Leave a message at the beep

We will be recording it. And we will be watching it when the kids have gone to bed. With Oreos and milk. "Lost." Between 9:00 and 11:00 tonight, do not call. You will be met with silence. Perhaps send an e-mail. I'll write back when I'm done processing the fabulousness that is sure to be presented to us all tonight. Dearest Lost, thank goodness you are back. Oh, how I've missed you.

An Improvement

A few days of the bettas in the first pathetic little tank, I decided they deserved better. Now they have more room, pretty scenery and some friends. There are some little aquarium bulbs I've put down in the rocks as well, and they should grow fast. I've always loved the look of a nice, clear fish bowl. If I am the only one who finds this blog-worthy, indulge me.

Fizzle with his seahorses.

Pop with his octopus.

Gimme

Betsy the Owl.

Thank Goodness it's Wednesday...

...or I would have nothing to post today.
Since I turn 31 next week, I figured I should post this birthday picture. Turning 4, with my mom and Amy.

That's the trademark Kelli facial expression. Ewan does it, too. I don't know how old I am here...
My mom, looking virtually unrecognizable, my dad, me, Amy & Ashley. It was cold, which I think is what was coming out of Ashley's mouth, possibly mixed with an expletive or two.

Me, I think 22 years old, with an old friend. Proof that I haven't always been a Pillsbury Dough Boy groupie and at some point in my life did refrain from cookies.

Step away from the microphone

As you may recall from this nostalgic post, I was a HUGE New Kids on the Block fan. Seriously, I was in their fan club, and I wept every time they were in town because my parents could not afford to send me to the concert.  For the first year or so, I was in love with Jordan, but I quickly moved on to Joey, rightfully so.  When they were on awards shows, I would literally sit there and tremble, much to the delight of my fire-extinguishing brother, who mocked me to tears.  I had a life-sized poster of them that hung in my room, and I would talk to it.  Lengthy and detailed discussions about our future together.  It was a magical relationship.  And then I grew up.  I thought they did, too.

But have you heard?  They are reuniting.  Why?  Seriously.  Why?  Who's gonna listen to that?  I mean, maybe for nostalgia's sake, a few old fans will indulge in some guilty-pleasure-NKOTB.  But for real?  I mean, shouldn't we all move on?  Shouldn't Joey just continue with his perfectly respectful Broadway career?  And shouldn't Donnie, actually talented as an actor, work on that?  And the rest of them, um, whatever it is they do...?  Just keep doing it.  Please.  Don't quit your day job.  Seriously.

Seriously.

Precocious

Ewan asks every day, several times a day, what certain words mean.  It could be something he heard in one of my phone conversations, or a phrase he caught on TV.  Several times, he makes up a word and asks what it means.  Sometimes it's a very creative hodgpodge of letters that add up to one interesting make-believe word.  Other times, it's a very simple composition of words he already knows mixed with an extra letter or syllable.  Witness our conversation yesterday:

Ewan:  Mommy, what does lifed mean?

Me:  Lifed?  

Ewan:  Yeah, Mommy, lifed.

Me:  It doesn't mean anything, honey.  It's not a word I've ever heard before.

Ewan:  You've heard it now.

Poor, wee folk

Okay, so here's where the granola cruncher in me comes out. While I find this article very interesting, I'm horrified at what they apparently did to this animal, and other animals, to reach their conclusions. I think I'm way too naive about what goes on in medical laboratories.

blah

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Big Plans

*Clarification* My sister was looking online at Zaza rates for a trip of her own, and let me just say that what is shown online is NOTHING near what we paid. We could never afford that! We paid less than half of those rates, and we found them through Yahoo Hotels, and other hotel search engines. Just in case you were looking into it yourself!

Friday for our anniversary, we went to this awesome fondue restaurant that I've always loved. It was fabulous. I mean, vats of cheese to dip bread into, shrimp and lobster and prime rib, and vats of chocolate for dipping graham-cracker encrusted marshmallows, strawberries, and angel food cake. How could you possibly go wrong? Mary Ann and Jerry were nice enough to stay with the boys overnight, so we could stay in a fancy hotel. We stayed at the Hotel Zaza, which has awesome exotic decor. I loved the paintings and wallpaper and furnishings. However, we did quickly realize that it really is kind of swinging singles place. I don't think it is considered that officially, but it definitely caters to that group of people. There is a bar/nightclub downstairs, which we did not go to, but all night I was kept awake by the sounds of drunk people hollering and yoo-hooing to each other, knocking on doors and laughing down the hall. So it was definitely an interesting experience. While there, I kind of wished I stole stuff, because they had the coolest mega-high-magnification lighted mirror that wanted to come home with me. But I held strong. Truthfully, I wasn't really tempted to steal, but I do want one of those bad boys. We had a lot of fun, but both of us always feel so strange away from our boys, so we were eager to get back.

Pop and Fizzle

I went to get Fynn a belated birthday present, and decided to make it a combined gift for him and Ewan. He has enough toys and clothes, and since he loves fish, and makes a little popping sound when you ask him what fishies say...
They are bettas. Easy enough. On the left is Fizzle, and on the right is Pop. Their names came to me before I even decided to buy them. They are in this cool (read, cheap) cage that keeps the males separated, but they can still see each other, and will "flare." That's why Fizzle's fins are all spread out, he's being super intimidating. I love how they are staring at each other. It's a funny coincidence to Sarah's recent fish purchase, as on the day she bought hers, I was in another Walmart across town contemplating buying some myself. We might get them together and try some cross-breeding. They will be the colors of the sunset. We'll call them Gold-betas. Or something. Maybe James can come up with something clever.

"I love you like I love French fries"

I stole that line from a card I saw here on Cuteable.com
I forgot to scan my wedding photos somehow, so I'm posting our engagement picture instead. It's better anyway. I had to wait until midnight to post this so that it would actually BE our anniversary. We have been married for five years today. I'm not one to wax too sentimental, except about the kids, but I'll just give a Reader's Digest version of how we came to be. I met Bryce at the darkest point in my entire life, and he was at the brightest point of his. I was 23, he was almost 21. He pulled me out of the muck, saved me, then promptly went on a mission. He had been dating a few girls, saying he wanted as many women writing him as possible while was away, but after one date with me, we were hooked, all other women and men be damned. He came home in September of 2002, and we were married in January of 2003. (I have to admit, one of the best parts about it was shoving it in the faces of the many people who thought I would never make it for two years. And don't you say one word about Dear Johns, Bryce.) We have a lovely, modest little home and two of the most beautiful, fun, loving little boys in the world. I'm very grateful for Bryce and for our life together, and there is nothing I would change. (Okay, maybe I'd change my double chin and his hurricane hair, but other than that, it's all good.) Happy anniversary to us!

Quandary

Any post I've ever written that has been worth reading literally just "came" to me. I don't usually have to plan my posts, or wonder what to write about. Sometimes immediately after something occurs, be it with the world or in my head, the post starts writing itself in my brain and I have to sit down right that moment or it'll be lost. Or perhaps I'll be doing a mundane task, such as washing dishes or sleeping, and words will pop into my head. They can be about anything: something the boys did or said, something that happened, or just something I've been thinking about. I mean, I think about stuff all the time, because I take life way too seriously, but I can only write about anything effectively if I just let the words ambush me and spill into my brain on to the keyboard. Any time I try to force myself into writing something, it doesn't flow, my thoughts don't come across the way I'd like, and I hate it. Most of the time when that happens, I delete it before it's even posted, but there have been a few times I actually posted the drivel, and it never feels quite right. I sat down tonight wanting to write something, anything, but after three or four tries at random subjects, I have nothing. I don't consider myself a true "writer," at least not yet. I'm not that delusional, but I don't feel true to myself when I force something out. So I find myself quite irritated because the words haven't come to me lately. I've just posted some pictures and nonsense to fill space and so there's something new. But it's all starting to feel so lame, and I'm waiting for my muse to return. I don't know exactly what my muse is, but it needs to come back, darn it! Maybe my brain is all muddled from being sick. Or maybe it's post-holiday letdown. Who knows? Just wanted to "check in" and I'm hoping to have something entertaining soon. (And maybe my excessive use of "quotation marks" is taking the place of actual quality posting. Good grief, I've had to delete more of them in this post than I care to admit.)

I will, however, let you know about my Wii bowling career. I peaked with a high of 236, and five strikes in a row in my heyday. Alas, those skills withered away, much like my muse. For some reason, I started a game, and WHOOSH! I can't do it anymore. Meep, I say, Meep. Bryce set out on a quest to beat all my high scores, and it took him a while, but doggonit, he did it with a score of 264 and five strikes in a row. I bow to the master, but not for long.

*Epiphany* It's the Wii! IT FRIED MY BRAIN!!! I always knew video games were the spawn of Satan...

(Kidding)

Way-back Wednesday

I remember being aware of it as a kid, that I never dressed like myself on picture day. All of the school pictures I have, I am wearing something that was totally NOT me. I didn't find my real personal dressing groove until nearly 8th grade, anyway, but even into high school, I dressed like a soccer mom on picture day, the one day of the year I should look like ME for sure. It's a mystery.

Ashley and me. I don' t know where these dresses came from, but they really were McDonald's. I wish I had some of those striped tights now.

Ashley, baby Amy, and me. In another picture taken around this time, I wasn't sitting quite so lady-like. It won't be making an appearance on this blog.

8th grade, possibly. I call this one "Triangle-hair," or "Brushed-out perm." As an adult, I'm confused as to why I constantly got perms as a kid. My hair is actually naturally quite curly. After this picture was taken, the necklace tried to strangle me.

I promise I will be posting something decent soon. I feel like all I've done lately is post pictures and boring stuff. Hopefully I find time to write at the same time I'm hit with inspiration. Good luck to me.

Don't want to meet him in a dark alley

If you haven't yet heard, there's a pretty weird, creepy video circulating of Tom Cruise singing the praises of Scientology. It's over eight minutes long, and I couldn't even make it all the way through it. But watch a little of it, because knowing a little about it makes this little parody by Jerry O'Connell just that much funnier.

Happy Birthday, Hunter!

(Sorry about the picture, dude, it's the only one I have on the computer.)

I'd like to buy the world a Coke

Slightly reminiscent of this picture, we again are trying to recruit Fynn. Witness:
Relax, it's empty. I may be an addict, but I'm not corrupting him. Yet. Amazing how he knows exactly what to do with it. I wonder where he saw that from...

Feeling better...

...but still not much to say. The boys and I are laying low, trying to fight the last of our mystery illness by staying warm and eating lots of snacks. We built a fort in the living room today, which they totally loved, even though it was a lame fort-building effort on my part. Does anyone have any good indoor fort-building tips? I have no idea how to build a good one. Here's my best effort, and the boys enjoying it:
On another note, do any of you watch 30 Rock? Bryce and I recently rented the first season on DVD because we read in Entertainment Weekly that it's so funny - AND IT IS! Oh, my gosh, Bryce and I laugh so hard at that show. I can't believe we've gone this long without it. Highly recommended.

Happy Birthday, Amy!

Coke cures all ills

I feel like my head was run over by a steamroller, like someone has poked chopsticks into my ears and stirred them around, like someone played baseball with my Adam's apple, and my muscles and bones feel like I had a long session with a sadistic personal trainer. I will not be posting much.

Maybe they were white trash fairies

So I walked outside to get the mail, and I heard this lovely tinkling sound. It was the sound of a thousand fairies tripping and skipping down the street, their natural sparkle translating into tinkly music. I looked all around, trying to find the source. Were there fairies? Was someone ringing bells? Did Santa make a return trip? And then there it was. A tall, lone beer can being whipped down the street by the wind. Magical.

Way-back Wednesday: Evolution

I have so many pictures scanned now, thanks to Shannon, and I can't ever decide which are the best to post. So I think I'm gonna do an "evolution" each week, showing my various stages of horror, and those where I looked like I actually had somewhat of a clue.

Why the yellow tights, Mom? Why?

That's one mean mullet.

Missing from this picture, besides bangs, a Barbie I got for Christmas.

Me at graduation with the same friend I posted once before. Thank the beauty industry for tweezers.

My dad can beat up your dad.

Bryce finally got his cotton-pickin' Wii, after weeks of calling every retailer over and over, "Do you have any Wiis? Thanks. (Dialing) Do you have any Wiis? Oh, thanks. (Dialing) Do you have any Wiis?" And on and on. It got to the point that one night when we had company, Ewan leaned across the table at dinner and asked my guest, "Do you have any Wiis?" Bryce finally ordered one on Ebay, it arrived this morning, and before dinner, he and Ewan created their avatars. We let Ewan do whatever he wanted, so his is quite hilarious. Now they have been bowling, and Ewan, who's never bowled before, is almost kicking Bryce's butt. Seriously, this kid keeps getting strikes and spares. It's pretty funny. Witness Ewan's avatar and the final score on his first game of bowling, Bryce is on the left, Ewan on the right:

I've just been informed...

...by my older son that the dog thinks we're in Neverland. How will we get out?

WARNING: Long and quite possibly uninteresting

When I was about six months pregnant with Fynn, I had been kind of down, not to mention so exhausted that it took superhuman effort to close my eyes. I'd cooped Ewan and myself up for several days, not going anywhere or even taking him outside to play. I remember getting a boost from an article or church or something, and it made me feel all empowered and I woke up one morning determined I wasn't going to be all mopey anymore, that I was going to live better and happier every day. My first priority was to make sure I made it up to Ewan, to make sure I gave him a full, happy, active life for a little boy. My very first step was to wake up one morning and immediately after breakfast take him to the park and let him play for as long as we wanted. It was around 10 am, and we were the only ones there. The parking lot next to the park was empty when a man drove up, parked right next to my car, and immediately I got this prickly, ill-at-ease feeling. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew something was wrong. I watched that man like a hawk. I didn't know what was up, but I knew something was going to happen. All he did was get out of his car, open the door and stand there. I figured he was waiting for someone, and I figured it was probably for a drug deal, or worse. Something to explain the naggy feeling I had. I was so nervous I was nearly shaking, and finally after ten minutes, he left. Just got in his car and left. I decided to leave immediately in case he came back, and as we walked to our car, I noticed glass all over the ground. I was sick to look in Ewan's carseat and see all the glass in it. I knew then where that bad feeling had come from, but was relieved when I noticed our stereo was still in the car. (We've had four of them stolen since we've been married.) But then I remembered that my purse had been in the car. (And I don't ever leave my purse in the car, unless I'm going to be fifty feet away and in full view...) Fortunately for us, I had no credit cards or money in there, but unfortunately, my sonogram pictures were in there. The ones where we could see Fynn's face so perfectly and, seriously, could already tell he looked like Ewan. I was even madder when I heard that he'd had a woman in the car, hiding, and she is the one who slithered out and did the dirty work. I thought, "Hey, aren't we, like, supposed to be like sisters. Or something?" I won't bore you with the rest, but there is a point to all this, I promise. I talked about how this made me feel a little here, and even though it was a minor incident, it really was a couple of weeks before I could sleep through the night without thinking about it. I was so angry that I had been so stupid, and it freaked me out, and I had that vulnerable, victimized feeling you hear about.
Since the new year, I've wanted to be more active, and since we have a nice park at the end of our street that takes less than 15 minutes to walk to, I've plopped Fynn in the stroller a couple of times and walked with Ewan to go play. Yesterday we went again, and on the way, for some reason, I had that same prickly, ill-at-ease feeling. We passed some people that looked harmless, but, eww, something about them scared me. They ended up at the park with us, and kept whistling to a large group hanging out on the street, signalling each each other about something, and they were just making me so nervous. I couldn't ignore what I was feeling, so we left. And even walking back, Ewan was acting odd. He was really upset, but he couldn't tell me why. He kept saying, "I'm worried. How will we get home?" I just felt so completely unsafe, and it wasn't just the two I mentioned that made me nervous. The gang graffiti that is sprayed all over my neighborhood was no help, either.

While our immediate pocket around our house, ten or so surrounding neighbors, is fine, you get beyond that, and it's just kind of scary. There have been a few shootings I know about, and our neighbor's house was broken into. When we first moved in, we kept getting letters from someone in prison. All this to just say, I'm tired of feeling unsafe. It's not just my neighborhood, but the world. How do I not be completely paranoid? I think I need to quit reading the news...

Anyway, this was really pointless, but I have nothing else to write about right now. I've talked to Bryce, and we've agreed to set ourselves a timeline for moving in two years. We're going to try to get out of debt, save some money, and then possibly rent a house, so we won't be tied down, in the same ward boundaries (which are huge) because we love our ward so much. For the first time in my life, I feel like a real member of a ward family, and there are awesome people there. Someday we dream of moving to Oregon, the coast. Or perhaps somewhere we can actually experience four seasons, rather than two: muggy with a mild chill, and muggy with melting skin.

Nothing in particular to say...

I have a couple of things I wanted to blog about, but I am mega-sleep-deprived, so I will not be getting into it tonight. Pardon my laziness in posting lately, but more is coming, I promise. I know you are just sitting on the edge of your seat in tense anticipation.

Helping Hands

"Everybody knows/It sucks to grow up...

And everybody does/It's so weird to be back here."

Shannon scanned tons of pictures for me from my childhood, three of which I just posted. And I'm mostly joking when I say "I never had a chance" because in those three pictures, I'm just a baby, really. But when I look at the other ones, ones I haven't yet posted, when I'm a little older, I remember. I was always so sad. I always felt like such an outcast and had no idea the person I was to become. I was so afraid of who I was and being myself and just accepted I was a total loser. I was always so hopeless. And in some of the pictures, I can see that in my face, and I can remember things that happened to me, cruel things kids said. Things that the person I am now would never have allowed. It makes me ache to remember. And I just want to reach in those pictures and give that girl a big hug and MAKE her understand it's not that bad, that she's pretty cool, and that she'll be happy someday. Oh, and also to quit feeling sorry for herself. A hard lesson to learn, that.

Way-back Wednesday, way late

So, I almost forgot about this, but Erica's post about glasses prompted a comment from me, and I remembered I had some lovely pictures that demonstrated exactly what I was talking about.
Here I am about 4 years old. Wearing bifocals, and had been for a year. See, I never did have a chance...

Wow.

Ashley and Amy my sisters, and yours truly. This is actually kind of funny. Those are real fur coats. I'm torn, as an animal lover and avid hater of the fur industry, my adult self is horrified. But I remember petting that coat at night as it hung on the corner of my bed. So soft. Perhaps Edgar the Rabbit's behavior was some sort of cosmic payback. (I was going to link an old post to "Edgar the Rabbit" to remind all of his behavior. But when I went to get the link, there were actually too many posts referring to him.)

Man, I'm starting to look forward to these Wednesdays. Old, ugly, embarrassing pictures are SO.MUCH.FUN.

Also attaches bumpers to cars

Please tell me I'm not the only person who has used duct tape to affix a large rug to the floor.

I'd like a Coke to go, please.

I am sure some, perhaps most of us, have thought about how they want to kick the bucket, buy the farm, go up to that big On the Border in the sky... I don't like to really discuss death, it freaks me out, but I have decided that I either want to go out drowning in a vat of Coke, or a vat of guacamole. Maybe queso. I just can't decide which one for sure...

I tell you this to convey to you my love of Mexican food. It is unparalleled.

When Bryce decided to help Ewan pick out a Christmas present for me, they knew it had to be a fairy. I collect them, love them, will be one in the hereafter. So they betook themselves to Ebay, and searched for fairy figurines. On the very first page popped up a very appropriate fairy, indeed. Needless to say, it now takes up residence on my kitchen counter:
It is from a line of figurines called "Kitchen Fairies," and coincidentally, my friend, Jenna, gave me a different one for my birthday a few years ago, and since I'm sharing, here she is:
This one is so cute, it almost makes me like peas. Which I don't. Not at all. Certainly I don't want to drown in a vat of those.

Not covered by Blue Cross

Bryce has been in what he calls "excruciating" pain. Every movement of his arm has him whining and grimacing like someone was performing surgery on him awake. He can barely bend his right elbow, and every time he tries, his face contorts into quite an ugly sight. (But he's not melodramatic, no, not at all.) It all started when he downloaded a game onto his cell phone. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Bryce has Tetris Elbow.

For Jane Austen-ites...

...in case you didn't know, starting on January 13, PBS will be devoting three months of Sunday evenings to some Austen classics as well as new adaptations. I don't know about you, but with this writer's strike mucking everything up, I am totally excited.

This is why we have parents, the sequel.

I am writing an unauthorized sequel to Betsy's post about Samuel and Cheerios, and I am even blatantly copying her title. I just couldn't help but think of it when this incident happened. Today in preschool, Elisa had them make their own snack, which was granola. Ewan had tons of fun with it, mixing together oatmeal, sunflower seeds, dried fruit, honey & marshmallows. We didn't eat it there, but headed home with it in a ziploc baggy. I let him have it when he finished lunch, but he wasn't that wild about the actual taste, so the bowl was left on the table. Now, this is totally my fault. I was folding some laundry, and Fynn was just crawling around. I heard something small fall, but wasn't too worried. My house is so small that even though we're in different rooms, we really are all still up in each other's face. I could tell it was something small, he wasn't crying, so I finished up the laundry. When I came into the kitchen, this is what I found:
I didn't even realize he could reach up on the table, yet. He was enjoying his self-acquired snack so much, moaning in delight, and I had cleaned the floor earlier in the day, so I picked up the big chunks that could choke him and just let him go to town. Hey, he was getting all sorts of, like, whole grains and stuff. When he was finished, he crawled away from me, leaving a trail of the tiniest bits of nuts and oatmeal in his wake. But he sure was satisfied and happy. And since it swept up in a jiffy, I was rather pleased myself.

Dear Fashion Industry

True, I'm not a style icon. Certainly not since I had children and don't have the time or energy to put together an outfit that consists of anything more mature than a T-shirt, cuffed up jeans (because they are too long) and goofy sneakers. More often I look like a Pez-chomping high-school boy than a 30-year old mother. But I try. And I spend more time than I should perusing fashion magazines and drooling over the wardrobes of many a celebrity. Maybe I don't dress for my body type, but that's because I don't like blazers and my boobs bust the seams of any button-down top you could give me, and because I have an affinity for large, colorful prints and flowy lines. So with some exceptions, like this 80s trash you keep trying to shove down my throat, I'll buy most of your ideas, in theory if not in pocketbook. But I simply must address a grave concern of mine. Maybe I'm in the minority, but you couldn't get any of these ankle boots on my feet unless it was on my cold, dead body, and good luck even then. I'm sorry, but they are ugly. They don't look good with mini-dresses or cropped pants. Truly, I think I've never seen anything uglier in my whole life. I think I'd wear feathered, sky-high bangs before I'd lace one of those babies up. I mean, I love Little House on the Prairie as much as the next gal, but this ain't the prairie with a long dress to cover them up, and I ain't Half Pint.

Also, what's up with the Oxford booties, hmm? That's really pushing it, you know. I mean, that's a very easy line to cross straight into Hideous Town, Uglyville County U.S.A. I almost like them, especially if they are like these. Very cute, indeed. But tread carefully, my friends. Tread very carefully. And the peep-toe bootie thing? Just stop. Stop it now before you hurt yourself. Or my corneas.

Love,
Kelli

Put Me in the Zoo

It was a perfect day for the zoo. And I mean perfect. Usually I get too hot, it's too crowded, and the animals are hiding. Not so today; you could not have asked for more wonderful weather, it wasn't crowded and the animals were all out and about.

Mommy and Fynn.

Daddy and Ewan.

Ewan and Fynn.

I'm partial to the big cats, and this was the first time I've seen a cheetah this close in person. They are truly breathtaking animals.

Baboons are so ugly and pretty at the same time. This one kept lunging at us in intimidation mode. Reminded me of high school boys trying to get in a fight.

Snuggly warm meerkats.

Leave it to me to be a the zoo and still be uberexcited over a butterfly.

Thou Shalt Not

Perhaps I should stop receiving the Anthropologie catalogue. Coveting is a sin. And, oh gosh, does it make me covet.

Meep, growing up is hard to do...

Well, after some consideration, I've decided it's time to wean Fynn. And it makes me kinda sad. I love to breastfeed and have that quiet time with him, but he has started expecting it too much throughout the night, and I'm losing sleep. Plus, he won't nurse much during the day, so it's almost kind of pointless. Except, meep. I'm not going to be all precious and say that breastfeeding is "magical" or anything like that, but it's just time I enjoyed with both my babies, and it has really been a success for us. So I'm going to miss it. Very much. Also, his weight has always been kind of low for his height. He's not skinny by any means, but at his doctor's appointment today, I was told he's in the 75th percentile for height, and in the 25th percentile for weight. She really wanted me to get him on whole milk. So we embark on Project Fattening Up Fynn. At least I say it is time to wean, but I know I will totally keep giving in for a while. Because every time I think of it, I don't like it, it doesn't seem like it's time to stop. I feel like he was JUST BORN for crying out loud.

It's the New Year, what else am I supposed to do?

So... yeah... resolutions. Mixed feelings about those. On the one hand, as my sister Ashley pointed out, it's not as if you wake up on January 1st a completely different person. Like all those habits that are so hard to break all year magically become less difficult to deal with. Or you wake up with a shiny, brand-new case of will-power and self-discipline. On the other hand, it is a chance for a new beginning. I think we are all always looking for ways to self-improve or a new beginning, and having the calendar date begin with 1/1 just screams "FRESH START! COME AND GET IT, COME ONE COME ALL, FRESH START FOR A BARGAIN!"

So, in the spirit of those conflicting feelings toward ye olde New Year's resolutions, I am trying to steer clear of the cliched stuff (except for weight loss, have to try that one) and gearing toward more random, hopefully helpful stuff. Don't get me wrong, I'm still trying to improve in terms of scripture study and prayer, but those are nothing new. So in that spirit, here is my list of resolutions, in no particular order, hopefully not forgetting anything right now:

1. Lose 30 lbs. in preparation for baby #3. I am so sick of seeing my double $%! chin in pictures.
2. After tucking Ewan in, spend at least 10 minutes of "just being" time with him. Wherein we may talk about anything from the meaning of life to where fleas sleep.
3. Stop being so BUSY! all the time.
4. Stop yelling.
5. Stop being afraid of offending people. Be more upfront with people when I'm upset.
6. Stop getting upset so much.
7. Take kids to park once a week.
8. Be outside more.
9. Choose to be happy.
10. No, I won't be giving up Coke, but perhaps I'll cut out the 20 oz. (Does anyone else hear that crazy, maniacal laughter?)

So there you have it. See you all on the other side.

Forensic Files

Yesterday morning, I had three very specific errands in mind: getting Fynn's hair cut, returning some shoes to Target, and getting Fynn's shoes at the mall. The three places are all within blocks of each other, so I was trying to get it all done at once. I was already on my way when I called for the hair appointment, but they were booked until 12:40. It was only about 10:00, so I had some time to kill. Try as I might, I could not kill enough time, and I needed to go home and get my camera. Since time was going to be limited after I ran back home, I decided to use my little bit of cash from Target to get Sonic for me and Ewan. It would be quick, and Fynn could eat some little tidbits from home.

Now, I'm no shrinking violet. Even though Bryce doesn't always like it when I spend money on takeout, I'm usually pretty "so what?" about it. I think he's learned to accept it, even though he still fusses about it a little. And it's not as if I do it very often, but yesterday was hectic, and I didn't feel like listening to him gripe. (And that's all it is, griping, I don't mean to make it sound like he is a tyrant or mean.) The boys and I ate in a hurry, then scampered off to the hair place, and when I got back, it looked like a poor, innocent little Sonic restaurant had been disemboweled on my kitchen table. So I made sure I removed all traces of our lunch from the kitchen. I was meticulous in the removing of evidence. I put Ewan's kids meal toy away out of sight, threw the straws away deep in the trash with the bags and cup. I checked and double checked to make sure there was nothing that would give me away. I knew he'd find out anyway, but again, avoiding confrontation here.

So that evening, all was well in our little land, we were about to sit down to dinner and Bryce was helping me set the table. All the sudden he says, "A French fry?! Where did this come from?" And he looked at me, grinning. I was caught. In Ewan's chair, there was one single, lonely little yellow French fry, shouting my sin to the world. I mean, how lame! All that cover-up and I was given away by a cold, shriveled potato substitute?

As Bryce and I laughed over the whole thing later, we determined that we could never commit real crime. All the little things to watch out for, all that evidence just waiting to be discovered. I think it's safe to say that I won't ever attempt the perfect murder. I might leave behind a glove or something.

Ewanisms

I think I've posted before how Ewan sometimes gets a little paranoid. It hits a lot first thing in the morning. During one recent weekend, we heard Ewan pattering toward our room, just awake, and the subsequent TACK TACK TACK of the dog's claws on the floor running toward him. She's always so ecstatic to see him in the morning. But Ewan was less than thrilled as he picked up the pace very quickly, running from her, screaming to us, "Sugar thinks I'm a lollipop!"

He also lately has taken to saying he's "kidding" or "pretending" a lot. For example, "Ewan, do you want to go play outside?" "No." "Oh, okay." "HA! I'm just kidding!" or "I'm was just pretending I didn't want any ice cream." So today, I don't even remember what it was about, and he had said something like that, but then he looked at me with a crooked smile and said, "I was just kidding about pretending."

Unloading the camera

I do actually have a little something to write about, but I am saving it for later when I can focus. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Fynn's birthday party yesterday. Thanks to everyone who came to help us celebrate, we love you and appreciate you. Sorry to bombard you with pictures, but it's my blog and I can post what I want. :)

Happy 1st birthday to Fynn!

A conversation with Grandpa (my dad).

Still life with cake and ice cream.

Birthday cake face.

Really cute in that t-shirt.

Hours of entertainment in a spinning top.

Neat hair and nice shoes make the man....

I took Fynn for new shoes and his first haircut today. It's kind of the birthday thing in our house, first hair cut, first real shoes. I love Converse for the boys, besides being dang cute and hip, also because they aren't so bulky like a lot of kid's shoes. Especially when they are learning to walk, like Fynn, they don't need heavy, hard soled shoes to encumber them. So we chose some cute little Chuck Taylors.

And, yes, he did get the other shoe as well, but he was crawling away wearing it when I took this picture.

Fynn was born with tons of hair, and it grew fast, so I've actually snipped little bits of it four times since he was born. Here's the little ragamuffin before...

...look how long over his ears it grew...

And after... plus a little peek of the shoes.

No regrets

I think this is pretty funny... and ridiculous.