another story, however . . . allow the following Haiku to illustrate it for you:
Played golf with the girls
Shankapotomus central
Must have been the clubs
6.24.2009
ARGYLE AND KEGELS
So I should probably be outside mowing the lawn, pulling out weeds, or replacing the old sand with the new sand in the old sand box, but instead I'm waiting patiently for my burst of energy and thinking about everything but being productive. Tierney had soccer today. It was a slow start but it ended up okay. I'm just glad she wasn't overly distracted by her sister running up and down the fields in her larger-than-life pink tutu (thanks to Coach Heatwole). Uncle Andy came to watch which was a treat.
I'm counting down the hours until I play golf tonight with my book club homies. However, spoken as if (um, written as if?) I was not born and raised in Alaska or attended a college not-so-conveniently located on the top of a MN hill where the average low temperature in January is negative 20 . . . without wind, I'm not looking forward to playing in the cold (my name is Paige, and I enjoy run-on sentences).
Watching golf on TV is fun. But it's also deceiving . . . at least to those who don't have palm trees lining their streets or lemon trees planted in their backyard. Somewhere along the way I have painted a romanticized picture of what golf should be. The sky is blue. It's hot. There is a mild breeze-- just enough to keep the sweat to a minimum. I have a special compartment in my golf cart for my beverage. I know what club to use each time I'm up to bat. I know where I'm aiming. I know how to keep score. I'm wearing an argyle sweater vest with striped capris and think I can get away with it. I'm having fun. I'm solving all of the problems of the world and, at the same time, being reminded of the fact that I should really practice my kegels more often . . . because I'm having so much fun. My game rocks. I have my own "GET IN THE HOLE CLUB" following.
Turns out, not so much the case in my world (with the exception of the having fun part . . . and the special compartment part). Ah well. It'll be cold tonight, but frolicking on the golf course with the gals will no doubt be a good time, layers and all. Maybe I'll show up wearing my fuzzy polka-dotted ear muffs and see how long I can pull it off with the ladies . . . without cracking up.*
* Prediction: I'm guessing Shannon will be the first to notice it (knowing that it's a joke), and say something like, "Nice muffs!" Amy, will notice, compliment them, but will be a bit unsure as to whether or not I really meant to wear them on the golf course. And Bame will will do the same and ultimately come to the conclusion that it was a smart move on my part to cover up the ears.
So I should probably be outside mowing the lawn, pulling out weeds, or replacing the old sand with the new sand in the old sand box, but instead I'm waiting patiently for my burst of energy and thinking about everything but being productive. Tierney had soccer today. It was a slow start but it ended up okay. I'm just glad she wasn't overly distracted by her sister running up and down the fields in her larger-than-life pink tutu (thanks to Coach Heatwole). Uncle Andy came to watch which was a treat.
I'm counting down the hours until I play golf tonight with my book club homies. However, spoken as if (um, written as if?) I was not born and raised in Alaska or attended a college not-so-conveniently located on the top of a MN hill where the average low temperature in January is negative 20 . . . without wind, I'm not looking forward to playing in the cold (my name is Paige, and I enjoy run-on sentences).
Watching golf on TV is fun. But it's also deceiving . . . at least to those who don't have palm trees lining their streets or lemon trees planted in their backyard. Somewhere along the way I have painted a romanticized picture of what golf should be. The sky is blue. It's hot. There is a mild breeze-- just enough to keep the sweat to a minimum. I have a special compartment in my golf cart for my beverage. I know what club to use each time I'm up to bat. I know where I'm aiming. I know how to keep score. I'm wearing an argyle sweater vest with striped capris and think I can get away with it. I'm having fun. I'm solving all of the problems of the world and, at the same time, being reminded of the fact that I should really practice my kegels more often . . . because I'm having so much fun. My game rocks. I have my own "GET IN THE HOLE CLUB" following.
Turns out, not so much the case in my world (with the exception of the having fun part . . . and the special compartment part). Ah well. It'll be cold tonight, but frolicking on the golf course with the gals will no doubt be a good time, layers and all. Maybe I'll show up wearing my fuzzy polka-dotted ear muffs and see how long I can pull it off with the ladies . . . without cracking up.*
* Prediction: I'm guessing Shannon will be the first to notice it (knowing that it's a joke), and say something like, "Nice muffs!" Amy, will notice, compliment them, but will be a bit unsure as to whether or not I really meant to wear them on the golf course. And Bame will will do the same and ultimately come to the conclusion that it was a smart move on my part to cover up the ears.
6.22.2009
A QUOTE WORTH SHARING
My friend Julia's* response after asking her if she'd prefer to drink wine or some other equally heart-healthy, yet non-dehydrating, beverage this past Saturday evening:
"I'd rather drink a half-bottle of vodka and not have a hangover the next day."
(*Name has been changed to protect the guilty . . . Godluvya, Amy).
My friend Julia's* response after asking her if she'd prefer to drink wine or some other equally heart-healthy, yet non-dehydrating, beverage this past Saturday evening:
"I'd rather drink a half-bottle of vodka and not have a hangover the next day."
(*Name has been changed to protect the guilty . . . Godluvya, Amy).
6.11.2009
ONE LOVE
Over the years I've watched a fair bit of women's soccer highlights online . . . some high school, some college, some of the US Women's National team. They all inspire me. They all fire me up. They are all reminders of why I love the sport so much. Just today, however, I came across this video that stood out more than any other I've seen. It's totally random and has a high goose bump factor (the music selection helped, of course). I'm not sure exactly how I found it (highlights of the Quinnipiac University women's soccer team in Hamden, Connecticut . . . um, never heard of them), but it instantly reminded me of my college soccer experience and all of the memories gained during my four years at Gustavus (another "never heard of it" school).
As Tierney begins her second year of soccer this summer, I can't help but think about her future and what I want for her as she grows up. Be it soccer, curling, ping-pong, synchronized swimming* or ballet, I hope both she and Parker find something that they are 100% passionate about. For me it was soccer. I like to think that soccer provided me with many tools for life: comradeship, sportsmanship, teamwork, self-confidence, physical and mental toughness (running excluded, of course), and respect for leadership, just to name a few. This video illustrates all of that and more.
*(Okay, maybe not synchronized swimming so much . . . that's TOTALLY going to come back to haunt me, I know it).
Check it out.
6.07.2009
6.06.2009
6.03.2009
6.01.2009
2 BIRTHDAYS plus 2 FUNERALS last week
equals dehydration, bittersweet emotions and lessons learned:
Birthday #1 / T.O.
I learned that that drinking too many limeade cocktails limits my ability to filter . . . and can be dangerous . . . in more ways than one.
I also learned that my husband can run at a 10 mph pace on a 10% grade incline for at least a minute after consuming a generous amount of beer.
Birthday #2 / T.M.
I learned that the age of 40 really isn't really old anymore (even though it was ancient when my parents were 40).
I also learned that sometimes with unexpected sightings come purpose, character and overwhelming comfort.
Funeral #1 / J.C.
I learned that funerals are an odd, yet magical way of bringing friends closer together and that surrounding yourself with close friends of your deceased parents is therapeutic.
I also learned that as you get older, it probably doesn't really matter if your 65 year old friend shows up in a robin's egg blue suit with cowboy boots. Because as time goes by, there is probably less judgement and more focus on what really matters (like "What was he thinking?").
Funeral #2 / T.Y.
I learned that life is unfair, and that every day is a gift. Because we really don't know when it's our time to go . . . or God forbid, our children's time to go.
Lastly, I learned that sometimes it's okay to just hug and say nothing.
equals dehydration, bittersweet emotions and lessons learned:
Birthday #1 / T.O.
I learned that that drinking too many limeade cocktails limits my ability to filter . . . and can be dangerous . . . in more ways than one.
I also learned that my husband can run at a 10 mph pace on a 10% grade incline for at least a minute after consuming a generous amount of beer.
Birthday #2 / T.M.
I learned that the age of 40 really isn't really old anymore (even though it was ancient when my parents were 40).
I also learned that sometimes with unexpected sightings come purpose, character and overwhelming comfort.
Funeral #1 / J.C.
I learned that funerals are an odd, yet magical way of bringing friends closer together and that surrounding yourself with close friends of your deceased parents is therapeutic.
I also learned that as you get older, it probably doesn't really matter if your 65 year old friend shows up in a robin's egg blue suit with cowboy boots. Because as time goes by, there is probably less judgement and more focus on what really matters (like "What was he thinking?").
Funeral #2 / T.Y.
I learned that life is unfair, and that every day is a gift. Because we really don't know when it's our time to go . . . or God forbid, our children's time to go.
Lastly, I learned that sometimes it's okay to just hug and say nothing.
5.30.2009
COULD HAVE FOOLED MEA clever ad by Nike. I would love to meet the creative mind behind it . . . bet she has zero body fat and runs like a feather in the wind . . . with a smile on her face, Godluvher.
Despite our 35 pound weight difference, I love her ad. And yes, even sometimes I love "the run." But mostly when I'm done. Especially when greeted at the door with a tall frosty mug of beer. Does that count?
5.24.2009
5.21.2009
THE FLIP
I'm 100% obsessed with these super cool mini video camcorders. They are about the size of a digital camera (a.k.a. just small enough to fit into Parker's mouth) and are supposedly super easy to use. They even have a USB connector (no cable needed) which makes for easy editing and sharing. My favorite part? They are designable. You can choose from the design gallery, upload your own image, or use the pattern generator . . . don't get me started. Check out all of the fun designs here.
5.18.2009
SWIM BIKE RUN
(or watch from the sidelines, make bird call sounds and take pictures).
Here's one of Amy bringing it home at the Gold Nugget Triathlon last weekend. I hope she doesn't get mad at me for posting it without having a signed photo consent form on file but I couldn't resist sharing this one. Besides, when she wins her first national triathlon everyone is going to be begging me for this picture. You're a rock star, Ames! Macaw-Macaw!
I'VE GOT STASH
alert level raised from "orange" to "red.
no m&m's in the house.
mom desperate.
mom resourceful and remembers that she saved half-eaten cadbury chocolate bunny given to the girls for easter this year.
good thing the easter bunny has been living in its own ziploc bag for the last couple of weeks.
mom does some quick math-- the bunny is barely over a month old-- still in the safe zone.
mom realizing that self-control really does come with rewards.
and that desperation really does call for desperate measures.
no time for feeling guilty because mom comes to the conclusion that stealing candy from the kids isn't really stealing anyway (even if it was an easter gift from uncle andy), and especially since they've already forgotten about it (mostly because it's been hidden from them).
just a few slivers of heaven is all mom needs to bring the alert level back down to yellow.
mom recognizing that "the stash" lives . . . even sans m&m's.
alert level raised from "orange" to "red.
no m&m's in the house.
mom desperate.
mom resourceful and remembers that she saved half-eaten cadbury chocolate bunny given to the girls for easter this year.
good thing the easter bunny has been living in its own ziploc bag for the last couple of weeks.
mom does some quick math-- the bunny is barely over a month old-- still in the safe zone.
mom realizing that self-control really does come with rewards.
and that desperation really does call for desperate measures.
no time for feeling guilty because mom comes to the conclusion that stealing candy from the kids isn't really stealing anyway (even if it was an easter gift from uncle andy), and especially since they've already forgotten about it (mostly because it's been hidden from them).
just a few slivers of heaven is all mom needs to bring the alert level back down to yellow.
mom recognizing that "the stash" lives . . . even sans m&m's.
5.13.2009
MOTHER'S DAYis behind us. Sunday was a nice day. Casey surprised me with some of my favorite goodies . . . hot coffee from Kaladi, an UNTOUCHED Sunday newspaper, the latest InStyle magazine, white tulips, a breakfast sandwich and room-temperature-lime-flavored Gatorade (the vodka-soda-cranberry cocktails had been flowing the night before if ya hear what I'm saying). The icing on the cake? My husband escorted the girls out of the house for the morning so that I could officially savor all of my goodies in silence. Sans squealing. Sans clinging. Sans responsibility. Just me, my decadent morning treats along with my good buddies S & G whispering "The Sound of Silence" in my ear.
Life is good.
Of course Mother's Day is bittersweet for me. While I have a lot more to celebrate in my life now that I'm a mother, it's a day that I find myself naturally thinking about my own mom and what I would be doing for her if she were still with us today (even though she'd insist on cooking for all of us on "her" day). I would tell her how much I appreciate her. I would tell her how much I admire her. I would tell her how much I love her. We would share "motherhood" stories and giggle the night away to the not-so-gentle hum of my dad's snoring in the other room.
Life IS truly good. But I've learned that it's never quite the same without your mom. And that, in itself, is a testimony to mine.
5.11.2009
NOT REALLY A HAIKU
kids napping
the 844 guy tells me it's 66 degrees
should be inside
cleaning
or something
but i'm not
listening to "hey there delilah"
and "mr. brightside"
under the sun
and thinking about the melodies
and the romance
and the good times
and that my air guitar could use some work
or something
where's my old milwaukee when i need it?
kids napping
the 844 guy tells me it's 66 degrees
should be inside
cleaning
or something
but i'm not
listening to "hey there delilah"
and "mr. brightside"
under the sun
and thinking about the melodies
and the romance
and the good times
and that my air guitar could use some work
or something
where's my old milwaukee when i need it?
5.07.2009
5.04.2009
SERIOUSLY?
This is "the" Orla Kiely bag I referenced in one of my previous entries. I did the math and figured at my current SAHM wage I could own it 9 minutes. The fit is described as "Medium: holds at least a wallet, small book and water bottle." She doesn't know it yet, but Orla was thinking of me the day she designed this one.
4.30.2009
"GIVE MY REGARDS TO SOUL AND ROMANCE . . . "
This song reminds me of the '80s and all of the music I loved at the time. I'm not entirely sure what's going on with the attire in this video but if The Killers asked me if they could hold a 4th of July concert in our backyard with all of my family and friends, I certainly wouldn't question the feathers.
4.24.2009
SNOT FOR SALE
Day 13. Ear infection. Upper respiratory infection. Bronchitis. Stay-at-home mom. Snot good.
As I sit here typing, unable to breath out of my nose, I can't help but wish I had my office job back. As a stay-at-home mom there are good days and bad days. But nothing compares to being a SICK stay-at-home mom. In fact, I've determined that it should be outlawed. Since I've been sick I've been having daydreams of being at my old job. My office is quiet. My computer is on. The overhead lights are off. I have an entire box of Kleenex at my disposal for blowing my nose (and not just toilet paper on a roll, but one of those cute designer Kleenex boxes). I glance down and witness the tall, white tower growing out of my personal wastebasket and I am impressed with myself. I work diligently on my projects, uninterrupted with an occasional trip to the restroom, coffee pot or for an hour-long lunch break-- in solitude. My boss trusts that I'm getting the job done. The phone rings and it's a client wanting to follow up with me on their project. They hear my congested voice and wonder why I'm not at home. They feel sorry for me yet appreciate the fact that I keep plugging away on their project, miserable or not. I feel valuable for a minute. I hang up the phone and continue with my day. All in silence. All for a little sugar-sugar that I could use to purchase that new Orla Kiely purse at Nordstrom.
At home? Turns out not so Laura Ingalls-ish prancing in the fields. When you're a sick stay-at-mom home nothing really changes with the routine. It's just that the routine gets harder. Much harder. The challenge is you just don't have the energy or the patience to keep up with it. The day is non-stop. The day is noisy. The day crawls. You're looking at your watch at 10:00 in the morning hoping that your husband comes home straight from work . . . take the inside lane, run the red light and skip the gas station sweet cheeks because the baton is ready. You tell yourself over and over that you should really change your clothes for the first time in days and get the kids out of the house but you can't make it to that first step because you're not 100% sure you can handle the challenge. At least not in public anyway. So as a result, the kids are climbing the walls-- and you. The TV is on all day. They've lost interest. You're somewhat relieved at the thought that they might not be addicted to the tube after all . . . but now what? The couch has become their playground. The living room their closet. The interaction between you and your kids is short, unpleasant and minimal. It's bad enough that you feel sick but you also feel guilty. Because you really don't like your kids at the moment. All you really want to do is go into your room, shut the door and sleep the snot away. But you can't do that because you have to stay in the game. You have to play referee, wipe tears, feed, clean, wipe noses, wipe the sofa, find a pacifier, set up the paint, clean up the paint, wipe more tears, feed, clean, wipe noses, wipe the sofa, find another pacifier, set up the paint, clean up the paint. . . . try hard to remember when--IF--you took your last round of antibiotics and pray that the phone rings with the hope that it's someone checking in on you.
Because sometimes that's all it takes to make you feel better-- even for just a moment.
That's what moms are for. And it's certainly times like these when I miss mine the most. I find myself daydreaming again . . . my mom calls and instantly knows that I'm miserable. Because she knows. She wants to know the color of my mucus, the names of my medication, and what kind of soup she should make (yet she already knows it's the one with the super big noodles). She wants to look in my ears. She worries that I'm taking 3 different kinds of medication yet her curiosity is comforting and anything but stifling. I can tell her how badly I feel without her suggesting or thinking that I'm feeling sorry for myself. I hear my dad in the background making some kind of reference to "medicine." It's the chocolate-covered kind. My mom offers to watch the kids while I shower, nap, leave the house for 10 minutes and I can say yes to her and not worry about what the house looks like. She shows up at the door, takes one look at me and says, "Oh honey." I feel better instantly because she knows. I ask her how she survived times like these . . . with 3 young kids (2 boys, one hyperactive . . . God luv ya, Matt). She tells me it's okay to do nothing all day. She convinces me that the girls are going to be okay even though they've been eating nothing but chicken nuggets and ketchup for the past 5 days. She's not fazed by the amount of time the TV is on. Or by the vertical nature of my hair. Or by the amount of Double-Bubble I've managed to stuff in my mouth amidst the chaos. (She's a little curious about the "vampire" book she spots on the table but she knows that the timing is all wrong, so she skips by it and saves the discussion for another time). But she's really not fazed by anything at all. She's really not fazed because she's been there. She knows what it's like to be in full-blown survival mode. And she remembers that it's exhausting. And that it's hard. And that it's lonely, especially without your mom. And so there is no judgement and there is no criticism. Just pure unconditional love.
And that is medicine in itself.
Day 13. Ear infection. Upper respiratory infection. Bronchitis. Stay-at-home mom. Snot good.
As I sit here typing, unable to breath out of my nose, I can't help but wish I had my office job back. As a stay-at-home mom there are good days and bad days. But nothing compares to being a SICK stay-at-home mom. In fact, I've determined that it should be outlawed. Since I've been sick I've been having daydreams of being at my old job. My office is quiet. My computer is on. The overhead lights are off. I have an entire box of Kleenex at my disposal for blowing my nose (and not just toilet paper on a roll, but one of those cute designer Kleenex boxes). I glance down and witness the tall, white tower growing out of my personal wastebasket and I am impressed with myself. I work diligently on my projects, uninterrupted with an occasional trip to the restroom, coffee pot or for an hour-long lunch break-- in solitude. My boss trusts that I'm getting the job done. The phone rings and it's a client wanting to follow up with me on their project. They hear my congested voice and wonder why I'm not at home. They feel sorry for me yet appreciate the fact that I keep plugging away on their project, miserable or not. I feel valuable for a minute. I hang up the phone and continue with my day. All in silence. All for a little sugar-sugar that I could use to purchase that new Orla Kiely purse at Nordstrom.
At home? Turns out not so Laura Ingalls-ish prancing in the fields. When you're a sick stay-at-mom home nothing really changes with the routine. It's just that the routine gets harder. Much harder. The challenge is you just don't have the energy or the patience to keep up with it. The day is non-stop. The day is noisy. The day crawls. You're looking at your watch at 10:00 in the morning hoping that your husband comes home straight from work . . . take the inside lane, run the red light and skip the gas station sweet cheeks because the baton is ready. You tell yourself over and over that you should really change your clothes for the first time in days and get the kids out of the house but you can't make it to that first step because you're not 100% sure you can handle the challenge. At least not in public anyway. So as a result, the kids are climbing the walls-- and you. The TV is on all day. They've lost interest. You're somewhat relieved at the thought that they might not be addicted to the tube after all . . . but now what? The couch has become their playground. The living room their closet. The interaction between you and your kids is short, unpleasant and minimal. It's bad enough that you feel sick but you also feel guilty. Because you really don't like your kids at the moment. All you really want to do is go into your room, shut the door and sleep the snot away. But you can't do that because you have to stay in the game. You have to play referee, wipe tears, feed, clean, wipe noses, wipe the sofa, find a pacifier, set up the paint, clean up the paint, wipe more tears, feed, clean, wipe noses, wipe the sofa, find another pacifier, set up the paint, clean up the paint. . . . try hard to remember when--IF--you took your last round of antibiotics and pray that the phone rings with the hope that it's someone checking in on you.
Because sometimes that's all it takes to make you feel better-- even for just a moment.
That's what moms are for. And it's certainly times like these when I miss mine the most. I find myself daydreaming again . . . my mom calls and instantly knows that I'm miserable. Because she knows. She wants to know the color of my mucus, the names of my medication, and what kind of soup she should make (yet she already knows it's the one with the super big noodles). She wants to look in my ears. She worries that I'm taking 3 different kinds of medication yet her curiosity is comforting and anything but stifling. I can tell her how badly I feel without her suggesting or thinking that I'm feeling sorry for myself. I hear my dad in the background making some kind of reference to "medicine." It's the chocolate-covered kind. My mom offers to watch the kids while I shower, nap, leave the house for 10 minutes and I can say yes to her and not worry about what the house looks like. She shows up at the door, takes one look at me and says, "Oh honey." I feel better instantly because she knows. I ask her how she survived times like these . . . with 3 young kids (2 boys, one hyperactive . . . God luv ya, Matt). She tells me it's okay to do nothing all day. She convinces me that the girls are going to be okay even though they've been eating nothing but chicken nuggets and ketchup for the past 5 days. She's not fazed by the amount of time the TV is on. Or by the vertical nature of my hair. Or by the amount of Double-Bubble I've managed to stuff in my mouth amidst the chaos. (She's a little curious about the "vampire" book she spots on the table but she knows that the timing is all wrong, so she skips by it and saves the discussion for another time). But she's really not fazed by anything at all. She's really not fazed because she's been there. She knows what it's like to be in full-blown survival mode. And she remembers that it's exhausting. And that it's hard. And that it's lonely, especially without your mom. And so there is no judgement and there is no criticism. Just pure unconditional love.
And that is medicine in itself.
4.12.2009
3.27.2009
3.22.2009
3.20.2009
FLUKE?
So . . . apparently I ran on the treadmill this afternoon WITHOUT listening to music. NO music. Apparently all I needed to keep my mind off of the pain was the dull hum of the baby monitor and an old homemade Ultimate video without sound. The scary part? (Yes, Ultimate video). Okay, the other scary part? I didn't realize that I was sweating sans tunes until I was done with my workout. I was in shock. This was certainly a first for me, as running without music always meant more pain, more aches, more jugga-jugga. But surprisingly, my run wasn't miserable without my ipod and Flock of Seagulls. Instead, it was just pleasant enough. And that's gotta mean something cool. I can't help but think that for a brief moment I had entered a "whole nuffa level" as a non-runner, runner. I'm pretty sure it will never happen again.
So . . . apparently I ran on the treadmill this afternoon WITHOUT listening to music. NO music. Apparently all I needed to keep my mind off of the pain was the dull hum of the baby monitor and an old homemade Ultimate video without sound. The scary part? (Yes, Ultimate video). Okay, the other scary part? I didn't realize that I was sweating sans tunes until I was done with my workout. I was in shock. This was certainly a first for me, as running without music always meant more pain, more aches, more jugga-jugga. But surprisingly, my run wasn't miserable without my ipod and Flock of Seagulls. Instead, it was just pleasant enough. And that's gotta mean something cool. I can't help but think that for a brief moment I had entered a "whole nuffa level" as a non-runner, runner. I'm pretty sure it will never happen again.
3.17.2009
BLARNEYA few pictures from my dads trip to Ireland in 2005. The first one is a picture of my uncle kissing the Blarney Stone, the second is a beautiful picture of Blarney Castle and the last one is my dad after having just kissed the stone. According to an Irish legend, those who kiss the Blarney Stone receive a gift of eloquence that enables them to obtain, through persuasion, anything they want. It's a silly picture of my dad (click to enlarge, tee-hee) and it makes me smile every time I see it. I can only imagine he had something funny to say to the gentleman helping him back up after planting his big smooch.
3.12.2009
3.11.2009
NOT AFRAID TO LEARN NEW TRICKS
So the other day I learned a new trick that I'm pretty excited about (in a sheepish kind of way). The girls had been needier than usual all afternoon. It was 6:00, "dinner" was almost done, and I just needed five minutes of silence before the start of the third period. My husband called to say that he was on his way home from work (more on that later), so I prepared the girls and told them that they should find a really good hiding place and surprise Daddy when he came home. I suggested a few key spots in the house, supplied jackets, blankets and other ideal camouflage gear, and told them that I'd let them know when Daddy pulled into the driveway (which is a much easier maneuver now that "Black Betty" has joined the family). Turns out, the girls cooperated fabulously. Five minutes passed by-- silence. Ten minutes passed by-- silence. Fifteen minutes passed by and I heard only one peep . . . "Is he here yet?" It was magical. Probably twenty minutes passed by when the troops became restless and gave up, which was fine. Because it was twenty minutes of silence that gave me the strength to charge into overtime (because "on his way home" really meant "on his way home after a quick beer)."
So the other day I learned a new trick that I'm pretty excited about (in a sheepish kind of way). The girls had been needier than usual all afternoon. It was 6:00, "dinner" was almost done, and I just needed five minutes of silence before the start of the third period. My husband called to say that he was on his way home from work (more on that later), so I prepared the girls and told them that they should find a really good hiding place and surprise Daddy when he came home. I suggested a few key spots in the house, supplied jackets, blankets and other ideal camouflage gear, and told them that I'd let them know when Daddy pulled into the driveway (which is a much easier maneuver now that "Black Betty" has joined the family). Turns out, the girls cooperated fabulously. Five minutes passed by-- silence. Ten minutes passed by-- silence. Fifteen minutes passed by and I heard only one peep . . . "Is he here yet?" It was magical. Probably twenty minutes passed by when the troops became restless and gave up, which was fine. Because it was twenty minutes of silence that gave me the strength to charge into overtime (because "on his way home" really meant "on his way home after a quick beer)."
3.07.2009
RANDOM QUESTION OF THE HOUR
If you eat popcorn out of a bowl from Darwin's Theory does it taste better?
If you eat popcorn out of a bowl from Darwin's Theory does it taste better?
3.05.2009
DWELLSTUDIO FOR TARGET
I was so excited to see these fun kitchen textiles at Target the other day. I've always loved DwellStudio for their clean, modern designs and fun color combinations.
2.25.2009
RANDOM OBSESSION
So I'm not quite sure where I was or what I was doing in 2005 but apparently I missed the release of this Coldplay song. I don't know what it is about this song, but among many things, it brings out the air guitar playin' fool in me. The video is good, not great (except the part when the song accelerates and the crowd is on their feet singing and you see Chris Martin let out a sweet, modest smile . . . 4:23 minutes into the video to be exact). He's humble, proud, slightly surprised, hoping he remembers the rest of the song, trying to control his goosebumps, wondering if he should let the crowd take over, telling himself to act like he's been there before like his buddies Garth and Bono . . . wondering why he doesn't have Paige T. Sullivan as his life coach. Yet amazingly he gets through the song flawlessly, and almost 4 years later he has a new fan.
So I'm not quite sure where I was or what I was doing in 2005 but apparently I missed the release of this Coldplay song. I don't know what it is about this song, but among many things, it brings out the air guitar playin' fool in me. The video is good, not great (except the part when the song accelerates and the crowd is on their feet singing and you see Chris Martin let out a sweet, modest smile . . . 4:23 minutes into the video to be exact). He's humble, proud, slightly surprised, hoping he remembers the rest of the song, trying to control his goosebumps, wondering if he should let the crowd take over, telling himself to act like he's been there before like his buddies Garth and Bono . . . wondering why he doesn't have Paige T. Sullivan as his life coach. Yet amazingly he gets through the song flawlessly, and almost 4 years later he has a new fan.
2.24.2009
IF I COULD SEWI found these fabulous clutches by Kailo Chic
and thought that they would make fun gifts for my girlfriends. I love the bold and bright patterns.2.18.2009
NOT EXACTLY A TEA PARTYIn an attempt to take a wild departure from our dinner routine, I decided it would be fun to have a "picnic" with the girls... we'd pull out a blanket, find our fabulous tea cups for sipping some delicious peach-orange-mango fruit juice, and eat dinner in the living room. I was unsuccessful at finding the tea cups (and feeling much pressure to perform once the announcement had been made that we were going to be dining on the floor), and grabbed the first thing that I saw . . .
So it's not exactly what I had in mind (nor Parker apparently), but it worked. And eventually the shame that I felt for using martini glasses as a substitute for tea cups was overshadowed by the excitement on their faces when I handed them their "big girl" glasses. According to them, it was a fabulous tea party.
2.16.2009
ROMANCE
Here is one of my favorite photos of my parents. It was taken in Hawaii where my dad was serving in the U.S. Navy as an officer and my mom was working as a registered nurse at a local hospital. They met on a blind date.
I've always wondered who took this photo and if they knew just how much they captured.
2.12.2009
JUST BEING A MOM?
At a recent gathering with a group of women we discussed the issue of guilt. More specifically, we talked about how (and why) moms feel guilty when they leave their children in the sole care of their husbands (ie: when they walk out the door to meet up with some girlfriends to catch up over a half dozen bottles of wine and not enough food). There was one woman who said that she truly feels no guilt when she walks out the door (God love ya, Michelle), but most of us agreed that we all felt a little guilty "imposing" on our husbands when we pass the baton to them. My question is, does this type of guilt come hand-in-hand with being a mom, or is it a personality trait? Either way, I wish I could break free from it. At least every once and a while.
My most recent experience with this occurred just this past week. My disclaimer to what I'm about to say is that it had been one of the longest weeks with the kids. We've got croup, snotty noses, dry coughs, fevers, no appetite (mom aside . . .of course), grumps, lack of sleep, no pre-school (I've gotten good at wall climbing), pneumonia, cling-to-my-leg-all-day-like-a shin-guard behavior, strawberries to dip, Dr. appointments to make, ear infections, medicine to pick up, milk to get, and valentines for school to make. I chose to delegate the last task to my husband the other night. It was just a quick trip to the store (with toddler in tow) to purchase white card stock and valentine treats for goody bags. I delegated-- partly because I was exhausted, but mostly because I was still wearing the same thing I wore to bed the previous night (what, that's not charming?). The second that I asked him to do this for me I started to feel guilty. I then started to wonder how long it was going to take him to get Tierney out of her princess dress, shoes, pearls and hat and into something presentable. Should I help if it meant they'd get out the door faster? Because I'm pretty sure Simon and Garfunkel had already started singing "The Sound of Silence" in my ear. Move, move, move! I felt guilty because I was sending my husband off to the store on an empty stomach. I felt guilty because it was almost 7:00 at night and this task was probably the last thing he felt like doing. I felt guilty because I knew how much energy it would take to charge through this Valentines day adventure. I felt guilty because I know what it's like to take a toddler to the grocery store. I feel guilty because the entire time he was away I was doing everything but scrubbing the floors (and my armpits).
But once the troops were out the door and on their way to complete the mission, I was just fine. I was going to be okay. And so I poured myself a glass of wine and enjoyed my guilt-free moment. Because I knew it wouldn't last long.
At a recent gathering with a group of women we discussed the issue of guilt. More specifically, we talked about how (and why) moms feel guilty when they leave their children in the sole care of their husbands (ie: when they walk out the door to meet up with some girlfriends to catch up over a half dozen bottles of wine and not enough food). There was one woman who said that she truly feels no guilt when she walks out the door (God love ya, Michelle), but most of us agreed that we all felt a little guilty "imposing" on our husbands when we pass the baton to them. My question is, does this type of guilt come hand-in-hand with being a mom, or is it a personality trait? Either way, I wish I could break free from it. At least every once and a while.
My most recent experience with this occurred just this past week. My disclaimer to what I'm about to say is that it had been one of the longest weeks with the kids. We've got croup, snotty noses, dry coughs, fevers, no appetite (mom aside . . .of course), grumps, lack of sleep, no pre-school (I've gotten good at wall climbing), pneumonia, cling-to-my-leg-all-day-like-a shin-guard behavior, strawberries to dip, Dr. appointments to make, ear infections, medicine to pick up, milk to get, and valentines for school to make. I chose to delegate the last task to my husband the other night. It was just a quick trip to the store (with toddler in tow) to purchase white card stock and valentine treats for goody bags. I delegated-- partly because I was exhausted, but mostly because I was still wearing the same thing I wore to bed the previous night (what, that's not charming?). The second that I asked him to do this for me I started to feel guilty. I then started to wonder how long it was going to take him to get Tierney out of her princess dress, shoes, pearls and hat and into something presentable. Should I help if it meant they'd get out the door faster? Because I'm pretty sure Simon and Garfunkel had already started singing "The Sound of Silence" in my ear. Move, move, move! I felt guilty because I was sending my husband off to the store on an empty stomach. I felt guilty because it was almost 7:00 at night and this task was probably the last thing he felt like doing. I felt guilty because I knew how much energy it would take to charge through this Valentines day adventure. I felt guilty because I know what it's like to take a toddler to the grocery store. I feel guilty because the entire time he was away I was doing everything but scrubbing the floors (and my armpits).
But once the troops were out the door and on their way to complete the mission, I was just fine. I was going to be okay. And so I poured myself a glass of wine and enjoyed my guilt-free moment. Because I knew it wouldn't last long.
2.04.2009
A SUBTLE HINT?
My brother Andy recently tried to find a You Tube video of chimpanzees playing hockey that he had seen recently on TV. Although he couldn't find the one he was looking for, this was one he found. As I was watching the video, I couldn't help but wonder if this was his subtle way of telling me that this is how I look when I play hockey. Is that why you're keeping my stick so short, Andy?
My brother Andy recently tried to find a You Tube video of chimpanzees playing hockey that he had seen recently on TV. Although he couldn't find the one he was looking for, this was one he found. As I was watching the video, I couldn't help but wonder if this was his subtle way of telling me that this is how I look when I play hockey. Is that why you're keeping my stick so short, Andy?
2.03.2009
1.28.2009
1.20.2009
GOODBYE, MR. BUSH
(President Bush departing on last scheduled Air Force One flight, just 10 days before Presidential Inauguration)
HELLO, HAT!
January 20th 2009 was a big day for America, and I'm not afraid to admit that I got a little emotional watching former president George Bush leave the Capitol grounds in a military helicopter.
I'm also not afraid to admit that Aretha Franklin's hat gave me goosebumps. I think former president Clinton (in the background), likes it too.
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