Mommy and Fynn

A "rational" dialogue between Kelli and Kelli

Kelli: I want another baby.
Kelli: No, you don't. Fynn's just 11 months today. He needs to be the baby a little longer.
Kelli: But, I just keep thinking about it, like I'm ready again.
Kelli: No, it would be SO HARD. Seriously. This isn't the Angelina and Brad show, for Pete's sake!
Kelli: Yeah... I know. And where would I put a baby? Ewan and Fynn can barely turn around in their room as it is, and there's nowhere else to put a wee little one.
Kelli: Exactly. Now you are talking sense. You've just gotten yourself back organized and sane again after all the post-partum blues with Fynn. You are on a roll, things are perfect right now!
Kelli: But...
Kelli: NO BUTS!
Kelli: But...it's just there, the thought, eating away at me. Every day, it's there, the suggestion, the desire...the "you can handle it." And I talk myself out of it hourly, but then Amber goes and and posts something really sweet about her little boy, and I see the newborn pictures, and my insides go all gooey and I think, maybe there's a reason for this thought, it just won't go away.
Kelli: Sweet little newborns grow up, and hit their siblings, and spill things and ask questions constantly for which there are no answers, and then they yell at you, and tell you they don't like your short haircut, and many other things.
Kelli: They also lay their head on my shoulder and tell me I'm a cutie, and draw me pictures, and ask fun questions, and love their siblings and pick flowers for me. And I love to teach them.
Kelli: There's nowhere to put a baby in this house, and you'll be living here for a while.
Kelli: *Sigh* Yeah, I know. *Sigh* Let's go look at pictures of the boys when they were born!
Kelli: Okay, but don't start this up again.
Kelli: *Sigh*

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

...and my greed is rearing its ugly head. I want these plates more than I want shares in the Coca-Cola company. Do I need plates? No, absolutely not. In fact I sold some at my garage sale because I have too many. But...I mean...did you look at those?!

Breathtaking

While editing the front-page article for our R.S. newsletter, I came across this quote:

"And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: 'Give me a light, that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied: 'Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.''

~ Minnie L. Haskins (1875-1957), “The Desert” (c.1908), Introduction

Marvelous Christmas Balls, Santa Baby, and Really Mean Truckdrivers

Since every magazine on the planet suggests everyone gains massive amounts of weight during the holiday season, I assume it must be true. But for me, I don't gain weight this time of year, I gain weight during the Easter season. The reason for this is summed up in three words: Cadbury Mini Eggs. These are a candy for which there is no dignifying description, other than to say they are made from chocolate clouds, mixed by angels, breathed on by fairies, candy-shelled by unicorns, and packaged by rainbows. Easter is the only time I can get them. At least, until I noticed the benevolent gods of Candyland are now offering them at Christmas, in the form of green and red balls. This is BAD. Very bad. Yet so good. Have you ever tasted a chocolate cloud that was stirred by angels, breathed on by fairies, candy-shelled by unicorns, and packaged by rainbows? "If you never did, you should. These things are fun, and fun is good." (Dr. Seuss)

I love this time of year. It's been a long time since I felt the Christmas spirit, but now with Ewan being so excited and really getting into everything, I feel it again. I had to hush Bryce up griping in front of Ewan about spending money. I don't want him to sense ANYTHING negative about this season, and I'm really working hard to pump it into his head as much about the Saviour as it's already stuffed with Santa and toys. He is totally loving Christmas music, his favorite being the Nutcracker. And today in the car, his little voice piped up from the back of the car requesting, "Santa, Baby, please."

That wasn't long after one of the scariest moments of my life. We were on the ramp leading from 360 to 1-20 East, and had passed a large tractor trailer. The two lanes merge into one, and I was well ahead of said tractor trailer, when he started to speed up. I don't know if he was mad that I had passed him in the first place, but he wasn't kidding about not letting me get ahead of him. I couldn't believe he would do what he did, which was - literally - run me off the road. He got over in my lane going REALLY fast, and I ended up on the side of the road to avoid a major collision. It had me upset for hours. And his truck had NO identifying characteristics: no company name, no phone number, nothing. Just a plain white truck. The worst part for me is that at his angle, he could see my little boys in the backseat, and he didn't care if he hurt us or not. He wasn't going to let me get by with whatever it was he thought I'd done to wrong him. It just makes me sick that people are so apathetic, or downright mean, in this world. Bryce doesn't understand why I'm surprised. But I am. Things like that shock me every time.

Help, please

Hi, all. I am in charge of the newsletter for my Relief Society. The second page is just random stuff, and I want to put something about Christmas traditions on there. I'm not putting names, because some of you aren't in my ward, but I would just like a very brief tradition that you do, or that you've heard of, or that just sounds like fun that I can put as a little suggestion list on my second page. I would be ever so much grateful and will send you a cyber hug.

Dear Lady with THE Car,

Hey, you. Yeah, you, with the gold Ford Taurus. Look, I just can't take it anymore. Can you, like, get your car fixed? Seriously? I mean, every morning I think someone has tied a woman to their car with ropes and is dragging her down the street, and that she's holding a megaphone as she screams in pain and terror. It's not funny anymore. At first, haha, yeah, it was like demons ascending from Hell, pursued by shrieking she-devils. But now, it's a woman screaming. Your car is giving me nightmares. Stop the torture. Doesn't it bother you? When you are driving your car, CAN'T YOU HEAR THAT? Doesn't it sound like your worst fears being acted out by a car? Haven't you seen the movie, "Christine?" You know, that movie based on the book by Steven King? Yeah, that Steven King. The one who writes HORROR stories. Do you want the plot to "Christine" to come true? You look like a nice lady, and your car looks great. (Except for that gold color. Maybe fix that, too.) But just do me a little favor, drive that screaming possessed piece of hellish machinery down to friggin' Pep Boys. I don't care how much it costs. (Heck, if you are worried about money, we have a great cheap mechanic. He's Mormon, so he won't cheat you or anything. In theory, at least.) Once it's fixed, come over. I'll make you some cookies. Maybe we can be friends. But as long as my mornings sound like I'm living in the seventh circle of hell, or in a serial killer's basement, you are no friend of mine.

Love,
Kelli

Texas Snow & School Larnin'

I've been a lazy little blogger lately, due to just being plain sick and being away from home over Thanksgiving weekend. We stayed at my sister Ashley's house to watch over Chandler with his broken leg. The rest of the family went on a BMX trip to Oklahoma and Chandler couldn't really come along. (On that note, he had his surgery today and is doing well.) So I'm just now sitting down to post some pictures from our five minute Texas snow.
Fynn's first snow. There IS snow in this picture, I swear. Thank goodness it got cold in time for Thanksgiving!

That's my sister Amy with Ewan, who is indeed pretending the snowflakes are "candy bars and milkshakes." Amy was SHOCKED I wouldn't come out to see the snow. But I was comatose on my parent's bed after a night of solid coughing. She declared I wasn't the person she once knew, or something like that. But I DID look out the window at the snow, Amy, I did!

Fynn drove his car over to ride his dog.

Ewan surprised us one day by declaring "My name is spelled E-W-A-N!" And he'll proudly tell anyone who asks what his name is. Now he's learning how to spell it.

Fynn's name, too.

Less than stellar pictures

Okay, here's my new haircut. Bryce wasn't home, so one of these is by Ewan, and one is a very artistic self-portrait. The cut is shorter than it looks in the first one, it looks mostly like the second one. And my chins make another unfortunate appearance.

Oh yeah, I forgot...

I chopped all of my hair off. I'll try to post pictures tomorrow. As it stands now, I've stayed up much longer than I intended, and having partaken of my beloved Robitussin (the real stuff, not that "Tussin" crap), that one gleaming consolation to being so dern sick, I am off to bed.

Happy Birthday, Hayden!

Showdown at the flagpole

I wouldn't necessarily say I pride myself on many things, but I guess maybe two things would be: One, I don't make scenes in public, and two, I never let Ewan run wild, especially in public.

Those two things were put to the test today on a short trip to Walgreens. I stopped for some cough syrup, as I've already been through a bottle in a week, and I was browsing around cosmetics. My dialogue with Ewan was pretty one-sided. "Ewan, don't touch that. Put that back on the shelf. Stop climbing. Stop pulling on me. Pick that up and put it back." And on and on. At one point, he started to step onto the low floor shelf with one foot. I was already telling him to get down, but before his second foot was even a quarter-inch off the ground, a Walgreens clerk came running over. "Ma'am! Ma'am! He can't do that. He can't climb that!" After staring at her for a second, my arm frozen in Ewan's direction in pointing position (having been interrupted in the middle of actually parenting him) I said to her, oh, so calmly, "Yes, I know, I'm telling him right now." I then turned around to Ewan and continued what I had already started. He, being three years old and a boy, heard me, but just wasn't moving to accommodate me very quickly. She kept badgering me, "He needs to get down right now, he is pulling on that, he can't do that!" I couldn't step away at that moment, because Fynn was in the cart, and the seat belt was broken, and his favorite thing to do is stand up and try to dive to the ground. I again said to her, "I am handling it, I already told him before you came over." And STILL that woman was yelling at me! She started spouting something about it being for my protection, which is totally hilarious to me, because she doesn't care about me or my child. And I understand she has a job to do, but she doesn't need to do mine. Had I been letting him act up and ignoring his antics, sure, she could say something. But I was clearly being an active parent and taking care of the situation. After more of her fussing, which had begun to sound like the adults in Charlie Brown's life, "WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH!" I lost all concern about Ewan and turned to her and said, "I am that child's mother, I don't need you to tell me how to handle him!" This whole exchange was quite loud, and pretty embarrassing. Finally Ewan came down, and then the lady who had been browsing nearby came over and said, "I know exactly how you feel." Nice to have an ally.

I just had to vent.

Bits of Beautifully Woven Words

The last time I posted something like this was back in May. I'll just occasionally come across a phrase or sentence in a book that I find particularly beautiful and well-written. This time it comes from Finn by John Clinch:

"...and the snowflakes turn to spiders lowering themselves on threads of moonlight and he sleeps."

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Enjoy your holiday! Click here.

Crossed Signals

So between coughing up several internal organs, and two very sick little boys, the past few nights I've managed to accumulate a grand total of about five hours of sleep. Yesterday was one of those days where the toll was very obvious, and I was meaner than a rattlesnake and clumsier than...well...something that's really clumsy. So last night started off pretty rough. I was sad about my grumpiness during the day, so I took the time to pray and read my scriptures, which was very good. But once I crawled into bed, I started hacking and gagging. The process began. I'd finally stop coughing, almost doze and Fynn, who had a fever, would start crying and I'd get up to take care of him. When I got back to bed, the coughing would start again. These two things happened over and over again. After going to bed at 11:30, I was still wide awake at 2:00. I finally broke completely down to Bryce and said I didn't think I could get through today, that I was going to collapse. I was just bawling, and he talked to me a litle, so I know he heard me. After that, I was finally heading into real snoozeland, good sleep even, and Fynn began again. I just laid there, disbelieving, so tired, when I heard Bryce get up. I thought, "Oh, how nice, he's going to get him for me. He'll rock him and I'll get some sleep." The next thing I know, Bryce is standing next to the bed with Fynn in his arms, handing him to me. I suppose he thought it was helpful, that I'd get some extra twenty seconds of sleep if he brought the child to me rather than me getting up myself.

Give me a break!

I am otherwise speechless about this.

Yo, Sylvester Stallone Speaking...

If you don't regularly look at my sister Ashley's blog, then you really must click here. Listen carefully as the boxes collapse. You'll hear the sound of a fibula breaking. Maybe it's karma for my nephew Chandler, who once broke my cat's pelvis. Nah, I forgave him long ago for that, since he was only three or four at the time. Although I don't think Rusty the cat forgave him, seeing as he had to have a balloon blown up his butt to reposition the pelvis. Seriously. But that's neither here nor there. Poor Chan-man. I love you, man. Just remember, you don't need legs to play the guitar.

Posting may be slow for a while, as my hands are busy pushing my lungs back in every time I cough them up. I hope I have something to report soon that will make the effort to type worth it. If any of you decide to give me a call, don't be alarmed at the manly, testosterone over-dosed, smoker-of-fifty-years lumberjack that answers the phone. It's just me.

Let's hope it doesn't contain a virus...

Ewan has some antibiotics now, so hopefully things will be good soon. This afternoon his fever was 102.2, and I laid him down for a nap. He sweat so badly during that nap, I thought he'd peed the bed. Serioiusly. He was trying to tell me something, and his voice was really low and gravelly, and he freaked out, shrieking, "Ahhh! My voice is downloading!"

And that's where the title of this post comes in. Get it? Ha! Virus? Sick? Dowloading? Containing a virus? Ha!

Meep.

Before I start, "meep" is a word my best friend and I used to say when something was really sad, or something bad happened, or we were down or sick. Remember the skinny Muppet Beaker?
That's where it came from. I've found it creeping back into my vocabulary since I have little kids.

Anyway, meep. Ewan is really sick. It started out as 101 fever on Wednesday night and a little coughing. He will barely eat, hasn't been able to sleep, and last night his fever shot up to 103.3 and wouldn't go down, even with medicine. It's 101.3 now, and we are going to our doctor's Saturday clinic in a little while. It's so sad, because he begs me to make him better. "Mommy, please make it go away. Pleeeeease help me get better." And he doesn't understand that I really can't, he just thinks I won't. Hopefully, the doc can fix him right up.

Meep.

Okay, fine, here goes...

So I've been tagged. It's not something I normally would do on my blog, but I don't want to be a spoiled sport, so... hmm... I'm struggling because I posted a "did you know" post about a week ago, and ironically it has six things on it. So now I must come up with new stuff.

~~~~I am ridiculously afraid of death. I mean, no one wants to die, of course, but I am afraid right up to paranoia. If I leave Bryce with the boys, I make sure to give them an extra hug and kiss, because I really think I might not make it back. Once, my first time on a ferris wheel (and to be fair, it was a traveling carnival, and the thing was rickety), I was so convinced I was going to die that I was going over my patriarchal blessing in my head, trying to decipher the words about my life and whether it could mean it ended early. Perhaps part of this comes from my testimony not being what it should, which I'm working on, but sometimes I'll wake up in a panic attack. I look at life like this merry-go-round that has started, and you can't get off. I freak out, knowing that someday I WILL die, and people around me will die, and what's going to happen to my kids, and what things will we be called on to endure in this life? I have to make myself not think of it, or it can get bad.

~~~~I LOVE the taste of Robitussin. Yum. And not store-brand imitations, but the real deal, Robitussin. And black cherry soda reminds me of it. But it's not like, "I like Robitussin because it reminds me of yummy black cherry soda." No, it's, "I like black cherry soda because it reminds me of yummy Robitussin."

~~~~I have a rabbit. Oh...wait...you knew that? OK, I'll come up with something else.

~~~~I love alternative rock, and especially the love songs. Not that that is unique, but it's because I see this tattooed, rough-looking bad boy who probably does drugs waxing poetic about a girl he loved that broke his heart, or one that's mending his heart right now. And it just makes my heart go pitter-pat and I think, "Everybody hurts." And now I've just accidentally quoted an R.E.M. song.

~~~~When my sister Ashley and I were little, very little, we were quite the thieves. My mom always dressed us in tights and frou frou dresses, and I specifically remember going into a Hallmark with her, and Ashley and I stuffed these Hello Kitty! mugs with colored pencils down our tights and took them home. We had a blast playing school with the neighborhood kids with those pencils. Another time, I took my doll carriage to the mall, and loaded it up with jewelry: brooches, rings, etc. My mom didn't notice until we were home. She made me take it all back. As an adult, I am not a thief.

~~~~Hmmm....I guess I'll elaborate on the Muhammad Ali thing. I lived in Salt Lake City, and he came to the Sunday morning broadcast as a guest of Orrin Hatch. Afterwards, we waited outside the Tabernacle, just a small group because not many people had noticed him. He came out and didn't speak because his Parkinson's was quite bad that day. He was shaking so much, but he gently grabbed each of our hands and held them. He then proceeded to take a briefcase from one of his entourage and placed it in my friend's brother's arms. He opened it and started passing out anti-New Testament literature. Awkward.

~~~~I am an actress, or like to think I am. In high school, I was in dozens of plays and it is hands-down my favorite thing in the whole world to do. Everything about a production thrills me to the bones. I decided long ago that I wanted to be a mother more than anything else, but if that wasn't the case, or if that dream hadn't come true for me, right now I would be roughing it as a waitress in New York, auditioning myself to death. That was boring, but it's all I could think of.

Now, I think almost everyone has been tagged, except for Mariah. So, TAG! Mariah. And TAG! to Amy. Even though you don't have a blog, you can post it in comments. But I don't think you will, and that's okay. TAG! to Vanessa. And TAG! to Cristina.

Your days are numbered

Edgar is at the end of his rope. The former owner has been contacted, and hopefully the little pooper will be exchanging hands this weekend. Which I hate, because I don't want to give up, and I really wanted it to work. But I found a treasure trove of rabbit droppings on Ewan's bed today. The camel's back is broken beyond repair.

Backseat Driver

Bryce and I are very vocal drivers, to my great shame. Too often my son hears me yelling, "MOVE, you IDIOT!" He'll ask me what's going on, and I'll tell that the person is too slow, or whatever else the case may be. As a result, he's learned some minor traffic laws, and recognizes when someone is not obeying them. Sometimes he'll tell me, "Watch out for that car, Mommy." or "Don't crash," if I make a rough turn. Today, I was approaching a stop sign, and he said, quite bossy, "You have to stop at that stop sign, Mommy." I assured him I would, and thought I did. Or, at least, you know, the "stop" most of us do, which is slow down to about a mile an hour and creep out. Ewan yelled out, "Mommy! You are supposed to stop!!!!!"

And I'm like, "What?" Because I, like, totally paused.

Nominate her for Mensa

Tonight on the news, every channel was talking about the huge tanker explosion today. I had it tuned in to Channel 5, and they were showing pictures that passersby took with their cell phone cameras. They come to one that shows a couple of firemen crouched close to the fire. Suddenly, the newscaster's voice gets low and dramatic and slow, and she says, "Look how close those firemen are to the fire..." Said full of wonderment, as if she was saying, "Look how close that alien spaceship is hovering over the Pentagon."

Thank you, Captain Genius. I had no idea firemen got close to fires. Alert the cotton-pickin' media!

Oh, wait. Someone did.

*I mentioned this in the comments, but want to post something here, too. Since I posted this, the driver of the tanker died. I feel bad, because I wasn't trying to make light of a tragic situation. So forgive me if it seemed insensitive; it wasn't my intention.

Long live stress eating

I'll French kiss the first person that shows up at my door with a 20 oz. Coke. And maybe some Funyuns.*
*Disclaimer: If you are not my husband or you are a woman, no spit will be swapped.

Too spooked to watch this right now...

...since it's 4:00 a.m. and dark as a tomb in my house. I'm afraid this will just make my current insomnia worse, even though it's probably just a bug on the screen. But I am soooo watching this bad boy tomorrow.

Escape from Alcatraz

In the lovely middle of the night hours, I heard my dog, Sugar, running around in circles and dropping on all fours in her aggressive/play stance. We live in a hardwood floor house, pier and beam, so noises like this are loud and reverberate through the whole house. I thought the rabbit was doing something from its cage to egg her on. I lazily rolled over and asked Bryce to just go let the dog out. Turns out the rabbit had escaped from his cage.

Now, I've been very generous, I think, in letting this rabbit run free 85% of the time. He goes in the cage very little during the day, and at night. I would let him out even more if it weren't for the following habits: chewing on the clothes we're wearing, coming right behind our feet, running circles around and tripping us. He also thumps his hind feet loudly. Google searches have pulled up several explanations for this: sensing danger, expressing irritation at us for whatever reason, etc. I personally think he wants attention. It's so loud when he does it, and never fails to startle us. We have a mud room/laundry room that stays shut to the kids, but has a pet door. Even though that little bugger is "paper trained," and actually has a litter box, he goes in that laundry room and poops everywhere. Luckily he doesn't do it anywhere else, and that room is essentially outside, but still. Ick. Quite frustrating. Therefore, being able to shut him up in that cage is ESSENTIAL to the continued presence of my hair.

Bryce put him back, and not two minutes later, we heard the door slam open and he was out. I gave up, but if you look at the time on this post, you'll see the whole hoopla has caused me to remain awake. It's been an hour and a half. I am so tired from repeated days of late nights and early-rising boys, and it's safe to say, at this moment, with dark circles and tears in my eyes, I absolutely HATE that rabbit. I know, I know, I brought him here, bla bla bla.

Here's the final insult: that little *%#! doesn't even like me much. But he loooooooves Bryce. I think he wants to buy a timeshare with him and adopt African babies. I feel like Bill Cosby: "I brought you into this world, and I'll take you out."

Tag Team

On the weekends, Bryce and I are usually so pooped, that in the mornings we make deals. One of us will get to sleep in, and the other gets to nap during Fynn's first nap. It works for us. Unfortunately, it looks like the boys have made the same sort of deal, but they do it all week and it serves to make my mornings loooooooong and full of nodding off. Lately, one of them will wake up at 6:20, and the other will keep sleeping until about 7:30. The next day, they switch. And we're talking like clockwork, here. It's literally usually 6:24 when I either hear Fynn fussing or hear Ewan's voice in my ear. They perfectly alternate days, too. It's getting kind of comical, if it weren't for the fact I cannot bear having to get up before it is 7:00. It's not that I'm lazy. It's just that I'm...lazy. And when they get up that early, the morning just d-r-a-g-s f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Why can't one day, just ONE, they both sleep in for me? I've been going to bed pretty late, too, just trying to get stuff done. It's like they've gotten together and said, "Let's see how we can rile the old lady up today!" I think the worst part is the one that sleeps until 7:30. I can't help thinking, "What if the other one had slept in, too?" So close!

R.I.P., Law and Order: SVU

Alas, one of my favorite shows has floundered into oblivion for me. I love a good murder mystery, especially when it involves serial killers. Call me morbid, but I love it. And SVU was usually a very good source of such plot lines. But this new season...BLEH! The first 30 minutes starts out promising every week. A good juicy murder or attack, lots of mystery and intrigue. Then - WHAM! The characters are engaging in rigorous debate, pontificating about politics, usually the war in Iraq, or something related, like the Patriot Act. It's just so lame. Seriously, if I wanted a political debate, I would tune in to Channel 13 on Sunday mornings. Tonight I thought we'd actually escaped, not counting a random disgusted commented spit out by a schizophrenic about the President and the war. But then the last 30 minutes were all about the debate of capital punishment. And it would be annoying enough if they debated both cases fairly, but they don't. Instead it's a totally skewed opinion badly disguised as equally representing both sides. It's like the writers/producers/director or whoever are using it for their personal forum to air out grievances. It's disgusting. And now a show I have watched for years is dead to me. Maybe I should write a script for a show where they investigate the death of Law and Order: SVU. Lots of DNA evidence and bad scripts found in the trunks of cars or buried alive. It just needs a good stupid name, like Real Autopsy SVU: Back to Iraq.

Our New Park

Right at the end of our street, they have built a new playground at the park. It is a very impressive, tall structure with crazy fast slides. Sarah came over and we took the kids, who had a blast. Bella, Ewan and I were running around with water-soaked butts because the slides were quite wet. It was a nice morning, though, with a divine breeze and Sarah was kind enough to take some pictures for me.

He knows what to do for the camera, that's for sure.

He loves the "curly" slide.

I need to paint my toenails.

That chin would inspire Santa Claus to lose weight.

Snuggling.

P.S. And more time...

O.K., so I know the question I am about to ask is not a new one; it's nothing revolutionary or unheard of to wonder about. But where does one find the time to do everything? Besides basics: Feeding kids and myself, brushing their teeth and mine, playing with them, teaching them, washing dishes, keeping the rest of the house clean, keeping up with the laundry, time with Bryce, time with myself, dressing and grooming myself and kids, making dinner, grocery shopping, feeding the animals, and whatever else I'm forgetting. I'm trying to work on writing again, and even have a real project going, so when do I get to do that? I usually do it at night, but then I'm so tired the next day I'm acting like a wicked stepmother and Bryce complains that I never go to bed when he does. Now after a major spiritual epiphany I've had tonight, I really want to focus on reading the scriptures, especially at times when Ewan and Fynn can see me doing it. I also want to start praying more (i.e. praying at all) and teaching Ewan to say his personal prayers. And real journal writing. Plus, if I ever wanted to work out (pardon me while I spew Coke all over the screen in laughter) when would I do that? And sleep? I know no one really has the answer to this, but does anyone have little minor tips that work for them, even if in one area? And how much time do my children need with me, face to face, no distractions? I never know, and consequently I am perpetually guilty that they are being neglected and ignored.

As I am writing this, I recall an article in the Ensign written by a woman who had prayed for this very thing: a way to find more time. She kept feeling impressed to start her family's temple work. She didn't understand how adding another thing to her plate would help, but the feeling was so persistent, she did it. And miraculously, she had time for all she had to do and then some. Hmm....

Dear Universe,

Please send me something to write about. But nothing bad. Nothing tragic.

Love,
Kelli

The Park

I have nothing to write about, so I thought I would post some pictures. My camera died before I could get more cute one. both boys love to swing more than anything.

My teeth made me do it...

As I have written about before, Ewan often yells at inanimate objects, blaming them for his mishaps. For example, one time at church, he tripped and yelled at the floor. Bryce told him to stop yelling, and Ewan responded, "But the floor just wanted me to walk on my belly!" He says things like this several times a day, and it's always hilarious. And sometimes even more random than the floor wanting him to walk on his belly. The offending object always "thinks" according to Ewan. "My tricycle just thought I wanted to kick the couch!" In other words, while riding his tricyle, he lost control and sideswiped the couch with his foot. I could literally start a blog of "Ewanisms" alone. And not a day would go by without several posts.

All that to set up the Ewanism I heard today in the car. He was in the back seat, happy after a trip to the mall (which I'll be writing about later, as soon as I complete an assignment Mariah and I are involved in. Sorry, Mariah!) and singing his heart out. He was belting out the ABCs at warp speed, and every time he completed one round, he would begin again, trying to go faster. All the sudden he stopped in the middle, and let out a shriek of frustration. He then said, "My teeth just thought I was singing too fast!"

(Translation: While singing, his teeth clashed together.)

At My Beck and Call

The Flawless Skin of Ugly People by Doug Crandell, the book I wrote about a few days ago, is now in my possession. I had requested it from my library, and they said they didn't have it, and couldn't promise it. I put a request for it anyway, and I got a call today saying they have it. I went to pick it up immediately. YAY! I just wanted to tell everyone because I know you all ran right out to acquire a copy for me the second you heard I wanted it.

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them

I take things for granted often. I complain about my house constantly. I don't like the neighborhood, there are so many trees in the back that the shade won't allow for a garden (but I would complain if there were one tree less, not as much "scope for the imagination"), it's a shoe box, the bathroom is a matchbox, etc. I know how blessed I am to have a house with a huge backyard, a house that requires no cosmetic fixing-up whatsoever. I just get bratty and forget it sometimes. I need to take some lessons from my son in humility and gratitude.

I took the boys outside to play this morning, and Ewan was running around the yard, joyfully crunching his feet in all the leaves. He suddenly stopped, looked up at all the tree tops and the sky around him, and turned himself around, arms out, Sound of Music style. He tried to say something, but seemed almost overwhelmed by the fun, the wind, the trees, the magic he was feeling. He then looked at me, smiled and said, "This is a great place to live."

Did you know...

...that I once met Muhammad Ali and shook his hand? On Temple Square in SLC, no less.

...hands down, without a doubt, irrefutably that my favorite song of all time in the whole wide world is Love Shack by the B-52s? I'm not a dancer at all (one of the reasons Bryce and I married each other is because we discovered we both loved going to dances and spending the entire time not dancing and instead making fun of people who were. A strong basis for a marriage.) but once those first couple of drum beats start on Love Shack, my body starts moving involuntarily. And it ain't pretty.

...I have five brothers and three sisters?

...Bryce and I once had dinner with David Finfrock, the weather guy from NBC? He told us we could call him Dave.

...that those last two sentences are untrue? But we did sit at a table near him once in a restaurant.

...that I had a pet rat in high school named Nevada Clover and that she jumped to her death in an attempt to escape? (Perhaps trying to escape from that name...)

...that Willa Cather was my grandmother's school teacher? (And trust me, you have not read a book until you have read O, Pioneers!)

...that rabbits will eat Play Do?

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you

Okay, so Bryce told me I could go buy myself some boots. I was hoping to find something like these, or something more cowboy/hippy/bohemian. I would have been happy with either.


That was not to be. I went everywhere, and nothing even came close. The cheapest I could find was $60.00, which we just can't afford right now , and everything else was uglier than sin. Then, while browsing, I saw an okay-looking pair that were only $10, in a store where the minimum on other styles was $60.00. I asked the salesgirl why they were so cheap, and she said because they were last season. They had only one size, 10, which was a little too big for me, but hey - $10! And here they are:

My problem is that I have no idea what to wear them with without looking like an idiot. I don't have "tucking" jeans, and I may be too chicken to wear them with some of the skirts I have. They were so cheap that I could surely get me some others shoes to take the place of the boots I wanted, but I still want to wear these. (And looking at the picture, I'm not even sure if I like them anymore. But $10!) What to do? Help me, help me. (I pictured that "help me" sounding like a tiny little fly, squealy and high. You should do the same.)

This ain't Disneyland

Warning: Long, boring and personal. Read at your own discretion.

I've talked a little bit about my issues with depression. It's one of the reasons I started to blog in the first place, because I wanted a forum, and this one felt comfortable to me. As more people are reading this now, people I know and see often, I've grown a little more apprehensive about what I will write. But I want this to be a place of truth for me, so I want to write a little about what I've been going through.

My cycles of depression vary greatly, each usually lasting anywhere from two weeks to a month. I will be fine and content for a while, and either something will happen or the winds will just shift, and I get low. And then suddenly for a couple of days, I will be so low that I am actively weeping (not around the kids) and wondering how I'm going to get out of the dregs. After that passes, I'll be content again (barely content, or shall we say on "autopilot"), and that will last until... You get the picture.

I'm really pondering this now because I had the strangest experience today. I was at home with the boys, watching Oprah, which I seriously never do, and of course parts of it were so inspiring I got really weepy. (What is it with that show?) After that, I was on this really weird "high," I guess you would call it. I was all cheerful and stuff. Weird. Even when I'm really happy, I'm never really what you would call "cheerful." I turned on some music, and was dancing with the boys and we were having a lot of fun. Tears would even spring to my eyes randomly, kind of like tears of happiness. Then just as quickly as my "high" sprung up, I deflated. Just all the sudden, I was so low. There was nothing specific, just a "bla." A bad one. It was like my usual cycle, condensed into a period of less than 45 minutes. This has never happened to me before, although I am depressed quite a lot. I'm just so tired of it. And while I have nothing against drugs at all, seriously, I support them wholeheartedly as long as they aren't being over diagnosed, I just don't want to take them while I'm still breastfeeding, safe though it may be. I want to try for another baby when Fynn turns 18 months old, so that's coming up pretty quickly, and I especially don't want to be on anything while pregnant.

While I was thinking about my strange experience today, I was trying to piece the puzzle together, and I think it comes down to what I ate, seriously. I had gotten hungry for a snack, and had a Coke with some crackers. As much as I drink Coke, I don't ever do it randomly. It's always either with lunch or dinner. So it was a rarity to just snack on some Coke. And I believe in the body/food connection whole-heartedly. First, have you ever see "Super Size Me?" You must, if you haven't. Anyway, about two weeks into his experiment, he says that he starts to get depressed and down. Then there is a woman in my ward whose children have serious food allergies, and she discovered she does as well. Once she changed her diet, her depression and mood swings greatly diminished. Also, even now if she eats chocolate, even a little bit, she says she spirals into this funk where she turns really mean and sad.

So, I may try to research some sort of "depression diet," checking into the connections between food and emotions. And if I can muster up the willpower, I want to do a trial diet change to see how my coping skills and moods improve. I just want to feel solid and happy regularly, not occasionally. Forgive me for laying this all on your lap. But if you've read this far and find yourself really bored and irritated at this post, you should have heeded my warning at the beginning. So it's all your fault. :)

Just as my kindergarten self wanted Jeff Hudnall and a plastic charm necklace...

...I want these clothes. If you are even remotely interested in clothes and are female (isn't that one in the same?) or if you are my brother in law Troy, who shops like a woman, you simply must check out Anthropologie's November catalog (especially from page 18). First of all, the model is so beautiful I want to throw up, and secondly, the clothes and other sundry items pictured therein are such works of art, they deserve their own gallery in the Louvre. Thirdly, the kid's section is why I need a girl next.

Shia, Shia, Shia

Dear Shia Lebeouf,

I've documented my appreciation for you here. And then I felt even more strongly for you when you said this: "Part of me wants to go out and see my peers. But if I go to a club and get my picture in the press, then I am that young Hollywood a--hole. That would shatter my world…. There's no way you get Tom Hanks' career without thinking about this stuff... Everyone turns 21. Not everyone gets to be in Indiana Jones." I thought, wow, he has some sense. He's going to have a great career with his talent and that attitude. What a nice young man. (Apparently I was channeling old ladies that day.) Alas, it was not to be. You've gone and, what's that you said? Acted like a young Hollywood a--hole. Shape up, Lebeouf. Don't make me come out there and beat you with a wire hanger.

Love,
Kelli
P.S. You are totally cute. But you are no Ryan Gosling.

Library Aficionados?

Don't ask me why, because the description leaves something to be desired, but I simply must read this book. My local library does not have it, and has no inclinations to acquire it and I also am not in a position to be buying books right now. So if any of you frequent your library (besides those who reside in my same city, that resource is tapped out), next time you go or are on the website, please check to see if they have it. If they do, please check it out for me!!! I will love you forever and I will return it on time, I swear.

And I just simply must apologize for not having anything interesting to say the last few days. I've wracked my brain for blog fodder to no avail. But that's really O.K., I find my inspiration serves me better not when I've banged it over the head, drugged and beaten into submission in the trunk of my car, but when it quietly comes of its own accord in little moments and daily foibles.

I think we have a winner...

The pictures aren't transparent, you can see the links, it's kooky and fun. And I decided there simply MUST be a fairy on here, so I found this adorable picture. If you can't see it, it's a perfect little fairy wearing glasses reading a stack of books. Highly appropriate, I think.

Introducing Hayden

Check out my nephew's BMX racing debut by clicking here.

The Beginning of an Obsession

Bryce was practicing with his camera today. Below is my absolute favorite shot (remember to click on these because they will show up much better):

And this one is pretty good, too, as far as quality goes. Cuteness, also, of course:

Click here to see a few others he took. He's taken over the photography blog I set up, but he's very picky about what he'll actually post. He's about to seriously get into this and wants to learn. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the practice pictures.

This is so true...

Click here.

The State of Things

I want...
1. More time in the day
2. Knee-high, hippyish, rugged brown boots
3. To be less clumsy
4. A haircut
5. Fewer chins
6. A trampoline
7. Confidence
8. More room
9. To watch "Empire Records" (love that movie)

I'm glad I have...
1. My boys
2. My husband
3. A home
4. Kitties
5. Sisters & friends
6. Coke in the fridge (Thanks, Ash)
7. Books
8. Food

Would you eat them on a train?

Ewan asked for green eggs this morning. It's actually a common request, but only now do I finally have the food coloring to make it so. He's eating them like they are chocolate covered ice cream fried in caramel filled chocolate cake. My stomach is turning just looking at them. I may never eat eggs again.

What does their future hold?

The three little buddies.

I know Shannon already posted this, but I just had to as well. I think Natalie TOLD him to hold her hand, but he seemed to oblige quickly and happily. And as I'm looking at it again, it reminds me of one of those paparazzi shots where the beautiful actress is hamming up for the cameras, and the boyfriend is bored and sullen. I took him to the bookstore today, and let him wear that crab hat. All these nice older people were saying, "Hello, Lobster!" He was without a nap, and he was yelling at them, "I'm a CRAB!" Like, duh.

Best Moment from the Office

Dwight: "The eyes are the groin of the head."

I may have to make this a weekly feature. There is always such good stuff.

Screaming Demons

The girls from the yard sale know firsthand about this, having witnessed it while at my house at the buttcrack of dawn, and I've been meaning to blog about if for a while. One morning about a month ago, Ewan, Fynn and I were just lounging in my bed, prolonging getting up. The room was dark, we were all warm, snuggling and drowsy and just chillin'. Then the sound of a legion of demons filled the room, shrieking and screaming. My heart began to race, and I looked around frantically trying to find the source. Ewan's eyes grew wider and wider and he stared at me. The sound was so incredibly human, all the while being the most inhuman sound I'd ever heard. It was so loud, and truly at that moment, quite frightening. Ewan's voice was so small as he said, "Mommy, what is that?" The sound grew to a peak, then slowly died away. It was then I realized it was a car, and that was the sound it was making as it accelerated past my house. It was awful, truly it sounded like the screaming evil women/demon/hounds of hell were coming for us. And every day since that day, it comes down the street. Even though it's been a month, it completely takes me off guard and scares the bejezeezus out of me every time. I just really wish they'd get that fixed. My heart should not race like that first thing every morning, you know?