Taking Pleasure in Punishing My Kids

I'm a mean Mom.

I take away electronics.

I feel justified in doing so when said electronics seems to add to the antagonism and aggression that seems to run rampant in our home during down time.

I don't give a flying flip if kid did save up for a year just to buy his very own iPod Touch-- it's mine when you start biting everybody's head off.

This is what occurs after the initial shock (and withdrawal symptoms) subside...

Playing Wii Karaoke

After Wii Karaoke, some Wii fit on the board. See the two Wii controllers?

Maybe a little XBox action when that's over...Looks like Halo is the game in queue

XBox isn't complete without the Kinect...

Nobody make any sudden movements! That's a Shrink-ray gun by his feet!

Surely you know who this is?

Oh alright. Maybe this helps?

For Pete's sake, it's Simon Lappin!

Don't tell the kids that their sudden burst of creativity may have just nailed the lid shut on the electronic coffin.

Seven Is Lovely

Went to bed way too late. again.

For the first time in years, Miss Ky slept through the night and DIDN'T travel in to visit me.

However,

Husband lost his mind and decided that 2 or 3 am is the perfect time to get up and re-make the bed. I could NOT believe it. I still think he was sleep-bed making, but he swears the blankets were messed up.

by 8 am little birthday boy had opened pressies.

by 9 am I drove into town to buy the food things for the party.

Received a text from Hubby, "When you get a signal, call home please".

Bad news:
Apparently I had a brain hemorrhage sometime a few weeks ago and had put two different times on party invites. I had two moms in the same place and their invitations said 1-3.30 and 3-5. They had called to see what I was up to. Women are now laughing at me and saying they're blaming it on pre-menopause.
Back up: one of the women just happened to be the one I sucked up the courage to call about a week ago to ask her what time I had put on the invitations...
I drove home quickly. Frantically tried to get numbers to ring all of these people I don't know to ask what time their invitations said. A2 had invited his entire class.
Fortunately for me, some of those kids are only discovering their invites tonight as they prepare their book bags to return to school tomorrow after a very long Easter holiday.

by 11am I drove to the building to decorate -- with all food stuff still unprepared due to the phoning required. Kids played while I decorated. I would have to prepare food during the party. Sometime.

At 12.30 I told my kids it was time to put on their costumes. Aaaargh! Pirate party Ye know.

Only...

I had left the costumes at home. 20 minutes away.

I could dwell on the fact that everything worked against me this month, but instead would like to see 7 positive points (yes, it's me writing this post and not some guest blogger):

A. A2 had a great time today.

B. I didn't kill anyone in my crazed drive home and back

C. The costumes were by the door on a chair and hadn't been put on the roof of the car or any other equally stupid place.

D. It didn't matter that it rained since I had opted on an indoor party.

E. Being of "advanced maternal age" when he was born means that I fully appreciate this time watching him grow.

F. Now with this party over, I may be able to concentrate on things like... blogging a decent post for the first time in a month.

G. Flights may resume tomorrow.

Ok, "G" really has nothing to do with our pirate party, but it's important to other people (F might be as well).

.... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... ....

A2... 7 years ago, heavily pregnant I traipsed through the desert, walked into the hospital, donned an unfashionable backless gown and instantly despised the woman who would become my nurse.

I think even that day started better than this one...

But the results were equal-- in the joy I felt watching you run and laugh today and the sweet little newborn face I lovingly melted into then.

Your impish ways, soft heart, contagious giggle, odd British/American accent, are the highlights of my day.


Happy 7th birthday big guy.

Julio Iglesias Wanted Me to Sing!

To all the Moms I've loved before

Who travelled in through my blog door
I'm glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the Moms I've loved before


To all the Moms I once distressed
may I just say I've passed the test?
For helping me to grow
I owe a lot I know
To all the Moms I've loved before


The whinge of change here is always blowing
And every time I try to stay
The whinge and complaints continue blowing
But the Moms love me anyway


To all the Moms who share my life
Through blogs, emails & Facebook hype
I'm glad YOU came along
I dedicate this song
To all the Moms I've loved before...

Happy Mother's Day!

I know, stick to changing diapers.

There's a great blogger out there who temporarily lost his good sense and invited me to his Sunday Roast. Please drop by Authorblog if you have a minute because I'm really hoping to boost his readership. I crack myself up, actually, his blog is pretty wonderful-- 774 followers can't be wrong. Thank you, David.

Five Children and Counting, People!

Alright, Kathryn's got me all wound up with her post about stupid people and their thoughtless remarks-- So post number 99 (you hear that Flea, I catch on quick to this counting thing, don't I?) is a serious soapbox, whinging ramble-- get out now while you can!

I am a mother of four boys. add a little girl, but I had 3 years of being a mom with four boys.

I wore that title like a badge of courage-- with pride.


I didn't have one stinking easy delivery.
The first was 24 hours of hard labor with forceps, the second was long but I managed to have a little control throughout-- well, until I nearly bled to death and they whisked me out to surgery while my poor husband held his (first) few-minute old baby.
Baby 3 was in a military training hospital and I just want to say right now, for the record, Doctor in training that checked me to see if I was dilated anymore? I'm really sorry for the Linda Blair impression and I'm sorry you felt the need to cower in the corner for the rest of the delivery, but back labor hurts and you really should time your checks (and cut off one half of your monster-sized hands) before touching a woman that's already twisting her head all the way around. deep breath
Baby 4, I was determined NOT to lose it at any more doctors and made many pre-labor plans to be sure it would go my way. But my doctor, who had agreed with my plan, had no control over the nurse from hell. Hard labor was much faster, and if I had known it wasn't going to go on for 12-24 hours like the others, I might have been braver and not begged my husband to get me away from that mean witch. But once again, I went into Post Partum very disappointed with myself.

I had four sons that I worked hard to get.
And then the comments came. Like Kathryn mentioned, they're always in front of the kids.

So, you trying for a girl?
No, you trying for a brain?

Patricia Heaton (Everybody Loves Raymond) once said that comments like that irritated her because she thought it implied her family was incomplete (she also had four boys).

Can I tell you how complete my family was with four boys?

That must be yes, because you're still here.

We danced to Disney. We sang.
Baby 2 could sing the entire first verse of the Star Spangled Banner--perfect pitch-- at the age of 3 (we lived on an Air Force base, where it's played daily over the loud speakers and Sept. 11th had just happened).
We frequented the library and the kids knew what a wolf fish looked like before they were three (now that's a skill that will carry you through Kindergarten).

I had my share of good times, like the time I went to answer the door and the two boys in the bath (yes, I know) played sinking ship and bailed all of the water out of the tub. When that water ran out, they moved on to the toilet. When I shut the door and started heading down the hallway, my feet went "slosh slosh slosh", a sound not frequently heard inside. Those boys were fast.
I also experienced the grocery shopping nightmare every mother should have at least once. The one where a child pulls something from the bottom of a pyramid display (WHY do they build those in a place where kids frequent?!)

I've cleaned every bodily fluid you can imagine off of places they shouldn't have been, and extricated children from places you wouldn't imagine they could fit. 'nuff said.

I have sat crying in emergency rooms for two skateboard injuries, high fevers, jaundice etc... and cheered for brilliant (my opinion) musical performances by trumpets, bass, drums, guitar, cornet, and the tuba.

I've taken on men bigger and meaner than me (yes, they do exist) when they threatened my children's self esteem and respectfully offered my polite "Yes Sir" and "No sir" in Motor Vehicle Court standing next to the teenage driver from hell.

I was feeling like my life was pretty complete. But you can't tell a store clerk that.

No, I stand there with my mouth gaping open at the audacity of the last question asked and watch as they move on to the next customer. I mumble all the way home.

Comments like:

"Wow, those are a lot of kids." and "You know what causes that don't you?" (Yes, which is why I try to do it as much as possible, so could you please hurry it up, you're cutting into my baby-making time here)
Oh, and the one I've enjoyed most over the years is, "My, quite a gap between your first and second, isn't there!"
Now, what if I had miscarried several before getting baby two? I didn't, the Hubby had to do a lot of sweet talking to get me to go through THAT experience again. How unkind would that comment be?

These lapses in judgement probably aren't intended as badly as we accept them.

In fact, most of the people offering up their stupidity are doing so as a gesture. Proof that they aren't judging the freak show happening before their eyes (you know, the woman with the amazing nine-armed octopus grabbing at every candy displayed on the 5 shelves at the check out with the cashier staring at the bar code on the shampoo as if it will tell her why the price isn't scanning).

And while we fume and think of the comebacks we should've given during dinner or throughout and entire episode of CSI, they've long forgotten that they ever saw a frazzled woman in the store with four hairy little boys hanging from her every limb.

Just last week I was standing behind a woman in a shop on base. I had heard her voice several times saying, "Don't touch that." "Get down from there." "I told you to stay by me", but it fell on me like elevator music.
I knew it was happening, but really paid no attention since it was my 30 minutes and 21 seconds of child-free shopping.
While I stood in the line to pay for my items, I only vaguely noticed that the woman and two boys were in front of me, and her friend was purchasing her things. About the time she said, "I'm just going to take them outside while you finish up and then when you're done, I'll come back in", I realized that she had been struggling to keep these two little boys composed.
I hadn't really noticed them before then, but now the woman had burst into tears and was trying to laugh it off telling her friend that going out with them just stresses her out...

I felt so bad for her. I stepped closer, put my arm around her and said, "I don't think I have ever left the commissary NOT in tears."
She thanked me.

What I wanted to tell her, but didn't because then I was feeling stupid standing there with no children, was that her boys hadn't disturbed my shopping at all. I thought their little faces were adorable and they were just doing things little curious boys do. She couldn't see the joy or wonder (and mischievous grins) on their faces because she was worried about how they were behaving and how it would effect others around her (something I do and live regretting EVERY single night since I became a Mom).

So, Moms (and Mom's to be) (and women waiting to be Moms) unite!
Let's be proud of our shop destroyers, and these wonderful little guys who talk too loud and play at inappropriate times.

And the rest of you...

If I don't know you, it's NOT o.k. to ask me sensitive questions about my personal relationship with my husband (ie: insinuations that maybe he's NOT the father since the child has a different hair color) and you really should be concentrating on the price of that shampoo instead of educating me on acceptable birthing numbers. And now if you'll excuse me, the planet still has a couple of square feet that needs to be filled....

Thievin' Thursday

The way I see it, between Thievin' Thursday, Scrolling Saturday, Wordless Wednesday and Monday Missions, I only have to think a couple days a week-- AND if I'm feeling grey, I just skip those days.
I am thief-ing an email I sent to the Sexy Guy while he was deployed.
This email was sent to him between one titled "I'm Done" and "Church wasn't so fun today".

27 May 2007 19:48:46 BST
a story in pictures
One afternoon, a silence fell upon the house (rare, I know)


The End.




Bonus for those of you that are still here:

How could you NOT know something was wrong???? I can't get five minutes alone in the toilet, but this woman apparently had two years of uninterrupted time.

Shhhh!

I'm running away from home. Don't tell anyone, I need enough time to put space between me and these passion-suckers before they notice. I'm wondering how long it will take to swim across the pond.....

Well, the worst of the storm has passed us. You were all so sweet in your concern for me and my family. I was only worried about losing power to the computer, and I didn't (thus the new template). I don't want to be too flippant about the storm, some got smacked hard. Flights and Ferries were cancelled, train schedules disrupted, sea front homes were instantly in the sea. A lot of folks will be without power for quite a while, and wow, if you could've seen the commute (or lack of) through the Dartmouth Tunnel!
So thank you for your kind comments and for missing me the couple of hours I didn't blog.


So, on to Monday's Mission:

Pssst! Over here! Remember me? Ummm, I have been hearing you mumble under your breath. Things like, "You just wait, one day I'll be gone..." and "Everyday people are wiped off this earth, but not me... I just keep going and going and going..." and I'm wondering,
you will be taking me, right?

Remember when we first met, how you kept telling me I was beautiful? I hadn't had anyone look at me so lovingly in such a long time. You even took my picture with your silly little pink mobile phone camera. I smiled. Did you see me smile? I did.
And when you came back the next time, you stroked me. I knew you were hooked then...
but you didn't take me home.

The third time you came, you acted distant, kind of detached really... or maybe it was more defeat I saw in your face. You looked exceptionally tired and worn down. I know now that you were on the verge of a breakdown of sorts and that makes your visit even more special to me. Because when you were viewing life through a dimmed, broken spirit, you still thought of me.
But you didn't take me home. As you walked out the door, I remember thinking, "It's nearly Christmas and she's not taking me home. I'll never see her again".

I was wrong. The fourth time you came. You didn't leave my side. You were protective of me when other clumsy people came by to give me a look and when the crowds started to overwhelm me, you stuck your elbows out in a protective way. I knew then that I would be going home with you.
I loved how you cleaned me up (It felt so good to have a bath!), and put me upstairs close to you. I loved how you hugged me every time you saw me.

I don't know when you stopped. I was so happy being in a family again, that I didn't notice that I was only getting passing glances from you. You're so busy all of the time! You always have an armload of laundry, or a crying baby to soothe, or a timer on the oven or kid yelling "I'm DONE!" from the bathroom.

No wonder you want to sneak out in the middle of the night.


You ARE taking me with you, aren't you????

Thievin' Thursday

I'm too busy watching American Idol to actually come up with a thought-provoking post (cough...must be watching AI all the time then, you think?), so I am thief-ing an email I sent to the Sexy Guy while he was deployed (wow, my g-rating--see the bottom of the page-- must really be plummeting with THAT word).
This email was sent to him as he waited for word on whether or not he was moving. I had started the morning with : "Dad's on the move!" and ended up saying, "Never mind, Dad's in the Hurry-up-and-wait stage".


5 Sept: It's just a really long story (and it wouldn't be very entertaining if I shortened it). Shoot, you have no where to be, so I'll try and see if Ky will let me get through this.

So, I decided to BBQ. It'd be fun, I could BBQ while the boys played in the yard-- so I decided to move the grill to the front garden--via that long hallway. Well, I asked A2 to open the door for me and I tipped up the thing and started wheeling it---I was walking backwards. Well, long ago, I took the mesh fencing off the big pond and put it over the little one, thinking Ky was more likely to fall in that one. So as I backed up, A1 failed to warn me that I was about to hit anything (He didn't notice) and the spiky bits ripped into my leg (luckily I had jeans on and it tore a hole in them and just scratched me) and I went down on my hand-- hard. It's bruised today-- didn't know hands could bruise. I stood up, took account of my jeans (whatta drag) and began again. Well A2 then decides to help by moving the fencing in a way that Ky will not only drown, but she'll get skewered along the way-- so, when he leaves, I decide to rearrange the fence and gouge the top of my foot-- it starts to bleed, so I went in to disinfect it (how long ago did I have a tetanus shot?) while the baby cries and the boys are all put out about watching her.

Back to the BBQ.
I put the charcoal in, knowing I was really wasting my time since the top had blown off the grill during the storm and everything (entire bag of charcoal) had gotten damp. I struggled to get it going while J2 paced around me upset that he has to hold Ky. I scoop all the coals out and start with a fresh bag. It lights right up, so I proceeded to shuck the corn to get it ready. I have already snapped at the boys for huffing about watching the baby-- J2 said, "Well you said you'd BBQ while we jumped on the trampoline, but we can't do that if we have to watch her!" So I told him, "Fine-- I just won't BBQ, I can't do it all".
Well, he now has her in the grass. I asked A2 to please set up the table with all of the condiments, but as I open the fridge....

Another story:
Ky loves baby meat sticks-- isn't that funny? I never gave the other kids any, but she loves them, so I buy them. Well, let me correct that.... she loves the first three of the bottle and eats them like a wild animal, but the rest, she tears apart and throws all over the floor, so... I refrigerate the remainder......


When I went to pull out something, that danged baby meat stick bottle fell out and in my attempt to catch it, I batted it across the kitchen floor. I watched it bounce (whew, no break) (but the lid did come off), bounce (yikes, still no break though), bounce bounce bounce-- all the while splashing meat juice up the cabinets, chair and table legs.

SO, I tell A1 to leave the kitchen and I begin cleaning. I have the meat on the grill, so I am beginning to panic a little. I also have on my mind: There's laundry that's hung all day that needs to come in before it rains, and clothes in the washer that may sour if I don't get them out soon, there's a plastic chair blocking my pathway in and out the door and, is the corn burning out there on the coals?
.... and then A1 says "Ky made a poo!" and they all start "eeeeewing" (which makes me wonder if it's oozing).
I change Ky, set her in her high chair and throw snacks at her so she can eat while she screams at me, flip the burgers (they're ok) and turn the corn. I rush back in to start the broccoli and begin taking things to the table.

Anyway, in the chaos, A1 went to his room and played a video game, A2 started pestering me to eat, and J2 was sprawled on the couch watching tv while Ky yelled at me.

It was enough. I'm tired and can't tell you the last time I sat and played a video game or watched the tellie un-interrupted. I told them, "That's it!" and packed up the burgers & bell peppers, put the uncooked hotdogs back in the fridge along with the corn and broccoli and then I sat down on the couch and watched "Everybody Loves Raymond".

They ate cereal.

I bet next time I go to do something they want, they'll be a little more considerate...

yeah, you're right, probably not.

Mothering Sunday or, The Plague is Coming!

Happy Mum's Day to you celebrating it. Mothering Sunday is held in March, usually preceded by a Saturday where Tesco's are bursting at the seams with frazzled men and their children. I was foolish enough to go in for scones yesterday and dang near didn't live to see my breakfast in bed this morning.

The first March we were here to experience the bombardment of adverts for the upcoming day, we were the very tired parents of a non-sleeping five-month old. I dashed about madly to get cards for our three mothers and spent hours contemplating the best British-type gift for the cherished women in our lives. Reflecting back, I remember thinking, "Has this holiday always been in March? I could've sworn it was in May." The Hubby never corrected me, but looked as bewildered as I was.
Imagine our surprise when we finally figured it all out-- and I was two months early for "our" holiday (I think I still mailed them late though).

This year, I'm better rested. I know now that I should buy my Mums cards on Monday (they'll disappear quick, these people don't mess around in changing holidays) to mail to the U.S in May.

This year I received breakfast in bed (oops, it was Fast Sunday),
and some of the most beautiful cards ever made (in my opinion). Mother's Day is getting better.



I used to dread Mother's Day like the plague and I'll tell you why (gee, must you?).

Every Mother's Day falls on Sunday-- strange coincidence, I know.
As a family, we strive to keep the Sabbath day holy-- pretty much like Biblical times, meaning: we don't work and don't want to be the cause of somebody else working.

All Mother's Day Brunches are on Sunday.

While happy Mother's all over the United States are washing crab legs down with champagne, I am bathing four very different kinds of stinky little critters that want to give me grief on everything from the clothes I've laid out to who each critter has to bathe with.

I've showered (before the dawn of time), fixed my hair hastily and dressed in the clothes I should've thrown out on my 5th wedding anniversary, but by the time the little beasts are fed, bathed and dressed, I look like I've been in a fight with a wet dog.

I do all of this while my husband attends church meetings. He then arrives (looking pretty scrumptious in his pressed, puke-free suit), five minutes before the meeting is to begin so that we can jointly tie--I mean safely hook--each wriggly, angry mini-monster into their car seat...while the teenager exudes attitude. ('nuff said)
We then begin the 2 1/2 hour drive to church.
Alright, I might be exaggerating on the time taken to commute to a building a few blocks away, but when children are screaming in your ear, time seems to go more slowly-- like "I think I remember that last ice age" slowly.

Next, I sit in a church meeting listening to MAN after MAN speak about how wonderful his mother was.
You know her.
She was the lady that NEVER raised her voice at the children, always had a clean, warm home and delicious meals on the table that said MAN would never have dreamt of saying, "I don't like that! Can't we just have chicken nuggets like billy's family?".

I am shrinking further and further into my wrinkled, Mork & Mindy-style cowl-necked sweater (or did I buy it during the Three's Company run?) wishing for the roof to collapse.

Can it get worse? Of course it can!

The children are dragged up front to sing about their Moms, "Mother, I love you, Mother, I dooo--hoooo", all smiling lovingly at their perfectly pressed mothers. But mine....

My children have memories like elephants. They remember that I made them eat their greens the night before. They remember that I shouted at them before breakfast when they dropped a baseball on the baby's head...and when they dumped the bath water all over the floor while playing "sinking ship", and when we were getting in the car and again when they darted out of the car into a busy parking lot.
Yep, there is love just oozing from their smiles..NOT.
They look like someone pinched them. They're NOT singing, they are just looking terribly uncomfortable.
My scowling kids are given flowers to hand out to the mothers in the congregation. Luckily they don't try to pretend I'm not there-- in fact, now that they're waltzing through the aisles with flowers, they are each quite happy. One gives me some. Now I get to take home a beautiful reminder of Spring, WHO's LIFE WAS CRUELLY CUT SHORT TO COMMEMORATE THIS BLOODY, HAPPY HOLIDAY.

Um,
sorry about that.

That was past Mother's Day. Present Mothers Day is Mothering Sunday in the U.K.
For some reason, it just works better here.
The Hubby, who was scheduled to work, got a call before we left for church saying his shift was cancelled. He looked scrumptious in his pressed, puke-free suit-- but even better, he had bathed the kids while I dressed in something purchased in this decade.
My kids honored me. They sang. J2 even participated in a duet.. with a smile... directed at me! I came home with a potted flower, picked out of the box by the child that knew I liked purple.

I am feeling so fuzzy that I want to share this day with you, regardless of what month you observe it. Since I can't mail you a Mum's Day card, I am sending you flowers. Daffodils from my front garden. I even knocked the bugs off... you're welcome, and have a great Sunday!!

The Mama Obama

I have to vent. Here's another political statement from me... even though I promised in the beginning to steer clear of this (I'm not running for President, what do I care if I go back on my word?).

It's about this comment made by Michelle Obama:

"For the first time in my adult lifetime, I am really proud of my country. And not just because Barack has done well, but because I think people are hungry for change. I have been desperate to see our country moving in that direction...”

Doesn't this just chafe your hide?

All Things British moment: Not to be mistaken for Chuff, which in England is a good thing. "I won tickets to a Norwich game, I am really chuffed about it!"

I am not chaffed that she said it, but that it is getting so much media coverage.

Holy cow people.

As a mom, how many times have you said, "My kids are really driving me crazy!"
Am I to take that to mean your children have never brought you any joy and that you are seriously close to literally being institutionalized?

How about the new mom that says, "We haven't slept in six weeks!"
Really? Why aren't you dead? Why haven't you been declared insane?
I think we understand and accept her statement to mean:
"I have only slept in increments since the baby was born".


Anybody who has followed Barack Obama's political career has probably figured out by now that he has an intelligent wife with a sarcastic sense of humor. While campaigning, she has to be aware of the things she says and how they look in print-- therefore, she's toned down her comments. I think it's sad.

How many blogs do you visit daily BECAUSE the writer is sarcastic? How many links in your side bar are to a blog that could be re-titled "Everything's Wonderful In Happy Happy Land"?

I would rather see a potential First Lady (or maybe even a potential president) with a dry or sarcastic sense of humor than one that tells me everything I want to hear. The latter frightens me. I'm afraid the true colors would come out after it was too late to change my vote.

Believe it or not, I am NOT on the Obama campaign wagon, but I am a Mom and I have said and done some really stupid things in my term as Mommy.

I am just really thankful the media hasn't covered any of them.

We're all In the Gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars*

To be so young and carefree. I can't tell you the last time I sat in the sunlight buck-nekked and picked sock lint out of my toes.

I have been reluctant to come out and play because
1. WOW --the depression-slap upside the head this week.
2. After reading so many really cool blogs, I am beginning to wonder if I really have anything to say. (Doesn't mean I won't say something... have you seen me try a wordless "any" day?)

So now I am pondering the psychology of blogging.

I first began my blog because I was really fed up with where my life was (or wasn't) going. I googled (insert unhappy wife/mom/Air Force dependent etc... here), and happened upon a blog... that was telling my story. From there, I clicked on more links and found my spirits lifting. I began to feel like I was connected to these people somehow and feeling like what I was experiencing was o.k.

In the weeks that followed, I did find a few blogs that basically told me I was a selfish person for not reveling in the joys of wiping snotty noses and throwing unsalvageable underpants out for the third time in a week, but the great thing about blogs is how quick you can leave the offending post (wait, that wasn't your cue to leave).
The bad thing as a blogger is that I have entered this "need to perform" mode. You know, I need this post to be better and funnier than the one before.
Crap.
That's the whole problem with face-to-face friends, isn't it? It's the very rare friendship that we let down our guards showing who we are, quit entertaining and allow the friendship to really deepen. We take that risk of exposing all of our ugliness and still being liked.

THAT's what blogging is supposed to be doing for me, but somewhere in there I started worrying.
I worried about posting how I have every intention of changing my nationality if Hillary becomes president. I worried about sharing something that lifted me spiritually during the week--I wasn't ready for anti-God comments. I worried about becoming annoying with stories of my kids, and what sicko may be reading them.

I worried that someone might steal my photos. I worried that in my newby-ness, I may have committed the unpardonable blogging sin... Should I have asked you before I told everyone reading my blog how great your blog is? Putting your link in my side-bar, is that like posting your unlisted phone number (or worse, like sending you email 'forwards')?

I actually dropped my mask one day. The day I received the news that President Gordon B. Hinckley passed away, I wanted to acknowledge it, but did so thinking, "well, there go a few of my bloggy friends".
But you didn't go. Some of you left kind comments, some of you just ignored it and that was ok too. And maybe our bloggy relationship just grew a little bit, if only on my part.

This is me, this is who I am.

I have suffered some sort depression, probably linked to childbirth, on and off for a few years. I pull out of it and appear like I am doing fine, but then something major happens-- like the ketchup bottle falling out on a tile floor-- and I get slapped back down. I'd like to think it's a chemical imbalance and my body will sort itself out (yep, and then along comes MENOPAUSE).

In the meantime, I blog because writing interests me.
I read blogs, because I like knowing there's life outside my nappy-changing, nose-wiping, bed-makin', toilet-scrubbing, three-ring circus.
I am an artist that hasn't done ANY art in at least 5 years, and haven't painted seriously for 11 years. Yikes, seeing that actually typed... ouch.
I laugh a lot when my body isn't fighting me, and enjoy humorous blogs as well as the tear-jerkers and posts that have me rooting for the under dog (you know, aka: mom).

I go to church every sunday and some days in between. My family says prayers together, we eat our meals at the table together, and we drive each other mad... together.

I have no problem with any other religions and am actually fascinated in hearing our differences.

I don't like my food to touch, but I don't think it's bordering on nutty, I just take a lot of time getting flavors just right and don't want one taste to contaminate another.

I love taking pictures, and if someone wants to steal them, I will be flattered, but I will hunt them down (and force them to spend a week in my house with my kids).

So, now that we're opening up, I feel I can be a little more honest with you...
and tell you

I've NEVER sat nekked picking at my toes.
However, Miss Ky is obsessed with it (shoes and socks come off with every car ride), and she's a happy baby, so maybe ...?

*Oscar Wilde

The Rescue

I have so many things I'd like to post, but I keep finding the coolest things on other blogs (and since I am basically a monkey when it comes to coming up with my own ideas... I am doing this one too). Painted Maypole has a Monday Mission. You basically write a post in the form of a movie synopsis.


She thought her chances were long gone. She had resolved to living a life among a sink full of dishes hardened with the morning's half-eaten oatmeal, baskets of dirty football clothes caked with mud and undiscovered smashed bananas slowing turning to goo under the car seat.
She had given up everything: a college degree, childhood dreams of fame, her art--her passions--for this life and spent most of her time trying to remember why. Oil paints sat under the stairs collecting the dust that she so maniacally tried to keep from taking over her foyer, untouched and still in the box from two prior moves. They were probably not any good anymore, the oil having seeped out of the lids long ago, but she held on to them. It was the only thing she could control in the constantly changing life as a military wife.
But one dismally gray day changed it all. A life line, thrown out in hopes of saving anyone who could have survived, falls within her reach....


Alright, it was a package, but hey, I am desperate here. The post brought a Christmas gift from my friend today that was probably one of the best care packages I have ever received. The box was stuffed full and I kept pulling things out like it was Mary Poppin's bag (which can resemble Miss Ky's Diaper bag on any given day). She was so thoughtful-- there was everything from Green Chile Carmel Popcorn (don't knock it, green chile can do some amazing things to sweets!) to Eagle Ranch Pistachio turtles and scrap booking goodies (you know, for that rash of scrap booking I will accomplish when I am not busy reading blogs).
Despite the miserable way Christmas morning started this year, this Christmas was my best yet (Hey, "it was my best day ever"! I finally got to say it) and it just keeps coming.

Another Day in Happy Happy Land

That's it, I quit!
Oh, yeah, there's no quitting when the husband's away. Miss Ky has been good enough to share her cold with me, but while she naps, I am still picking up the destruction left in her path. You see, this serves me right because I was dancing lightly through the daffodils with my rosy vision of motherhood just yesterday and so today-- the world came to a halt (for 3.5 seconds-- the time mothers are allowed to take a break) when my head suddenly gained 20 pounds (about a stone and a half if we want to have our All Things British lesson for today).
I already type in the dark (one of the little vultures will know I am down here and join me if I switch on a light), but now I have to sit a little like Eliza Doolittle in training to keep my nose from running off on it's own. What a great life....