Labels

So I finally got around to figuring out how to do a label cloud on the sidebar. *I know, it sounded like incoherent rambling to me too when I first heard it.* But, it looks like it will be helpful in organizing my posts.

And now that I have it up and running on the sidebar, I am systematically going back through each of my former posts and putting labels on them. 266 posts to be specific. *Sigh*

***

I mentally assign labels to all sorts of things. People (even though we shouldn't, we still do), places, experiences. And sometimes we forget that we can choose how we label something, and hence, how we view it. I was just talking with a woman yesterday, who was telling me about breaking her right hip at age 45, and how she made the decision when it happened that she was not going to label the experience as bad. I have to tell you, that just floored me. What a great way to assert power over your own life! You make the decision of how to label something and by doing so you determine how it will affect you.

I have decided to label this portion of my life as the time to enjoy things.
Everything.

Last weekend while we were on the boat out at Palisades, I sat up in the open bow while we zipped across the cool water. I soaked that moment in so thirstily. I couldn't get enough of it, it was amazing.

And yesterday, when I was driving home and stuck in traffic, I enjoyed looking around at the stores and people that I am typically too busy driving to notice. I enjoyed that.

The Sisterwife

My darling husband has this motorcycle. Well, technically he has three motorcycles, but I will forget that just for today.

Where was I? Oh yes the motorcycle. Scotland has spent many hours fixing up this particular project bike, and it only became drive-able about two weeks ago.

Needless to say he has been on it every blessed second of every blessed day. I call it the sisterwife.

"Are you going to take the sisterwife to the store today honey?"

"Are you buying more presents for the sisterwife?"

And I suppose when I am in a slightly more sassy mood, my comments include the sisterwife and various references to "riding" but I don't think we need to explore that here...

Anyhow, last weekend he insisted on bringing her along, and since I obviously have no say in the matter, along she came. And since she doesn't have a headlight, he had to take her up to the campsite extra early on Friday night to beat the approaching nightfall. Minor detail, headlights...

I think they just wanted some time alone, but whatever.

The fam picked me up and headed to the campsite a little later, and when we got there, Scotland got busy telling Dad, Mo and Pants all about the bike and by the next morning, they were just itching to take a ride on her. They cruised up and down the highway by our campsite at unbearable speeds. I was content to play with the baby kittens Judge Kari* brought.

Cute, huh?

Anyhow, eventually we went boating and had a grand time out on Palisades Reservoir whilst dodging the occasional water soaked driftwood. Then, on Sunday we had to take Mo to the Cheese Factory (where he works three days a week) in Star Valley and drop him off there.

But guess what the most amazing part was?

I rode on the back of the sisterwife the whole way there. Hello! Never been on that bike before. Have only spent like .2 seconds on motorcycle with Scotland before! Major accomplishment!

(Although, is it still considered an accomplishment if the only thing you managed to do was hold on and make your knees stop shaking 30 minutes after you get off the dadgumed thing? Accomplish might be a stretch there...)

(And who says dadgumed anyway? Sheesh, not on this blog, NoSirEEEE.)

*****

As a side note, the name Judge Kari comes from a conversation about how my anti-child sister hates being called Aunt Kari by all of Pants's nieces and nephews. So I told her when I have children they can call her The Honorable Judge Kari. But we shortened it for my sake. Really, when do you think I am going to have time to teach a two year old how to say "Honorable"??? He is going to have a hard enough time recognizing that his name also refers to a delicious graham snack!!! Cracker can just refer to her as Judge Kari for all I care!


Over and OUT!

IF I did Twitter {which I don't}

Tweet: Why don't they make drive up windows that work the opposite way? I want a microphone at my office where I can announce into it what I want and have every food place in the vicinity deliver to my window. I officially patent that idea right here and now!

Tweet: I have a love/hate relationship with cantaloupe. I love it when you first cut it open and it is juiciness personified. I hate it when it has been in the refrigerator for a day and it doesn't dribble down my chin. Did I really just say that? Yes. I like the dribble down the chin. Must be why I am so drawn to six month old bald men.

Tweet: Would it be strange if I got a statue of a child and put it on my coffee table? Because I am sure that my "obsessed with other peoples children" phase would, well, phase out faster if I had one of my own to stare at day to day. Although it may be a bit counterproductive because if a woman with children saw my creepy table statue, they might remove their children from my presence thinking I am some kind of weirdo.

Tweet: CampFishBoating weekend was a great success! I rode the deathtrap motorcycle with Scotland and I do believe I am still scraping the bugs from my neck. Ew! That is reason enough to wear a helmet even without all those silly head injury precautions!

Tweet: I wonder if there is some poor, desperate soul out there that I could pay to hold a garage sale for me. I vehemently despise hosting garage sales, which is probably why I am being slowly inched out of my house by the {stuff} that consumes it. Can I pay you to do it for me? Would ten dollars work?

Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden...oops

I have to persuade myself to weed my backyard. Yeah, I know. But really, who ever wants to weed? I mean, when we were kids my parents made us weed to punish us, see so my brain really can't think of it as anything more than a big fat restitution for whatever it is I failed at for the day. And so I set little tiny time limits so it doesn't seem so bad.

I find that during this persuasion, it helps if I speak to myself like a two year old so as to trick myself into weeding.

Ok Kristi, you just have to weed for five minutes today all right pumpkin? You can do five minutes. Look, it will be fun! Yay!

So I trudge outside to do my daily weeding penance once again and grab my trowel and gloves. I find a section of my flower beds that looks particularly fuzzy and plop myself down on the grass in front of it.

Then, I see a lovely purple flower to my right. I stop to examine it closely and think of how nice it would be if I had lots of these instead of just a handful. They look like bluebells or something, but since I am not such an expert in the plant area, I could be totally wrong.

And then, I examine their stalk. And I realize that it looks exactly like the weeds I was pulling out by the bucketful last week.

The stalk that I thought was milkweed.

The stalk that I ripped from the lush earth with a vengance whilst attempting to rid my flowerbeds of anything I didn't recognize. The stalks that I filled an entire five gallon bucket with in the space of ten minutes.

Oh yes.

In other news, Scotland tentatively asked me if perhaps I cut the rose bushes back too far last fall. He wondered aloud if that could possibly be the reason that there are only TWO blooms so far this year.

My thought is, if he loved those flowers so much he should have hired a {professional} gardener.

And now I am forced to find another form of restitution for my failures. As it appears weeding is not working for me.

The Swimming Situation

Yesterday was hot. After spending an hour at my un-airconditioned house, I decided that I had to do something other than sit and swelter. So rather than roasting, I wandered on over to see if I could go swimming again with KJ in her apartment complex pool.

When I stepped into the cool delicious water holding sweet baby J, there were two munchkiny kids splashing around the shallow end and a mean looking woman watching them who was sitting in a plastic chair by the fence.

{One of the munchkins asked me if I was going to take my baby swimming. I said yes, not bothering to correct her.}

ANYWAYS I was very busy enjoying my swim with baby J whilst pretending that he was in fact MY OWN BABY when I was mightily distracted by the commotion coming from the shallow end of the pool. The lemon faced lady was all sorts of yelling at the two munchy-kins to get the heck out of the pool and they were screaming right back at her with insistent "No!"s and such.

But as I was busy minding my own beeswax, I tried to ignore the spectacle that was enfolding in the shallow end of the pool. And a moment later, when I heard a clanging noise from that very direction, myself and the rest of the pool looked over to see the crazy pucker-faced lady attempting to LASSO the girl with the lifeguard pole. Finally after the child had slippery-slipped her way out of the loop at the end one too many times, angry face demanded that one of the other swimmers fetch the child from the pool.

All eyes were on the poor young woman in the black bikini who obediently and gently pushed the wayward child toward the steps.  She nervously chided the girl "you should do what your...um..."and then paused as everyone wondered if the lemon faced woman could actually be the mother. And the angry woman practically spat "mother!" for the poor younger woman as she yanked her child by the wrist out of the pool and marched her off to the other side of the gate. The other swimmers quietly whispered or chuckled at the awkwardness of the whole situation and looked at each other in horror. Just on the other side of the gate, the little girl wrenched free from her mother's grasp and threw the big pink bouncy swim ball she was holding back at the woman with angry defiance and then ran from her.

The air was thick with hanging judgement when another mom with two kids laughed and declared to the whole pool that her kids could never claim she was a mean mom again and we all dissolved into relieved laughter.

For Sale

For sale. Four lovely birdhouses, one metal post that holds birdhouses, and one ceramic birdbath.

Birdhouses are all unique in design and hang beautifully on four arms of the metal post. Will even include birdseed for wild birds. All are in good condition.

Reason they are for sale? Oh... uh... I am glad you asked that... uh......

Uninhabitable environment?

And just in case you think I am kidding...

Pico has a new plaything...

Ew.

Punking the punk

My sister's (supposedly) ex-boyfriend wrote on her car with that winshield chalk stuff that her mustang was for sale for like 1200 or something. She got lots of phone calls on that one. So she turned around and posted a car for sale on craigslist with his number to call. I wonder if he ever found the listing and flagged it?

Sometimes I play hide and seek with my brother. Yeah he is 19. But sometimes he doesn't know we are playing so you can't hold that against him. I like to punk him.

Mo is the king of selling anything he has on craigslist. Humph. Let me rephrase that. Mo is the king of selling anything anyone has that he can get his alien long fingered hands on, on craigslist. So sometimes I go looking around for listings that belong to him. And when I find one that looks like it might be him (but I really have to guess cause he doesn't always list his name otherwise I would just search for that) then I call him from my work number so he doesn't recognize that it is me. And we go through a whole conversation about whatever it is he is selling and I don't even disguise my voice and he doesn't even figure it out. And then he goes about his life wondering about that woman that called about the fish tank and then said she needed to ask her mother. 

And whenever I get off the phone with him, I burst into peals of laughter and congratulate myself on how easily I punk him. Over and over again.

Although, is it still considered a punking if the intended victim doesn't know it is a punk? And is punking a verb? It is now!

Post Script: Last night after I informed my Scotland of my punking of the punk, he laughed really hard and then decided to call Mo. He asked if Mo was still selling the fishtank and then said he needed to go ask his mother, and Mo laughed pretty hard, and stated that my phone call was the most awkward conversation ehhvvaahh. and said he was pretty weirded out that a woman who sounded 30 or 40 years old needed to go ask her mother. Mwahahahaha! And then I told him he deserved it for thinking I was 30 or 40.

I am 27 thank you.

There was this woman...

...on the news today that was arrested for trying to steal a baby. But it was much more complicated than just that. She miscarried and then pretended she was pregnant for eight more months before she targeted the parents of a newborn and in the process of trying to steal the baby from them ended up stabbing both the mother and father.

That is wacked out in so many ways. She tricked her husband into thinking the baby (a pillow stuffed under her shirt) was moving by maneuvering a paintbrush when he put his hand on her belly.

I feel very sorry for that husband. Fooling the outside world is one thing. Fooling your husband is another thing. How could he not have known?

And in other news, I have now commenced wondering if the preggo in my office is doing the same thing.

Therapy

All of a sudden, summer decided to make a surprise visit earlier this week just to tempt me, and then it left again today. But we had a few nights of summer, which helps ease me into the season. Because lets face it, living in Idaho with it's bipolar weather keeps you on your toes. Or makes you need therapy. Either way.

On Monday night, KJ and I went walking, and the entire time we were out there, we talked about getting ice cream. Somewhat defeating the whole purpose of walking, yes but we were practically salivating over our imagined sweet cream concoctions. And yet after all that walking and talking and salivating, we each went home deciding that all of the really good ice cream places had already closed up for the evening. Even though that was the best kind of therapy I could think of.

Tuesday night we canceled walking for the evening because her lil peanut snack baby boy was already asleep. So I listlessly wandered around my house before deciding it was much too hot inside. I found Scotland on the back porch working on his project bike and chatting it up with our always-leather-clad-biker-next-door-neighbor. So I made myself halfway scarce and pulled weeds so I could listen in without being bothersome. And after a million milkweeds met their untimely death, I was sneezing so bad I thought I might have a stroke. So biker dude took off and Scotland convinced me that he needed some ice cream therapy that evening. So we went out for blizzards and instead of driving home Scotland took me across the river from the temple and we parked the car and talked for a while. And I have no idea what led to it, but he started sharing a story about him making out with some girl up at BYU-I which made me feel like I needed therapy to burn that offensive image from my brain FOREVER.

And last night even after it started cooling down, (yes I was a little slow on the uptake) I stopped by KJ's apartment and as we were discussing the options of pool vs walking (which really was not much of a discussion I suppose because who really would take walking over swimming?) Scotland called.

He said: What are you doing?

I said: We were just talking about what we wanted to do tonight.

He said: Well I just wanted to remind you to keep me in mind. You know, if you go swimming.

Like that was a reeealll subtle way of hinting for an invitation to our very exclusive pool therapy party. Sheesh.

So I told him to come over, and KJ and I went down the stairs to get the stroller out of the car for her baby. And wouldn't you know, as soon as he was settled in the stroller we pulled out his blow up swimmer, The Green Frog, and his face lit up like the Fourth of July. Because at six months old that child is already a genius and he knows that Green Frog = Swimming in the Pool. (Thus endeth the paragraph of gratuitous capitalization. Thank you.)

So we walked over to the pool discussing our astrological signs and obsessions with Modbe swimming suits and entered the pool compound with the members only key. Exclusive. And after KJ had affixed a swim diaper on baby J, she handed him to me and let me attempt to wrangle him into the cutest blue swimming trunks ever made. Whew. I am still really lacking on the one handed-ness that motherhood requires.

Then Scotland showed up and I toted baby J all the way back around to the gate to let him in and promptly asked him if the baby made me look good. The answer was yes, thank you.

And we promptly got in the pool and put baby J in the green frog which he was immediately entranced with even though he has been swimming like 30 times in the last three days. Scotland spent like .2 seconds in the pool before abandoning us for the warmer waters of the hot tub, and I swam away with baby J while KJ was momentarily conversing with the six million passersby that she knows.

Then baby J and I played an endless game of Green Frog peek-a-boo because I just can't get enough of that child's laughter. And then it started to cool off a bit, and I saw his lips all a quiver (or rather, a qwiwer) and we got out and wrapped the towel around us both to warm up our wet skin for a bit. And KJ joined us when we went into the jacuzzi room to relax and we put our legs in to soak. And we talked about a million things while I made fish faces at baby J. Which made me think that it was possibly not so much pool therapy as it was baby therapy, but whatever, you say tomato and all that.

And today, Idaho has turned its bipolar weather around again and given us a cloud covered sky, gusts of violent wind and the distant rumble of thunder and threats of rain, and I wonder at all the therapy of the past week being washed away in one summer thunderstorm where we forget that it is almost July and supposed to be hot and dry in this desert we live in. And yes that was the longest run on sentence in the world thank you, but after all of that therapy what do you expect.

The Cheshire Cat

“You may have noticed that I'm not all there myself.”


Today marks another day in the continuing saga of my recovery from my recent surgical intervention. I haven’t mentioned it before but the surgery I had was for an ectopic pregnancy that had ruptured my fallopian tube.

Wow. I really wasn’t sure I was ever going to admit that on this blog. I figured I had better just keep things to myself and hope no one minded the slightly cryptic style of my posts lately. But I have felt very stifled with holding it in. What is the point in documenting one’s life through blogging when one has to keep the most emotional parts hidden?

I am still trying to deal with the emotional aspects of the whole thing, as it has impacted my life in so many ways. And although I am nervous about putting all of that out on paper {screen} I am confident that anyone who would put up with the constant stream of prattle on this blog, could probably be counted on to be a supportive friend.

I was writing some of my emotional goals down today that I plan on focusing on for the next two or three months. And it has been really hard to figure them out. Because not only do you have to determine where you are and where you want to be, you also have to figure out how to get there and how to measure when you have gotten there. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, asking for help from the Cheshire cat when I don’t really know where I want to go.

Alice: I was just wondering if you could help me find my way.

Cheshire Cat: Well that depends on where you want to get to.

Alice: Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn't matter which way you go.


{I read an online analysis today about Alice in Wonderland.}

So here we are again. When we made the decision to go “down the rabbit hole” and start trying to have a baby, things were new and different and very confusing. And the last couple of months we went through our own personal version of the shrinking/growing scene where things are just not quite right for us to move on through the door to Wonderland.

In just over two weeks we will reach the one year mark. And while I know that is not a very long time at all, it saddens me just a bit to know that we are there, we are out of the newlywed stage and on to the ‘why don’t they have children yet’ stage.

In every trial there is a blessing though, right? And the blessings I can acknowledge from this experience? Empathy and gratitude.

Empathy for the millions of people who experience infertility. Empathy for the pain and longing that I now understand in a very real way. And even if I got pregnant tomorrow, I would still hold onto that empathy and understanding when someone I love is going through it. Because no amount of pep talks or encouraging words fixes that kind of pain.

And also, gratitude. Gratitude for my future children. What an amazing gift to be able to care for them, teach them and see them grow. And all that work we put into bringing them into the world just makes us so much more grateful for them. Because even when they are driving you crazy, you still love them more than anything else in the world.

Cheshire Cat: We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.

Alice: How do you know I’m mad?

Cheshire Cat: You must be…or you wouldn’t have come here.


So here we are again, on the cusp of the adventure in Wonderland...

Why I don't do Facebook and other narcissistic musings

After I wrote this post, it occurred to me that it was rather argumentative and inflammatory. And try as I might, I am unable to edit down the tone without compromising the message I intended. So if this type of message offends you, I am very sorry. But will you please come back tomorrow?

Sunday night, my dear friend CA and I had a nice long phone conversation. Like I think we each said goodbye about eight times before we actually ended the phone call. Because that is how we roll. Because we are 500 miles apart and when we get on the phone we have to catch up on the last month of each others lives. Because we only talk about once a month. Anyway, during said phone call, she asked me if I was on Facebook. And once again, I was forced to reexamine how I feel about Facebook. Cause I just don't want to do Facebook.

Once like a bazillion years ago, someone convinced me to join Myspace, and I did and played around on it for a little while until certain things started to bother me about that form of social media. And then I tried to delete my account. And I don't know if if worked or not, but I don't use it anymore. Oh anyways, the things that bother me.

1. The majority of the time, the "friends" that you have in the social networking sites fall into one of the following categories: your real friends (which I shall call regular interaction friends for the sake of clarity), your former friends (which you don't interact with much/at all anymore but you used to at one point) and your not friends (people you have never had a relationship with other than the social networking site). I would also argue that family members could fall into any of those three categories, if you currently interact with them, if you no longer interact with them, or if you have never met/spoken to them. Interaction is a pretty wide term also for those of you that caught that term, and is broad enough to include those that you talk to or text as well as physically being present with them.

But the problem is, as friends fade from regular interaction to former interaction, you can't just kick them out of your friends list without having problems. That being said, you can't deny a friendship request without the possibility of injuring feelings. Do you see the problems here? And don't you ever think that you would change the way you filter your postings based on who you knew was reading it? You would be able to be much more open and even personal if you knew that only your regular interaction friends were reading it instead of that girl you haven't spoken to in eight years who is now the biggest gossip in town. See what I mean? Problematic! And how weird is it that personal details of your daily life are available to people who are not actually interested in interacting with you on any other level? World wide stalking is what I call that!

2. Social media steps in as a substitute for actually maintaining those friendships. Sure, you have been Facebook stalking your kindergarten friend for months and you know what she had for dinner last night, but are you really friends? You probably assume that she is reading your page as well and knows all about the difficulties you have been having lately, but she hasn't called to see how you are doing or stopped by with a plate of cookies, has she? So how do you know she really cares about you then, and that you really have a relationship with her? You don't! Rather than actually working on making the effort to maintain a friendship, you have fallen into a pseudo friendship. And as CA pointed out to me on Sunday, when you see that person in the grocery store or wherever, you pause and wonder if you should say hi to them or ignore them, but then you realize that you certainly can't ignore them because they are your friend on Facebook!

Now, before you throw a trillion reasons why Facebook/Myspace/whatever are the greatest things since sliced bread, let me tell you that I know there are benefits to them. I know that you are currently emailing the kid that sat next to you in science class in eighth grade, and it is the most awesome thing to find out what he/she is doing right now. I know that. And I know that you are able to keep up with your cousins that have moved out of state and see pictures of the new baby/dog/house/whatever. And both of those are great, and I am very happy for you.

I just don't feel it is right for me. Maybe it is my homebody/hermit personality, but I don't want to do the Facebook thing. The whole rest of the world may be on Facebook, and meanwhile I will stick to my little corner of the world wide web right here. My friends are on Facebook and my husband is on Facebook. Hell, my mom is even on Facebook. And I may be the very last hold out.

But dang it, I just don't want to. And yes, that is a very narcissistic view of the world.

The Law

I used to get pulled over a lot when I was younger. My {formerly} reckless nature led me to believe that I had to get everywhere at the highest possible speed and that every stoplight was just an opportunity to try out my Indie 500 lead food skills. Needless to say, The Law didn't think much of my adolescent ways. And I got stopped on a pretty regular basis. But the thing I had going for me back then was two fold. My gender, and an ability to cry whenever I was pulled over. Please let me assure you, I have no talent as an actress. Those tears were a real manifestation of the fear I had of being ticketed, and the resulting parental suspension of my driving privileges, which as you know is the equivalent of social death to a teenager. And fortunately for me {and unfortunately for the rest of the drivers on the road} I have only ever gotten one ticket in my lifetime. But I still got that anxious shaky going-to-cry feeling whenever I got pulled over.

Fast forward a few years and I am very proud to say I have not only broken my need for speed, but I have also not been pulled over for about six years. That is until last Friday.

I was heading home from work on Friday for lunch when I realized there was a sheriff's car behind me at the stop sign. And then I realized I didn't have my seat belt on. Great. So after I made my left turn, I slipped the shoulder strap down and attempted to buckle it, and wouldn't you know it, the twisted strap was refusing to latch in. And then the lights turned on behind me.

I pulled over and put my arm down to hold the belt in place, knowing full well that when I was asked for my licence and registration, I would have to lean over to my glove box and the belt would spring back to my left shoulder and then it would all be over. But nonetheless, I rolled down my window as the sheriff approached, and managed to squeak out a hello while my knees were knocking together. And nice as can be, he said

Did you know your registration is expired by like, nine months?

at which point I proved once again what an idiot I am around cops.

What?!?! Are you kidding me?

I can only attribute this ridiculous response as an indication that I obviously believe all cops are out to play jokes on me, as we have seen once before in this adventure.

At which point he tells me that just going down and getting my car registered would be less money than a citation for it and recommends that I get that taken care of as soon as possible.

And when he walked away, I did a quick self inventory and noted that while my heart was beating a million times a second and my legs were still shaking so bad my knees were knocking together, I had not cried. A personal victory. And as I let out a sigh of relief, my seat belt flew out from underneath my arm and retracted itself back into place.

And remember the referee that lives in my head? He waved his arms and yelled "SAFE" as The Law walked away.

P.S. Have I ever mentioned that I dated a cop once upon a time? A story for another day I suppose.

P.P.S. Always wear your seat belt and drive in accordance to the laws and rules of the road.

P.P.P.S. This is a public service announcement.

P.P.P.P.S. This is a recording.

Keepin' it real. And sometimes legal.

~k rock~

Bits of random {sewing edition}

1. My sewing machine is officially dead. I even may have cried a bit when I finally came to grips with that fact. I just took it in for a tune up, and they declared the cam is broken and they cannot get replacement parts for it due to its advanced age. Sad fish. Even worse, I am in the midst of a crisis project that needs to be done by tomorrow.

2. I also found the cutest tutorial here for curtains that would be perfect for the freshly painted second bedroom or perhaps the guest room, but I suppose I will just have to hang onto the pattern until I have a replacement machine.

3. I attempted to finish my crisis project last night by hand. It did not go so well. Who sews by hand these days anyway?

4. Last weekends adventure to S Utah made me really really wish for a quilters long arm sewing machine which unfortunately is not in my future due to the $12,000 price tag. Yes I did type that correctly if you are wondering.

I want to cry now. Can somebody get me a hankie?

"Letting go" ~ alternately titled ~ "how I got over the blue bag incident"

All my bags are packed, I'm ready ta go
I'm standing here outside yo' do'
hate to wake you up to say goodbye.

Cause I'm leeeeaaavvvvin' on a jet plaaane
Don't know when I'll be back agaaaain

Blue bag. The one I didn't want. Has grudgingly become an accepted piece of luggage around here.

Why would I not want a blue bag?

Story.

We had just arrived in Las Vegas and were unloading the rental *grimace* mini van in the parking garage of the condo and somebody got a little too aggressive with my maroon bag and tore the strap off while lifting it out. Irreparable. And I was sad, because that bag had been a good and faithful friend. But as it was the beginning of the trip, I certainly couldn't go without some form of substitute to my ultra stuffed bag. So after getting properly checked in and unpacked, we went to the outlet mall.

Now let me stop right here and tell you that very rarely are guys good marathon shopping companions. Like seriously. They poop out after one or two hours and start complaining that they are dying of thirst/joint pain/hunger or they have contracted some form of mall spread communicable disease. None of which squeezes empathy from my cold shriveled heart, but all of which annoys the living daylights out of me. Again though, I said very rarely. My bro in law, Lance the Pants is the rare exception, which is a very good thing being that he is married to my ultra picky clothes horse older sister. He can marathon shop with the best of them. Now my darling husband and my brother, Mo are not such great shopping companions. Lacking in patience, endurance and one might argue, style, they are the type you would rather leave home when on a long shopping expedition. (Short term jaunts into the world of retail are fine, they just fail miserably when asked for more than like five minutes per store.)

So the five of us were perusing this great Mecca of stores in Vegas and after about 30 minutes, Scotland and Mo were ready to head home, having spent exactly 2.5 seconds in each store. Meanwhile, the rest of us were on probably our fifth store, and were certainly not ready to go yet, which I argued vehemently to my husband via cell phone. Besides, I hadn't yet found that blessed piece of replacement luggage, so we couldn't go.

Thinking the matter was settled and those two would just have to stick it out, I perused one of the luggage stores again. Did I want a black bag? Or a pink one? What style would be most versatile and user friendly while being sturdy? Being that this was the second piece of luggage I have ever had the luxury of choosing for myself, I was taking the whole thing very seriously and considering every possibility against the one suitcase I do have. Would the colors and styles go well together? Was it a fair price for an item I would hopefully own for several years? Would the straps hold up well (being that straps was what got me into this predicament in the first place) and did they have the right length and width for comfort?

Whilst I was in the midst of this very great and important decision making I noticed out of the corner of my eye that someone was peering in the window of the store at me. The shop girl to my right was educating me on the valuable features of a very nice bag when I recognized the window man. Husband. And not only was it husband, but he had a store bag in his hand that he was attempting to remove an item from. And then he was holding up said item, a blue and tan bag of the exact same shape and style of my now unusable bag. He had a big smile on his face while he pointed to the bag and motioned for me to come out of the store.

My jaw dropped. What had he done! I didn't want that bag, this was my big chance to get something I really wanted that matched my other maroon suitcase and he had gone and picked up any old thing just so we could leave!!!!!! I was furious!

Chaos ensued as I left the shop girl holding the black bag and went tearing out of that store to verbally ream my husband and demand that he return the bag. Just as I reached him, Mo, Pants and Kari showed up as well, and their laughing at my goofy husband saved him from the head severing I had in mind for him. (I just can't yell at him when there are other people around.) No one understood why I was so mad, and as usual, I couldn't articulate it at the time, so I pouted as we headed back to the van.

It took me a little while to give up on my grudge and accept the bag. I really didn't want to, I figured maybe Scotland would adopt it and I would be free once again to find the perfect item to replace it. But as time has passed, I have realized three very important things. One, my husband will never give up his old army bags as his preferred form of luggage because to him luggage is no big deal. It doesn't matter. Two, I have to consciously force myself to let go of the anger I was harboring from this incident and constantly tell myself "It's not a big deal. It is just an ugly bag" as I am lugging it from place to place.  And the third thing? Shortly after we returned from this infamous vacation, I had just unpacked my maroon suitcase and lifted it to carry it upstairs, when I noticed that the plastic handle was severely mangled on the trip home and is...irreparable.

Yay! New luggage!

And guess who will not be coming when I pick it out?

Cowboy dad

Why boys always ruin pictures

It wasn't until the last picture...

...that I realized what he was doing....

Is there something ingrained in boys that makes them try to ruin pictures?

I love you but I don't want to see your goofy face in a picture I am trying to get of the two of us.

Good grief.

Lacie's wedding pics

My cousin Lacie got married this weekend, and as you can see from her decorations, that girl has creativity flowing in her veins!   It was tons of fun and so cute!

Her guest book? Quilt squares which she will sew into a beautiful quilt in her wedding colors.

Her wedding favors? Flower seeds in tiny little clay pots.

Her food and drinks? Fruit kabobs and cake in her colors and lemonade dispensed from a little lemonade stand that she built.

Her decor? Watering cans with flowers and an arbor that she built with old gates on either side.

Her cake? Fondant shaped into quilt squares.

 (Her mother, my aunt Carolyn did the fondant for the cake!)

How beautiful!

Finding service

Last night, as I was attempting to call my husband to tell him goodnight, I was met with resistance as my cell phone repeatedly flashed at me. "Not in service area" it said, no matter what window or door I stood next to. I was immediately annoyed.

How dare I lose service whilst in a cabin in the middle of nowhere! Doesn't my phone know I have to make this call? That I have to speak to my sweet husband on our eleven month anniversary that I left him alone for on this crazy trip? Not acceptable!

I was on the verge of crying, feeling like the worst wife that had ever walked the planet, when an encompassing feeling of peace came over my soul. I took a deep breath, and calmly started walking around the cabin, up the stairs and down, by windows and doors, patiently waiting for my phone to indicate there was enough service to call, even if I had to stand on my head to do it.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I was desperate for service. Desperate to have that feeling of closure to the day, to be there for someone that needed me. And it was hard to find.

After I had crawled into bed, disappointed but resigned to my fate, I rolled over to check my phone one last time and found just enough bars to make my phone call. It was a sweet and blissful conversation with my Scotland. I was so relieved to be able to hear his voice, his smooth Kentucky accent and buttery chuckle sounded like they have never sounded before. And I thought to myself, Heavenly Father knew I needed service today. He knew I needed this. And I felt peace.

This weekend my cousin Lacie got married, and in a show of support, my mom's side of the family sent as many members as they could on the six hour trek to the tiny town of Torrey, Utah. We met my other aunt and several cousins down there and all banded together to help with the setup, serving and take down of Lacie's wedding. We made frosting and cut fruit and set out decorations. We served cake and fruit kabobs and lemonade. We cleaned up and did dishes and took out the trash. We came back to our cabin and fell tiredly into our beds. It was exhausting work, but truly one of the most satisfying marathons of service that I have had in a long time.

And do you know what? Heavenly Father knew I needed service today. He knew I needed this. I was searching for a way to get out of my own head. To forget my own struggles and work for someone else. And because of the wonderful people that I have the privilege of being related to, it was a very sweet experience indeed.

Sometimes you just need a little bit of service for your soul.

I love this guy.

As I was leaving the house this morning, just like most other mornings, I was struck with that longing. That, I don't want to go kind of longing. I love my house. I love being here and being comfortable and all that comes with it. I love knowing where I am and where I belong. I love it when our legs are intertwined as we sit on the couch, just hanging out together. I love when we both work together on a project that has meaning to us. Like ripping up the pepto pink shag carpet together. I loved that.

I don't think I ever really believed that whole "home is where the heart is" thing. I had always replaced the "home" with "family" and that was what made sense to me. But I think I actually have found a place where I do feel like my heart is there. And naturally, it would not be the same without those people, the family I love, my sweet husband. But it is now both. And last night, as Scotland and I discussed the our options, the topic of selling the house and moving came up. And it made me sick to think about it. Because for the first time in my life, I don't want to move. I don't look at it as an adventure and something fun and different anymore. I like where we are at.

Huh. Wow. I like where we are at.

If you had told me I would feel like that a year ago, when we were just getting ready to put an offer on this house, when Scotland had to talk me into it, and I made lists of the pros and cons and worried about living in a "grandma's house" I would never have believed you. (prize for the longest run-on sentence ever!) I never could have believed that I would really be liking where we are a year down the road. But what can I say? Grandma's playhouse has grown on me, because we made it ours.

So tonight, I will leave my heart at home, where my husband can come home and find it while I am away for the weekend. But I will still be longing for home, and longing for him while I am gone. Wishing for those ruby slippers, so I can click my heels and be home again.

Cat nap

If I were a cat...

I most certainly would take naps on the bookshelf.

Absorb all that knowledge, ya see.

And it would be great up there...

Until I wanted to get down...

The water pump

When you first start pumping that rusty old handle, nothing comes out but a few squeaks and groans. But with a little faith and some hard work, perhaps even some sweat mixed with tears, eventually a small stream of cool water comes forth out of the steel lips of that pump. And if you keep pumping, even after you think that you should give up, that small stream turns into a gushing river of water, flowing out of the mouth of that rusty old pump with reckless abandon. Flowing with such force that even if you were to stop pumping it, it would still keep flowing. And when it starts to dwindle back down to a small trickle, all it would take is one or two forceful pumps to get that river back again.

I feel like that water pump today.

Dear Magic Eight Ball...

Is it bad that I waited until after Scotland and I cleaned house to announce that plans had changed and we were actually going to KJ's house instead of having them over for game night?

Is it bad that when we were sitting there playing Ticket to Ride, I held KJ's almost six month old and for a moment pretended he was mine before handing him back when he needed a diaper change?

Is it bad that I am planning one last big hurrah of a trip to Sam's Club this month before my membership expires so I don't have to renew it for six months?

Is it bad that I give Scotland the evil eye whenever I check his debit card and discover he went out to eat without me, but I am planning to run over to Taco Time in fifteen minutes and will pay with cash so he doesn't find out?

Is it bad that I am planning on re-gifting the picture frame wedding gift I received and don't have room for to my cousin who is getting married this weekend?

Is it bad that even though I have tons of work to do today, instead I am posting on my blog and making wish lists and to do lists for my house?

All Signs Point to Yes

Things I learned from "The Wizard of Oz"

I watched "The Wizard of Oz" last night.

In all it's technicolor glory.

And it occurred to me that there are many lessons that one can learn from it.

These are the ones that are directly applicable to me right now.

1. Sometimes we go looking for something that is already inside of us. The sweetest tin man you will ever meet already had the heart he went looking for. The traits you are searching for are within you already, but you just don't recognize them because they aren't in the shape you expect. Focus on recognizing those traits and magnifying them rather than expecting to find them someday.

2. Life is often gray and boring while your dreams are full of color and sparkle. But that doesn't mean you would rather live in your dreams instead of life. It is fine to go there for a while, to dream big and impossible things. But at the end of the day, you would rather have real life, even when it is the same thing each day. Because that is where you really live, with the people you love.

3. Take courage and jump in when you need to. The cowardly lion did not let his fears overcome him when he needed to help the scarecrow and tin man save Dorothy. He acknowledged the fear, and then with a little help from his friends, he went forward. Don't let your fears cripple you when it comes time to jump in. Just push forward and do your best to conquer what frightens you.

4. Find your yellow brick road, and stick to it. Dorothy decided what she wanted, and where she needed to go and then got on that road and stuck with it. No matter what might try and throw you off the path, keep going and endure to the end. And if you come across a few friends who will help you along the way, all the better.

5. And finally, just for fun. All a girl really needs is a great pair of shoes....

To make you laugh...

Last night I came upon a website that had me laughing so hard I thought I was going to pop my stitches. (No I don't have stitches, they glued me back together, doncha know?)

And today, while I should be working, I am unable to stop flipping back to said website to review the archives.

Did I mention this site makes me laugh? Which is a bit embarrassing when the office is completely silent, and then my guffawing laughter fills the space and everyone wonders what I am high on...

Tounge in cheek humor, sarcasm and wit. Everything I want to be when I grow up.

Cakewrecks

You won't regret it. Really. Unless of course you would be embarrassed by laughing out loud amidst clueless other people. Then you might (but only for a little bit).

Happier when my head is in the clouds

Sometimes reality hits me in the face like a Mack Truck.

***Bam***

And then I look around, all sorts of dazed at being knocked out of the clouds that my head resides in the majority of the time. I look around and wonder, 'what happened?' and it takes me a moment to get my bearings again.

Like when I get an invitation in the mail for my ten year high school reunion.

*** BAM ***

***TEN YEARS!?!?! WHAT THE H???***

And then I have to shake the cobwebs out of my head and realize,

"yeah, it really has been ten years... wow, it doesn't seem that long...."

and I contemplate that for a while until eventually I return to the little cloud my head resides upon.

The place where reality doesn't phase me.

Incognito

You could say I have been on a mission, lately. A mission to keep my private life... well... private from the individuals I work with. For the most part, this mission just requires my vague answers to personal questions and generally keeping my mouth shut at work. And typically it works quite well and is pretty easily done. However today was a different story.

I had a doctor's appointment scheduled for today as a followup to my surgery from two weeks ago. As I was finishing up a few things at work and getting ready to go, the pregnant woman I work with headed out the door. She was apparently headed to the doctor at the same time as me. And what is more, she was headed to the same doctor as me.

Well, this was a bit of a problem for me, since I had been trying keep my coworkers in the dark about the nature of my surgery, and seeing the preggo one at the OBGYN's office was not the best way to do that.

I drove to the doctor contemplating how I could manage to avoid seeing her there. I even considered skipping out on the appointment, but rescinded after remembering the list of questions I had brought with me for the doctor.

Her car was parked right out front, so I parked around the corner in the employee parking section. Before I headed in, I slipped on a jacket and a pair of sunglasses I keep in my car. Then I threw my hair in a messy bun and checked my reflection in the mirror.

Oh yeah. Really good. Now I just look like a sloppier version of myself...

But there was not much I could do, so I tentatively approached the doors. I had arrived just late enough that she was not in the waiting room anymore. I quietly said my name to the receptionist, who had to lean forward to hear me. Then I went to the furthest corner of the room and grabbed some reading material to hold up in front of my face.

At this point I should probably mention that since it was an OBGYN office, the reading material was a book of baby pictures. Yeah. Just what I needed.

Keeping my sunglasses on, I periodically peeked over the top of the book, keeping a wary eye out for said coworker. The nurse called me back and we slipped into the little alcove where they weigh you and take your vitals. I heard someone coming around the corner, so I casually put my hand up and ducked my head to shield my face from view. A pair of scrub pants walked past the alcove. I let out the breath I had been holding. The nurse that was sitting with me gave me a quizzical look and told me to relax, as I had disrupted the blood pressure screening. She ran it again as I looked around nervously. Finally, she said she would take me to an exam room, and proceeded to lead me down the longest hall ever made. As we were almost to the end, the door in front of me opened up and I heard the doctor ushering his patient out the door. She was turned to face him with her back to me as he gave her instructions on when her next appointment should be. I was almost to the door they were coming out of when she turned around and came face to face with me.

And then I died.

Because it wasn't her, it was just someone with the same colored jacket as her.

And she walked past me with that barely contained enthusiastic smile that newly pregnant women always have.

I walked into the exam room at the end of the hall and the nurse shut the door behind me. I sat next to the door, and a few moments later, heard the voice of the woman I work with as she walked down the hall.

I had barely made it.

So the doctor came in and did his thing and I asked a brazillion and one questions and then headed out the door. Her car was gone, and I was completely relieved. The referee in my mind yelled "Safe" as he waved his arms in front of me.

Doing better

Slowly but surely, I am doing better these days. I have taken an extended recovery time from work and I apologise for not updating earlier, but really, what can I say about just hanging out at home? Several blog topics have come to mind, but they all ended up on the editing (living) room floor.

I thought really hard about what I could write about that was real life inspired and not really boring. I thought about all the bazillion movies I have watched in the last week and how I could list them all off, or summarize plots or lack of plots or something. Oh, and did I mention all these old movies are still on VHS with the sound that goes in and out and that oh so endearing line of tracking fuzz that goes across the bottom of the screen? And since about half these movies were taped off of tv, I get to see the commercials advertising the "brand new, 1989 Ford Fiesta" in all it's manual transmission glory.

I really came close to writing a dissertation for you on the lameness of subtitles on a live action animal film (you know, the ones where the animals are not out having long discussions about the state of the barnyard, etc?) when 80% of the closed captioning reads:

{barking} {sniffing} {whimpers, howling} {barking}

because 90% of the cast are of the canine variety. I really seriously thought about writing that.

Or I could describe to you the details of the stitch I am using as I crochet the worlds biggest afghan (it is a cluster stitch, similar to a popcorn, but a lot puffier) (is puffier a word?) in purple and teal which are the worlds most horrifically mesmerizing combination of colors. And because I didn't plan the pattern right, it should be the size of a small house by the time i finish it.

I could tell you how my dear friend KJ rescued me from the afghan/movie nightmare of my week by dropping by two fantastic books that I was unable to put down for THE ENTIRE DAY yesterday because they were so jaw droppingly fantastic!!! (The Hunger Games and Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, for those of you that have the desire to lose an entire day or two of your lives) And how my dreams were tormented with the most disturbing aspects of the plot line, with myself as the main character, as if I were still sixteen years old?

Oh yeah. I thought about all those things. And I really honestly considered doing blogs on all of those things. But then I realized that I only have one thing I really should admit on this blog. One thing that will tell you more about me in a couple of sentences than the rest of my dissertations combined could. I thought of what is possibly the most disturbing aspect of this whole "at home after surgery" chapter of my life.

The surgery photos.

You see, while I was "under the knife" the doc was kind enough to take a few photos of my guts for me. I guess he felt like I needed to be included a bit more. Personally, I thought than being stripped naked and strapped down starfish style under bright white operating lights while a team of people cut you open was enough, but hey, I am not the expert here. So he took a few shiny color pictures that I was able to take home as one of my many souvenirs. And I have the sophisticated taste to leave them out in my living room. And it finally occurred to me TODAY over a week later, that perhaps that was not the most attractive thing to do. Not that I have had many visitors, but after seeing a few of them recoil at the grotesque shiny pinkness of those pictures, I have finally come to my senses and decided to put them away for now. Not that I won't keep them for posterity or some such nonsense, but at least I will warn people before I go flashing my innards photo shoot in their faces. You know, cause it's the least I can do...

Forever residing in the land of maturity,
~k~

the road to recovery

It was not an easy weekend, and it looks like although I took one step forward on Sunday (I really was feeling pretty well), I have now taken two steps back. I am going to the doctor today due to some problematic symptoms. Praying that it is nothing big, I don't think I can handle any more bad news...

Will check in later...

XOXO

~k~

Mesh panties were the highlight of my week...

The very sexy mesh panties. How could I be any luckier! Please excuse the discoloration from the iodine solution. I promise that is what it is!

Wednesday was a bit of a crazy day around here. I was feeling pretty poorly so I took myself down to the urgent care facility to figure out what was wrong. After a series of tests and shuffling me from one office to another, it was determined that I needed surgery. Even as I type these words, I still cannot believe that all of this has happened. Emergency surgery is certainly not a planned event in anyone's life, and I am still attempting to wrap my mind around it even now, two days later. So, at 6:30 Wednesday night, I was hauled into surgery to repair some internal bleeding and such.

I felt like I was in an episode of ER. After the flurry of activity of checking in and getting a health history, I kissed my Scotland and they wheeled me off to the operation room. They strapped my arms and legs down starfish style, and put me under. Intubation, breathing tube, the whole banana. And my world went black for an hour and a half. Then they were waking me up, telling me that everything went fine, they had glued me back together, and I would be able to see my family soon. After a mild panic attack (really, who here didn't think that would happen, huh?) I was wheeled back into my room to see my loving parents and my sweet Scotland.

And my souvenirs? A couple of scars, a few days off work, a hospital bill, and a pair of mesh panties. That's right, in the midst of panic and mayhem, I was able to maintain my sense of humor because the awesome nurses presented me with two (count them, TWO) pairs of mesh panties for the experience! I guess they figured that if they were taking out a few of my extra body parts, they better give me something to remember them by. But that is why God gives us those extras, right? Just in case they have to take the faulty ones out. And I will leave you to gaze upon the awesomeness that is the pair of mesh panties, and guess what extra parts I am now living without...Wink! Scotland says he slipped the doc a little extra so they'd give me the full tune up. I say, while they were in there, why didn't they do a tummy tuck or a little lipo!

So I am down and out for a few days, just taking it easy around here. No worries though, I have such awesome people to help me out. Scotland has been playing gopher anytime I need anything, my mother came up and played housekeeper/therapist yesterday, and my seester Jami is going to keep me company this afternoon. I have gotten flowers, visitors and all sorts of calls and texts to keep me occupied. So it really is not so bad. I probably couldn't have chosen an easier surgery for my first experience, it has been a piece of cake so far. Course, that could be the meds talking, I may change my mind in a few days/hours. But it's all good up in he-ya. Feel free to give me a holler, I don't have a whole lot going on for the next couple a days...

And a shout out to my bro, who just got his mission call to the Georgia, Atlanta mission. So very excited for my little Mo.

Peace out to everyone, with all their parts or without!

highlights

I am so totally bad, it has been a whole week since I posted last. So rather than boring you with the crazy details, I will hit the highlights...

1. Kitten still does not have a name. It is a boy, and he is wild and crazy with blue eyes and striped orange/brown fur. I am stumped. We have tossed around the following possibilities...

Mickey Blue Eyes

Chili Bean

Cinnamon Bear

Weasel

Picolo (pronounced peek-o-low)

Any ideas? I really have no clue... Our other cat is named Sugar, which is short for Brown Sugar (which was more about her coloring than her *sweet* personality) (because she bites) (and she really is not so sweet...)

2. Did the years first official campout with the parentals this weekend, and it was fab*you*luss! We went fishing and dad did the cowboy shoot so that was tons of fun. I liked getting out there before the memorial day rush, but even so the campsite was slammed... And M and D got to see the slapstick routine that is my relationship with Scotland, which was very entertaining to them. Plus, everything smells like campfire now, so that is fantastic!

3. The pink room is still under construction, but I am madly in love with the newly textured walls and the real wood floors that were hidden under the pepto pink shag! Hello gorgeous!

4. And I forgot to mention that last weekend (not camping weekend, the one before) we slipped down to PKY for a few brief hours to celebrate my seester Jami-girl's grad-gee-aye-shun. She is done with school, woot woot!

5. I am not the type of person that would put the phrase "woot woot" in a blog without serious consideration and thought. I am much too sophisticated for that business...

Introducing....

The newest member of our family....

That face! Those eyes!
I am completely and totally in love with this little baby...
No name yet, but we are thinking.....

The drive

It is dark and I am driving

Thoughts spin through my mind

I worry about everything

The car in the turn lane

The husband at home

The family I love

The children I want

I worry because I can't control

Can't make anything go the way I want it to

Can't change the past

Can't change the hurt

I want to be stronger

I want to be "that woman"

I want so much

My moods come and go

My goals do too

And yet, here I am again

Waiting for something

I am always waiting for something

Something big to change my life

Something big to change me

I am never done with waiting

For as soon as one big thing happens

The next is on the horizon

And I begin waiting again

Preparing for that next part of life

And the in between parts?

They get ignored and pushed aside

I am not unhappy

Please don't misunderstand

I love my life

But I am a "big moment" kind of girl

I am all about accomplishment

and less about working on it

I just want to get there

Get to my destination

I don't want to bother with the ride

That takes much too long

And I don't have time

I don't know why I don't have time

But I don't, so hurry

Hurry back

Hurry here

It's my turn

I'm ready

Not really but I want to be ready

And when it comes? When it finally comes?

And then I will be waiting again