That had to hurt

Bailey was just doing a bit of gardening and dancing, because clearly gardening brings out a dance in all kinds of people. Rain dance, anyone? And during her little dance and twirl and planting action at our favorite Friday hangout, she fell and then she cried. Now, she doesn't always cry (very rarely), and she explained to me she hurt her tongue. She didn't just hurt her tongue, she bit through it, on BOTH sides. I instantly took her to the bathroom where we could inspect the damage and that's how and where I took these lovely photos for your viewing pleasure.

Don't worry though folks. This evening, Bailey wanted to prove to you her tongue was still there and blood-free. Good to know, right?

Well, it was raining...

We've had some absolutely gorgeous weather lately, but I've heard it won't last, like so many things in life. And today it was raining, and not cold, nasty winter rain, but spring rain, as it was in the 60s out, and it felt so nice. It was a welcomed rain even. And I'm walking in the rain towards Bailey's preschool, rain coat in hand, and it wasn't on me because it was Bailey's, and I'd brought it along just as promised because she predicted it would rain, so I told her I'd bring the jacket with me if it did indeed. (And I figured it would rain too, but it was fun that she had predicted correctly.) I was just enjoying the non-spring rain that was like spring rain, and I saw these pieces of paper on the sidewalk, pieces of paper that had been marked on with markers, and now they were all smudged and wet, as would happen if out in the rain. I thought it was odd and I did think to myself, "do they realize it's raining out here?" but who am I to judge, seriously? I went inside thinking I should mention the wet paper, and the substitute teacher said, "You didn't throw them out did you?!"


Oh, of course not. Like I throw anything away. Please. I recycle. But never fear, I did no such thing in this situation.


Well, apparently one of the Pilates Moms did. And they are referred to as that not out of stereotype, but because they have Pilates class upstairs. And well, they're moms. One of the mothers saw the papers on the sidewalk, thought it was trash and tossed them. So the pieces of paper I witnessed wet on the sidewalk? Those were version number two. And they were all part of an experiment to find out what will happen to their masterpieces if they were out in the rain.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Judah's Kiss

We were loading ourselves into the car when Bailey filled me in on some drama from her day at school. It started with blood, so I knew it was something good. Any story from Bailey involving blood is always a good one. A little boy named Judah who happened to be there with one of the parents hurt his tongue and he was bleeding.


And shortly after she started her initial story, she added, "I hope he'll be okay....(long pause)...but I don't think he will."



Bailey explained in detail how hurt he was and that he was bleeding "lots and lots." Apparently he fell on this stair-like contraption inside their classroom. She also told me that Miss Sara was trying to get the bleeding to stop.


While she told me how Judah "bleeded," I took the moment to interrupt her wonderful story to have a bit of an English lesson. She wasn't amused by my efforts. It took some coaching, and it may take a few more years, and I know it's a difficult concept, but "bleeded," is not a word; and hearing it used breaks my heart.

"But that's what happened."

"I believe you. I do. But we say 'bled.'"

"I don't."

"I noticed."


His fall did make quite the impression on her though, because we had this conversation plenty of times throughout our day and she was consistent with her concern and belief, "I hope he's okay, but I don't think he will be."


Psst. I think he's just fine.

Nothing quite like a Cajun celebration

There's just something about Mardi Gras that excites me. No, it's not the Dirty Fest that is New Orleans. Not my scene, I assure you. But I do love the feather masks and boas and an excuse to doll up my redhead. Even before the redhead though, I celebrated it because again, feather masks and boas. Who can resist those, honestly?

It also helps that those Crazy Cajuns like King Cake. Yum! (Just minus the golden infant. No artificial babies added.)

And when I called them Crazy Cajuns, I meant that affectionately, okay?

I forced my way into Bailey's preschool class with the luring charms of King Cake, napkins, grape punch, and craft supplies. Oh yeah, I totally crashed their party. And yeah, I probably was the house guest nobody wanted. But hey, I brought beads too!

And I didn't make the kids do anything improper for them, all they had to do was behave. Although perhaps behaving is misconduct in their eyes. I know their teacher found my photographing to be improper as she was modeling a jester hat and mask for the children during her explanation of the Mardi Gras festivities. And she was a bit fearful that it'd end up on this blog. Rightly so.

The dog and cat also concur that photographing is improper.




These kids sure know how to party! They were also very creative.

Unfortunately, I didn't think to take pictures of the class making their masks out of paper plates, feathers, paper confetti and sequins, but hopefully you can use your imaginations. After all, that's what the Cajuns would do. That'd explain what they do for the beads perfectly.

There are worse things to be mad over...

When Bailey gets mad, she usually gets quiet. Extremely silent, and pouts a bit and turns into a locked box. She will not open up at all. And this happened today at school, while I was there. Now why did this happen today?



Because he picked up the toy I was going to pick up and put it away. I was going to do that.



Seriously? You should be thanking him. He probably won't be that nice when he's older.


No, I didn't really add that part. But I'm allowed to think it, aren't I? If only she was this focused and passionate on picking up at home...

Bye Bye Rusty Beast, Goodbye

As of 4:45 this afternoon, we are no longer owners of a maroon 95 Rusty Beast. Of course, we considered the ownership of one Rusty Beast null and void once it died at the intersection on our way to preschool and has since inspired us to purchase another Honda. I'm not sure we'll ever part from the Honda empire after our issues with the Rusty Beast and his cousin, a much younger family member that departed us in 2006 after an incredibly short life. Of course, Rusty Beast was bought new in 95 by my partner in crime, while he was out engineering in the Northland and I was a sophomore in high school. No, we did not know each other way back then or know that three engines later, the Rusty Beast would be gone in 2009. We had no idea.


It's been a long ride full of bumps and snags. But we can't complain too much. That car withstood a lot. It was made faulty, yet it still stuck it out with us as we ran it to the ground, just as planned. You see, in June 2003, we had this massive hailstorm in our town. And when I type "massive," I meant the hail. Reported baseball sized and golf ball sized hail came down rattling our small town and giving us a new roof in the process. It also damaged both of our cars. The insurance company decided to total out the Rusty Beast and we decided that we weren't really interested in buying another car at that moment since we'd just purchased Rusty Beast's relative the month prior. Little did we know that Rusty Beast's cousin would be dead and gone within a couple years. All we did know was that Rusty Beast ran about as good as a Saturn could run, so we kept it, dents and all, with the intention of driving it until it passed. It was going to end up in a landfill anyway, it might as well end up there dead and not just physically marred.


And even though it wasn't the prettiest car, all shiny and fancy looking with ridiculous payments like just another car on the road, we drove it as proudly as one could drive a Saturn. And then when the cousin died in the spring of 2006 after less than three years of ownership, stranding Daddy and his redhead on the side of I-35, we went and moved on to a little red Honda, not willing to take anymore chances. And from there, I took over driving the Rusty Beast since Bailey and I drive very little in comparison to Daddy, since he was driving fifty miles a day just to work, not counting the additional fifty miles back. It made the most sense even if Daddy protested a bit.


Now flash forward to the present. Rusty Beast has been hanging out in the same parking lot he chose to die in, rather the parking lot he crawled to his death to. He's been there for a wee bit, and luckily no one has complained. Rusty Beast certainly hasn't. After some brainstorming and researching, we found the easiest way to part with our old friend. We had a few options, and originally we figured we would have to pay to have it towed then pay for a dumping fee for it. We knew it wouldn't be cheap.


Then I learned of salvage yards and the one I was referred to would pay us for it (approximately $50) but we'd have to pay them for the towing. It wasn't going to even out, but we were desperate to rid ourselves of it. (Well, one of us was, the other was kind of in "out of sight, out of mind" mode since the Rusty Beast was not in our driveway.) Some stranger on a local message board mentioned an ad in the local version of a Penny Saver, which forced me to dig around in the front yard and find an old buried copy of it that was seriously in some bad shape, but not such poor shape that I couldn't flip through its mildewed and crumbling pages to find such an ad for the phone number.


Fortunately, my other half reached the guy and met up with him and it was almost effortless. we were free and clear from the Rusty Beast AND the guy paid us $75! Don't tell him, but we would've given it to him for free if it meant he was hauling it away and we would've told him such if he'd decided he wasn't sure he wanted it. We didn't know the going rate for a piece of junk. We just needed it gone. And now it's gone and we can forget we ever owned a Saturn. Just for the record though, it wasn't all bad. It just wasn't all good.


Goodbye Rusty Beast. Enjoy your future as a crushed steel box.

Coraline, Coraline

Have you seen the previews for the new movie, Coraline?



Well, if not, it's a darkly looking movie, right up Bailey's alley (if she had an alley), involving a blue haired girl and a little door to a whole new realm and wonderful people who might not be so wonderful since they want to sew buttons onto the little girl's eyes. Perhaps it sounds strange because well, it is. Yes, perfect for Bailey, indeed.


We went to see it this afternoon and you're probably wondering what we thought of it. Okay, at least pretend you're wondering what we thought of it. I'll tell you anyway. The fact this was actually the second time we have seen this movie and saw it when it made its grand debut, that should tell you everything you need to know. Daddy and I expected to hate it, like really hate it, so our expectations were quite low. As for Bailey, she had been anxiously awaiting this movie for months and that's all she could talk about two weekends ago. How else do you think we managed to drag her to a car dealership and make her sit through loads of paperwork? She knew we were going straight to the movie afterwards.


Our encounter with Coraline went well despite our fears, and it was the most intricate little web of a story with the most creative and wild animation to date. Incredibly bizarre and yet, very Bailey. The only problem with our experience though was that we didn't see it in 3D like it was advertised and as the critics had recommended. Our theatre didn't offer such a performance, so that explains why today we saw it yet again. It was our last chance to see it in such a way and we didn't want to miss out.


It was even better in 3D!! Even the movie previews before the movie were better in 3D! I'm not sure we'll watch a movie the regular way ever again. Which is what Daddy pledged when he discovered our favorite theatre now had Fork & Screen screenings, which excuse the poor name, is when you have a table inside the theatre and get to order food like you're in an actual restaurant. Quite awesome, actually. Okay, so we'll just have to switch between both. I'm willing to compromise.


Now Bailey's counting down the days until her precious Coraline is on DVD. Eh, it won't be as good as our other options. But I'll watch it anyway.

There is no Scarlet Letter

After days of an ill existence, a new symptom reared its ugly head yesterday. Rather, I in my Sherlock Holmes' hat (and no, I don't really have one which is saddening) discovered a rash on my Bailey. Who knows how long it's been there. It's most likely new, and according to Bailey it was new, but we've been so sick, I can only assume as such, and well, I hate assuming. Anyhow, there was this rash and after its discovery, I called the doctor's office because maybe coughing and mucus and vomiting and fevers (oh my) don't interest them, rashes do. They were on Crackdown Sorority mode, otherwise known as triage, so you only got in if you were the prettiest sickest according to their panel of qualified judges. Luckily, a rash got us through the qualification round and our foot was through the door, well, once we made the forty-minute trek.


The doctor wasn't convinced it was a strep rash, which was why we made it through the triage round in the first place. It looked viral (well, I'll take her word for it) and she tested the redhead for both influenza and strep. I had no idea there was an official influenza test! First off, I only go to the doctor if I'm dying or need antibiotics to keep me from such, so I haven't been around such nonsense. (I'm sorry, I'm all for research but it seems like a waste of money to test for something that is like testing and saying, "well, your test came back positive for the common cold.") Keep in mind, again, I'm not one of those who goes in for nothing or to the ER every time I slice a limb or my child falls or coughs. If I did, that would be a lot, and well, in my mind, unnecessary. Please forgive me.


So, they test for influenza by forcing a stick up each nostril. Bailey was not amused, but they didn't give her a shot or draw blood, which I promised they wouldn't. They also didn't give her a cup to pee in which has her traumatized from her 4 year well visit. I will never forget "DON'T MAKE ME PEE IN A CUP! I WILL NOT PEE IN A CUP! I DON'T WANT TO PEE IN A CUP!" Highly embarrassing but also great cocktail party conversation, especially if she ever gets married. She added influenza testing to her list of Things Doctors and Researchers are Not Allowed to Do To Me and then it was time for the strep test. (We're about to run out of things they are allowed to do and I tried explaining to her this is mild in comparison the parts of your body they invade later in life.) I had to help hold her down for this to take place because Bailey was not going to let anyone take anything else from her body. Apparently she's rather attached to her nasal tissue and snot or something and anything in the back of her throat. After a bit of work and lots of screaming, both tests were incubating, or whatever it is that they do. Then we waited.


And waited.


The lady in the lab quickly exited to our doctor, which told me something was up and then we got our escort immediately back to the room, which definitely told me something was up. We've been down this route before, other times she had...





Strep. Which, made me wonder what she had this time around.



Yep. It was strep. And it was strep even though the doctor kept shaking her head in disbelief telling me, trying to convince me that rash IS NOT a strep rash (a.k.a Scarlet Fever, which back in its day was a scary illness, in the days where it left poor Mary from Little House on the Prairie blind and now to the present where it's just a rash from strep and worthy of a prescription), so various things must be wrong with our little tot's body right now, but even though it IS NOT a strep rash, she does have strep. The way she behaved, you'd think I didn't believe her about the rash and I did. Because one of the times we took Bailey in with enlarged tonsils, it came to be she had strep, and later we discovered her tonsils were enlarged anyway, but had they never been enlarged that night, we wouldn't have taken her in because she had no other symptoms. We would have never known, at least not right away. So I'm not doubting her at all about the rash (which IS NOT from strep), I'm just glad for those timely coincidences. After all, they wouldn't have gotten her in without the rash, or as I like to call it, the Scarlet Letter.

There may be no true Scarlet Letter, but it got us through the judge and jury and on the road to recovery; at least Bailey is as I am STILL no closer to my cure.

Sick Day

I picked up my Bailey from her Kid's Day Out program yesterday afternoon to discover her draped in one of her teacher's arms...asleep. Now if you know my child, my child isn't normally asleep. And that was red flag number one.


I approached her with caution and asked her teachers if she was okay and if she had a fever because something about this immediately sparked the "something is wrong" department in my brain. They answered, "I don't think so," and I did the kiss test on her forehead and it came up inconclusive. Then again, I'm not exactly feeling all that sparkly and wonderful myself, so I thought we'd just check into it further at home. Bailey sort of came to, we grabbed her stuff and she quite lethargically made it to the car, explaining to me that she was "just a little tired." My child is anything but lethargic on a normal basis...so that was red flag number two.


As we walked up to the house, her lunch bag felt heavier than I'm used to and I opened it and saw that my redhead had only eaten one bite out of her peanut butter and jelly heart (I used a cookie cutter) and nothing else, so that prompted red flag number three to raise itself. With three red flags standing firmly, I found the thermometer as soon as we entered the house, Bailey was already curled on the couch and without even being under her arm for two seconds, she of course had a fever. A high one. The fever still didn't worry me quite as much as the lethargy though.


So, she had to stay home from school today even though she tried her hardest to convince me last night "but they want me there" and that she felt much better. Neither plea worked. But the important thing was that she went to bed seeming a lot happier and on the right track to feeling like herself again.


She didn't wake up with that same feeling, and was back to lethargic and miserable. Poor kid. She was bundled on the couch this morning and finally had a chance to watch some of those morning shows she doesn't get to see because she's at school or busy with our traditional Friday schedule, and what is on? Is it the new show Olivia, based on her favorite Ian Falconer books? Is it the imaginative Backyardigan's? Dora or her animal lovin' cousin Diego? No. No. No. It's a several hour block of Spongebob Squarepants (which is NEVER usually on at those times) and I'll tell you, if I hadn't already been ailing myself, this would have made me that way. It was my own Nickelodeon nightmare; the bane of my existence.


I did what any sickly mother would do at that time of the morning (even if they won't admit to it). I made sure Bailey was comfortable, had some water, knew she could fall back to sleep (which she did), had the remote handy, was taken care of in all possible ways, and then excused myself back to bed where Spongebob Squarepants and I could coexist separately in our own quarters. It was the only way I was going to survive this sick day and any day with him is indeed sick. And I'll do anything for her...except watch him.

Daddies get exhausted too.

I snapped this photo yesterday and although he's not going to appreciate the fact I did so, and especially not the fact I shared it with you, here is proof that Daddy gets exhausted.

As for his sidekicks, the redhead added one, and the other crawled into that position.

Gone Hollywood

I've gone Hollywood. At least that's what I discovered about myself today. No, I didn't spend $1,000 on a handbag or a pair of shoes. And I didn't raid the makeup counter either. Please, this is me we're typing about here. But I have indeed picked up some traits of the Hollywood Club of Motherhood. I've gone and turned into a Hollywood mother, or at least one of those celeb-reality sociopaths, and I know this because today I was strung out on over the counter meds (at least that's the description I'm giving you for the sake of this post). And then I was trying to figure out if you're allowed to take Mucinex along with Daytime Tylenol Multisymptom Relief. And I was pondering this in the restroom of a local mall as I felt quite similar to an inebriated sorority sister or quite possibly, Elizabeth Taylor.


Yes, I've turned into one of those.



Oh yes. Everything is a daze as I've been swallowing those tempting little pills trying to get over this cold that spawned (I'm sure of it) from that nasty sinus infection that left me unable to cry for far too many days. I hate taking medicine, so I only do it once I get really, really desperate. Which would be about now. And after going completely drug-free during this cold alongside my attempt at parenting, I've had to finally turn to drugs. It now makes sense. I think I understand all those Hollywood parents. This is what I've been driven to do. I needed the drugs. I needed something. The drugs were there. They were calling my name. I held them off as long as I could, but I'm only human. I bit the apple.


But I'm also suddenly regretting that spontaneous decision being that I started feeling really weird and I couldn't decide which drug was to blame. Perhaps there is such a true thing as an accidental overdose and it wasn't just made up for the Hollywood media after all. Regardless, sometimes you need the drugs, no matter what Tom Cruise says. I just need to find the ones that actually work.

Oh Fudge...

As I was working on the prior post pertaining to Valentine's Day, I heard giggling, then a crash, then tears. In fact, the tears came right as I hit "publish" on my post. I immediately got up and Fudge put herself in her kennel, which goes with what I've told you about this vicious little devil. Bailey and Fudge were playing a bit rough and according to the Bailey, "Fudge pushed me." Well, Fudge obviously took the blame by putting herself in her cage, but I'm convinced that it wasn't just her fault. Of course, it's hard to tell a redhead that as she has a face of tears. Then again, it's also hard to believe a ten pound dog pushing a child down is anything close to a Greek tragedy.

These two act so closely like siblings that I have absolutely no interest in anything more real than that. No need, really.

Midas' Touch...and Happy Valentine's Day

You won't be receiving cards in the mail from us today (if you're on our mailing list that is) but they are coming. In fact, they may or may not have already been mailed. However, the delay (here come the excuses) came from my computer who is a dying breed. In fact, it seems to be a trend in this household. I've had a terrible luck with things breaking on me lately. I'm like King Midas, except instead of the things I touch turning into gold, they turn into dust. First it was that has-been printer of mine, then the rusty beast, the can opener, and now my computer. I tell you, it's exhausting being me; and expensive.

At this point, I'm truly frightened to even hug my own child.

Anyway, back to the original topic of this post. If there was one. My computer apparently did not like my valentines I thought up. They were cute too and different from my latest ones, they folded again! Full-sized! With real content and a cute little bit on the back! Alas, you will NEVER see them. I'm not even sure my computer bothered to look at them. My card program crashed on me, Photoshop crashed on me, the computer wouldn't let the printer do anything, and I couldn't even view my own photos. This computer of mine exists for photographs which includes making things and editing, and it also is here for e-mail and blogging. Who knows how much longer I can do that...

But never fear, you are getting cards, just not the ones I intended for you. I made prints at the Retail Giant of the front of the card I had designed. It's going to have to do. And I'm sharing this so you will realize just how dedicated of a card-making Hallmark-wanna-be soldier I really am. And I also don't blame you if you don't want me touching anything that belongs to you right now. Anything could happen.

To be perfectly honest, I felt a bit trapped

This morning, Bailey absolutely could not wait to play her game, Mouse Trap. This felt all too similar from yesterday when she came home from preschool with the sudden urge to play the same game. I was suffering from a headache due to this chest cold/ head cold that have both seemed to take over my poor defenseless body. I told her I needed a minute and she was okay with that but proceeded to put the game together herself and just as I said, "be careful, you could break it," snap. A tiny little piece was broken. From there, she put the pieces up.

Well, I haven't miraculously recovered, although I was hoping for that, and here she wanted to play the same game and when she asked for "a little help here," I couldn't resist and I didn't want to feel like a bad mom for putting my selfish sickly needs before my child's need to play a complicated board game, and when I say complicated, I mean, "have you seen all those freakin' parts????!"

Now, I'm not sure I could put this game together on my own anyway, or that I was ever able to, even during my own childhood, but when you have a headache the size of Egypt, with the pressure coming from anywhere from your nose and Congress and the little men upstairs, suddenly that game feels like you're trying to build the Taj Mahal blindfolded. With toothpicks. And just when I thought I could stick it out, suffer for the common good of redheads everywhere, I had to admit failure. I had to throw in the towel. I succumbed to my headache's greatest desires. I could not mess with those primary colored pieces any further without deliberately destroying them.

This is when I'm going to tell you just how much of a gem my child is. She is so awesome. I couldn't be more proud of my little lady because she was completely understanding and forgiving and put her game back up and declared that she'd just make Daddy do it later (oh thank you!) and that I should just put my head down on the couch. And then she told me she hoped I got to feeling better.

I didn't feel so trapped then. I felt loved, even though I still had a headache.

Forgot Someone

Bailey took over an hour to eat dinner tonight which isn't that unusual. She's a slow eater, obviously. And then we headed out for a second and I glance out the car window and see something familiar, someone familiar. Our pesky little canine was hanging out on our "porch," which is really just a slab of crooked concrete. Now, she's not supposed to be there, so I'm glad I glanced in her direction, to see her confused little face, the face of a little beast who fortunately (in this case) is still unable to walk down stairs (or rather, refuses to). I quickly dashed out of the car to rescue her, only long enough to throw her furry backside into her kennel because the thought of leaving her out of her kennel while we're gone is actually much worse than leaving her rear out in the freezing cold. You don't know this dog. She's an evil little toddler. You cannot leave her unattended.

Which brings me to this crazy thought of forgetting her and not noticing she came outside with us. It's probably due to the fact I was on my phone, but how I could I seriously forget this little monster? I can't even leave her in a room alone for three seconds without her destroying something and anytime she's quiet, I'm instantly searching the premises for her so I can properly punish her. She knows what "time out" is and knows when she belongs in her kennel. She puts herself in there all too often. That should show just how much this little pooch gets in trouble. Just recently, I got out from a nice shower to discover her looking at me in fear and hiding from me, which prompted me to wonder what she'd done. She had every right to hide from me and then run into her kennel for safety considering the chocolate milk explosion in the computer room. Chocolate milk did things I didn't know it could do, all because Bailey left her chocolate milk remains on my desk and I was in the shower without detaining the ornery little fuzzy brat of a dog. And don't even get me started on all the things she chews up or how devious she is, especially when she knows she shouldn't be doing it.

Trust me, she may be adorable, but she's toxic to my sanity and all too often I think about eliminating her from my life. I'm sure I'd miss her though, just like I somehow missed her being on the front stoop.

They've been lied to

We've had some nice weather lately, but it's mid-February in Kansas so there are a couple of things to consider.

a.) It won't last

b.) The weather changes quickly and often, even dropping 50 degrees or more within a day. Shorts on one day, winter coat the next. Too hot for a jacket at 3 pm, frozen Popsicle at 8 pm.

But you must take what you can get, and if it's going to be a beautiful day, you might as well enjoy it, so that's what Bailey, Fudge and I have been doing. And just as we've started to do so, I had a surprise waiting for me, and I wasn't happy about it.

What on earth are you guys doing here already??!

The plants didn't answer.

But my neighbor, Lee, answered for them.

They were lied to.

An unforgivable deception in my eyes. Nevertheless, let's hope they last. I'm all for an early spring.

Pottery Barn, I think I love you

There's just something about Pottery Barn, specifically Pottery Barn Kids, that gets me sort of all warm and fuzzy. I can't put my finger on it, but I turn into just another materialistic, cooing suburban-esque housewife when it comes to that store. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but it has started to hinder me in that direction.

I think it was about the time I was pregnant with Bailey that I was starting to browse through their delectable dishes of pastel and primary colored bedding and furniture designs and decor. I was falling for their tempting wiles and before I knew it, I was looking forward to their latest treasures. Now, I never actually bought anything, but I was still anxious to view their splendid little trinkets and overly priced linens.

And lately, I've been spending even more time with them as I've been carefully considering their various items, picking and choosing exactly what I must have, when and where. And it's getting so troubling that when I received their catalog in the mail today, and grabbed it from my mailbox right before picking up my delightful redhead from preschool, I found myself so addicted to their merchandise, I wanted to read the pages and stare at the photographs at red lights more than I wanted to drive so I could actually get my child. It's an addiction, I tell you. A fairly dangerous and expensive one, much like cocaine. That explains it perfectly, Pottery Barn Kids is like cocaine for the suburban mother, much like Gymboree and Janie and Jack clothing.

Yeah, Pottery Barn Kids, you definitely have me hooked. Just don't expect my husband to share in my infatuation.

Don't tell me that

As I'm grabbing the dog's frisbee I glance up and my child is here:

Yeah. It does wonders for the blood pressure, I know. And she does this a lot now. And to make matters all the more carefree, she adds, "I don't know if I can get down from here."

Oh, don't tell me that, dear redhead of mine.

But don't worry you worry warts, you. She can indeed get down, ALL BY HERSELF. And if you watched her do this a hundred times, you might be able to take photos of her doing it without trying to simultaneously reach out your arms awaiting a fall. Although, there is a reason we have shoulders and camera straps...

Death Becomes Us; Sharing Time is Inspirational

Bailey is more fascinated by death than I have ever seen in a child. She still can't quit talking about our departed canine. And every time we see a skeleton? Yeah, he died. And a graveyard? TONS of dead people. And while she's crazy obsessed with the dead, things are dropping like flies in our household. At least that's how it feels.


I've typed up more entries about car troubles than I have about the weather, and it's quite troubling. Our life is full of many adventures, but those of the vehicular variety? Yeah, I wish we had skipped most of them. And as of last Wednesday morning, we have yet another to share.


My car has been having a few issues lately. And because of those issues, we've been driving him a lot less, mostly just to and from school. We figured it's because of the frigid wiles of winter, so we have left him mostly to rest. Then his transmission has seemed to be failing, not that I'm a mechanic, but this is just a wild guess here. For instance, it's extremely difficult to change gears. And this morning was no exception to that rule. In fact, I had to TURN the car off in order to put the car into reverse and then back in to first. But regardless, we headed out anyway, and less than a mile from the house, we stopped out our favorite intersection, the one we recently had an icy argument with (twice), and from there the car decided to attempt its last breath.

This wasn't the first time it'd threatened such a scene of dramatics. It first started this drama last Monday on our way to ballet and I begged it to cut out the melodramatic fit. And luckily, it did. But this time, it wouldn't let me turn it back on. It would just slightly turn and nothing. It seemed dead. It wasn't going to move. It was breaking up with me without an explanation or a second try. And if this wasn't enough of a hassle, it was eight degrees outside, my husband's cell phone wasn't on (which isn't unusual, it's NEVER on), I didn't have his work number (and still don't), and cars were lining up behind me. The moment it died, I turned my emergency blinkers on so people would realize they should go around me, but they didn't seem to get the hint. And then the woman behind me was LAUGHING hysterically at me as she stared at as I was outside of my car deciding what I should do next. HELLO?! Why couldn't she go around me. Doesn't she have places to be?


The car wouldn't budge. It really was a goner and no matter how hard I begged and how many times I tried to start it, it would have nothing to do with me. I begged. I pleaded. I was totally kissing up. Nothing was working. My attempts were futile. And although I should have feared flooding its engine, at this point, I knew nothing else mattered. It was my teenage romance. There was nothing else in the world. This was it. And then suddenly, we budged.


It would harshly bump forward as I started it, jerking with full force, then died, incredibly loudly. It kept teasing me, moving us more and more into the middle of the intersection, blocking the traffic, putting us in the line of fire of crossing semis and cars. It was a bit scary, indeed. And just as badly as I had wanted it to move from that left hand turn lane, I was regretting my eager wishes. I was obviously being selfish and misguided. I wanted to go back. I suddenly missed the left hand turn lane and realized I took it for granted. But it was too late and at this point, I was ready to cry.


So the begging and pleading returned and I, without realizing it, made a pact out of pure desperation, told the car that if it got us out of such a position, I was willing to let it die. I was willing to let go, just as Kate Winslet's Rose was unwilling to do in that awful movie of Titanic proportions, I was willing to let it go in peace and go our separate ways without any stalking and without any fine print and vengeful lawsuits. I meant it. And just as the words came out, pointlessly and without merit, the car geared up, almost like a race car, ready to win the race, and was on the go, long enough for me to pull into the parking lot of a local gas station, out of the way of the morning traffic and once it did lead us to safety, it was done. It died.


Now we made a deal. We did. But when I told it parking lot, I meant parking spot. And so I had to go through this all over again, trying to coerce it into moving once more and it was going to have nothing to do with such a plea. It was dead. Gone. Almost buried. But I begged. I pleaded. And with much effort and many attempts, it went into the parking spot allotted for us and BOOM. It was dead. It was gone. It was finished.


It was one of the most melodramatic moments of my life. It was very much like a 1900s melodrama, complete with embellished coughs and heavy sighs. Head to the forehead, exaggerating a faint. Dramatic turns. And forced lines. The coughs of death were hilarious, and just when you think the last cough has been coughed, another appears. Oh yes, it was that bad. I couldn't make this up folks. I'm not that creative.


And then it was over after what felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was time to return home. Fortunately, we weren't far from home, but the one snag was that we were on our way to preschool when such a Greek tragedy occurred, and well, it was sharing time at school. Yeah, show and tell. Same thing. Now it may not seem all that important to you, but sharing time is Bailey's most impressionable five minutes at preschool. She lives for sharing time. And I hated for her to miss it, but it was eight degrees out, our car was just short of cremation, and we were out of options.


Then Bailey had another course of action. We could walk to school.

You've got to be kidding me, right?


No. No, she was not kidding me. She meant it. We could walk to school. Yes, I suppose that's an option. I suppose it was an option. It doesn't mean it was one I'd ever take. But one glance at that little endearing face and suddenly, I was inspired. Suddenly I was believing in unicorns and rainbows and willing to climb Everest. And so it happened. Next thing you know, the two of us were making the ridiculous trek to preschool.


It's not like preschool was that far away, but it was far enough in eight degree weather to make me wonder what in the world I was thinking to allow such an adventure to take place. She was a frozen little cube by the time we arrived, and she did make the walk all the way, completely the loyal little trooper, very determined to share at school. We were very grateful that one of her teachers offered to take us home afterwards and also offered to drive Bailey the next day to school. We're very fortunate to have such people in our lives. But I haven't quite decided about sharing time, whether we're so lucky to have that or not. Because had it not been for sharing time, I think we would've been home within two minutes. Toasty and warm.


But what kind of story would that have been?

Latest Addition

We needed a new car seat. We've been eyeing this one for a while, and we finally caved. We also bought the car seat saver mat and organizer/toy box. It was a splendid idea from Bailey and something I think we'll all treasure for years to come. (We have considered buying one even as early as our pregnancy, but it's taken this long to finally break over and get it.)

It was also nice to have something new to put it in too.

Yeah, after last Wednesday, Bailey and I needed an upgrade, so that would be the red one. The red one (which you can see a bit of) is new. At least to us since we stole it from Daddy. As for the silver one, yeah, that one's new too. And new to the whole family.

Out of all the Valentines in the World...

My redhead chose these.

And she could have had anything. Really. The world was her oyster or something. Valentines with tattoos. Valentines with pencils. Valentines with princesses and markers and stickers. Oh my. But no. Bailey insisted upon these. And I think what disturbed me the most out of this shopping process in search of the most perfect valentines ever invented was the fact she knew every character's name from this show. We do not watch this show. She did promise me though that if Valentine's Day comes around again, she'll choose some different valentines.

I'm holding her to it, folks.

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

"Mommy, why do you tell such bad jokes all the time?"







....Because Mommy doesn't know anything but sarcasm.

We've been shopping...

As for what we've bought, you'll just have to stay tuned.







And it's probably not what most of you are thinking. Or maybe it is. Either way, it was the perfect day for it.

A Death in the Family

It was a hectic day. And the worst part, we lost a family member. It has been a bit traumatizing to say the least. The funeral arrangements are still being made and we're feeling a bit melodramatic from the after math. We'll tell you someday about it. But until then, we mourn an old soul. Indeed.

It's so sad

We had a crazy day today and we came home and Bailey decided to try some Spaghetti O's (even after my persistent warning) and it needed to be opened with a can opener.


Yeah, big deal, right? Right. So I went to use my can opener, which is this funky handheld sort that has to be charged. Well, it didn't work. My idea was to save the nasty can of O's for another day, but Bailey vetoed my proposal. I then thought I was going to have to resort to stabbing the can with a knife, but my Bailey suggested the "new" can opener we have in the utensil drawer, apparently "the one Daddy uses."


Now this is where you get to make fun of me because I do not know how to use one of these things. I've never had to use one of these things. And if it came to being out in the woods and that's all I had, trust me, I'd willingly starve because there's nothing THAT good in a can anyway. But I had to try anyway, right? I had a four year old depending on me.


That's when one of the saddest moments in my life happened.



Yes, the saddest.


My redhead told me how to use the can opener. And she told me correctly. Yeah, that's sad. Children are supposed to teach their parents new technology, not old.


I'm going to go bury my head under some covers now. But before I do that, I was at least right and all-knowing about one thing. She did absolutely detest those Spaghetti O's using the words, "horrible" and "terrible," as a description.

She hates them just as I finally have learned how to open them...

Sigh.

Somebody's B-Day

Never mind the fact this little cake is all dressed up for St. Valentine's Day. It's somebody's birthday today and that person who we took these photos especially for knows who she is.

Enjoy.