Baby blue's fun

Just wanted to share a few giggles from my favorite comic strip. Enjoy!

Roses amidst the thorns

Ok, I'm fairly recovered from my hormone-induced insanity. I seem to have my perspective and coping abilities restored to a degree. Oh how those 'Mones wreck havoc on my life and sanity!!

Despite all of the craziness of the last few days, there were beautiful moments too. They were overshadowed by the dark cloud I was walking around in, but today they are luminous, and boldly obvious. They say sometimes you have to feel the piercing of the thorn to appreciate the beauty of the rose. These are a few of the sun rays peeking between the clouds, my roses amidst the thorns. . .

While feeling overwhelmed, distraught, and ready to throw in the towel, I happened to glance at the conference edition of the Ensign.

Had I opened it today and partook of it's beauty, peace, and wisdom? Nope.

Had I done so, would today would have been different? I'm certain it would have.

Anyways, I noticed the faces of the first Presidency staring out at me from the cover. The look on the faces of these amazing men whom I have admired and sought direction from all my life seemed to speak volumes to me. They looked out at me with all of the serenity and wisdom that come from being so close to God, and it was if they were silently urging me to hang on. To try a little harder, be a little better. To not forget the reason I'm here and the reason I chose these little treasures. To look beyond the frustration, and slime, and noise and see these children for who they really are-- amazing little individuals, precious gifts that the Lord has lent me to care for, little pieces of my own heart wandering around outside of my body. It gave me hope and perspective. It gave me renewed purpose and a desire to live up to my Heavenly Father's expectations of me.


Late one night, well past when the kids should have been drifting in dreamland, I heard crying from one of them. I investigated and found my Kolbi distraught and in tears. After I was able to calm her a bit, she spilled the beans. She had done something she shouldn't have at school (a minor infraction). She didn't tell the truth about it and felt horrible about it. She was so upset and scared, my heart really went out to her. Chris and I assured her that what she had done could be fixed. It was important to to talk to her teacher and make it right, and the fact that she felt so bad about it was a good thing. It showed what a good girl she was, and that she was listening to the Spirit. She was worried about the consequences--it would mean getting a lower grade at school, a bad mark on the board (meaning she wouldn't be able to pick a prize from the treasure box at the end of the week--something she's only missed out on once since school began) and her teacher would call her parents and inform them. We reminded her that we already knew and weren't mad so that part was already over with. Her teacher would likely be disappointed, but ultimately impressed that she chose to tell the truth and fix it. And we discussed which was more important to us/her teacher/Heavenly Father, that she get a good grade, or tell the truth and fix the problem. Ultimately it was a sweet, spiritual experience. It was one of life's beautiful little learning moments, the joy that our sweet daughter felt she could talk to us about it, the opportunity to remind her how much we love her, no matter what she does. It was sweet to once again, see her through Heavenly Father's eyes.

Then there were the little rosebuds. A fevered brow, usually too busy with play and discovery, cuddled in the crook of my neck. A pudgy little hand wrapped up in my hair. Those unfathomably deep big brown eyes looking at me with such trust that I can make it all better. Those late-night one-on-one snuggle sessions so reminiscent of the midnight feeding sessions I used to have with each of them.

I guess ultimately, now that the clouds have passed, I see that the beauty of the roses was worth the prick of the thorns.

S.O.S!!!

**disclaimer--major whine fest comin' on folks!!!! Either buckle up for the ride or take a flying leap while you still can!**

All is NOT well in Zion today folks! Wow, I am so OFF this weekend and it's starting to take over my week too. Stupid, Stupid hormones!!!! Ironically the same hormones that allowed me to have children are making me abhor them today! How fair is that? I'm gonna kill me some chilins! I am so on-ree with a capitol ON!

This has been my day . . .
[picture horrible screeching here]
Now is when I can hear that little red, pitch-fork carryin', ruckus-causing devil whispering in my ear . . .

Do you know what that sound is, highness? Those are the shrieking eels!
If you don't believe me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh! If you swim back now I promise no harm will come to you . . . I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels.

Oh, how I want to swim away today! Then sometimes, I just want to turn around and bite the little suckers back!!!

I'm covered in green slime from two, count em, TWO sick slimy slug children (Yes Dad, we are discussing snot again). I need a rain slicker, those hip-wading fishing boot thingies, and a gas mask here! I can't even tell you how tired I am of wiping the snot off of little noses to the tune of them screaming like I was deliberately ripping the noses off their faces.

On top of the leaky nose valves, there's the ever present broken volume button issue. My kids are set at eardrum-piercing loud. I think my ears are . . . yep, they are. They're bleeding. Or maybe that's cerebral-spinal fluid leaking out of my ear from the intense trauma of those sound waves bouncing around endlessly in my skull! I've taken to wearing earplugs to buffer the insanity.

Every time I turn around to deal with plugging up the Hoover dam (aka. the bitty snotty thing), World War III breaks out in the other room and one or the other of the boys is continually marching in to me proclaiming “so-and-so hit/ pinched/ pushed/ violated my no-fly zone/ broke the treaty/ poisoned the water supply/ imprisoned my troops/ bombed my capitol/ sank my battleship/ tortured my ambassadors!” While the other marches in with full-on 60's garb, carrying his picket signs vehemently protesting that “No I did not! He's lying! It wasn't me! The dog did it! I'm innocent! I've been framed! I would never do that! I'm an angel! See my halo?” This is when Switzerland Mommy holds an intervention. We sit down and I dole out punishments/ negotiate peace treaties/ and initiate “make it up to them” plans of action. All is well . . . .for about 5 minutes. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Miss Zoe is so empathetic that whenever anyone else starts crying (usually as part of the post-traumatic-stress-disorder resulting from WWIII), Zoe feels the need to add her voice proclaiming her woes and how they are so much worse that the original cry-er's (actually this would be very cute as she is not actually hurt, but crying with a smile on her face—except for the noise. The noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!).

I finally round up the troops for a little exercise outdoors (does killing each other count as exercise?). The baby, who is running a high fever and draining like a sieve, follows me around either wanting to be held (thus using me as a human napkin) or carrying her shoes proclaiming pitifully “Ma Ma! Mysh ooos!”

How am I handling all this you might ask? I'm taking it all in stride. Always ready with a perfectly resolved/fair answer to the problems. Nary an unkind thought/word. I'm as cool as a cucumber. All is sunshine and roses here. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens eh? I have noticed that my hair is falling out in chunks. But I'm sure that's completely unrelated. My face keeps doing this funny twitch type thing. I'm breaking out in an itchy rash, and I can't seem to stop crying. All in all, I'm fine. Go about your business folks. Nothing to see here!

Ok, enough of the rant. I've got to go set up the Vitamin C IV drips. Come out, come out, wherever you are!

6 Things . . .

Ok, I have been tagged by Miss Amy. These are 6 lesser-known facts about me. Yawn-worthy--perhaps, but this one's for you girl!

• Artsy fartsy stuff is my therapy. Chris, who is quite the smarty about neurological matters, says it feeds my brain. Heaven knows my brain needs all the nourishment it can get! My dad graced me with a very minuscule fraction of his creative genes. I LOVE to draw, write, sew, paint, and bake (not cook mind you--I hate cooking lately). Unfortunately, with a house full of mini-monkies I don't get to do them very often (you could say they're my roses). I guess if you see me start tic-ing, hand me some paper and a pencil or something. Here's a sampling of my therapy sessions.
  

• When it comes to asking someone to help me I carry guilt around like a backpack full of rocks. I hate when Chris comes home from his crazy/full/busy/exhausting day and feels the need to help me pick up the slack at home with the housework drudgery (I have no qualms about letting him help me with the monkies). I especially have a tremendously hard time asking anyone to take my kids for me when I have to go to one of my many appointments. Lest you misunderstand me, it's not that I ever think of my kids as a burden. I also don't think I can do it all and am too proud to ask for help. Far from it--the tasks I usually need help with are majorly kicking my booty and I see my friends struggling with their own tasks/lives and I can't stand the thought of adding my craziness to theirs. If I have an impending appointment where I can't take my kids with me, I freak out for days about asking someone to watch my kids for me. Crazy huh? Don't worry, I'm getting counseling!

• I have an alter ego. Justin discovered it and revealed it to my hubby. Is nothing sacred? Well, check this out and so much about me will be revealed!
  
  

• I want to be a counselor someday. Ironic eh? With all my insane quirks and tics, I hope that someday I can rise above them and help other people with their own. I actually got a bachelor's degree towards this end, but I would have to get a Masters in order to practice. Someday . . .
  

• I am a big nerd.Not so much in the stereo-typical, wearing glasses, pants hiked up the my shoulders sense, but definitely a nerd none-the-less. I always was nerdly in high school (I always got decent grades, didn't get into to much trouble, was part of the National Honor Society and hung out with the mostly brainy kids)--probably much to my parent's relief (and mine if truth be told). I couldn't dress myself worth a hill of beans--I was even a bad 80's dresser which is a double-whammy! I still can't dress myself. All those clothes I got? Don't know how to wear them. I think I hit lucky combinations sometimes, but for the most part, I'm just at total goofball who can't dress herself. I've never been a girly-girl (hence I don't always know what to do with my extremely girly-girl Kolbi). Unfortunately I wasn't the athletic tom-boy type either--way too uncoordinated for that. I just was always more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than anything else. Since I've been married, Chris has been able to train me a little bit on what looks good (He's the yin to my yang). But I know there are days when he just shakes his head and moves on. Thank heavens for his infinite patience!
  

• I'm very accident prone. When I go down, I've got to go down in a blaze of glory too--no half-way-namby-pamby boo boos for me! No way! Check it out . . . When I was 11 I crashed my bike, bonked my noggin big-time and was out of school for 2 years because I ended up being such a dizzy blonde I couldn't even walk straight. I've broken both of my feet (at different times thank goodness). I cracked 2 vertebrae in my lumbar spine (dig the chiropractic lingo?) while on a first date with a guy in college. He was driving a motor boat with me brilliantly sitting on the inner tube at the other end of the tow rope. He whipped me around and straight toward the floating dock the other half of our double-date was sitting on. Faster than you can say "holy moley!" I slammed into the dock, dislodged from the tube, and did a brilliant double flip over said couple and into the drink on the other side of the dock. Poetry in motion I tell ya! I spent the first week of my college sophomore year flat on my back in my lovely apartment. **as a side note, that same year of college, I also got a RAGING kidney infection, and spent finals/graduation week with my face puffed up like a really greedy chipmunk storing up for the winter due to a lovely little thing called MONO. Not exactly my best year!** I've had numerous other injuries and illnesses, too many to mention. This is why it will probably be a snowy day in hades before Chris gets me on a snowboard. Maybe someday I'll have a deathwish, but don't hold your breath hon!

I now tag Bronwyn, and anyone else who hasn't done this yet (I've lost track). Go, do!

Tending Roses

If you know me, you'll know that I relish any opportunity to read a good book. It will follow me around like a faithful little companion (often propped up as I dry my hair, wash dishes, and eat lunches) and wisk me into other worlds and away from my own troubles and cares for a time. After my forays into the lives of others, I find myself renewed and more able to face my own fears, slay my own dragons, tend my own roses. I just finished reading a wonderful book. It true nerdly fashion, I had to do a book report! The book is Tending Roses by Lisa Wingate. Apparently it's the first in a series I now intend to read.



Tending Roses is a beautiful story about a young couple, Kate and Ben, struggling to keep it together. They're given the task of watching Grandma Rose (a strong-willed octogenarian who is going senile and becoming a danger to herself) for a little while until the rest of the family can get there to take her away to a nursing home. In the process, however, Katie (through a series of letters her grandmother writes to her) comes to find herself and the purpose she wants for her life. I found so much of the story poignant, touching, and very uplifting.

Check out this letter from Grandma Rose to see what I mean. . .

"Once, a poor hired lady came with a bouquet of roses and wildflowers clasped in her hands. She told me that her children had sneaked into my garden and picked them for her, and that they would be punished. I bade her not to scold the children, for I was proud to give them this gift. She smiled, and thanked me, and told me that, with so many children, she had no time for tending roses.

I did not understand her words until my own children were born. When the first was a babe, I took her outside and let her play in an empty wash barrel so I could have time for tending my roses. I was often cross with her cries while I was at my work. As she grew, and as my second child was born, I understood what the hired lady had told me - that motherhood leaves no time for selfish pleasures. Only time for tending others.

My roses grew wild and died as I busied myself with feeding and diapering, nursery rhymes and sickbeds. I missed those bright blooms that had been mine and felt it unfair that I must leave my hard work there to die. But I did not think of it overmuch. My mind and heart were occupied with the sorrows and joys of motherhood.

The day came, it seemed in no time, when my children were grown and gone, and I again found time to tend the roses. I could labor over them from dawn until dusk with no children to feed, no husband needing meals, and few passersby on the old road. My flowers have come thick and full and beautiful again. From time to time, I see neighbor children come to pick them when I am silent in my house. I close my eyes and listen to their laughter, and think that the best times of my life, the times that passed by me the most quickly, were the times when the roses grew wild."

Also, for a first chapter excerpt of the book, go here.

All Hallow's Eve

Oh Glory be! It's one of those blessed days when I get to drop my kiddos off on someone else's doorstep and be a selfish mommy (thanks Emily!). And what do I decide to do with my time? Do I try to make a dent in the Mount Rushmore of laundry? Do I get in a good workout sans mini monkies? Do I actually clean my sticky kitchen floors? Nope, notachance, and noway! I'm catching up on my blog and endeavoring to wash my grimy body for the day. FuN!

I'm late, late, late, (it took me a while to get it together, pics didn't want to upload--probably too offensive) but I thought I'd share in our Halloween fun. The kids had a ball at the tri-ward trunk-or-treat. Of course, they came home with bucko-candy (the chocolate variety was sampled for good measure by Chris and myself later that night. Shhh!!)



On the actual night of Halloween, we were invited to the Conway's house. Justin is an old friend of Chris's from before the days when he (Chris) was know to strut his muscular stuff at the high school Mr. Beef contest (I know! I'm dying to see the video of it too! Hint, hint, wink, wink Justin!). **Tee Hee! Read this post quick everybody 'cause Chris will shut me down when he reads this!** They grew up together in Oklahoma and have known each other forever. Joy of all joys, Justin and Chris both ended up in Texas (within 45 minutes of each other no less). Sing it with me now . . . It's a small world after all!

Justin's wife Adrian is fabulous too--She's gorgeous and I don't think I've ever seen her stop smiling. We have so much fun hanging out with them. I laughed so much that night my cheeks are still sore. They have an adorable dog, Bearon, who was equally decked out in festive attire (he unfortunately got locked away for the night since my ridiculous boys were TERRIFIED of his sweet little self--poor, poor, Bearon!). Scared of creepy Halloween decorations? Not so much. Sweet, little Bearon? Histerics! That's a whole post in and of itself!

The Conways need to buy stock in Halloween decorations, because they must have bought up the whole supply in a 10 mile radius. Justin is also a genius at making Halloween decorations. Last year he created the most life-like (or would that be dead-like?) skeletons out of Mcgyver-ish supplies. Check out these bad boys!
He also made the amazing scarecrow in front of their house. This guy has an 8 foot wingspan! Genius--I told ya! (Sorry, the picture doesn't nearly do it justice)
When he gets his web site up for selling his wares I'll post it for ya and you can check out his creepy friends.

Even with all of the mini-monkey noise and madness we bring into their beautiful (huge, every- square- inch- decorated- in- Halloween- attire, puts- our- house- to- shame) home, they keep inviting us back. Saints? I definitely think so! A little bit crazy? Quite possibly. Or maybe we're just really good birth-control eh? :)

Anyhoo, we trick-or-treated their neighborhood, then headed back to their house where we found Adrian sitting in a monkey suit (without the mask or gloves--too sweaty she said) handing out candy. The kids explored the endless halloween decorations, snuck way too much candy (Justin busted out the Fear Factor candy just for the monkies, mmmm slimy slugs and caterpillars!), and were quite entertained by the plethora of prop knives and a package of costume mustaches! We talked, played, and laughed late into the night (well past monkey-bedtime anyways).

Check out these photos to see what I mean.
Chris letting his hair down.


Adrian properly awed by Aiden's goodies.


Mini Groucho Marx


*sigh* I thought I had a few years before I had to teach Kolbi the womanly art of eye-brow waxing.

Heir Docktor

Doesn't the smiley-face shirt totally fit the image?

Aiden says he looks like grandpa now.

Note the mini-psycho playing with the knife in the corner?


It's a good thing she's surrounded by adult supervision eh?
Thanks again Conways! It was definitely a night to remember!
(p.s. Sorry Bearon!)

FAT lip

I'm learning that mommy braces and children are not, I repeat NOT, a good combination! Since I've had my braces on, I've lost count of the number of fat lips and canker sores I've received from my children bashing me in the mouth!!!! Today I have a DOOZY of a fat lip!

Flashback with me to last week. I was cuddling niavely with my sweet Zoe sitting on my lap (Chris will roll his eyes when he reads this since it's happened so many times before he doesn't understand why I don't learn. But a mommy's gotta cuddle--I'm not willing to give it up for two brace-filled years. *sigh* maybe I will now). It was a cozy scene until she decided to throw a fit about who-knows-what and pushed up with her legs, thus propelling her incredibly adorable (but incredibly solid) noggin into my unsuspecting face. She got me square in the mouth whereupon, my lip smashed solidly into my braces leaving a row of square holes on the inside of my lip. Ouch! It bled, it swelled, but started to heal fairly quickly.

Jump ahead with me now to two days later, while on the mend, I substituted in nursery. Dun, dun, dun!!! While there, my sweet daughter managed to bonk me in the face with a toy--like magnetic attraction, this toy hit me directly on my already swollen lip. On top of that, another mini-nursery-person bonked me there the same day. All I can say is "What's the deal!!!??"

After church, Chris looks at me and winces. "Whoa your lip looks bad!" he says. I looked in mirror to find my lip obscenely swollen and huge! I'm not talking Angelina Jolie huge, I'm talking Tea Leoni from Fun With Dick & Jane after she has the horrific reaction to bad botox huge. (I wouldn't officially recommend people see the movie since it has some questionable materials in it, but oh-my-word, what a hilarious show!!!!)

I couldn't find a picture of said lip on Tea Leoni, but it looks a little something like this
especially since those holes have now turned into lovely cankers. Ain't it purty?

That, accompanied by my multiple bruises in lovely varying shades of purple, green and yellow, (due to my own endless supply of clutziness), well, I look like Chris has been beating me. Hopefully some nosy neighbor doesn't turn us in to DHS.

So basically I'm a mess right now. Too bad it didn't happen (if it had to happen at all) during Halloween, I'd make a pretty scary ghoul or maybe an incredibly untalented kick-boxer! Oh well, to cuddle or not to cuddle. That is the question.