Funny

The multiuse baby thing: the blanket.

If you had your first baby before, say, 2000 A.D. you were one fortunate mom. You learned something that today’s new moms have no way of knowing: a baby blanket can pretty much take care of everything your baby needs.

At today’s baby showers, you will be sure to find many fancied up blankets newly named as car-seat carriers, nursing privacy covers, and even special fancy swaddlers (sometimes made of muslin.) It dawned on my the other day that I better write about the “old” traditions before they are totally forgotten.

Let’s start in the beginning. You have a newborn that needs to be swaddled. You don’t need a fancy contraption complete with velcro and special corners, just watch the nurse at the hospital. She can show how to swaddle with nothing more than a plain old blanket.

Before you know it, people will be coming over to see your bundle of joy. Do you want to feed him/her in privacy? Once again, a blanket of any size will come to your rescue. Heck. I use them just when I feel like sitting on the couch without pants. I know, it’s hard to believe, but I promise, women have been doing this for centuries. This woman even used a napkin.

Now, I know everyone has a cute carseat canopy nowadays. I was given one this last time around by a sweet friend who is probably reading this right now. (Thanks Marlene!) But, if you are looking for a way to save a few bucks, I promise a blanket does the trick just fine. Even the owner of the image below agrees even though they think putting anything over your baby’s car-seat can be as treacherous as holding them over the rim of the Grand Canyon. Ha. (You have to go read what they have to say. today’s kicks.) I just want to say that I have 5 children and never once has one been suffocated by placing a blanket over the handle of their carseat. And guess what? My hand held it on there without a cute clasp with or without accompanying matching buttons. The only person I think really may need a carseat canopy is a double-amputee.

Other great ways to use a baby blanket:

It can double as a towel, a pack-n-play/crib cover, a baby cape.

a burpcloth, stroller cover, even a diaper if necessary. I’ve used one as a dress in multiple emergency situations.

A baby blanket can be really handy for kids that puke in the car or in their bed. Kids of every age should have a baby blanket handy, just in case. They are easier to wash than any twin, full, or queen.

Really people, if I haven’t convinced you yet, maybe the American and British royalty can.

Last, but very not least, just in case, you were wondering.

Yes, a baby blanket is still great at its intended use: keeping a baby warm.

Just don’t forget that it can also shade your babies soft skin from the sun, keep him dry under rain/snow/sprinklers, and even be used (when wet) as a smooth washcloth.

You really innovative moms may even be able to figure out how to use a blanket or two as a wrap. Don’t tell pinterest. And don’t credit the idea to me…I think those things are ridiculous.

I’m sure I’m forgetting other uses, but feel free to share them below.

Oh yes, a changing pad. That’s my favorite use for those “too small after two week” receiving blankets. I don’t wipe them down with a clorox wipe if they catch up poop, I throw them in the washing machine. I can also use them to gather up poopy clothes like a hobo satchel until I get to a washer.

Now, feel free to share below.

The Pregnancy Alien

Sometimes I wish I was more prolific so that I could accurately describe what I am experiencing. Pregnancy is not one of those times. The following description is for all you pregnant ladies who may need a little help explaining what you are going through (especially to those of the opposite sex.)

Below you will find a simple explanation as to why you are watching Mary Poppins while bawling and taking a break to get the pickles out of the fridge…even though you just finished off a whole half gallon of ice-cream. After reading, they will hopefully understand better that you really aren’t trying to make their life a living hell….it’s not your fault…it’s the fault of the alien that they implanted deep inside your brain.

It all started one night (or day, if you are that kind of person) when nothing could be wrong in the world. You and your loved one (or one night stand, if you are that kind of person) were enjoying one of the most beautiful things to experience in this life: sex. I hope it was good because if it wasn’t, you are really going to be miserable for a long time to come wondering why you allowed it to happen.

What you probably didn’t take the time to think about (or maybe you did, if you are that kind of person) was that when you let this loved-one (or stranger, if you are that kind of person) make an installment into your cervix an alien was coming with the package. I can’t tell you if the alien is attached to the sperm or the egg (but I’m pregnant so of course my opinion is that it was in the sperm.) Once the sperm combines with that one lucky egg to form the baby that you will love forever, the alien gets permission to release itself into your brain and wreak all kinds of havoc. You see, mother nature has a plan, if your body and mind can hack 10 months with this alien, then you are deemed worthy of motherhood. There is no other way to pass the test…unless of course you adopt, which I highly recommend.

And so it begins.

It starts with a tad bit of nauseousness and the feeling that you have to pee all the time, but it progresses and it progresses fast.

From your brain, your pet alien spreads into every single one of your body systems. It constantly sucks from your cardiovascular, skeletal, digestive, and neurological. You can’t shake it. No matter what you do, you are forced to just surrender to it or else your brain will surely explode. Let’s face it, you are already borderline insane, even when just weeks before you were perfectly normal.

You have crazy dreams. They may start with something as innocent as Ronald McDonald stealing your baby without a face, but they will continue to get scarier and scarier until before you know it you are sleeping with the Hamburglar and he’s a woman. And just prepare yourself for the really scary one that is yet to surface….you are in labor, and out pops a Big Mac. You may or may not take a bite of it…..and that may or not be ketchup. Trust me, if it’s not this exact same scenario, something very similar will happen to you and you will wake up covered in sweat in a panic attack, and realize that you really just peed the bed.

You are overly emotional and sensitive. Remember how you used to watch the news and be bored? Now you can’t get through it without bursting into tears. Even if all the stories are positive (which they rarely are) your over-enlarged heart just can’t seem to get the happy face of that man who received his meal on wheels out of your tear ducts. Oh, and that poor weatherman…no one listens to him. His mother must be so distraught. And then you will realize that you must be this man’s mother because you are ridiculously distraught. But how can that be because he is thirty years older than you?

And then as the worst thing that happened to you all day, your hubby will hand you a box of kleenex, and all you will want to do is yell at him and tell him to stop making fun of your state. It’s at this point that you will run into the bathroom to escape it all, but don’t be too discouraged when you realize that the alien followed you in there. Because when you look at your face in the mirror, you aren’t going to recognize it. It will be bloated and red and stained with tears. I would say that you will have mascara running everywhere but everyone will know that’s impossible because you smartened up and quit wearing it a few months back.

You are over-analytical. It will be completely normal for you to have thoughts such as: If Barrack Obama would just hurry up with his socialistic agenda, then we could all just move on with our second Civil War, and oh by golly the Republicans will get all the military on their side, but that could be bad because they would have to fight against the left’s hoodrats and butch lesbians. [thinking in run-on sentences will be acceptable of course because aliens don’t know grammar] Wow, this could get really interesting. Oh, no this can’t happen, unless the war is over before my baby is born. I hope they all kill each other so we can have a peaceful society with the really smart people who hid out in their state of the art bomb-shelters. (Which by the way, you know exactly where are located because of your most recent Google searches on how to survive Obamageddon.) Oh yeah, and hubby, I know exactly what those Broncos need to do to win the super-bowl…let’s talk about their defensive strategy….And it just won’t stop. If I were a mailman, I would be so much more efficient by doing…..see what I mean.

You CAN’T stop nesting. If you start filing that box of papers that have been sitting there for a few years, you are just at the beginning. You will know when the end is near when you have changed the organization of your pantry for the 15th time and it’s exactly the way it was when you started.

You are tired. You can’t stop yawning. It comes at the most inconvenient of times. In the beginning, before you’ve told anyone your news, it’s all you can do to fake your way through lunch with the girlfriends. You have discovered that yawning is actually contagious and seeing the back of that friend’s mouth for an hour straight was difficult for our overly sensitive gag reflex. You can hardly get out of bad. And you no longer make it through the nightly news. You’ve been on Chapter 14 of your book for at least 12 weeks. You slap yourself whenever you get behind the wheel to heighten your slow reflexes. Sex is completely out of the question, unless it only involves…well, I better stop there or my Mormon friends will be offended.

Your morning breath could burn down buildings. And is actually totally screwing up your dental hygiene.

Your boobs hurt. Once again, sex is completely out of the question. So is spooning, if your hubby has wandering hands. Putting on a bra is pure torture partly because it doesn’t really fit anymore and mostly because your nipples are constantly raw. Why do your boobs have to hurt? Oh, because this is nothing compared to when your milk comes in or the first three weeks of nursing. (You first timers will have to trust me on this. I told you adoption is a beautiful beautiful thing. So is bottle-feeding.)

You are cranky. Oh, you think I’m cranky, huh? Well, you are a #($&#^H@ that @&#%%* your @&#&$&. Remember, it’s not you, it’s the alien. And boy do aliens have attitudes and potty mouths. They must have been raised in a barn with a bunch of sailors on Mars. You don’t have to attend confession for anything you think while pregnant because you are being controlled and manipulated by an alien who only watches rated R movies.

You are nauseous. But mostly you are terrified that cake will never taste good again. The smell of cooking meat will put you over the edge as well as pumpkin spice candles, bath and body works, and your mother. When your hubby’s deodorant starts in with its assault on your sinuses, you will know that round 2 is on it’s way. Do you know I still about barf anytime I smell pumpkin spice candles and that aversion happened during my first pregnancy 15 years ago?…it has NEVER gone away.

You are starving, even if you just ate. This would normally be a great excuse to pig out on whatever you want. It’s too bad nothing sounds good anymore. You may have to resort to a cup of warm ovaltine a few times a day. And then when you feel up to it, eat a whole bag of chips or whatever else you get a hankering for…just be prepared for the uncontrollable sobs that will most definitely follow. WHY? Why can’t I control myself? It’s the alien. You must have gotten the fattest one.

You have cravings that are brutal and unrelenting. Nothing sounded good a minute ago before you sat down on the couch with your cup of ovaltine, but now if you don’t get a teriyaki bowl from Panda Express AND a pralines and cream milkshake from Baskin Robbins and a pickle, you may go ballistic. When your hubby gets home with all three in hand a half an hour later and after taking one bite, you puke everywhere. Then you cry and tell him it doesn’t sound good anymore and that your birthday is ruined forever more. (This is a hypothetical, I’m absolutely NOT speaking from experience here because if I was then that would also rat out my husband who then refused to make any food runs for the duration of my following eight pregnancies – this too shall pass, he would say)

Think about the alien and pretend you already birthed him out of your body. Smile at your man and apologize before bursting into tears. While he holds back your hair as you puke up that one bite that somehow multiplied by fifty into the toilet, soothe your soul with the thought that at least he is sticking around – the husband silly – of course you don’t want the alien to stick around. But try to be understanding. Once in a while you may find the alien asleep and that’s when you can give your hubby a break from pregnancy and tell him go play ball with the guys…..as long as he brings you a 12″ sub on the way home….without pickles.

Your whole body feels exhausted. You don’t understand why you just want to sleep all the time. In fact if you don’t get double the sleep that you used to get you start getting shaky. Just know that the alien is using your veins and arteries as roller coasters and your organs as skate parks, and your heart as a trampoline. Your brain makes a perfect corn maze and your digestive track is like the most awesome water slide park ever. Your bones are teething toys and your muscles are just doing their best not to completely disappear from fear. Take that nap and that day or week off work if that is what you have to do. The alien is not going away. Your only consolation is that the baby and uterus is off limits for this alien and soon enough it will trap the alien in your upper body while the baby starts using your ribs as a punching bag and your bladder as a soccer ball.

You have to drive everywhere because if anyone else drives your upchucking will be at high alert.

You should really buy stock in cold cereal because that is all you are going to eat for a while especially when you just have to feed that alien every night at 3 a.m.

You have never had heartburn like this. The alien gets really mad after being trapped in your upper body and he starts throwing up acid in your esophagus. You are just going to have to deal with it because your baby won’t appreciate you taking most over the counter medicines.

You feel like you will never be yourself again. And you won’t, but once the alien is flushed away with the after-birth, your new you will be a huge improvement.

You feel hopeless. But when you look into the eyes of the person you protected from said alien for ten months, your world will be consumed by hope.

You feel defeated. And this will progressively get worse until your child is a teenager at which point your defeat will max out.

You lose all bladder control. Yeah, I’d like to tell you this will go away too, but it won’t. From now on whenever you sneeze or cough or laugh, you will have to cross your legs for extra safety.

You just want to curl up in a ball and wake up after 10 months. I actually recommend this route.

You want to be babied, but you don’t want to need to be babied. And this feeling will continue for approximately 12-24 months until you start getting regular sleep again. If you are lucky, you will get a husband who will trade off between the fierce oscillating babying and needing to be babied.

Don’t worry when you catch him on the verge of tears after work one day because of a totally overwhelming panic attack caused by his inability to deal with all the changes that just keep happening daily and the fact that his wife is not the person he married. Remember as you asked him to remember for you that it’s the alien’s fault. Remind him that it will be o.k. It’s just that he never had permission to express his emotions while the alien was around. He was so good at being strong for you and you love him for eternity. He’ll recover, as will you, it will just take about five years for full recovery and meanwhile you will have a ball of energy to feed, change, bathe, and keep alive, as well as teach to walk, talk, sleep, and potty-train. You are both going to be too busy to stay overwhelmed so keep the nervous breakdowns brief and hope that you both can trade off between healthy and crazy.

Of course, if you have another baby, your recovery time will double. Don’t even think about it right now. The alien may decide to increase its test efforts for you and you really don’t want to hear about what that sounds like…it may include you pooping on a doctor while in delivery. (Really, I never did that. I swear. I just heard it happens. And yes, I made my husband watch to make sure. It’s the least he could do after implanting that alien in me for 10 months.)

Funniest Fish Funeral Ever

We had pet fish once.
They were named Dorothy and Goldie.
One for our last name and the color of the fish
and one for my grandma and Elmo’s fish.

I think they lasted in their bowl in my kitchen window for three days.
Abigail still recalls with great emotion the day she found them both laying belly-up.
“Their eyes, mom. They were just staring at me.”

Daddy was gone, so Papa took care of the situation.
Fortunately, somewhere in the book of life law is the rule
“Dads take care of pet burial.”

With papa’s love and care the fish took the next huge step in their circle of life:
they became garden fertilizer.
Our girls know how much papa loves their garden,
therefore they knew that the fish got a royal ending.

To this day, they beg me for more fish.
I always tell them no.
“You begged me for a cat.
You promised me you would take care of it.
I’ll sleep with it, feed it.
And you don’t.
Then you begged me for a dog.
Mom, we’ll walk it, we’ll feed it, we’ll play with it, we’ll give it a bath.
And I do it way more than you ever do.”

The first fish experience combined with the dog and cat makes three strikes.
I will never be guilt-ed into another fish experience.
Not unless it’s the fish that will end up on my plate to eat.
And we all know that salmon or tilapia aren’t going to fit in a tank.

We now settle for fish window shopping at Walmart every time we visit.
I think that makes me a “good enough” mom and that’s as high as I aim nowadays.

The other day on facebook, a friend asked a serious question.
Should she replace her son’s fish for the 5th time without telling him,
or just go ahead and tell him that it’s dead?

All I could think about was the master himself Bill Cosby.
How I love Bill Cosby.
I wish I could find other masterful and clean comedians to follow.

Better yet, if you have Netflix, go and watch the whole second episode so you can have all the laughs.

I love you Bill Cosby. I really do.

Snow in Appalachia

My daughter Abigail gets so mad when she has to correct people on the correct pronunciation of The Appalachian Mountains. Out here in the western U.S. everyone seems to think that everyone should say App a Lay shun.

Abigail knows with every fiber of her being that the correct pronunciation is App a La (a like apple) chin. I mean, Hello, everyone knows that! But people out here in Utah don’t know it and they do dare correct her all of the time. She tells them they are ignorant which I think is pretty awesome and kind of ironic. I would discourage her from the fight, but I am proud of her Southern blood and she did live in TN for eight years of her life so I understand it’s kind of her duty.

Check out this picture of a family friend who dressed up with her husband as rednecks. They nailed it with the crashed NASCAR and everything. Man, I miss the south. I especially loved its quirky sides. I miss blogging about it.

In the last twenty-four hours there has been a lot of buzz about how the South is full of a bunch of idiots who can’t navigate the road in bad weather. It really upsets me. Anyone who dares criticize has never had to navigate a shady icy windy holler with ditches on both sides. Trust me, it’s not a fun experience.

If you don’t believe me, go check out this video of a very long traffic pile-up in Atlanta. Count how many truck-trailers were involved and remind yourself that these guys drive all over the United States….they know how to navigate in the weather…they just can’t possibly keep their vehicle under control on a road that was covered in ice then piled with snow that will not be salted or plowed…and even if it was, it still may not free it of ice.

Because I have lived in the South, I want to stand by my daughter in defense of the Southerners…sometimes Appalachian Americans are smarter then you babbling Yankees…sometimes you really are the ignorant ones. I know it’s hard to swallow. I’m sure you feel kind of how I felt the first time I tried out one of their fancy rest-stops…total mind-blown.

To be fair though, sometimes Appalachian Americans can be total idiots, just like the rest of us. Here’s a good joke.

Two rednecks were given a special SAT test to meet their admission requirements to the Military Academy. Soon after the test began the first guy turns to the second guy and asks, “Old MacDonald had a what?

The other replies, “He had a farm.”

The first asks, “How do you spell it?”

To which the second replied, “E-I-E-I-O.”

Perhaps, the thing I love about Southerners the most is that they laugh freely at themselves. I sure miss that.

Oh and I have to add this. I also love how Southerners aren’t afraid to trash talk especially when it comes to their abilities in college sports.

My Man Reads My Mind

Last weekend our family attended a local safety fair. There was a variety of booths where we stopped and discussed different parts of safety for the whole family. We learned about being safe around the railroad, the hazards of smoking, wearing our seat-belts, having a fire escape plan, eating healthy, and touched on internet safety. One of the girls’ favorite object lesson was wearing the drunk goggles and trying to walk the yellow line. It was quite entertaining.

We happened upon a veterinarian’s booth. We discussed safety for pets (don’t let your dog drink anti-freeze) and then they gave us a free measuring scoop with a handle for dog food. I thought it was pretty cool as I have always just used an old cup. I asked the lady about how much food was the right amount to be feeding our 16 pound dog and mentioned that she seems to be gaining weight. The lady answered my questions and then went into her spiel about what other services their vet clinic offered.

LG was standing close by watching the interaction. As the lady mentioned that the clinic offered laparoscopic surgery, my interest was piqued. I started busting a gut and said, “I can’t believe there is such a thing for dogs. That just cracks me up.” The lady looked puzzled. My husband came to my rescue. He knew exactly what I had thought and completely understood why I was l laughing hysterically. The joke inside my mind was pretty dang funny. He was chuckling at me and my funny joke. He then burst my comedic bubble as he put his hand on my shoulder to shut me up and calmly said to the lady, “Excuse my wife, she confused laparoscopic surgery for gastric bypass surgery.” The lady then laughed along. I looked at LG in utter amazement that 1 – he knew the joke in my messed up mind, 2 – he thought it was funny too, and 3 – he had come to the rescue of this ditsy woman who confused her vocabulary once again.What could have been a totally humiliating moment became extremely entertaining.

I apologized to the lady through my snorting. The whole thing had put me into hysterics. I could not stop laughing. I gave my husband of 16 years a kiss after coming up for some air. He shook his head at my silliness. I stood amazed at our twin-like intuition. We are in sync! Marriage is a beautiful beautiful beautiful (and hysterical) thing. How blessed I am to have such a wizard of a man.

Moms Cutting Loose

Sometimes as a mom you just have to cut loose and have fun, even when your serious kids try to hold you back.

Here’s a funny video clip from a local show on a local network.
I’ve never seen the show, but I may have to check it out
and hope that the teenager in me that had a slip n slide dance routine to Eye of the Tiger won’t make a reappearance.

I ended my run on Ice Ice Baby the other day.
I am pretty sure I threw in a running man or two out on the highway.
It was a happy place, and let’s face it,
moms need as much of that as they can get.

Here are some more moms who dance on YouTube.

This mom dances with her kid on Ellen.

Have you ever noticed how much more tolerable it is to do dishes when you dance and sing?

These dancing moms are local celebrities.

This mom and son dance at his wedding.

And I saved the best for last. Jimmy Fallon with Michelle Obama.

Just dance moms.

Close Enough Birthdays

I recently got a kick
out of the blog post
17 Pinterest Fails.

Go over and check out the hilarious photos
of how things appear on Pinterest
and how they look when other
“close enough” moms attempt them.
So funny.

I believe the “close enough” principle is one thing that helps me to have happiness in this crazy modern world we call motherhood where moms seem to fight til death outdoing one another.

Today we had a birthday party for Bella. It was most definitely a “close enough” party. In fact all the parties that we throw (which are only every four years since I hate it so much) are just “close enough”. Except that one we had for my oldest Abigail when she was 7 – that party with 50 kids was AMAZING!

I used to have shame in the fact that throwing a birthday party was so painful for me, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve stripped myself from the shame. It is what it is. So now instead of cute scrap-booked party tags, the kids have to be happy with anything they can make with computer paper and a sharpie. I checked out of the party competition with other moms and I am working on checking out of all the areas of intense mom competition.

Parties are a lot of unnecessary work for a mom and I am tired. I am obviously capable of a great party: fifty cellophane bags full of beach themed trinkets, a handmade oversized beach scene cake, a firepit, slipnslide, pool, and water games were all involved at Abigail’s award winning shin-dig years ago. One tiny post-party situation is the only thing that keeps me from throwing more parties. After the party when all the kids from all over the world went home, I sat on the couch and couldn’t move for two weeks. I decided that being able to cook my kids dinner was probably more important than party-throwing, and I neatly stashed that fact away in my go-to mom file for future reference.

Maybe all moms should throw a party that colossal just once so that they will know that they can, then they will also know why they will choose not to throw parties anymore? Or maybe they can read this and learn from me? Let it go moms. Have a nice family dinner and sing a song while your kid blows out the candles. When your kid gets invited to the over-the-top party and whines on the way home that his birthday is so lame, kindly remind him that you don’t do that because you figure he needs a mother not in the loony bin more than a bounce house. You might be surprised at how well he will take it. And the bigger surprise is that you will teach your kids that it’s o.k. not to compete.

My kids only get a party every 4 years and they are limited with a budget of $100 towards presents and/or party. (It works really well if you choose certain ages like 4,8,12, and 16…that way when you have multiple children you may luck out and only have to do one party per year.) Yes that $100 is our manipulative effort to forgo the parties all together. It’s amazing how much our kids have learned about their own greediness with this simple rule. When one starts spending birthday money on other people and unnecessary trinkets, it quickly helps one recognize their real friends and needs over wants. Also a good lesson for adults: you don’t have as many close friends as you think AND you really should use most of your gift money to get what you need over what you want.

Or maybe you should just throw one party for their whole childhood and call it close enough? O.k. o.k. that might be cheating.

Hide Yo Girls

The other day Abigail was hanging out in her cami.

She kept trying to push it.

A few weeks ago,

I told the girls they could wear their camis to bed

for comfort if they wanted.

LeGrand had enough and laid down the law.

“No more camis!

Before I know it,

you’re going to be

wearing them outside too.”

He told Abigail to go to her room and put on a shirt, “Now.” She wasn’t moving. He said, “You better get to it, or I am going to start stripping down right now, one piece of clothing at a time.” I was cracking up. I told her to call dad on his bluff. There was no way he was going buck naked.

He got both his shirt off and his undershirt,

and took his belt off.

When he started unzipping his pants,

she ran off screaming

in horror.

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

LG put his shirts back on.

He was feeling all exposed,

especially since Abigail made fun of his bare body.

Or should I say bear body?

We don’t believe in letting our daughters as hoochie mamas.
We want to keep them sweet and innocent for as long as possible: their whole lives preferably.

I was raised the same way. I am not going to lie. I hated it. As a teenager, I fought my parents on it daily. One time my mom tore a dress that I was wearing in two (right in front of my boyfriend) because she was sick of tired of me wearing things that were too short. (I hope my sister has forgiven me by now, it was her dress) I bought my own bikinis and wore them when my mom wasn’t looking. I washed them myself and hid them away in the back of my drawers. I wanted to be like all the other girls. My brothers seemed pretty keen on making sure my sister and I dress modestly too, which we didn’t understand because they were perfectly fine dating the girls who didn’t really cover up. I now understand they were being protective.

And you know what? WE ABSOLUTELY SHOULD BE PROTECTIVE.

Some people may think that our modesty policy is a little absurd, but do you know what? I don’t care.

While most of my girlfriends were having sex in high school and some ended up pregnant, I proudly stayed a virgin until I was married. I am glad that I did. I never regret that decision. Not a day in my life have I felt like I made the wrong choice. I want for my girls to be chaste and make the same choice to remain abstinent until they are married. And yes, dressing modestly has a direct correlation.

I love my sweet sweet girls.
I love that they are pretty good about dressing modestly.
They seem to get the principle that modesty provides protection.

I want them to love themselves for who they are
amazing daughters of God.
They truly can
change the world
just by being
a source of light.

The Art Fart

I really hope Sophia doesn’t decide to read the blog today.

I do believe she’d die of embarrassment.

I must write though

because it’s stories like this that I don’t want to forget.

And I do forget.

I forget as early as next week if I don’t write it down.

LG’s been playing with new camera more than me. I love it.

We finally got Sophia into an art class.

She has shown a real propensity for art since she was a toddler,

and I am so grateful we finally have the means to help her along.

Check out her very first project.

I dare you to say she’s anything less than a prodigy.

And now, here’s a little art fart funny from Friday.
I went into the studio to tell Sophia that I was there to take her home.
She was happily working on a picture of SpongeBobSquarePants in colored pencil.
Next to her was the cutest boy about the same exact age
working on what looked like a tribal tattoo.
They were both having a blast doing the art thing while bantering back and forth.
It made this mom very happy to see Sophia in her element.
When you know something about your kid, you just know.
And I have always known that Sophia has the soul of an artist.

Minutes later Sophia bounds out to the car and we head home.
I zone out thinking about all I have to do
to get out the door that evening in time for
a friend’s birthday party and a choral concert of my nephew at BYU.
All of the sudden Bella and Sophia are cracking up.
I ask them what was so funny.
Through fits of laughter they tell me.

Sophia – Nooooooo, don’t tell her.
Bella – I have to. Sophia likes __________!! (I can’t remember his name)
Me – (Not surprised in the least.) What’ so funny about that?
Sophia – Nothing. Nothing.
Bella – Well, Sophia and _______ were messing around hitting each other and being silly.
Sophia – STOP! Bella don’t tell her.
Bella – And then Sophia…
Sophia – (butting in because if the story is going to be told, she’s going to tell it) We were just playing around, and all of the sudden I farted. It just came out. I couldn’t help it.
Me – Oh my gosh, how embarrassing. Did you just die?
Bella – It gets worse mom.
Sophia – So then the teacher comes in and asks us if we need anything.
Bella – And _____________ says, “Do you have a clothespin?”
Me – Did it stink?
Sophia as red as a beat – “I guess so.”

This may not seem funny to any of you, but it’s moments like this when I just love being a mom. It is so fun to watch your kids grow up and become adults who are embarrassed by bodily functions.

Now, here is something to make it up to Sophia whenever she reads this story.
Sophia brought this home last year from school after the class all wrote down anonymous compliments.
She is one cool kid, even with the gassy gas.

And me, you ask?

How’s the photography going?

Well, it’s going when I squeeze in the time.

Here is one of my practice shots

while I was outside the art studio waiting on Sophia.

We are learning about aperture.

Photography is art.

Maybe I should leave it up to Sophia.

It’s a lot more complicated then I expected.

(That’s why I’ve dragged LG into the hobby,

he’s my scientific go-to man.)

Check out my the website of my super cool teacher.

Here’s a photo of another one of my cool kids.

She’s taking a cooking class right now.

I’ve always known that Bella would grow up to be a beautiful cook.

Shooting action is more difficult

especially without the right lens

but here is our Abigail.

I always knew she’d grow up to be a soccer star.

Caroline.

Notice that she’s reading dad a bed-time story.

At 6 pm.

That’s how it goes around here.

Isn’t he cute?

I do believe my car is in need of a wash.

And here is LG’s latest project.

An expose about the life of a housewife.

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.

All the time.

Even on Sunday.

Race#3

Color Me Rad was so much fun.

I don’t know if I can officially count this as one of my four races this year

as there were so many people, color, and chaos that it was impossible to run with full speed.

They don’t time the race and we had to stop at every color station so I have no idea what my time really was. We did it in about 40 minutes, but there is no way I am counting that.

I had so much fun running with my sister.
She’s a fitness guru and she ran circles around me,

but we had so much fun.

I was also glad to be joined by LG’s cousin Grant and his wife Catherine.

We had a great time.

Beware to future race runners.

They should really rename the race to

Become an Avatar Race.