Busy, busy, busy

Yes, I know.

It's been a while.

Life got very busy one day. So, so, so busy. Pretty pathetic excuse, I know. I feel bad for all you who have religiously checked back to see if I had posted something, anything. I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten you. I've just been in the middle of Primary. And Christmas. And wrapping up Relief Society. And birthdays. And babies. And the flu. And car accidents. And pretty soon a wedding.

Life is busy.

I'm sure you all can agree, as your lives are pretty busy too.

Fleeting

Do you see these girls?

They are pals.

Do you see this baby?

Tomorrow she turns 1.

Here's what I was doing a year ago.

It feels like forever ago. Like she's always been here.

Do you love her sad face? She still makes it for me sometimes.

Here she is a few days later. Man, she's beautiful. And tiny.

That was one of my most favorite blankets. It was so soft.
Seriously, she's gorgeous. I haven't looked at these in a while. She had the most peaceful sleeping face ever.

She looks so different now. She is so different now. I mean, can you believe it?

Facts about the Birthday Girl:

She has 3 teeth

She runs everywhere

She likes to poke the dogs

The dogs like to eat the cheerios she drops for them

She loves to be read to, especially lift-the-flap books

She loves piggy back rides

She squinches her eyes when she smiles now, just like Emme did

She knows a few words, but doesn't say any yet

She doesn't like to be alone, ever

She loves to eat yogurt and pb & j sandwiches

Ice cream is her favorite treat

We can't imagine our family without her

Happy Birthday Claire!

In other news...

Do you see these dogs here?

The large lab is Coda. We've had him for 2+ years now.

He's a pretty good dog, for a dog.

The one thing I can't stand about him is the excessive amount of fur that I find all over my tile floor all the live-long day. And of course, the whole digging up my trees issue. Other than that, pretty swell dog. Again, for a dog.

My dearest pretty much sold his soul for the other one there. His name is George. He's half coon hound half mutt.

Having a new puppy around the house has caused me to look at Coda in a whole new light. He's a great dog, who doesn't chew anything inside the house,

who doesn't whine or beg,

who doesn't have accidents,

who slept soundly in his crate for over a year.

We trained him to not walk on the carpet,

and he does pretty well on a leash.

I've even taken him running with me a few times, and he stays by my side.

The newest puppy George, is a pretty good dog too.

Only he hasn't learned to stay out of the carpeted areas yet.

And he nibbles Claire's ears.

And he whines at night in his crate.

And he chews anything left on the ground.

And he digs around my trees!

The only good thing about him is he hasn't had an accident inside yet.

But he is cute and Coda does seem to like him, most of the time. I guess, like children, you can't have just one dog. Or so my husband says.

He'd retort I'm sure, but he's pretty much busy for the next year on my honey-do list.

Different is good, right?

Well....
What do you think?
Is it too hard to read?
What about the picture, too hard to see?
Not melony enough?
Let me know.
By the way, I got the new template here.

Marathon parts

I ran a marathon last Saturday. All 26.2 miles. Somebody asked me if I walked at all. I did, but only through the aid stations. I'd pass by the guys handing out vaseline, and the guys rubbing Icy Hot all over peoples legs, and head straight to the water cups. If there were oranges, I'd grab one too, but never a banana. I'd drink, bite an orange, try not to slip on orange and banana peels, and then start running again. So I'd estimate I walked about 5-7 minutes out of my total time of 4 hours and 25 minutes, which was a PR. Of course I've only run one other marathon, but still a PR nonetheless.

It was fantastic.
It was exhilarating.
It was pretty hard the last 2 miles.

But I'd say that the training I did all summer long in the stinking desert heat was worse. Way worse. The marathon was cake in comparison. If you can handle a 20 miler in 90-98 degree heat, you can run the St. George Marathon. And you'll run it well.

The best part: looking at my watch every mile after 13 and realizing I was booking it. Nothing like running an 8:40 mile. Unless you're my brother and you run a 6:40.
The worst part: not being able to move my legs the next two days. Seriously. They hurt.
The most embarrassing part: the pictures they take of you while you run. Note-running a marathon does not an attractive person make. Ever.
The most exciting part: coming down the home stretch with all the people cheering you on. Adrenaline rush, mmmm, tasty.
The tastiest part: the post race meal. Juicy steak and loaded potato. Plus a milkshake, because calories don't count the entire rest of the day.
The most frantic part: being 2 minutes away from the start, with thousands of people and not finding my running buddy.
The coldest part: taking off my sweats right before the race started. It was freezing. Really.
The hottest part: none. It was beautiful weather.
The scariest part: running a steep, banked downhill and feeling like my knee was about to blow.
The funniest part: popping ibuprofen before the race and having a large man ask me what I was taking, as if they were illicit drugs or something. See how they say Advil?
The part I was most worried: the day before the race when it was bitterly cold and very windy. Umm, I don't run in the wind.
The part I was most relieved: waking up the next day to no wind.
The most exhausting part: waking up at 3am Arizona time for a race that didn't start for another 2 hours and 45 minutes. And then after the race when I passed out.
The nicest part: my professor taking the kids mini golfing after the race so I could pass out in peace.

There you have it. I honestly believe anyone could run a marathon. Anyone. All you need is a training program and an entrance fee. Anyone up for next year? St George is the one to do. You can do it. Trust me.

Cool Times

Do you see those rollerblades? Santa brought them last Christmas. Along with elbow pads, knee pads and wrist guards. I think she wore all the safety gear, umm, once. Because we like to think we're a safe people, but in reality, we're an accident waiting to happen.
At least she's not in the street, right?

That's safe.

Of course, I let her in the street if there aren't any other neighbor kids that she has to set a good example for.

We pretend to be safe for their sake.

She's dang cute.

And of course this little guy is too.

See how we make him wear a helmet? That's a lie, we don't make him, he just likes to. Because he is actually very concerned about his safety. Cautious is a good word to describe him. I don't mind too much because I don't have to worry about him climbing on top of the refrigerator and jumping off like his brother tried doing.

Two brothers, polar opposites.

And we are finally using this stroller that took such a beating, if you'll remember. You can't even hardly see any oil. At least not in this picture.

So now that it is officially fall (actually I'm not sure how official it is, but it's not longer in the triple digits, mostly) we have ventured outside again in something other than bathing suits. Albeit, still in the very late evening, but outside in clothes nonetheless. Not that we venture outside without clothes. At least not most of us. The little girl across the street does sometimes, but this side of the street is too modest for those kind of shenanigans. In fact, we avert our eyes when she goes streaking down to the park. Even that hasn't happened recently, so you could say that our street is a clothes-wearing people. Where was I going with this?

Oh right.

Happy Fall my fellow desert dwellers.

Ummm, did I say that?

That last post? Yeah, I'm over it. Sorry about the waa, waa, waa. I can't believe I posted it. I'm not usually a weepy kinda girl. That's what happens when I stay up too late.
Anyways, I hope you have a great day and don't worry about me, I'm fine. The princess too.

Little Debbie

About exactly 6 years ago, I was to run my very first 1/2 marathon. I was living in Santa Barbara, and life was good.

Except for the occasional stomach upset. No details (you're welcome), but I'll tell you that it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't bliss either.

Nonetheless, I was enjoying life on the beach, being in the best shape of my life, having 2 adorable children ages 3 and 2, and was getting ready for a real 13.1 mile challenge.

The FamPractioner suggested during a routine yearly that I had irritable bowel. But to be safe, sent me to a GI doc. No prob. I went, did all that was required of me, and went home. I went back for a followup and everything looked normal, but why didn't I have my blood drawn like he'd asked me to? Oh yeah, I thought, I forgot. Come on, who has time to take 2 very small children to the lab and wait to have blood taken? I mean, the beach was calling! Okay, I'll do that today I said, and he'd call with the results, and I probably wouldn't see him ever again.

About 5 days later he calls me, on my birthday, as we're leaving with friends to celebrate. Something about an endoscopy. Huh? A biopsy. Celiac disease. Umm, what? His office would call on Monday to set it up for next week. I press end and cry in the car. I didn't want to go out, I wanted to sit on my computer and research selliak, or was it sillyak? I didn't even know how to spell it, much less what it meant.

The appointment was set for a Friday. The next Friday. The Friday before my race. No prob, I thought. It was an outpatient procedure. Something about looking inside my stomach. I knew I probably should put it off until after the race, but I couldn't wait. I needed to know.

My dearest was in grad school full time. Which meant, 8am to 5pm, home for dinner, and then back to the lab from 8pm to 11pm, Monday through Saturday. Sunday he only had to go in from 8pm to midnight. So he didn't have a whole lot of free time. But that Friday he did take off to drive me to the hospital. I remember not wanting to inconvenience any of my friends with my children, so he dropped me off, took the kids to the park and was to come back in a few hours when I called.

I remember being semiconscious during the procedure. I remember having to swallow the camera that was attached to a very long cable. I remember feeling like I was gagging. And I remember looking at the tv monitor, seeing the inside of my throat, stomach, small intestines.

I was wheeled back into a recovery room. The doc came in, said it was confirmed Celiac, gave me some pics to take home, told me to see a nutritionist about a special diet, and left. I was still groggy and not fully coherent, but I remember him telling me how lucky I was that it was something so easily remedied, I just had to be gluten free for the rest of my life. Great, I thought. What's gluten?

The nurse asked who was taking me home. I needed to call my husband's cell. I walked downstairs to the entrance, got in our little Acura, and slept the rest of the way home. I crashed on my bed for the next 12 hours. I tried talking to all the people calling me on the phone, but I'm not exactly sure what I said. I was out for the rest of the night.

The next morning I woke up and ran a half marathon, my first. I was still a little groggy. And a little fatigued. But I remember thinking that at least I knew for sure that there was something wrong and that I could fix it. I struggled with the first few miles, but towards the end I felt strong. I remember passing people near the finish line, and I loved it. Hey, if I can run 13.1 miles, I can certainly conquer celiac disease, which I had finally learned how to spell.

*******

My then 2 year old is now 8. She's going in for her own endoscopy in 2 days. It's to confirm what we already know. Celiac disease for her too. Hopefully nothing more. I recalled the fear I'd had when I went through it, all the unknown, and I'm so grateful I have my experience to relate to. I'm not nearly as frightened as I know I might be.

But I am sad for her. Sad that she's that girl now. You know, that girl who can't eat anything at birthday parties, the topic of conversation any time anyone brings out a plate of cookies and she declines. Sad that she'll never get to experience so many wonderful foods that 8 years hasn't afforded her. Sad that she'll never get another Krispy Kreme hot from the fryer. I feel like I'm taking away just a smidge of her childhood when I take away the class party treats in all their glory. Now I know some of you out there are going to cry out, "but she'll feel so much better now!", which I know. Trust me, I know. And I know that I can bring in class treats. And I know I can make homemade everything. But I've lived this life for 6 years now. And while I feel so blessed to be able to control my health in a way I wasn't able to prediagnosis, I still know how hard it is. And so I am sad.

********

Today I went to the store for groceries. I had to get food for school lunches. I stood in the packaged cookie aisle, mulling over the ones on sale, and realized that this would be the last time she would ever eat any of these items again. Suddenly realizing that we only have 2 days left for her to try every gluten item in the store, I pushed my cart to the Hostess snack cake aisle and picked up a package of Little Debbie frosted brownies that she's been begging me to get. Because I know that it'll be the last time she'll get to have them.

And I am trying to not be sad.

Nueva Familia

We've had some new family members as of late.

Here's Little Roman Maverick.

Otherwise known as "baby" because no one knows what to call him without taking sides.

Here's Chance holding "baby".

I think a combination of the two names would work, like Romav or Mavro.

Here's Claire next to "baby".

Notice how ginormous my baby is?

Here is Nick's fiancee as of Monday, Lisa.

Isn't she beautiful?

We are ecstatic she's agreed to join the Foohlar clan.

And of course, not-so-little Evan.

Who is adorable. We can't wait to meet him.

As we anticipate the last(for now) new member this December, let's reminisce to a few years back when my dearest was the first to join the outlaw club.

I'd post a picture of it but digital cameras weren't invented yet.

It was 11 years ago.

Rewind

I'm having speaker's remorse.

You know, when you spend hours preparing a talk or lesson or oration of any kind, when you put together cutesy handouts with raffia and magnets, and when you feel confident enough in what you are going to say that you feel like you could probably talk forever.

Only you get pukey nervous a few hours before and second-guess everything you want to say and how you're going to say it and you forget the order you were going to say it in and suddenly all of your thoughts get jumbled into one big pot of alphabet soup and all you really want to do is hide under your bed until the whole thing is over.

Then it's time to go give your presentation and you start talking, your face beet red and your bra wet from sweat, and you're sure that whatever you've saying makes no sense at all and you really want to go hide under your bed now. And then they make you do it again 2 more times, because somebody thought it would be a good idea to split into 3 groups. Again with the face and the sweat.

And after the whole thing is over all you can think about is, what the cr*p happened?

Because you know how well you prepared and you know how awesome it was going to be and how all the people were going to ooooh and ahhhh over what a great lesson you just gave and how everyone was going to be inspired to go home and try out all your wonderful ideas. Instead, you are wishing you could go back in time and do it again the right way.

Only not really.

****************

On a side note, but kinda the same topic:

One parenting strategy that I've learned over the course of a few weeks was the 1:7 ratio. It means that for every 1 negative communication you have with your child, you need 7 positive. Now communication can be verbal, as in praise or thanks, or non-verbal, as in a smile, hug, even a thought. This is hard to do. Because I, and I'm betting many parents, spend a lot of time telling our children what to do, or correcting their mistakes, or even just not listening intently when they talk to us. It takes a lot of effort to come up with so many positives. But after a while, it's not as hard. And suddenly you realize that your child is behaving better because of all the positive reinforcement he's getting. And you are also noticing all the good things that he's been doing all along, because you're looking for ways to give him his 7. I'm telling you, it works like magic. I've tried it. I can vouch. And it is a strategy that's in almost every parenting book I own. 1:7. Give it a try.

Tuesday

Tell me how it is that my sister in law who just had a baby but 2 weeks ago can post and I can't? How is that? I really want to know.

I had a great lunch today with good friends of mine and it was divine. Do you want to have a great lunch? Here's what you need:

• Fantastic friends who laugh about, hmmm, I can't remember, but it was funny, trust me.
• Delicious food that you don't have to drive 30 minutes to get to and that tastes superb, especially when slathered in mango salsa
• A baby who sits quietly for 1 1/2 hours eating cheerios and goldfish (I don't ask why, I only thank the big HF)
• 3 large refills of Diet Dr. Pepper, because they have it on tap

And just for fun, I foolishly agreed to teach a class on Positive Parenting at Enrichment on Thursday. Why? I have no idea. Do you have any great parenting tips of the positive-variety that I could use? Or perhaps a handout? Or an outline of a class you've already given? Or maybe you just want to come teach it for me? Pretty please? No? This is what I get I guess. I see you laughing mom, I know what you're thinking. Something about "just desserts" and me getting "mine". What I really need right now is a time machine so I could go back and say "no, I don't think I'm going to be able to make that Enrichment, I'm busy that night fleeing the country." Thank goodness I own about 15 parenting books that I can glean from. Why 15? Because if anybody needs to learn how to parent positively, it's me.

Look what happened last week...

Do you see this adorable little girl?

This was the day she started walking.

September 12th.

10 months 20 days old.

Too soon.

See how she stands, arms stretched out?

She has gained some balance and lots of confidence.

Of course she still falls after a few steps.

But now we are up to 5.

I really wanted to post the video, but I'm blogilliterate when it comes to posting video. If I ever figure it out, I'll show you.

She gets so excited as we cheer for her, the children reveling in her

victory against gravity.

Lost

Missing:

1 cheetah print lunchbox, 1 month old

Last seen at lunchtime in the lunchroom with all the other lunchboxes

Goes missing often, weekly in fact, sometimes daily

In good condition, perhaps a bit sticky on the inside

Usually hanging in the lost & found

Missed dearly, because in the meantime, this lunchbox is being used

Notice how uncute it is?

Please call if you have any information.

Reward-Hostess snack cakes for a week

Spaghetti with Meatballs

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to show you all of this carnage.

This is our first can of Chef Boyardee products.

See the fluorescent red sauce?

What do you suppose makes it that color?

Do you know that when you slurp noodles, sauce flips up into your nose and all over your chin?

He really likes this stuff. He demands more. Sorry son, it's not a very big can.

What do you suppose are in the meatballs they use? I can't figure it out. It must be some kind of meat, right?

Yes, she likes it too.

What kind of mother feeds their children pasteurized processed meat product with artificially colored sauce and mystery mushy noodles for lunch?

One who doesn't mind doing laundry after.

Lake Happenings

We were invited to the lake this Labor Day by my brother Rich and his lovely wife Erin. Her family has all the fun things to do at the lake, like

jet ski.

My children, or at least the two eldest, love to be taken out on the jet skis. They love to go really fast and jump over wakes. I don't watch as it makes my stomach churn. But the professor and my brothers oblige and take turns taking the chitlins out. I like when they ride the red jet ski, as it's bigger and more stable and less fast. The children like to ride the blue jet ski because it's the fastest thing in the water. It makes me cringe thinking about it.

Did I mention that Cannon hates the jet skis? The prof tried to take him out and we could hear the screams all over the lake. No kidding, he was screaming. He was going maybe 10mph, but the screaming continued. He's not afraid of being in the lake, because he'll get out there and swim. He's just too cautious to handle being hurtled 50mph over the water with nothing holding him down. I understand completely. And I thank him for it, as it causes me far less stress.

Did I mention that they like to swim in the lake? We take the pontoon boat out to the middle where it's super deep and the kids take turns jumping off the top into the water below. Again, stomach churning. Thank goodness for life vests, because I know they'll always bob back up. How do they do it? I have a hard time just being in the water waiting for my turn to wake board. I like being in the boat so much better. Did I mention that I can wake board? Because I can. I just learned. And my body is hating me for it. Do you know how bad it hurts when you fall down while trying to wake board? Not as worse as it hurts the next day. Believe me.
Here's me and the littlest munchkin. She wore that life vest all day. It was completely uncomfortable for me to try to hold her in it, as she tripled in girth. And she struggled to get out of it a few times. Then she would just give up and fall asleep to the rocking of the boat. Thank goodness.
This is Chance's friend Gavin. Gavin is amazing. He can do everything. On his sixth turn trying to waterski, he got up and stayed up. For a long time. Did I mention that he's 9? And that he's never tried waterskiing before? We pulled him around the lake forever. Chance tried too, and he even got up but he had a hard time staying up. Next year he'll get it, I know.
See this little person? That's Emme. She got up too. She's amazing. That's my brother Rich in the water. He was helping the kids try to figure out waterskiing. He's a good guy, even if he insists on naming his son Maverick. Anyways, right after this shot, Emme feel face first. She didn't want any more turns after that. I understand Em, falling face first into the water hurts.

In fact, everytime we come home from the lake we hurt. Cuts and scrapes and arms pulled out of sockets and headaches and loss of grip in our hands and sunburned eyes and dehydration and sore neck muscles are just a few of the maladies we endure. But the Barros pizza and wings we eat afterwards is worth it. Even though we all know I don't need any excuse to eat Barros.

What does 19 miles look like?

This is the water I drink all day long the day before the big run. Why? Because if you start out long miles already a little dehydrated, you're in for a BAD run. Really bad. Trust me on this, especially if you live in the desert like me. You'll never make it. Hey, even if you're not running you should drink lots of water. Or Diet Dr. Pepper, whichever you prefer.
This is my knee. It is under wraps. Why you ask? Because it likes to pop out every once in a while. So the night before a long one, I ice it. And I take 4 ibuprofen. Just in case.
This is the time I should go to bed. In reality, it is only the time my baby goes down. My bedtime is closer to 9:30PM. With the alarm set for 3:15AM. Is it any wonder I take naps?

Do you know how many mosquitoes are up and hungry in the early morning hours? Lots. Lots and lots. They start with the monsoons and die by October. Until then, we cover up. Do you know how bad this stuff smells? Do you know that when you sweat, the stuff wears off and the mosquitoes take that as an opportunity to attack? Because it does and they do.
Yes, this is in the AM hour. Can you believe that I am awake at that time? Because I cannot fathom it. I don't like to think about it.
These are the shoes. I have about 8 pairs of these shoes, 7 of which are retired. When you find a good running shoe, you stick by it. You revere it. Because it means that you can continue to run injury-free. Don't think for a minute that a shoe purchase is unimportant. It is the most significant part of running. It will make or break your career. Notice how they aren't cute? I had a hard time with that at first. Because everyone knows a girl wants cute running shoes. But cute running shoes will only cause you pain. Lesson learned.
Can you believe I have to carry all this with me?

I hope not, because I don't. I do the drop off. I have one water bottle on my person at all times and I drop off some at one spot and the rest at another. We then circle around those spots for all 19 miles. Is it an exciting route? No. But there's water every mile. Do you know that I will drink almost every drop of that water? Because I will.

This is our little crew. I'm the one with the hat. Can you believe we smile at 3:45 AM? I'm pretty sure it's because we are delirious. The girl in the middle is the Relief Society President, otherwise known as my Running Buddy. I knew her before she became President of the Relief Society, and before she was President of the Young Women and before her husband was Bishopric Counselor. I knew her just as Running Buddy. It's hard for me to take her seriously. But I have to try, seeing as how I'm her ever loyal Secretary and she'll put me in charge of something horribly awful if I don't at least pretend. Plus she always scares all the stray dogs away for me. I do not like stray dogs, ask anyone.

The other girl is the Relief Society President's sister. We like her a lot. She's always smiling like that. Even at 3:45 in the AM. Did I mention that we are up at the 3 o'clock hour?

So I won't show you pictures of the Glide or where I put it because that would turn this into another kind of site entirely. But it keeps the chaffing down and we all know there is nothing worse than coming home, peeling off sweat soaked clothes and stepping in the shower only to be hit by the intense pain of the salt that now covers your body being showered down along your chaffed nether regions. Nothing worse. Oh the pain.

I also won't show you pictures of what we look like after. Because it isn't pretty. And I won't tell you how long it takes us, because that isn't pretty either. Let's leave it to say that come marathon time in approximately 5 weeks, I hope to run a 4:20.

Why oh Why do I put myself through this?

I really don't know.

All Apologies

I would like to personally apologize to Brandon, my most favorite husband to my sister Beka. When I posted the foohlar links on my sidebar months ago, I somehow forgot his. I am so terribly sorry. This was not intentional. It was entirely accidental. I frequent your blog, I like your blog, I did not mean anything by it.
If you somehow did not notice, forget I said anything.
Because it's always been there.
I swear.

Perfect

I asked the doctor at Cannon's well child about this funny little thing my sweet boy does. You see, he feels the intense desire to be perfect, all the time, in everything he tries. And if perhaps he has a hard time with something, well, he gets a tad upset.

Like the first week of school, when the class was practicing writing their alphabet.

Only he's never tried to write the alphabet before.

And so it was hard.

And he was upset.

And his teacher tried to calm him down.

But he was inconsolable.

And angry.

And frustrated.

And when I picked him up from school that day he burst into tears.

And he said someone was mean to him.

And so I got angry.

And I asked the teacher.

And she said no one was mean to him.

But she said you were sad about the alphabet.

And when we got home you pulled the paper out of your bag.

And showed me it.

And said "THIS is why I'm sad!"

So I helped you finish the paper.

And you felt better.

And you went off to play.

But I worried about you.

Because you think you need to be perfect.

And you don't realize you already are.

Here you are doing your homework.

You are very intense when you color.

It bothers you that you color outside the lines. Because you want your work to be perfect. I blame your father. Stupid Suma Cum Laude graduate.

See this little boy? It is impossible not to love every little thing about him. Impossible. Maybe it's because he was the baby for 4 years, maybe it's because he's sweet and cuddly, maybe it's because of the way he looks at you with those big browns, I'm not sure. I do know he brings so much joy to our lives. And because I forgot to give him his own little 5th birthday post, I am so sorry.

Bloodbath

This is my sweet boy, just an hour after he donated some of his precious blood to the pflebotomist. He has been scarred for life. Seriously for life. Here is a list of things he said before the fact:

• Where are we going Mom?
• Is this doctor for you or for me or for Emme?
• I want to get ice cream after we're done.
• Why is that little girl crying?
• What are they doing to Emme?
• What's going to feel like a bee sting?

Here is a list of some of the things he said after the fact:

• MY ARM!!! IT HURTS SO BAD!!
• AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT! (As he tried to rip the needle out of his arm and out of the hands of the tech)
• I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO THERE AGAIN!! (Loud enough for the entire office to hear)
• I CAN'T MOVE MY ARM!!
• I CAN'T HOLD MY ICEE!
• I CAN'T GO TO SCHOOL NOW!!
• OH NO, I CAN'T PLAY GAME CUBE NOW!!
• MY ARM MY ARM MY ARM!

This continued for an hour and a half. No one was allowed to touch his arm, not even to look at it. And he really freaked out when Emme took off her arm bandaid. I think he thought blood was going to come squirting out everywhere. That kid. It was so sad and pathetic, that it was quite funny. Poor poor Cannon.

Sick Sicker and Sickest

So sorry about the lack of posts.
We've all been sick.
Really sick.
And we can't seem to shake it.
As we speak, I head off to the doc again.
Another pink eye, possibly sinus infection.
And the prof's coming home with Strep.
Here's to hoping it leaves us soon.

In the meantime, my dearest did laundry this past week. For the first time ever, he put my 9 year old sons jeans in my pile. That's right, he thinks that my 9 year old skinny as all get out boy child and I are the same size. I wanted to jump his bones right then. He deserves it.

The Case of the Missing Trash Can, or Where the Heck Am I Going to Put All This Garbage?

Friday night, approximately 5pm, I go to take the trash out.
We have one of those side doors in our garage, you know, one of those doors that you pay a ridiculous amount for from the builder just so you don't have to walk around your house to take out the trash. I opened said door and there was no trash can. Ahh, professor did you forget to bring it in from Thursdays pick-up? No problem, I just put it in the mini trash can we keep in the garage for fast food wrappers. What, you don't have a place you put your QT 44 oz cups and Sonic ice cream cups so no one knows when you sneak a pick me up? You should. Besides, I wasn't going to walk all the way out front to bring in the can. That's someone else's job.
Saturday, approximately 4pm, I go to take the trash out.
By the way, isn't this HIS job? But I digress.
Since the mini trash can is full, I figure I'll open the garage door and, yes, pull the can in. Again, Isn't this HIS job? Everyone knows all trash duties are done by the men, right? Yeah, right. I'm not complaining, he does laundry. It's an equal trade.
Anyways, there's no trash can by the curb. He must've pulled it in and I didn't realize it. So I open the aforementioned very expensive side door. Umm, no trash can there either. Tired of carrying the bag of trash around, I pile it on top of the already overflowing mini trash can and head inside.
"Hey, do you know where the trash can is?" I ask.
"On the side of the house." He says.
"No it's not, and it's not out front either," I say.
We look at each other. Did someone steal our trash can? Who would do such a thing? Don't they know pretty soon we are going to be swimming in our own refuse? Oh no, panic starts to set in.
I bet it was punk teenagers! Or the neighbors looking for an extra! Maybe the punk teenagers stole theirs and so they stole ours and now we have to go steal someone elses! But I don't want to steal someone's trash can! I want my trash can! What are we going to do?!
Sunday, approximately 12pm. I now have to find a place for the trash.
Professor notices the neighbors across the street have TWO trashcans, one in front, one right behind the fence. Are you kidding? They took our can and are trying to hide it from us! And we just saw them at church!
I call, "Hey, I have a funny question to ask," I say.
"I have a funny answer," he says.
"We are missing our trash can," I say.
"So it's YOUR trash can," he says, laughing.
Apparently, during the very windy dust storm Thursday night, our trash can got blown away. And landed in his yard. He thought it was his, so he put it away. A day later he noticed that he already had one behind the fence. Hmmmm. Interesting.
I met him out front to retrieve my can.
"Sorry about the fast food wrappers in it," he says.
"Hey, I completely understand," I say.

Milkshakes and Bottomless French Fries

We love Red Robin.

The food is totally not healthy, but we're okay with that.

Because we aren't always totally healthy type people.

It's fun to go there for birthdays because they sing really loud and always hand out a super duper yummy sundae. Here is Emme enjoying her chocolate sundae. And of course Chance is hamming it up, never missing a photo op, that kid.

Did I forget to mention that we always start our dinner with milkshakes when we attend the Red Robin? You know it's going to be a good dinner when you start and end it with ice cream.
Cannon always gets chocolate. Always. He takes after his grandpa foohlar, that one.
See how happy she is? Don't tell everyone but this little girl gets a little ice cream too. I know, I know. What kind of eating habits am I instilling in my baby?! Come on, she's 10 months. It's not like I'm feeding her Diet Coke in a bottle. Although I might let her suck on the ice from my 44 oz Thirstbuster of Diet Dr. Pepper. I mean, it IS hot outside.
My professor always gets raspberry shakes at the Red Robin. He's a raspberry kind of guy. Although he doesn't like to have someone give him a raspberry, say, on his belly. He really doesn't like that. But if I'm real nice and I bat my eyelashes a little, he gives me some of his milkshake. But he grumbles about it and tells me to order my own. He's so silly, I don't want my own milkshake, I just want a little of his. And a little of Cannon's. And Emme's. Not Chance's though, because that kid sucks his down in 2 minutes.

It's only been 1 week...

Because I can't get enough of her all in white.



If you were wondering what the heck happened to me, let me fill you in.

In the past week, we've had

• 2 birthdays


• 1 baptism


• 3 different school schedules start


• 1 large family get together


• 1 bout of pink eye


• 1 ear infection


• painted 1 room in stripes


• cleaned 1 house, over and over and over and over

So there.

No I didn't forget you people. I just got busy. I apologize and promise to do better. Soooo...

If you've had a birthday shout hooray

Isn't she lovely?

Isn't she so grown up?

She's 8.

She went and grew up even though I thought we agreed she wouldn't.