No title will do this justice...

This may not mean anything to most of you, but it certainly means a lot to me.  For a little background, I began writing little stories from the moment I could print.  I even have a story somewhere that looks like Egyptian hieroglyphs because the print is so poor.  It's about a farmer who can't find the pig to make his bacon for breakfast, and after a frantic hunt around the farm, decides he'll just have pancakes instead.  (Apparently I wanted to be a part of PETA when I grew up.)  My grandmother in particular was very supportive of my desire to write, buying me scrapbooks in which to keep my stories.  One of my big regrets is that thus far in my life, I haven't fulfilled her dream for me, and my dream for myself.  I am still in the midst of the longest bout of writer's block ever, as I say often.  

Recently, Ewan will start talking nonstop; usually it's a story about Thomas the Tank Engine. The plots will get pretty complex, and so I'll ask him where he saw the episode or the book that the story came from.  Several times he has told me, "Nowhere, I made it up."  Then yesterday I had the movie "Becoming Jane," which I was going to watch later, and he asked me what it was about.  I told him it was about a lady who wrote stories.  I further explained, "All the stories I read to you, someone made those up in their head and wrote them down for all of us to listen to."  His face lit up, and he became very excited.  And then he told me, "That's what I would like, to be a writer."  My heart went all pitter-pat, then lodged itself in my throat as I told him, "I would love that."

He's just never expressed any thoughts or desires about what he would someday like to be, and the look on his face showed me he was very serious, and very excited that that was something he could actually do.  And I believe someday he will.

A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and Fynn the Upright

Ugh, the last time I had a real, decent post was back in the first week of January. That's one long case of the blahs if ever I've seen one. I've had week-long blahs before, and it doesn't usually bother me, but now I'm going on a month! This past week was particularly "blah-ish," as they amount of take-out and Coke I consume, the amount of cusswords I spew out, and the amount of time spent on useless Internet sites are in direct proportion to how high or low my spirits are. I knew I was in dire straits when on the way home from church today, I saw someone driving out of the Jack-in-the-Box drive-through and was way too envious that they could have some take-out and I could not. So, I'm trying to read good books, spend time with the boys, pray more and write something. I have now become a little bothered and concerned, because I feel like I'm neglecting my blog, and therefore any writing at all. So, here I am, determined to write something, anything, worthwhile. I'm going with stream of consciousness to see if anything valuable tumbles out. (Plus I actually have a decent idea for a book, so that's a new project I'll be working on.)

One of the new fish, Pop, lets me pet it. Seriously. I read on the Internet on a betta care page that they will become accustomed to you and recognize you and let you pet them. So I tried it, I stuck my finger in the water, approached him, and sure enough, he was still as I ran my finger along his body. He then started to kind of circle through around my finger, much like a cat when it weaves around your legs. It's very cool, and I can't believe I'm not squeamish about it. I never, ever, in a million years thought I could become attached to a fish. But I am. Fizzle, however, has a little attitude problem, and spends much of his time grounded to his bedroom playing video games and sulking.

Ewan is such a cool kid, and getting so tall and is just a boy. Shannon and I talked about how when they turn three, they are still kind of babies. But once they turn four, which he will in March, the baby is completely gone and before you stands this little man. He has such a funny sense of humor, and now he's figured out how he cracks us up when he imagines or makes stuff up, so now he does it just to make us laugh. And he'll do it over and over again, demanding each time that we laugh. But after twelve times of the same gag, it's hard to laugh, and when we fake laugh, he totally calls us on it. I actually had to have a little talk with him explaining that we couldn't laugh every single time just the way he wants us to, but that it is still funny. Every Sunday we ask him what he talked about in Primary, and he never remembers. Same thing today, but twenty minutes later after "not remembering," he started talking in great detail about the M&Ms his teacher let him pick out. I talked to her later, and she explained her lesson was about making choices. Ahhh, the joys of candy-coated chocolate greatly overshadow the eternal lesson of free agency.

Fynn officially walks now. He'd do it off and on for a while, two or three steps at a time, and I thought he would hold off for a month or so. But then, one day, it's like he literally woke up and said, "Yeah, I think I'll just walk from now on." It's very cute, he still walks like a drunkard, and seems too small to be upright, but he loves it. He's so proud of himself, as you can see in the video below. (Please pardon his "Dumb and Dumber" haircut, that darn hair-cutter lady!)

And now I think it's time for another baby.

Just kidding. But seriously, he will be 18 months old in June, and I totally want to try to have another baby after that. I just want to be prepared, mentally and physically. So now I'm on this huge campaign to add balance to my life, and discipline myself in my daily, hourly choices. It's so hard to make myself commit to anything long-term, no matter how important it may be. Last year was my 30th birthday, and it seemed like such a good kicking-off point to living healthily, better, happier. Well, I'm still in the same boat one year later. I turn 31 on Tuesday, and I just think it's time to grow up, already. Easier said than done.

Other projects coming up in my future: painting the living room, arranging pictures and knick-knacks more attractively, spending more time outside with the kids, journaling, reading worthwhile things, learning, getting closer to God, writing a book and children's stories, spending less time on the computer (unless writing) and just trying to improve my home, my family, myself. It's not a total, instant overhaul, because those are next to impossible, but baby steps and small changes are all I'm looking for right now.

Speaking of painting and arranging my house, check out these badboys:
Those are prints from The Black Apple that Bryce got me for Christmas. I found some really cheap frames ($4.98 and $6.98) and I think they look really nice. The color I want to paint the living room is a very slightly lighter version of the blue in the background of the top picture. I need to redo a lot of the way my pictures are arranged and other stuff, so this is their temporary home.

On another note, I heard the writer's strike may very well end this week. Do you know what that means? More Michaelisms from The Office, and a full season of Lost, rather than a cheated half season. My fingers are crossed, as should yours. Anyway, that's it for now. Hopefully this week will be a little better and I'll have some interesting stories to tell and insights to share.

Black Appled!

As I reflect upon it, I realize this post would not be possible without Shannon. First she told me about this website, which she knew I would love. It's under my links on the right sidebar, under "Websites I Love" called Inside a Black Apple. (Coincidentally, I remembered my sister Amy had told me about it a while back, but I never got around to looking at it, until it was conveniently linked on Shannon's blog.) You really must go look at it, this girl is so creative with the cutest clothes and she has an Etsy shop with adorable handmade pretties. (And everything in her shop is seriously on my Christmas hinting list. Hint, hint.) I frequently look at it and drool over all of her sold-out items. Shannon also told me about her beloved Swap-bot, which is totally fun. It's mainly for people who craft, but since I don't, I found plenty that had to do with writing stories or letters. So, the two of those websites culminated in perfect harmony today, and I was so excited I had to share immediately.

I signed up for a pen pal swap, where you are assigned five people from all over the globe to write, and in turn you get letters from five different people. I've received letters from Belgium, Germany, America, and Greece. My Greek pen pal has by far been my favorite. I'm writing her back immediately after this. She totally rocked my world today by sending me a fabulous letter, from which I can tell she and I have TONS in common, and she included a little postcard from Black Apple! It's so cute, and it actually reminds me a little of Bryce and I, in our younger, slimmer days. The letter arrived with my Anthropologie catalog, and call me a nerd, but they looked so pretty together after I had opened the letter and laid it down on the catalog, that I had to take a picture. I just love the way letters look with the stamp and handwriting. The warm colors of the catalog and the postcard just looked so 1800s, or vintage, I guess, and made me swoon. I was born 200 years too late, you know.

*Sigh*

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."

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.

Bertice Rachel

About four years ago, I was enrolled in an English course, and was given a paper to write. I don't remember the parameters, but what I wrote is one of the few things in my life of which I am deeply proud. I just entered a contest on an online writing site, and I used that paper. I realized it really belongs on my blog, and so I will share it.

My grandmother was a delightful woman who taught me about the souls of flowers and the chubby knees of babies. She cussed like a sailor and baked like a demon. From her I learned to make the best gingerbread cookies and why my family is so hilariously dysfunctional. Grandma was 88 years old and in her prime. She lived alone, cooked all of her meals, and still found the energy to set out bulbs each spring and fall. While this isn't a story about her life, it is her story, and I would like you to know it.

I have many brothers and sisters. Eight to be exact, but it feels like only two. Except for one sister above and one below me, the remaining six are more like distant cousins or uncles. I feel for those two women a sisterhood that goes beyond the ties of blood or being raised in the same household. Both are kindred spirits in varying, unique ways. I believe in and am constantly in search of “kindred spirits,“ women made from the same fabric as I am. When Grandma passed away suddenly mere days before the birth of my older sister’s daughter, I experienced the profound sorrow, Godly joy, and self-realization that only our kindred spirits can help us achieve.

My life had already begun a transition when I moved from my childhood home in Texas to the mountains of Utah. I was escaping a broken engagement and bad memories. It was my first time away from home and family. I missed my sisters terribly, as well as my older one's children. These were boys that had lived with us most of their lives, boys that shared a large part of my heart. My sister was also expecting a daughter when I left. I felt this deeply, as well as leaving my grandmother, who had some lonely spells. She thought I wasn't doing the right thing, leaving. But I knew I had to go, and that leaving pieces of my heart behind was necessary. Days grew to months, and I was accustomed to school, roommates, and living on my own.

One day I felt a pinch of guilt that I had not sent Grandma a letter in a while. I'll never forget that Tuesday afternoon in July. I remember the window was letting in a soft breeze as I sat to write. As my pen made contact with the paper, my hand stopped at "Dear...” I could not write "Grandma." Instead, I felt I should write to Brenda, a woman at church that I loved dearly. She had recently lost her eight-year old granddaughter to cystic fibrosis. A voice in my head said Brenda needed the letter. It didn't even seem necessary to write both of them. I wouldn't realize until later that my grandmother wouldn't have received the letter. She would be dead.

That Friday I was completing training of a new telemarketing job and it was my first night on the phones. I was doing well, but was nervous and on edge. I was thankful when a woman I did not know came to my station and turned off my phone. I finished my call, and as I did, my heart quickened when I saw a note with the name, "Ashley," my expectant sister. I just knew she had had the baby, and this was her calling to let me know. Upon seeing my expression, the stranger said, "No, this isn't good news." I was taken into an office and given the phone. My mind was filled with thoughts of stillbirth, or worse, and I was glad to hear Ashley's voice. She didn't mince words, but she spoke slowly. "Kelli...Grandma died."

Her neighbors had noticed she hadn't picked up her morning paper and called my dad. He and Ashley went over. He had to break in. There they found her.

It was arranged by my brother to fly me home. I had hoped to escape the viewing; I still don't like to see bodies of the departed. But I wasn't able to avoid it. It didn't help that she looked like melting plastic. I was therefore more than glad when my nephew became terrified and I escorted him out of the room. Grandma was laid to rest, and we all settled down to disbelief, resignation, and expectation. The paradox of sorrow and expectation: The baby girl we'd been waiting for would be here in a few days. I know now she, Chloe, waited around a while to be with her great grandmother. I have no doubt they walked in gardens together and talked about family. And about bringing me home.

Two days after the funeral, Chloe entered our lives. The feeling in the room when that baby girl came into this world was overpowering. I felt the presence of angels. I believe Grandma was there to leave Chloe with a blessing, and a farewell to her granddaughters, her sisters.

I went to her house the following winter. The house was about to sell, but I had some unfinished business with it. As I dug in the rock-hard, frozen soil for the bulbs she had raised her entire life, my fingers grew so numb they began to hurt. But I took home the yellow iris, the red Madonna lily, and the orange daffodil. I knew their souls. They bring my grandmother with them as they bloom each spring. And every time I see them, I feel the sorrow, which turns to joy, and I know myself better, the self I have forgotten throughout the year.

Ugh and Something Really Friggin' Cool, featuring lots of italics

I just haven't been "bloggy" since I deleted everything. I know I was able to get it back (Thanks again, Shannon), but it just hasn't felt the same. I was seriously upset when it happened. Bryce said when I first called to tell him about it, by my tone he thought something had happened to one of the boys. Seriously, and this isn't even me being melodramatic (as I am wont), but it was traumatic for me. (I mean, look at me, I'm only writing about it, and I've used italics two times. And now three times. Four. I think you get the picture, and I could go on forever, so I'll stop now. But not the italics. I need them when this subject comes up.) Nothing has felt this bad for me since last fall when I was six months pregnant and some lousy bastard stole my purse from my car at the park while I was less than fifty feet away, and I watched the whole thing, and my sonogram pictures of Fynn were in that purse, the ones that showed his perfect facial features and you could tell he looked like Ewan, and I mean, I never leave my purse in my car, EVER. I only did because I was less than fifty feet away. And I'm sorry I used that word, but what other words besides a**hole aptly describes a man who would steal a purse from an obviously pregnant woman while she pushed her two year old son on the swing? At ten in the morning? I rest my case, so forgive the word.

So anyway, I'm sorry if it's been kinda boring lately. It doesn't feel complete, like something is missing, even though my reposted stuff is only a link away. Hopefully I'll get back into the groove very soon, and feel happier about my little blog that could.

But there is something really cool that happened. A couple of months ago, I read a book and kind of reviewed it on here. You can read that review by clicking here. So a couple of days ago, I got an e-mail that I had a new comment. It was from someone named Kate, and you can actually read it if you go under comments on my "Some Confusion" post, just from a few days ago. And this comment, the one that caused me to furrow my brow, and wonder, "Who the hell is Kate?" Yeah, that one..., and read this slowly, it was from the author of that book. I am not even kidding. She lives in England, the book takes place in England, and when I looked at my sitemeter (tracks visitors) a visitor from England visited at the very time the comments were left. I mean, WOW. I know it's not like she found my site because I'm so fabulous, she just googled her book or something and found it, but OH MY GOSH. Who ever thinks something like that is going to happen? It just made my whole day. And that is a total understatement. There are no words for what it did to me. This is totally lame, but it was just really friggin' cool.