You should already know this…

Dear Random-Father-Grocery-Shopping-At-Safeway-Tonight,

Please do not encourage your daughter to wash her hands off using the mister that’s spraying directly over the broccoli I’m planning on getting. Just because it’s water, doesn’t mean it’s meant for washing hands.

As for the rest of you…please tell me this was an isolated incident. My faith  in mankind is having serious issues in the area of public hygiene right now, and I need some assurance that I’m not the only one that thinks its gross to wash your hands off and shake them dry using the mister that turns on in the produce area.

It’s a cruel, dark world when I begin to question ever eating a sample again.

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retrospect

When my second brother ( I have 5) was about 2 or 3, he would repeatedly vocalize any action he was doing. You’d tell him to go hide for hide and go seek, and he’d put a couch cushion over his face and say “Hide, hide, hide, hide.” Not all the time, just often enough to make it a memory.

One day my dad took the first two boys with him to an estate sale to get some tools. He found a box of stuff, but didn’t want to carry it around while he looked, so he told Coloray and Trustin to guard the box for him so that no one else would take it. As soon as he left, Trustin hovered protectively over the tools and started saying “Guard, guard, guard…” so that everyone would know he was guarding the tools. Apparently Coloray got embarrassed and told him to stop. At which point, a man walked up and took the box of tools.

memories are important to write down; someday you will most likely forget them.

Once, Coloray and I had a conversation in which we both agreed that everyone goes through an ugly phase. For most people it is shortly after their adult teeth come in and they’re all gangly, big-toothed, and not old enough to be selfconcious enough to make sure they look ok. We were probably 13 and 11 when we had this conversation and we concluded that we were so relieved to have our “ugly years” behind us, but when I look back at our pictures from this age, we look every bit as awkward as we did in our “ugly phase.”

When my sister Angel was a little girl, she was convinced it was her destiny to be ballerina. I told her that every little girl feels this way, and that she’d grow out of it when she was as “mature” as me. She was very mad at me and pointed her tiny toes insistently as if their cuteness was proof of her destiny. She eventually grew out of it, which is good, because she’s way too short to be a ballerina.

Anyway, this post goes out to Trustin who will be 22 in a few short days. One more Trustin story.

When we lived in eastern washington, we had no running water or electricity. Plus, we lived “off the land” between farm animals and a huge garden. Needless to say, Jello was no everyday occurrence. Once for a special treat my parents got some jello from the store (or maybe someone gave it to us, I don’t remember which). Since we had no electricity and therefore no fridge, we decided to chill the Jello in a plastic milk carton. It was lime, I only remember because I was kind of cheated out of it, but I’m jumping ahead of myself. My mom and I poured the jello mix and water into the plastic jug. When it was done setting by chilling in the spring, we would cut the top half off the carton to serve it. I headed down the hill and tied the jug by the handle to a stick so it wouldn’t float away.

Four hours later, in eager anticipation Coloray and I headed down to the spring to get dessert. Too bad Trustin had been there first and had eaten it ALL when it was still soft enough to shake out the top opening. We didn’t think it was funny.

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Baby’s First Roly-Poly

or rolli-polli, or rolie-polie, or…whatever. I figure its a pretty non-technical name, so you don’t have to worry about getting it exact. It’s part of the fun of the english language really.

We were playing in the grass when I found one and then I held it for her and let it crawl up her arm. All she wanted to do was pinch it in her two fat little fingers, so finally we threw it across the yard.

Fun Fact: Violet has figured out how to open and close the CD drive on our desktop. Not cool. Initially she played with it because of the little green light, but now she knows that if she hits that button the tray opens. How very exciting. Also, sometimes I’ll be in the middle of something on my computer and she’ll turn off the power by hitting the power button one too many times.

Anyway, she’s upstairs sleeping right now..which is my cue to follow suit.

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random

Violet has a booster seat/highchair now, so she sits at the table with us during dinner. I made her some spinach/banana/rice cereal stuff.  Tonight we all held hands and prayed before the meal; AJ’s big hands, Violet’s tiny chubby hands, and my medium-sized hands. The first of many.

I bought paint today. So excited. The guest bathroom is going to be blueishy, Violets room is going to be winnie-the-poo-y, the hallways are going to be creamy goldish, and the master bath is going to be a lighter green version of our bedroom walls. Now I am looking for some glass tile pieces to glue to the mirrors for a faux frame.

Violet stayed in the nursery the whole time we were at MOPS today (Yay). Thats because I told them not to try changing her diaper and also there were new toys. When I came to get her, several of the babies were crying but she was just sitting there…playing with her new toy and watching them.

side note: is it wrong that it totally makes my day to see people I know driving crappy cars too?

FYI: be on the lookout–we are trying to think up an outrageous story to email Dave Ramsey so he’ll read it on the air. any ideas? (am 630, 4-7pm)

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this reminds me…

my bedroom is a mess. M-E-S-S. This reminds me of a goat named Pammy.

Goats are smart…forget dolphins or monkeys, goats are the possibly the smartest creatures in the animal kingdom.  When I was little, we lived on an old farm, with an older house. Everything about that house was like a mini-time capsule to the days when my great-grandfather was a farmer.  The walls were insulated with sheep’s wool, the floors were made of brick, and the only doors with wobbly knobs were outside doors.  Having goats, this meant that anything inside the house was not only a huge source of curiosity, but also available to any goat with enough determination and concentration. Usually, they would work on the door knob till it wobbled open and then it was a mad dash to the open bag of dog food inside the door till they were caught. Of course, if the door was open, the whole house was declared “open season” by all other nearby animals…and chickens.

The worst attack ever occured on a Sunday. We were gone to church all morning and afternoon, which meant there had been plenty of time for a determined, concentrated goat. As we pulled up the hill and the house came into view, we knew immediately something was up when the front door was open and a chicken was standing in the open loft window. Running into the house, we found 5 or 6 goats and a dozen or so chickens running out the other door and leaving a ransacked house in their wake. There were still a few chickens we caught in the kitchen, a goat that had wandered up to the loft and was taste-testing a pillow, but at the end of the house we found the instigator…the oldest…the smartest; Pammy. She looked up at us, placidly chewing her cud as if to say, “It’s Sunday! Why else would I be lying stretched out on the biggest bed in the house with an open bible in front of me?”

Pammy was a milk goat, so we didn’t eat her.

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Playdate

Today was Violet’s first official playdate. And so it starts.  I feel like such a “soccer mom” saying that. Truthfully, playdates at this age are little more than a chance for the moms to have someone else entertain their baby for once. Violet and Isla seemed more interested in what they could do to each other than with each other. Instead of playing together, they examine the facets of the other baby; how easy they are to climb on, what the inside of their mouth looks  like, and what their clothes taste like.  Seriously, they were more interested in each other from a functional standpoint (“…if I crawl over her, I can get to that toy easier”) than from a relational standpoint. Violet gets more interested in a cat than another baby at this point.

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I need these on Post It notes…

  1. I’m thankful I get to drink filtered water every day.
  2. I’m thankful my daughter is healthy.
  3. I’m thankful we live in a nice house–better than the majority of the world.
  4. I’m thankful we have so many good friends and family.
  5. I’m thankful my husband loves me.
  6. I’m thankful for accessible healthcare.
  7. I’m thankful for our car.
  8. I’m thankful that I get to be a stay-at-home mom.
  9. I’m thankful that both my parents and in-laws are still married.
  10. I’m thankful for second chances.

Some days I get too caught up in looking over at the neighbors’ grass, or wondering about that new house the “Jones’s” bought. Thanksgiving is really more a constant battle than an annual holiday for me. Today was one of those days where I kept finding myself frustrated by all my “have-nots’ until I got an envelope in the mail from World Vision. On the back of the envelope it said: “3,800 children die every day from water-related illnesses.” Reality check.

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