Oh Yes He Did

So Brad called me at 7 the other morning, just a few seconds after he left for work.

Seems that my thrifty and shameless ways have rubbed off on him.

Waiting for the garbage truck, on the curb in our neighborhood, sat a rejected armoire that had been beaten silly and scratched with what I can only imagine were actual lightsabers.

But my sweet husband loaded that treasure up and brought her safely into the fold that is my garage.

You'll just have to wait and see the transformation she undergoes when I have my way with the paint and sander.

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Trash Master, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future."

"Politically Incorrect" Would Be an Understatement

Last weekend, my tailbone remembered what it's like to sit on wooden gym bleachers for an extended time.

Ah yes, 'tis the season for high school graduation.

There were only 19 graduates, so the ceremony was very sentimental and personal (but longer than the ceremony for my graduating class of over 500.)

Despite the slideshows set to my favorite music, a fantastic valedictorian's speech, and the promise of a wonderland of barbeque beef afterwards, I could barely concentrate because of the artwork on the gym wall to my right.

I was unprepared for

a) a two-story American Indian

b) wearing a full headdress

c) with eyeliner

d) sporting a chiseled six pack

e) and a suede mini-skirt

f) in booties

g) dunking a basketball

h) in front of wooden boxes needing to be moved outside

Mr. Redskin (yes, the school nickname hasn't been changed to the savvier "Redhawks" or "Golden Retrievers") has made me laugh on so many levels.

I'll just leave it at that.

Her Post-Graduation Plans Include Kindergarten

For those of you who've been following all 7 times I've blogged this past year, you know that Lilly is wrapping up her senior year of preschool.

Since I am a firm believer that preschool is for the parents, she's been enrolled since she was so young that she used to suck her thumb.

Oh, wait.

She still does.

Anywho, last night at Kindergarten Round-Up we were assured she wouldn't be flying solo when we saw lots of other thumb-suckers in the crowd. (Not including the infant siblings of future Golden Retrievers.)

{Yes. The neighborhood elementary mascot is the Golden Retriever.}

{They let the children decide.}

{Obviously.}

{Don't even get me started.}

Anyway, the saddest part of the graduation was that Charlie's Angels had their last hurrah together before parting ways for kindergarten.

Luckily, their mothers are good friends and they will still probably see each other all the time anyway.

Plus, we've planned to get together and make milkshakes for ourselves the girls SOON.

For Lilly's graduation gift (oh yes, we go all the way), I pulled out a Target giftcard she'd received for her birthday six months ago and told her that it was my deepest privilege to take her shopping.

Elated, we headed for the toy aisle where Lilly selected a commemorative set of Barbie walkie-talkies.

Then I ordered a gold "Graduation 2009" plate that we'll adhere to the walkie-talkies so that when Lilly lacks confidence one day, she can look back at her accomplishments and press on.

Or at least she can radio Skipper to come over and devour a bowl of cookie dough with her.

 

Or maybe she'll radio her mom, because eating cookie dough everyday is pretty much my gig anyway.

If My Goals Were any Loftier, I'd Need a Ladder

'Tis the season for garage sales!

My neighbors are all completely endeared to me because I shamelessly wander from house to house and buy their junk. 

Except, of course, that it isn't junk--it is awesome stuff and they are suckers for throwing it away right into my receptive hands.

Someday I'll get out the camera and photograph the fantasticness of last year's bounty, but I am already focused on the future.

I am hoping to find all of these things in a three mile radius:

*cute bistro/cafe chair and table set for the deck

(because we had a large avalanche that shattered our table when it snowed three feet in April )

*spray paintable frames

*adorable vintage books

*lamps and lampshades of the non-brass variety begging to be embellished with fringe

*a mint condish overstuffed chair from Pottery Barn for the master bedroom

*a lemon juicer 

*a gorgeous rug for my entry way

*heavy glass pitchers in shades of blue and green

*a buffet 

*margarita machine

*panini maker

*world peace

The good news is that the Garage Sale Season is off to a fast start.

After coming in from an early run last week, I stumbled upon a door in my neighbor's trash. Spying a treasure, I "sprinted" home (a whopping 4 houses) and made Brad retrieve the loot in full business attire.

(Because that was definitely less-assuming than I would've been in sweaty workout clothes.)

I'll show you some pictures of the door...but just know that it is painted and permanently perched in the dining room.

(Until I move it in a week.)

Y'all, I Could Not Script This Stuff

Alternate Title: Um, Hi. It's Been Awhile.

Alternate Title II: We did not rehearse this. 

Alternate Title III: My Dainty Princess

A Short List

Tax season is upon us, and the income tax filing has always been my job.

I haven't mentioned to the IRS that I took Algebra I three times and had a math tutor for the duration of high school, so they just keep sending me refund checks anyway.

Avoidance of this task is nearly as tricky as the filing itself.

In the past hour, here are a few things I've managed to squeeze in to my tight tax-filing schedule.

1. Change clothes to be more comfortable 

2. Apply a new lip gloss and check it's color in different lighting (I am home alone.)

3. Change the toilet paper roll

4. Send around 20 emails

5. Change clothes again

6. Plan a very elaborate dinner as a reward to myself for doing the taxes

7. Read several "Bachelor" recaps

8. Actively search for Jillian's dress, should I be caught off-guard in New Zealand with the prospect of a fantasy date and nothing to wear

9. Pay bills 2 weeks early

10. Mentally decide which pajamas I'll wear as soon as it's acceptable to put them back on

11. Call Brad with no topic of conversation planned

12. Call Brad again

13. Browsed through Southern Living's Idea House Kitchens. (I felt my mouth spontaneously salivate at Walker's Bluff and Emerson Hill.)

(My soul is drawn to exposed brick.)

Unfortunately, all of that activity only took 23 minutes, so now I really have to get going.

Or maybe I'll just start dinner...

There are few things that can get the ol' blog-writing juices flowing like chocolate.

Even though I am NOT sappy, sentimental, or romantic, I still love Valentine's Day.

As a child, it was my favorite school holiday because of the Valentine's Box Decoration.

Nothing thrills me more than to take an ugly, large shoebox, cover it with cute paper, cut out lots of hearts, and change it into an adorable makeshift mailbox.

You can imagine my delight and outright GLEE when Jackson came home with a school paper proclaiming it is Valentine's Box time!

I immediately pictured the entire family creating our own boxes (in addition to his assigned box) in which to leave little notes and candies all week.

The breath from the fantastic idea had not yet left my mouth when Brad vetoed the entire plan and called it "lame."

He also said that nothing about it sounded fun and if I really wanted to make a box so bad, why didn't I make my own and leave him out of it?

Well, being the only one with a box and forcing people to put gifts in it didn't sound too fun.

Instead, I re-channeled my Valentine's (or is it the singular "Valentine"?) energy into making goodies for some special people in our lives.

We've done this for a loonnnggg time, and it has always been such a blessing.

Even before I had kids, I remember making a few simple Valentine's cards for some co-workers. One of them commented to me that she couldn't remember the last time someone had given her a Valentine's card.

And I honestly couldn't believe that something so simple helped her feel loved on a day that usually left her feeling empty.

Since then, that has been the goal: to show love to others in our lives because it is usually so unexpected!

So here is my plan for this year:

1. Bake brownies and eat lots of the batter.
(Oh, and use a giant heart cookie-cutter to make some cute shapes.)

By golly, EAT THOSE SCRAPS!

2. Separate the leftover red and green Christmas M&M's.

Before you get all grossed out that I am just picking up stray M&M's from around the house, know that they were extras still sealed in the bag from Christmas.

(Most of them anyway.)

3. Round up some Hershey's kisses.

Using your leftover Jedi Snack bags, load up the super chocolately brownie, M&M's, and Hershey kisses.

Then tie them with that gorgeous and cheap grosgrain ribbon you snagged from Hobby Lobby for 90% off at the post-Christmas sales.

My petite-artiste (Lilly), made some cute cards with our Valentine's verse for this year:

"We love because He first loved us." I John 4:19

Now dream up something cute yourself and go deliver some love!

When Did This Happen?

I am totally sucked in to "The Bachelor."

Totally.

I've watched a few seasons here and there, ranted about how ridiculous it is, and I fast-forwarded right through those INCREDIBLY uncomfortable kiss-fests.

And yet.

I watch.

My biggest issue used to be the obvious: THIS IS NOT REAL LOVE.

(Remember true love?)

But it's kind of like watching action films...you can either think to yourself while watching the latest James Bond flick, "That car chase sequence was totally impossible and there is no way he lived," OR "What creative minds the producers possess to come up with mind-blowing stunts and of course he lived because otherwise the movie would end and this would be a depressing, Academy Award-nominated drama."

So for me, reality TV is the same way. All true lovers of anything reality, died long ago to the fact that is, not reality. 

It is a staged, "reality" setting where interesting personalities collide.

So, without apology, here are some things I love about it:

1) The girls' clothes. 

Love 'em or hate 'em, they give you something to talk about. I am cracking up at all the scarves this season. We'll look back in a few years and mock the scarf phenomenon just like the tight-rolled jeans.

(Of course, that doesn't stop me from owning about six and wearing them as often as possible.)

I love seeing the dresses, stretchy pants, accessories, and even the cute suitcases.

Since my personal wardrobe doesn't extend beyond workout clothes and jeans, it's exciting to pick out which dresses I love and whose overall style I adore.

So far, Jillian and Molly are my favorites.

Jillian's shirt/belt/legging/boot ensemble is what I would totally wear if Brad and I went on a date in the city and I had a body stunt double.

Molly's black jacket and red necklace this week were fantastic. Where do I buy them?

Dear Bachelor Producers: Please put a style guide at the end of every show. Thank you.

And I don't want to rain on Jason's parade, but the purple shirt? The purple tie? 

Together? 

Really? 

REALLY?!

2) Chris Harrison.

For those of you who don't watch, because you have higher TV standards than an earthworm, he's the host.

And I love that he doesn't take himself too seriously. He has some incredibly insane things to say..."This is the MOST DRAMATIC Rose Ceremony EVER" and "Jason, ladies, we are down to the final rose."

But he knows that is all for the sake of  TV and doesn't presume the audience is mathematically challenged. (Myself excluded.)

Chris and Jason have some great banter (even though Chris is feeding him the obvious questions) and Chris forces the bachelor to articulate his perspective on the relationship drama we've been watching through carefully edited montages.

Que bueno!

3) Personality fascination.

Being an over-analyzer and a perceiver (at least according to the Myers-Briggs folks), I thrive on reading body-language and dissecting the interaction between the girls and Jason.

People are amazingly complex (um, duh) and it is so much fun(!) to see them interact.

During the conflict (which there hasn't been much of this season), Brad has to leave the room and cover his ears.

I turn it up and marvel at the intensity.

LOVE IT.

Don't get me wrong, I do NOT love cat fights and insults at all. 

But I do love well-delivered honesty (even when it stings a little) and when people use their influence to encourage others.

Sounds crazy, but it happens more than you'd think.

Melissa and Steph both show their excitement with authenticity and enthusiasm, but do so without squelching the other girls' happiness when it's their turn for fun.

Steph (who, thankfully, is gone--personality miss-match!) gave the most gracious exit interview I've seen.

She showed her disappointment, respect for Jason, and optimism for the future without throwing anyone else under the bus.

Nice work.

Call me shallow or crazy, but either way, I am completely entertained.

Oh, The Irony

So I think there is a meme floating around out there where you go to your fourth photo folder, and write about the fourth picture.

Actually, it's probably not even floating around anymore, but in lieu of actual content, I thought I'd go out on a limb and re-float it.

When I opened my fourth folder, I nearly spit out my Diet Dr. Pepper (which is not on sale ANYWHERE in the Denver metro area and I finally caved in and paid full price for a 12-pack today after going without for 2 weeks while fruitlessly waiting for a sale.)

(I know.) 

The picture I found is one of the very first things that made me realize I had to start blogging.

Yes, that is us circa summer 2006.

(I can scarcely look at myself so nicely browned because my legs are currently the color of a jar of paste.)

(As if anyone knows what paste is anymore.)

Desperate, or should I say DESPERATE to go on a run for a little "relaxation," I loaded up my 4 year-old and 2 1/2 year old for a little "run" in the double jogger.

Bribing them with an out-and-back trip to Dairy Queen, I pushed that beast (weighing well over 100 pounds, including the babies) up and down the hills of our former 'hood.

Every 100 yards (it seemed) someone needed a drink, a book, sunglasses, a jacket, a jacket taken off, a snack, a toy, and finally MY SANITY.

(Go ahead and feel my pain here.)

As we arrived home, Lilly was wearing her chocolate ice cream cone and dead asleep.

Jackson was nodding in and out of dreams, but still awake enough to ask for more milk.

Naptime was ruined, laundry had doubled, the stroller was broken, and the "fun" I strived for ended up more like a disaster.

And I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

So instead, I started to blog, because I realized that if I couldn't laugh, I'd cry my eyes out.

Looking back, (I'm going to get all grandmotherly now), I can't believe how quickly the years have gone by.

Those two sweet babies are now 5 and 6.

There are no jogging strollers at our house.

They ride their 2-wheelers while I run.

Heck, they participate in their own triathlons.

They find their own snacks, brush their own teeth, and beat me in MarioKart.

When did all this happen?

So tonight, while I was tucking in the two hearts that exist outside my body, I lingered.

Lilly curled up and fell asleep on me. I could've carried her upstairs right away, but instead, I laid my hand on her back and felt her lungs rise and fall.

I ran my finger through her hair, kissed her cheeks, and rubbed her earlobes.

After I rested her in bed, I turned off the lights, and for more than a moment, just stared at my baby.

Walking across to Jackson's room, he greeted me with a smile from underneath the covers.

When he asked for two stuffed chameleons, I didn't worry that he's still sleeping with various animals.

I handed them over and got down on my knees to listen the highlights of his day.

Hearing how he loved learning about the digestive system and also seeing me (source of future embarrassment) visit his class, reminded me that while he loves grown-up things, he is little.

Little.

(Big, but little.)

Any tiny glimpse of perspective is an amazing gift from the Lord.

Today I needed that so badly.

Each day, each moment, each breath that they take is God's grace living in this very house with me.

I am so blessed.

Back from the Grave

Well.

I'm not a big fan of blogging about sickness, because I don't enjoy reading about other's exploits with vomit and such.

(Unless they're funny.)

But the only reason I'm going to mention the Plague yet again is to tell you that it does, in fact, have a name.

That name would be: mono and influenza.

Coursing through my blood. At the exact same time.

Now, neither of these maladies are treatable in any way, but psychologically, it did me wonders to have an explanation attached to the misery with which I've been body-slammed since January 1. 

To make things more cheerful, Brad contracted a variation as well.

But very thankfully, I am starting to feel better.

Many, many times this past month, we put the kids to bed at 7:30, only to crawl into our bed at 8:00, down a handful of Advil, and sleep.

Makes me think the producers of "The Bachelor" (which I'm loving this season, but that is another blog) should have one of the theme dates be "in sickness and in health."

During this date, Jason and his date (or it could be a group date for added drama) could contract violent illnesses, then get to care for each other and Ty while wearing their ugliest pajamas.

They could lifelessly stagger to the grocery store to buy Gatorade at 1:00 in the morning, deal with guilt about feeding kids chicken nuggets for a month straight, pick up each other's prescriptions, and sleep in separate rooms.

They could cough until they want to kill each other, not shower for a few days, and see how they still feel about the sickly, greasy mess staring at them across the dinner table.

Because ironically, I always appreciate the depth and strength of our marriage MUCH more during trials and sickness than over dinner and a movie.

(Not that there's anything wrong with dinner and  a movie. NO MA'AM.)

I'm always quick to point out that more couples have married as a result of "The Biggest Loser" and "Survivor" than "The Bachelor."

Adversity shows our true colors, for sure. It's not exactly challenging to put on a good face during a private plane trip to Mexico, for crying out loud.

So anywho, that's what I've been up to; trying to get through each day and figuring out where Stephanie on "The Bachelor" buys her necklaces.

Because now that I'm feeling better, there is some serious shopping ahead.

If We're Talking About the Chinese New Year, I'm Early

Here we are in the midst of January (the Ides of January, if it had Ides) and I am finally ready to detail my New Year's Resolution(s).

History shows that I am not a fan of resolving/promising/vowing things because I like to keep my options open.

For example: I don't want to vow to do the South Beach diet because the moment I do, the best looking chocolate cake in the whole world will whisper to me and I will a) torment myself by not eating it or b) torment myself in an entirely different way by eating it.

Had I not vowed to give up sweets, I could've made the decision from a much more rational state of mind and just eaten the chocolate cake without feeling guilty.

So anyway, I took to heart Lisa's post about making a New Year's Resolution in one word.

One word seems possible.

So I thought and prayed about what word would grow me in 2009.

Not in a "pick the right word or the year will be toast by February" way, but in a "small changes ultimately make the most difference" way.

I think there is some acronym out there in the Bidness World that talks about how you should create goals.

The only ones I remember are "definable," "measureable," "achievable."

That would make the acronym either DAM or MAD and I don't ever remember Brad's boss encouraging him to work on his DAM goals.

(Maybe if he was a snowboarder, he would focus on MAD goals, but due to some injuries like broken elbows and torn rotator cuffs, Brad knows that if he is caught in the same room with a snowboard ever again, he will not emerge alive.)

All that to say, I've found that for me, ultra-specific goals often fall short.

This may seem counter-intuitive, but goals like "eat more vegetables this year" prove more productive than "eat vegetables three times a week."

All those Big-wig Leader Types talk about being specific blah blah blah.

But I am more likely to follow through if I can give myself the grace to realize that some weeks are more conducive to eating veggies 4 times and other weeks are conducive to having pizza every night.

The focus shifts to making the best choice for each situation rather than eating vegetables at a Super Bowl party just to fill some requirement that no one cares about but ME.

Are you remotely following me?

So, wrapping my mind around one word and applying it to the diverse situations I encounter seems far more manageable than making up dramatic list of do's and don'ts just for the sake of having resolutions.

Oh yes, my word.

Are you ready?

Prepare to be underwhelmed.

It is less.

Several aspects of my personality tend to get overly wrapped up into going overboard.

(That why I made this cake. If one kind of chocolate is good...aren't four kinds of chocolate better?)

There is a time and a place for excitement and lavishness.

There is also a time and a place to throttle back and not miss the forest for the trees.

(I forgot to mention that it's good to use lots of slogans when you're writing about New Year's Resolutions. I will try to work "New Year, New You" into this post at some point.)

Right now, I am not quite sure what exactly "less" entails.

For sure, less stuff, less commitments, less impulsiveness, less me.

Obviously, that opens the doors (mainly of time and resources) for more.

More time with people I dearly love, more time for people I want to serve, more time for commitments that are precious.

(And before you think I am getting all high and mighty, just know that I am not giving up "The Bachelor" or MarioKart.)

I surely haven't got this whole "one word" deal figured out, but I am positive that as I spend more time with Jesus, he will graciously empty me of self and fill me with Him.

So here's hoping this year will be LESS-tastic!

Wonder-LESS!

LESS-a-Rama!

Or (if I'm honest) probably a little hard and a little great...all at once.

Midnight Train to Nowhere

Well, it looks as if it was not my time to die because I have indeed lived, despite The Plague's best chances to get me down.

I still have no taste for sweets and have had at least 10 people ask if I am pregnant.

"No."

I've been drinking tea (which I don't even care for unless it is iced and has a substantial amount of mango syrup in it) and anything salty hiding in our barren pantry. 

Hopefully by this weekend, I'll be back up to full Chocolate Strength and resume eating chocolate chips as a side dish to breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Until then, I'll continue alternating tortilla chips, potato chips, crackers (ironically, not Saltines) and toast.

Wanna come over for dinner?

Also.

That picture of Brad and I from a few posts back?

Um, not our real prom picture, people.

(Which maybe I will post someday, because it is a doozy.)

(That makes me sound old.)

The fake prom picture was from Halloween 3 or 4 years ago.

That was, however, the actual dress I wore to some high school dancing delightfulness.

(Unfortunately.)

But at the time, the rhinestones and shiny blue-ness of it all seemed like the right fashion direction.

Also.

Brad never pierced his ear or spiked his hair.

But I probably did wear a Swatch with a formal dress. 

And since I can't quite remember, do you think I wore black or white PANTYHOSE with that dress?

Either way: FASHION NIGHTMARE.

It was probably the last time pantyhose have seen my legs, so hopefully we had quite a night together.

Hmmmm.

The whole thought of a picture of the two of us kind of cracks me up.

Remember when we were dating/engaged and EVERY PLACE WE WENT was a fantastic photo opportunity to capture Us! Together! Smiling! And Acting Silly/Adorable/Insanely Immature!...together!

I loved nothing more than to get a roll of film developed (dating myself here...) and find 5 or 6 fantastic shots that had Rehearsal Dinner Video Potential written all over them.

And when we were newly married?

We swam in a sea of shiny, new, silver picture frames blanketing every available surface in our entire apartment, all containing pictures of...us.

And if you will join me while I screech in horror, I'm sure that in one of them we were both wearing denim shirts.

(Close eyes and scream)

And now?

When people look at Brad and I at, oh say, a wedding, and request that we "get together for a picture," I roll my eyes, lean my head in, and kind of wonder why we need another shot of...us.

I'm sure it looks like some version of this.

Now seems like a good time to mention that this post was actually going to be about my New Year's Resolution.

But I will save that for tomorrow.

Because I've talked about nothing for way too long and I have to go cough for a few hours before bed.

Good night.

I am Too Sick to Think of a "Wizard of Oz" Pun, But if I Could, I'd Put it Here

Lucky for all of you, The Plague of Sickness and Near Death germs aren't communicable via internet, so you are safe.

I, on the other hand, am nearly two weeks in and wondering if I will be around to see 2010.

At this point, I would say chances are slim.

Just to clearly paint the picture, I made this cake and didn't eat any because I didn't feel like it.

Brad is checking all distinguishing characteristics to make sure a body double hasn't invaded.

(I heard the cake was great, so you'll have to try it sometime.)

Part of my preface is to preemptively apologize for the terribleness of the following narrative.

I am running low on wit and frivolity, so it may read with the excitement of a History Channel documentary on UFO's rather than a crisp and clever SportCenter recap.

However, Dorothy isn't featured much on ESPN.

And neither is the Yellow Brick Road.

Or the Ghetto Brick Road, as it soon came to be known.

It started out 100 feet long and winding beautifully through the front yard.

About 10 minutes later, hurricane strength gusts (seriously. just ask the Denver meteorological team), blew the Yellow Brick Road all over my front yard.

So we shortened it and then Karen injured her foot on it badly enough to warrant x-rays.

But that is either here nor there.

(Karen might feel differently, but moving on...)

Know where to buy a pair of red, classy, sparkly pumps?

The spray paint aisle at Home Depot.

And in case you need some witchy tights for prom this spring, just get some white ones at Wal-Mart and wrap black electrical tape around them.

Toto sitting in a bed of poisonous poppies was a great centerpiece:

And the cake...

I wasn't super-pleased, but there were NO fabulous ideas out there.

Trying to combine "Somewhere over the Rainbow" and the poppies was tough. But the kids woofed it right down anyway.

I had fun throwing a piece of blue and white gingham fabric down for a tablecloth. I cut it to fit and used packing tape to secure it to the table.

Who needs Martha?

You'll have to look up close to see the ruby slipper cookies. I have no idea how they tasted, but they were darn cute.

Oh, and if you were here, I'd offer you a Glinda's magic wand.

(Pretzel rod dipped in white chocolate, rolled in edible white glitter.)

The kids probably would've eaten white crayons if I made 'em all cute, but I went with pretzels anyway.

Favor bags, yo.
While the girls were outside inspecting the deceased Wicked Witch of the East, the rockstar party helpers scurried all the presents upstairs.

After we settled back in, I whipped out a note from the Wicked Witch, saying that she'd taken the presents and Toto, and we'd have to complete three adventures showcasing our brains, heart, and courage to get them back.

Y'all.

Apparently a career in dramatic storytelling is in my future, because I accidentally made a few of the girls cry at the thought of facing the Witch.

Oops.

They recovered, then showcased their fabulous brains by finishing a Wizard of Oz maze.

(Glinda was keeping them safe, thank goodness.)

Next, we pinned the heart on the Tin Man.

Then the kids courageously braved a tornado to rescue some treasure.

I had visions of a huge tornado swirling from the ceiling fan, but after the Witch scare, I'm glad we went with a smaller dust devil, powered by the ol' box fan.

Lastly, the kids had to get the witch's broomstick.

A few of the kids didn't want to brave the witch's lair in the basement, even when I PROMISED them that she wasn't actually down there.

But these girls were strong-willed.

Lilly grabbed that broom and rode it around.

(Have you ever noticed that in the movie, the WW doesn't actually get on the broom to ride it? It's more of a side-saddle approach coupled with terrible special effects.)

Broomstick in hand, witch melted, we headed upstairs to the Emerald City:

Hopefully everyone's imaginations were at full strength since it wasn't overly Emeraldy.

But hey, the presents and Toto were there, so that was all good.

Even better was the cake:

And frankly, there are about 100 other pictures I could show you, but I have to go die.

I Think That is Me Under the House

We survived the Wizard of Oz party and I think that Lilly can now die happy.

I, however, might just die.

More later...

Raise Your Hand If You Turn 31 Today

Yep, you guessed it!

The person who kills me at MarioKart and also fathered my children has a birthday.

He is the best dad in the world for Jackson...teaching him to throw stuff for hours at a time into any body of water, giving tips about Legos, and showing him daily that loving selflessly is God's best.

He is a great dad for Lilly...throwing her into the air far higher than legally acceptable, braiding her hair when I'm out of town (that is serious points, folks), and modeling both strength and compassion in her life.

And for me...he is the best. I completely appreciate someone who never hesitates to embarrass himself right along with me, and even take the shame up a notch. He loves me for who I am, even when that is pretty terrible (that is even more points than hair-braiding).

I meant for this to be much more heartfelt and sentimental, but I'm suffering from a case of Death combined with Wizard-of-Oz birthday planning procrastination/excitement.

More later from the Sick House/Emerald City...

I'm Gonna Beat the Dead Horse

I realize Christmas is over and done and we've all moved on to the excitement and brand-spanking, sparkly, new-ness that is 2009.

But I didn't share any tidbits from Christmas (and OH, there has been one thrill after another!) so here they are.

And don't panic--I can share all you need to know about our holiday in exactly four pictures.

First off...Christmas Eve. We'd never actually celebrated Christmas Eve in town, so it was wonderful to be part of our church family on that special night.

The kids sang, babies cried, candles were lit, fires avoided, and it was just beautiful.

I even borrowed the church's tree for that photo-op since the family tannenbaum was AWOL.

Each year, Santa secretly leaves just one gift for the kids to open after church.

And you know what?

It's always pajamas.

And Santa shops at Gap. (Which Jackson and Lilly thought was entirely too coincidental this year, seeing as their very own mother has been seen there a time or 50.)

After we donned our gay apparel, we snacked on sugar cookies (still stuffed from a lunch at the Grand Lux Cafe) and read the Christmas story from "The Jesus Storybook Bible."

Then we (not to be confused with Santa) let the kids open one gift.

Every single year it's a flashlight and books. On the hardest night of the year to fall asleep, I do believe some fine literature and flashlights are necessary.

In a few years, we'll probably lace their hot chocolate with Ambien, but for now, the books do the trick.

After the children were nestled all snug in their beds, my favorite part of the evening awaited.

Step one: eat all of the cookies for Santa.

Step two: DECORATE!!! I love arranging the fireplace display for the kids' viewing pleasure in the morning.

My parents always did a spectacular job of gift presentation and it's fun to do the same. 

We usually leave one or two gifts unwrapped for initial shock effect, then creatively and sometimes, sneakily wrap the others.

Here is Lilly with her favorite gift:

I barely have the heart to tell you what it is.

Ok, I give.

A planner.

From the nail salon I visit twice a year.

That I got for free.

(There is a message there, I'm sure.)

When the salon owners gave it to me, I tucked it away, knowing that my girl who adores all things pencil and paper, would savor it.

I didn't know, however, that she would kiss it, gently thumb through the pages, and ask, "Mom! Did you put these amazing maps in the back just for me?!"

Jackson loved his Legos:

He and his dad have hunkered down in the playroom, football game on TV, Legos neatly sorted, and instruction book open.

I have yet to read an instruction book for a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, so I'm thankful the boys have each other.

On a completely unrelated note, here are the two babes after a day at the rock wall:

 
Lilly can climb now that she's five, so she celebrated by scampering right to the top on her first try.

Now that I've officially documented Christmas, I have to go give Brad a beating at MarioKart.

Duty calls.