Our Morning Exercise Routine

There are a lot of mysteries left unsolved everyday.

My mom just blogged about one of her's.

I have just solved one at our house. In fact, I have solved two. I will let you in on the other one in another post.

You should be very excited. It is amazing.

This video puts to rest one little mystery that had me mystified.

I could never understand why every morning, when I would go down to use the computer, the ottomans were all dishelved. When I would leave the computer, I would straighten them, only to come down and find them all over the place again the next morning.

Now, solving this mystery was not important to the salvation of mankind or anything close unto it. It was just a silly little routine I went through every morning with a little question mark hanging over my head.

All it took was one morning of spending time with my little man, instead of the computer.

Mystery solved.

Father's Day

What?

Father's Day wasn't last week for you guys?

Not for us, either. I am just waaaaaay behind in my blogging/journaling.

I just wanted to share with you my proof that I am the most creative copycat around. And, not such a bad wife, either, I suppose.




The boy's card to his daddy.




"grilled" cupcakes from Family Fun.










So, here's to all you creative cats that lend such support to us copycats.


We sure do appreciate it.


Really.


And here is a shout out to my son's dad, and my dad. Even though all the mushy stuff was said over two months ago, and neither one of you will probably ever read this post, I still think you guys are pretty great. These last two months would have been unbearable without you both.


Happy Father's Day!



Again.

When I Grow Up...

I want to be a six year old.

Seriously.

If you want an amazingly humorous and insightful outlook on life, really listen to a person that is six. They have life figured out. They are not trying to impress anyone. They just say it like it is.

Here are a few philosophies I have had the privilege of learning while observing the brilliantly adorable boy of six years who resides in my home;

*ON HEALTHY EATING

(after inquiring about why people have heart attacks)

"Well, I WAS planning on growing up and eating lots and lots of candy bars. But now? No Way!!"

*ON PERSPECTIVE

(after wiping his tears while dealing with a bedtime tummy ache)

"Well, I would much rather have a stomach ache than be dead."

*ON DIETARY RESTRICTIONS

(after scrunching his nose at the sight of mom's soup that looked less than appetizing to a kid with an upset tummy)

"I'm pretty sure that this stuff is not on the menu for sickies."

*ON FAIRNESS

(after his mommy punched his daddy while spotting a slug bug, mommy turned around punched the six year old. The six year old asks why mommy felt it was fair to punch two people with one bug. Mommy confesses she didn't want her bub in the back seat to feel left out.)

"It's okay, Mom. I want to be left out."

*ON HONESTY

(after being reminded to pay 20 cents tithing on the two dollars he has just earned)

"Uh, I don't even have 20 cents. I don't have any cents at all."

Okay...so that last one is not funny IN context. But, it sure is funny to hear someone say that they have no "sense".

Or at least I thought so.




If you want to have a good day today, act like a six-year old.

Come on.

I dare ya!

Do You Hear What I Hear?

A few weeks ago, I surfed onto the Oprah show at about 1 AM. Obviously, I was suffering from an unfortunate bout with insomnia. Not because I have to be tired out of my mind to be coerced into watching Oprah, but more for the fact that the pickin's start slimming after 12 AM.

I took pause from my mindless channel surfing long enough to listen to a very interesting author give an audience member some very interesting advice. Oprah's audience member wanted to know why she always wanted to overeat. The golden question of the century, I would think.

This author reminded the inquirer that she needed to listen to her body. What is her body trying to say if she were to listen? Is she full? Does she really want to eat another helping, or is she satisfied? Does she like how she feels right this very second, or does she want to risk feeling like crap after stuffing one more helping down the hatch? Is she really hungry, or just bored?

Very interesting questions, I thought to my temporarily interested self. If I were to listen carefully, what would I be hearing my body say?

So, as I sleepily began my day "later" that morning, I cranked up the hearing aids and began "listening" to my bod.


My body told me to eat a bag of chocolate chips, after it told me I was too tired to exercise.


Dang. I have a very bossy body.

The Nerve

Holy Crap!

The near-daily blogger has taken a little time off, I see. You all have some nerve continuing to exist out there in the blog-o-sphere while I took a mini vacation from my creativity. Sheesh.

Today begins the first day of the rest of my life.

Whatever that means.

But seriously, I woke up this morning with a resolve to get back into my "swing" of things.

Again. Whatever that means.

I got my wood floor mopped today. If you have ever been in my house, you know I shot for the moon. There a lot of wood floor. And as far as I am concerned, I win. Add actually sitting to "pen" a quick blog and read about your summer, I TOTALLY win. Factor in the fact that I haven't showered, then I digress.

Let's just focus on the positive.

Window Shopping

My son, giving new meaning to the term "Window Shopping".




Pedaling up and down the isles, dreaming .


This is the kind of fun play date you get to have with your mom, on a lazy, rainy afternoon, when the fundage is left out in the car...and you have exchanged pinky promises that there will be no melt downs when you come to the startling realization that your mom was dead serious when she said that there would be no purchasing of toys today.


Ahhh. Good times.

You Are Only As Old As You Feel...

...or at least as old as you remember you are.

I was recently forced to celebrate a birthday. I have not been what you would call "gracious" about having to become "this age". This "f-word" birthday has not been such an easy pill to swallow. Thanks again, to all of you well-wishers and condolence-offerers. Your sympathy is much appreciated. I especially want to thank the one who felt the need to bestow Icy Hot and Colon Cleanser upon me. THAT'S going to help the cause. Not going to make me feel old...at all. And just to show you what a good sport I am, I am going to USE the colon cleanser. Ha! How do you feel about THAT!?

My fabulous, six and a half year old son was right beside me, showing me his undying support on my day of grief. It also happened to be his half-birthday. To commemorate the blessed event, he ate six and a half pancakes. I ate...three.

To further show his firm grasp on my reality, my handsome son gave me some sound advice. During the car ride to his baseball game tonight, he exclaimed,

"Oh, my gosh! I TOTALLY forgot you are f**** today! I can't believe it! Can you believe it?"

I tried to summon my mature f**** year old side to respond. I couldn't find her. Instead, I whined and replied,

"No! It KILLS me to even think about being f****!"

My wise-one replied,

"Well then...don't. Okay? Just don't THINK about being f****. Maybe that will make you feel better. Okay?"

Okay, Son. Works for me. And maybe I can get the reverse to work while I'm at it.

I'm only 28...I'm only 28...I'm only 28...I'm only 28

When Will They LEARN!!

I think that it is very safe to say that this will be the most beautiful picture that you will see all day.





There. Hope it MAKES your day.


Let me explain.


The picture doesn't completely show that I have three, perfectly spaced burns on the inside of both my lower, and upper lips. What would be your guess as to how I ended up with such perfect imperfections on my face?




A fork.


'Cause I have brain damage.


On Sunday, we had a hankerin' for some S'Mores. Being the Sabbath and all, we "toasted" our marshmallows in a more conservative manner. On forks...over a gas burner. Worked like a charm.


We know now why they make the end of marshmallow toasting sticks look so unappealing. You try and resist the urge to suck the ooey, gooey, marshmallow-y goodness, dripping off the end of a fork.


Can't do it.


I grimaced through the electric shock of the searing tines on my lips. I made not even a peep. Just kept right on eating my ghetto S'More.


What makes this story even more painfully funny? Not even three minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeff jump out of his seat and grab his glass of ice water.


Told ya.


Can't resist the fork.

In Memoriam...Timmy the Caterpiller

Timmy

Born: undetermined Died: undetermined
Short-term resident of Chase's porch

Timmy was a black and orange caterpillar. He was found by Chase.
Chase built him a home with a lasagna pan, some grass and dirt, and a custom bed. It only took a couple of escape attempts before Timmy was content to live in his pan.

Timmy was a good caterpillar, and a good pet. He did not make a single mess in Chase's house. He did not leave any "gifts" on Chase's front yard. He was incredibly inexpensive to feed, dining on leaves from Chase's tree, they think. He provided Chase and other neighbor kids with many wonderful minutes of oohing and aahing, staring, and poking.




Timmy, in his fluffy prime



Timmy's aluminum home




Timmy was survived by what Chase and the other kids thought was a baby caterpillar found in Timmy's home. Turns out it was just an emaciated Timmy. He had shrunk to less than half his normal size. If it weren't so sad, it would be very funny.




Farewell, Timmy. Rest in...pieces.

Black Widow Strikes Again

About a year ago, I told Chase that his pet frog was dead. Turns out, it wasn't. However, two weeks later, Froggy did kick the bucket when we held a toilet-side service and sent him off with a one-flush salute.

About a week ago, I told Chase that his pet caterpillar, Timmy, was dead. Turns out he wasn't dead either. Chase told me the next morning that Timmy must have just been scared of me. Could have been fear, 'cause today...Timmy's really dead.

So, as it turns out, I am usually right. Just a little too fast.

Caterpillar obituary to follow soon.

Honesty

C: What color are Pinky's eyes? (stuffed animal from my own childhood)

M: Well, they are mostly brown, I think. They are kind of brown and kind of green.

C: What color are my eyes?

M: A BEAUTIFUL brown. I love your big brown eyes. What color are my eyes?

C: Well, they are mostly green, a little bit of brown, and a lot of red.

M: (spoken while sliding off bed into prayer position) They are red because I am so tired. I am so tired that I am done being a mommy for tonight.

C: (spoken through a groggy yawn) Yeah. I'm too tired to be Chase anymore tonight, too. Good night, Mommy. Love you. See you in the morning.

CPA

While I was at "work" the other day, this Cutie-Patootie Angel-boy donned a pair of his dad's protective eye-glasses, stole the last cookie out of his dad's private stash, and began crunching some some numbers while crunching his cookie.



Is it just me, or is this CPA just a titch on the adorable side?

Accidental Dentals

In my previous post, a before shot of Chase's hair could be better served as an after shot of Chase's tooth-capade. Chase has lost 5 teeth since October. His teeth seem to be in a hurry to exit his little mouth. Either that, or we seem to have found a near barbaric, yet seemingly effective method of extracting teeth.

His last three exiting teeth have been "punched" out. Literally.

#3 by Dad's elbow during a tickle fight

#4 by a neighbor's elbow during a, uh, well, whatever it is that boys do

#5 by a friend's elbow during a wrestling match


#5 was pretty sad for Chasers. After an FHE activity with some friends, Chase took a blow to the face while wrestling with their kids. The tooth was gone. The grass received a pat down by six sets of hands...in the dark. Chase was pretty tearful at the thought of losing his lost tooth, until we offered a more romantic end to his tiny pearl. Instead of it being lost forever in the grass, maybe he swallowed it. Yeah, he swallowed it. A much better story. Tears stopped immediately.

At bedtime, a simple letter of explanation was written to the Bringer of Money:

Dier tooth fery

I lost my tooth when I waz resling with my frens

luv Chase


I just have to say, the Tooth Fairy really loves this little boy.

Oh, and if you need help removing any loose teeth from your children, stop on by. We'll start a fight on the front lawn. Results guaranteed.

Patches

A few days ago, this handsome dude came out of nowhere and asked me to make him bald. After I swallowing my tongue, I was finally able to wrap my brain around making the wrap around his brain a little less hairy. With his hair having recently been cut, it really wasn't all that hairy to begin with.



In this second before picture, I dare you to focus on his hair, and not the mayhem happening with his dentures.



After bravely choosing the #1 guard, the buzzing commenced. This stinker was so excited to be getting buzzed that he asked to get up after almost every pass on his head, to go check himself out in the mirror. Along with a hairy trail leading to and from the bathroom, we ended up with patches on his head, caused by my constant interruption of thought pattern.




I you can believe it, I got a serious case of the giggles while cutting this client's head. He looked like he had been in an intense altercation with an angry cat.

When I grabbed my camera to take a picture of the mayhem now happening on top of his head, Chase said, "You need this for your blog, huh, Mom." I am sooooo transparent.



The after shot.

While thoroughly enjoying his new, massive absence of hair, Chase was perplexed as to why his head wasn't as smooth, and as hairless, as his Grandpa's.

Baby steps, son. Baby steps.

Scripture Power

The other night, at a late enough hour to claim "the nice Mom", my insomniac son came in and sheepishly asked if he could read his scriptures in bed. How could "nice Mom" not come back for a brief and tender moment, long enough to grant permission for such a noble request?




Such a sweet pea.

Window Pains

I looked out the window, and what did I see?

I don't know, 'cause I can't see out of my windows.







No, that is not a flurry of fluffy white snow flakes. It's not the trail of pelting, pouring rain drops.





Those are my windows.

Dirty, dirty windows.

They're driving me crazy.

But you know what might drive me crazy even more?



Washing them.




So, I'll just wait until summer.

For now, I'll go inside and scrub my muddy mud room floor.


Oh, never mind.

It's called a mud room for a reason, right?

Mother Bear in the Outfield

Yesterday was Bub's first baseball practice. Something we have all been looking forward to for a very long time. At first glance, Coach seems enthusiastic, teammates look excited. All is well. For a few seconds, anyway.

Right off the bat (punny punny), things so south. Let me painfully insert here, that these boys are only 6 and 7 year old.

They gather in a circle to introduce themselves. The kids start by introducing themselves with vulgar potty talk. As they run into the outfield, the child who reveals himself as the most vulgar monster, turns around and SPITS in my son's face as he's running. Did I say spit?!? YES.I.SAID.SPIT.

Coach breaks them into groups of three for throwing practice. Oh, joy. My son gets grouped with Mr. Monster. He hurls the ball as far as he can past Chase, so Chase has to run and go get it. While my son is running lackey, Monster starts calling him gross and demeaning names for not being able to catch his amazing throws.

My husband seems to have the ability to put up with a lot, all for the sake of not making a scene. I, however, am Mother Bear. Hear me roar. I have my child's innocence to save.

I get up and head out into the outfield, with hands on hips, lips zipped, sunglasses blazing. Monster seems to shrink back to the normal size of a 6 year old. For a few minutes.

Coach sets up pitching machine. Mother Bear returns to her lair. Husband is mortified. Only other Mom there watching practice, proceeds to tell me that boys will be boys and eventually I need to learn to lighten up and let the boys be boys.

EXCUSE ME?!?

Would you like me stick my head in the sand while I am at it? No thank you!!!!

I was ready to get UP and yank my son OUT. Against my better judgement, I was convinced to stay calm and sit down. Breath, Mom.

The boys are spread in outfield positions, while taking turns at bat. They were given a quick pep talk about being a team and using encouraging words. Those words were lost among the louder vulgar ones. The obscenity is now reaching a new level, pushing the limit one syllable at a time closer to the edge of the cliff. And, to top it all off, the colorful monologues are being joined with grabbing of one's body parts, and graphic thrustings of others.

The coach and assistant coach have smiles on their faces, happy to hear the sing-song bantering of a team out in the field, not wanting to ruin the vibe with something as nasty as reprimand, I can only assume. Not wanting to make waves. Move over then, angry motorboat with HUGE waves coming through and,

I AM READY TO KILL.

I am not a big fan of PC. In my opinion, that is why these kids are the way they are. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. That easy. If other parents want to get their knickers in a bunch because I dared to say anything to their children, then be my guest and YOU TAKE CARE OF IT! If not, then move over, Bacon. Here comes something meatier.

Instead of blowing my cork, I am somehow convinced to keep my cool. So, in my only defense, I start talking about the situation, really, really loud. Aimed in the coaches direction. Real tough, right?

Yeh, not really caring if I am becoming the Cardinal's nightmare team Mom. With the way things went last night, you may not have to worry about having this Mom and her child anywhere near your team. I will either pack up my son and head for the hills (or the city office), or I will kindly extend my services as Babysitter in the Outfield, who will also moonlight as Teacher in the Outfield, Officer in the Outfield, Disciplinarian in the Outfield, and Soap Dispenser in the Outfield.

But, one thing you can bank on me not doing anymore?

KEEPING MY MOUTH SHUT!


I AM MOTHER BEAR!!
HEAR ME ROAR!!

Fuzzy Duckys

A return to blogging after several days of no blogging, would not be a return to blogging without a funny quote from my favorite subject to blog about...right?



My bub has fallen in love with fuzzy chicky babies. He thinks they are just "absolutely adorable." His words, exactly.

During a torrential down pour yesterday, he asked me if little chicks like the water. I, being the Mom and all, should know the answer to this...and all other questions that will most likely end up on the table during the next 20 years. So, I answered something like this,

"Well, I bet they do like a little water. They probably like to walk around in water that covers their feet, but I bet they don't like to be covered in water. They..."

Smart Mom was about to conclude with..."probably aren't very good swimmers."

Smarter Child jumped in with..."Yeh, I don't think they are really very waterproof."

Well, look who knows so much!

A Whole New Concept

Yesterday was a mighty windy day here. I reeled Chase in a little earlier than usual, dressed us warm jammies, popped some corn, snuggled under a quilt, and watched a kid's flick .

When the popcorn bowl hit half empty, Chase took his hand out of the bowl and announced he was done. Feeling a little full myself, I said that yeah, sure, I was done, too.

As we continued watching and enjoying the movie, my hand instinctively found it's way back into the popcorn bowl, which then found it's way to my mouth. My hand continued doing this, until the bowl was gone. Chase's hand never flinched. His eyes, however, kept doing double takes as I shoveled the popcorn into my face.

I have to say, I was literally in awe of him. Seriously.

He said he was done. He meant it. He was done. He was full. He was satisfied. He said, no more, and he meant, no more. He didn't want or need another kernel of buttery, salty, oh, so fabulous popcorn. So, he didn't eat one more kernel of buttery, salty, oh, so fabulous popcorn.

W.H.A.T?

That concept is totally wasted on me.

What do you mean? Stop eating when you are done? Uh, you don't keep eating just 'cuz it tastes good? You don't go for broke 'cuz you just can't get enough of whatever you have chosen as you next victim?

So, what you are saying, then, is that when you are full, you should stop eating whatever it is that you are eating? Full means done? Done. As in...no more dipping back into the bowl? No more bites. No more tastes?

Huh.



Now, why didn't I think of that?

Well, all I can say it that my little six year old has it figured out. Maybe...there is some hope for me, too?

Earth Shattering

When your kindergarten son celebrates Earth Day at school, it becomes more than likely that you will want to end up celebrating Earth Day at home. Right?

So, insert Clever and Creativly Talented Mom here _________


Right.


I started with the BEST of INTENTIONS. But things just didn't quite come out the way they were supposed to come out. What started out as a good idea as seen on one of my crafty blog links (seriously, I gotta start writing them down! I can't ever remember where the ideas come from!!), ended up testing my ability to TRULY be creative. The tutorial said,

"Cake mix, divide, add colors, round pan, mix and match, voila...Earth Day Cake.

Sounded sooooo simple. But noooooooooo. This is what we got instead:


First attempt:





Second attempt






Second attempt, with hard crust removed







Consolation prize?



A few globe-like-ish replica cupcakes.



So, for Earth Day this year, my kindergartner enjoyed two cake mixes worth of blue and green baked goods...AND the NEW chore of taking out ALL of the recycling. Whoot Whoo!


Okay. I'm waiting. For my Mother of the Year Award.

Just let me know when you're ready to present.

Da Bears

There is not a lot of difference between my little cub, and the adorable little bear cubs at Baby Animal Days at the AWHC a few weeks ago.



In the midst of lots and lots of interesting things to see, they would both rather just play in the dirt.







While both sets of cubs are prone to having dirt and other groceries stuck in their fur, there is at least explanation for the cubs above. For the cub below, I...well...where...if you...how? Who knows.






They both start out so small and cuddly. Then, they GROW LIKE WEEDS. At the rate my cub is growing, his "potential" will not be far off from Papa Bear's potential.

There are, thankfully, a few differences that stand out, as well.

My cub doesn't bite me every time I reach out to touch him. And, my cub can be admired without needing to be restrained by a cage. Well, most of the time, at least.

I jest. We don't even own a cage.

"A", I'm Adorable, "B", I'm So Beautiful...

Chase took great care in getting ready for church on Sunday. He paid careful attention to every little detail.

When he came out for the unveiling, he got quite reception from his ma and pa. After listening to his mother's gushing on and on about how amazing he looked, Chase felt compelled to concur. In all seriousness, he exclaimed,

" I know! I am ADORABLE!"

Oh, how I love my boy's self-confidence.

I asked this ADORABLE boy to come and snuggle with me the other day. These are the feet that he so casually plunked on my lap:

Boy: (noun) a noise with dirt

Homemade Pig

With the departing of pup Pepper, we now have an empty dog run. A small run, but a dog run, nonetheless. Jeff thought it would be fun to throw around the idea of raising a pig, in said empty dog run. I told him that would be a big negative, unless we could name the pig "Dinner".

Chase slobbered at the idea. His eyes grew wide. His drooling tongue fell out of his mouth. When he could finally get ahold of himself, he said,

"Yeah, let's get a pig! Then we can have homemade ribs!"

Yup, I knew it.

Homemade is always better.

Happy Easter!

Well, I am getting caught up, finally!

How fabulous was it to have Easter and Conference at the same time?! We really enjoyed our weekend. Chase has been listening to all four sessions with me since he was born. We do such special things for Conference, which aid GREATLY to his excitement and ability to endure 8 hours of sitting still and listening.

For the last couple of years, we have been doing the activity packs that start to circulate around conference time. They are wonderful. They are engaging, age appropriate, and help them understand what Conference is all about.

This year, I added a Conference Survival Kit. Chase woke up Saturday morning to a box filled with healthy snacks, treats, water bottles, crayons, scissors, etc. He was armed with everything that he would need to sit quietly for each session. Needless to say, he LOVED it.

We had our own egg hunt in our own home for this Easter. Chase was given clues to find the eggs, which he had to read by himself. He has turned into quite the reader!

Yes, I know. Those are some big eggs.

In the spirit of slowly converting to loving all things homemade, I decided to try the vinegar and food coloring method for dying Easter eggs. Wow...uh, it works! I am especially loving Chase's egg with the reinforcement tab eyes.

I am really loving being able to celebrate these moments and occasions with Chasers. He gets so excited about traditions, holidays, and seasons. He takes such pride in learning and asking questions. He was able to express his feelings about Easter and the Savior to me this year. His sweet understanding of the Savior's importance to him is such a payday for me.

There was just one thing I guess I wasn't completely understanding. I was just wondering why he felt the need to have half of a plastic egg on his head for the entire first session of Conference on Easter Sunday. Oh, well. It didn't seem to affect his hearing.

Hope you all had a fabulous Easter this year!

Mom Jeans

The first time I saw this Saturday Night Live skit on rerun, I laughed. Of course I laughed. It was funny! Who wouldn't laugh? It wasn't until I was giving this parody some serious thought a little while later, that I came to a startling realization. I thought...



...aw, shoot. These are MY jeans. Dadgum.





You see, for the past few years, I have taken a little "vacation" from my skinnier, healthier self. While in this "state", I had not meant to wear "Mom Jeans". I didn't even know what those were. I was just wearing a jean that fit. And, that covered my, uh...stuff. But, apparently, while I was taking a break from my ability to wear a size 2 pant, somebody played an awful joke on me.


Somebody rewrote the fashion on jeans.


Somewhere along the line, the waistline on a good pair of jeans, has gotten A LOT lower.


As a reward for dropping a few pounds and several sizes, I am forced to buy these objects that are foreign to my body. They don't seem to want to cover my...stuff. As a reward for several months abstinence from sugar, and exercising my tushy off, I find that I have just exchanged my "Mom Jeans", for the...


"Mom Jig".

You know the one.

The one where you latch on with a death grip to your belt loops, then yank and shimmy your...stuff, back into your pants. You know the one, when after bending over, you are forced to do some reconnaissance of the unmentionables, then perform the "Jig" to put everything else back into place.


I am learning now, why the former, comfortable, appropriately fitting jeans, were attached to the special classification of Moms. Moms do not have the time, desire, nor number of arms required to be constantly yanking, shimmy-ing, and sashay-ing our...stuff, back into our clothing.


So, while I am happy to be somewhat smaller in my size...smaller...jeans, I am still adjusting to the constant need to be adjusting. It's a work in progress.


I do have to mention, however, that I appreciate the company I have in my misery. I am a big fan of the knowing, understanding glance, smile, and wink from other Moms, who have just been caught doing the "jig".


And so it begins. The race I didn't even know I was in. I had no idea I was in a race with fashion to see who could get "skinnier" faster. Apparently, I am losing. There is something already out there called "skinny jeans". So, I am not likely to catch up to an ever-shrinking fashion, that seems determined to make it more and more challenging to continue to fit ALL of one's junk, into their ever-shrinking trunks.


Sigh.


May the good guy win.

Fully-clothed.

My Little Billy Bob

Oh, the blessed, gangely tooth phase. So cute. Yet, not so cute. We experience everything from the thrill, the gross out, the dramatic exit, the reward, the gap. Then, enters, the "TOOTH". Too big for the poor baby face it grows in. These exiting and entering dentures sure leave their mark as they walk across our babies' faces.










My little Billy Bob has lost 4 teeth. He is working on #5 as we speak. Those dentures are in a hurry to exit. The Tooth Fairy has a Welcome Mat at our home.

He was accidentally punched in the mouth while loosing both of his top pearly whites. While these acts sped up the process, they also created quite a distraction. Teeth were hanging crooked, turning funny colors, and flapping during conversation. Believe me, it has been really hard to focus on his eyes while this Handsome Harry is talking to me. My eyes can't help but be drawn to the mayhem happening inside his oral cavity.

The other day, he completed a task that left him quite proud of himself. Upon completion, he patted himself on his back, while proclaiming, "I sure am a strong fella!"

A little while later, this strong fella was found trying to pull out tooth #4. He squeezed so much effort into yanking on this tooth, that an enormously loud "moose call" trumpeted from that other "cavity".

One for the record books.

As soon as I could scrape my hysterical soul off of the floor, and wipe the tears from my eyes, I instantly began to lament the fact that I had not turned my video on this event.

Hind sight is 20/20.




pun totally intended

Rolling Out The Red Carpet

The week before Easter, we had the fabulous surprise of my parents (along with sis Kimberly and niece Baylee, and brother Clark) getting to come and spend a night with us. Because of my Dad's illness, we have not been able to see much of them. It was FABULOUS to get to have them in our home with us...even if it was for such a short time. We will take what we can get, right?!


Sorry about the pictures. Again. Camera, waiting until last second to take pictures, running late for church, sun in the face, son who insists he totally and completely does not know how to smile for a camera...


You get the idea.








At any rate it was wonderful to see them. They look amazing. They ARE amazing. My dad had a skip in his step again. Love it.


Here's to retirement and better health! ;)




and, PS

Thanks for all of your compliments on the crafts! You are all too kind!

Give That Girl A Saw...

...and she goes NUTS!


In the middle of March, my sister, Heather, my sis-in-law Birgitta, my other sis-in-law Angie, and her mom, locked ourselves in my house, and crafted our pants off. Angie and I have a lot of fun doing some seasonal decor crafts a couple of times a year. This was that...times 52! It took two weeks and 9 inches of saw dust in my garage to cut and prep everything for our craft blitz.

A lot of work? Yup. A lot of fun? You Bet! Worth it? Heck Yeh!!

As you peruse the pictures of our wares, please accept my humblest of apologies for the following details:

Quality of pictures. I own the world's crappiest camera, and it died. I am using my other camera, which is unbelievably worse than the first. Unbelievable. You cannot get the true colors off of these pictures.

Quantity of pictures. A tutorial on making a slide show, anyone? Anyone?

Proper Credit for pictures. Out there in Blogland, reside some extremely talented people who share their craft ideas on blogs. Thank you. I have added all of these sites to my blog. Be careful when beginning to browse. You will disappear. For a very. long. time.


So, we have home decor...

Spring...

Are those birds about the most adorable thing ever? EVER?

birthday...

Valentines...

Autumn...

Summer...

and countdown calendars.

That was just round one.

When I get the saw dust cleaned out of my nose, I will get to planning round two.

Maybe by then, there will be an intervention in place, on my behalf.

Help!