Make it stop...

It's too cold. I hate cold. Cold makes me want to wrap up in a blanket, eat my weight in junk food and watch a sinful amount of reality TV. Cold is bad.

I tried not to let it get the best of me. I tried to channel my inner Rudy (we watched Rudy the other night--you know the story about the young man who, against all odds, fulfills his dream to play football for Notre Dame--very inspirational) I tried to work hard, be productive, and push through the pain, but it was too stinkin' cold. So I watched "Millionaire Matchmaker" instead (yeah that's productive--I'm not even in the market for a millionaire).

I ask you, what's a sun lovin' girl to do? What?
Seriously.
I'm cold people.
Help.

And yes, my feet are covered.

Merry Christmas...

Life got away from me this year. I didn't get Christmas cards sent out, no cookies were shared with family, neighbors and friends. Nope, none at all (well none shared from us that is. We got lots and lots of goodies from others. Lots and lots, which only makes me feel worse for being so lame this year. Sorry family, neighbors and friends) and if not for a quick trip to the valley last weekend and a little help from our pals at good ole Golfland, we wouldn't have gotten a family Christmas picture this year either.

Yep you heard me right, I said Golfland. We went there for a round of fun for all before our family Christmas party and when I saw that they were offering pictures with St. Nick I said, "Ooo, we should get a family picture."
To which Rick replied, "No we shouldn't."
"But it's our last year with Landon." I pouted (this statement always makes me pout).
"Okay then." Rick agreed.

And dontcha just think it turned out so cute for a last minute, just spent three hours driving in the car, then another one playing golf, then another one running around the arcade, then everyone jump in with Santa, with mom's sunglasses still atop her head, say cheese and snap yer done Christmas picture?

I sure do. And if I was organized at all I would have sent one to all y'all with a Merry Christmas wish attached, but I'm not organized so I'll just post it here for all y'all with a great big
Merry Christmas
to you. I hope it's your best one ever!!!

Pirates are our peeps...

While visiting the historic homes in Denver this past summer, I commented on how some of them reminded me of an Archie Bunker neighborhood, which led me to being stuck with the lyrics of the title song from that show floating around in my head all day.

Later while in line at the amusement park, the particular words, "And we knew who we were then, girls were girls and men were men" gave me reason to pause as I listened to the young ladies around me, who had obviously gone to great lengths making sure that they looked lovely on the outside, swear like sailors. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. I felt bad for these girls who had sadly lost the art of femininity, but relieved that at least I still know what it means to be a girl. Femininity is not a weakness. On the contrary, it holds great power.

After all what man doesn't like a nicely dressed, sweet smelling, eyelash batting, cookie baking (that one's optional, but very powerful) encouraging word talking, soft, smooth female by his side? I'm not talking about the fragile, cry all of the time, I need someone to do everything for me, kind of softness. We CAN bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and we are certainly tough enough to put a swing set together all by our own selves if we feel so inclined, but while doing these things we can maintain a level of femininity that'll drive our menfolk wild. We're powerful I tells ya. Power-ful.

But swearing like sailors does not power make, my fellow ladies. Swearing like sailors is manly, swearing like sailors is ugly, swearing like sailors will put hair on your chest and who wants a gal with hair on her chest? Who?

Most men don't as I recently learned from my own Mr. Landon...


Mr. Landon comes from a long line of poopie mouthed, swear like sailors, hairy chested men. Not a proud part of his lineage, but a part of it just the same. Because of this, Landon has picked up the colorful language of his forefathers, a trait that I his mother have sadly never been able to combat (what do you do when dad talks that way?) In his younger years I tried soap, Tabasco sauce, timeouts and guilt trips (the same tactics I use with little Waylon today. I'm telling you this thing is a virus that attacks all male members of our family) but to no avail. I had all but given up, when just the other night I finally made a break through.

When Landon cussed in front of me I simply repeated what he had said right back at him. I cussed with clarity and finesse and got a reaction much like this...

The boy grew weak in the knees, he reeled in pain and felt as though he might throw-up. It turns out that the boy is quite offended by the sound of the fairer sex speaking in such an unbecoming manner. The boy doesn't like it. No not at all.

Victory! I told Mr. Landon that every time I hear him cuss I'm going to cuss right back to which he replied, "Man, now I can never cuss again because I'll think of you cussing and it makes me sick."

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And so it has been (for the last couple of days at least) Landon no longer swears and I'm a happy girl.

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Now, what to do about the other two male folk in our house. Hmm...

Random things I would blog about if I ever had time...

On Friday I wanted to join in on the Frugal Friday holiday decorating addition over at The Shabby nest.

I wanted to show the stockings I made out of old quilts. So fun, so frugal, so fabulous. Love them. But I never got around to sharing my fun, frugal, fabulous stockings on Frugal Friday because I was too busy.

Busy watching this sweet little baby nephew of mine and busy celebrating the birth of my own sweet baby, Waylon.

My baby is five now. I can't believe it. Five. How did this happen. I'm not mourning this though. Nope. In fact I think it is rather exciting to have my youngest child be five. This is the first time in over 18 years that I've had a five year old as my youngest (Paige almost made it. She was four and a half when Easton was born) and I think it's fabulous. I can't wait to see what lies ahead for me when all of my kids are in school. What will I be when I am an official all kids in school grown up person? Fun discoveries await me I'm sure. Fun, fun, fun.

And if I ever had time I would also blog about the new wall we are having built in our loft. So exiting! It will be another bedroom for now and an office later (as more kids fly the nest). We felt inspired to call a friend to build it and it all fell into place very quickly in fact it would be getting done today if Rick hadn't needed him for another job, but still it should be done before Christmas and I'm so happy.

And last but not least. For my mom and sis-in-law Mindy here is the picture of me in the new super cute apron (made by my super cute sister Jillene) that I got during the white elephant gift game at our family Christmas party this weekend. I told them that I was going to wear it with a string of pearls around my neck to which Mindy asked, "And nothing else?" Which made me laugh because when I told Rick that I was going to steal the apron from my nephew Mason, who had opened it first, he said, "And I want you to wear it with nothing else." Ha-ha so funny.

And look, it's reversible too! Fabulous! And about the wearing it with nothing else idea...

Hmm, maybe after we finish P90x. What's that you ask?

Now that I will save for another post.

Victory...

This is a story of two sisters (pictured here with their cousin). Now these two sisters do not share many common interests, they're quite different in fact. One thing they do share however is a bedroom because that is how life in a big family sometimes works (and also because we like to keep things lively and interesting around here).

Now Miss Easton likes her room to look pretty. Yes pretty is a very good thing to Miss E.


So when I hung this lovely curtain (given to me by my lovely sister) up in her room, Miss Easton was very pleased indeed.

She especially loved the matching valance I made from the lining of the lovely curtain to go on her other window (when you are given only one lovely curtain but have two windows, you must get creative, but please don't do so while standing on a piano bench).

Now Miss Jamie thought the new window treatments were alright, but her decor of choice was a large poster of a dead 80's pop star. Yes this pleased her greatly. But Miss Easton? No, not so much. "Why do I have to share a room with Jamie?" She complained. "That stupid poster of Michael Jackson is making my room ugly. I hate it. I just wish I could have my own room."

.

Now I can't rightly say if Miss Easton did anything to sabotage Miss Jamie's love affair because I wasn't privy to their bedtime conversations, but for some reason Jamie started becoming quite frightened by the thought of MJ's eyes peering down at her while she slept. "Michael Jackson's really starting to freak me out." She confessed one evening before running up to bed.

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At which time an evil grin spread across Miss Easton's face as she pinched her fingers close together, leaned in tight and with pepper in her voice whispered, "Ha. I'm this close to getting that stupid poster out of my room."

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And that she was because Michael Jackson has since been rolled up and retired to the closet shelf. To the great delight of Miss Easton, it seems that Miss Jamie is simply too scared to have a boy hang out in her room.

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Here's hoping that never changes.

Well alrighty then...

"Now that Landon is getting ready to leave maybe we should get our foster license again." I told Rick a few months ago.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that." He answered. "I'll have to think about it."

I can't say that I blamed him for his hesitation. Our last experience with foster care nearly 11 years ago was a whole lot of hard, some very, very good times too, but mostly a whole lot of hard.

We were told that the two boys (brothers) who came to our home would only be staying for a few months (famous last words). Well heck, I can handle anything for a few months--I thought. Only it wasn't only a few months it was a year. A whole lot of hard (and some very, very good) year.

I spent a lot of time on my knees that year--a lot of time--praying for the strength to get through the difficult sibling rivalry days (I'm talking about you siblings against us siblings kind of rivalry) and often wondered if I'd survive. When the case worker finally let me know that the boys' mother was losing her rights and that the boys would either be adopted or placed in long term care I didn't know what to do. I knew I couldn't adopt them, I knew I couldn't keep them long term... the only answer was to let them go and that killed me. I didn't want to be another abandonment story in their young lives. I didn't want to add to their pain, their problems and their issues. I wanted to help them, but I couldn't.

I decided I had no choice, I had to let them go, but when I expressed this to a counselor during an interview at my church he told me that he felt I should wait to make that decision. Okay--I thought and by faith alone waited a few months longer until the day came that I felt very impressed to start changing my prayers. I had been praying for strength to hang on and to be able to make everything work and now I felt very strongly that I was to start praying for the right doors to open up for the boys. I did this and soon (on my birthday in fact) they were leaving my home.

The younger brother went to a wonderful home, but the older was taken to a group home. This killed me and I wondered if I had done the right thing. Not only were they split up but... a group home? How could this be right? But about a year later the older boy began attending the same charter school that my kids went to and I found out that he had been placed in a good home too.

Still I had guilt. Guilt for ever doing foster care. Guilt for abandoning those boys and adding to their hurt. We had a few other short term foster placements after that, but when I found out I was going to have another baby of my own we decided to let our license go until our kids were much older.

Now with much older finally here...

About a month ago Rick was awakened from a bad dream. He woke me and, very shaken, said over and over, "We have to do foster care again. We have to do foster care again."
This time I was hesitant. I don't know-- I thought-- can I really do this again?

But shortly after that I had a strong spiritual confirmation that he was right. We have to do foster care again.

And watching the movie "The Blindside" this weekend (run, don't walk, to go see it) confirmed this even more for both of us.

We really, REALLY have to do foster care again.
Yes we do.
And yes we will.

On the move...

When one is finally free from crutches after being tied to them for nearly seven weeks, one finds that she no longer desires to sit. At all. One walks around all day decorating, cleaning, cooking, shopping and anything else one can accomplish in a days time. One doesn't even care that she is in pain by the end of the day. She doesn't care at all. One just wants to move, with one's two feet, move and move and move.

When one prays to get one's life back, to feel awake and like herself again, one may not realize that she is actually praying for something like a broken foot to help shake her into accomplishing her heart's desire, but it is a small price to pay.
And one finds that one is happy, happy and life is good. And even if one can never wear her beloved high heels again (although one hopes she can) it will be okay, and well worth it because one is alive (really alive) and what else matters? One must ask. What else?

The only thing one might find one regrets from an experience such as this is that one may neglect one's blog while busily moving and moving and moving. Because you see blogging requires sitting and one can't sit when one is freed from crutches. No one can't. But when one doesn't blog for awhile one tends to miss her blogging friends. One desires to know what is going on in their lives and one must come back.

So one will be back.
Yes one will.
Maybe even tomorrow.

Call me crazy but...

On Saturday I was being tortured. Tortured I say. "Make it stop." I cried. "Make it stop or I'm going to throw up." And I was quite serious. Christmas music assaulted me from the car radio. Christmas music in November. I couldn't stomach it. The sound offended my senses, causing me to consider throwing myself from our speeding vehicle just to get away from it. "The audacity of some DJs." I thought. Christmas music in November. The nerve.

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But today, just a few short days later...

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I made school lunches to a lovely serenade of "Santa Baby", "Winter Wonderland", and "O Holy Night" and beamed, "I LOVE Christmas music. It's my favorite part of the holidays."

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What can I say?

Today's December first.

And that changes everything.