tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001204933029052882024-03-12T22:27:35.042-05:00Fruitcakeserin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-80744515504779384892011-07-10T18:46:00.005-05:002011-07-10T19:12:57.908-05:00My Life is Just Different Variations of PoopLest you think my life has gotten easier, I give you these photos.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e0jkCOsTxlk/Tho6ndK5DjI/AAAAAAAAAeA/SgedP6ZaYMo/s1600/IMG_8278.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e0jkCOsTxlk/Tho6ndK5DjI/AAAAAAAAAeA/SgedP6ZaYMo/s400/IMG_8278.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875133872475698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Ct44joH0M/Tho6m91I3VI/AAAAAAAAAd4/nn3lsaOxtJc/s1600/IMG_8277.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Ct44joH0M/Tho6m91I3VI/AAAAAAAAAd4/nn3lsaOxtJc/s400/IMG_8277.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875125459737938" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I1iAVTJpQBA/Tho6mu9w39I/AAAAAAAAAdw/KfGFYFXjf80/s1600/IMG_8282.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I1iAVTJpQBA/Tho6mu9w39I/AAAAAAAAAdw/KfGFYFXjf80/s400/IMG_8282.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875121469382610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6tEtiupl1N0/Tho6mchtCmI/AAAAAAAAAdo/bDobt_4cstk/s1600/IMG_8276.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6tEtiupl1N0/Tho6mchtCmI/AAAAAAAAAdo/bDobt_4cstk/s400/IMG_8276.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875116519852642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZn1bJHh24I/Tho6nobllNI/AAAAAAAAAeI/6Mm7zapUxW8/s1600/IMG_8279.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZn1bJHh24I/Tho6nobllNI/AAAAAAAAAeI/6Mm7zapUxW8/s400/IMG_8279.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875136895292626" /></a><br /><br />And this is only part of it. There were two more walls in the hall that had hand swipes and a couple more toys in his bedroom. His face, belly, legs, and bum were all covered in it as well. <br /><br />The culprit is still in his room. Possibly until forever.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-87259536405830771162011-07-01T10:19:00.005-05:002011-07-01T11:06:23.585-05:00A Letter to a NumberDear 30,<br /><br />Let's be honest with each other shall we? I come closer to meeting you with each passing day...really, there is less than a year and half left... and I find myself alternately excited and terrified for that day when we have to reconcile with one another. Perhaps we will embrace as sisters. Perhaps I will slap you upside the head and deny your existence. Perhaps a little of both. I'm not sure I will be able to full know how I feel about you until I am off to greet 40-- and we all know how I feel about 40. <br /><br />You know, you are kind of big deal; a rather rotund number, if you'll allow me to say it. I have been taught to harbor anxiety about you my whole life. I'm serious. I believe the wrinkles, weight, and responsibility, all have something to do with it, though I know that is not all of it. There is something unseen and unfixed about you that adds to the anxiety. Maybe it is purely the uncertainty of change...of knowing I will never be friends with 20 again and that maybe I didn't do all I could to make 20 more beautiful. Because, let's face it, I've been a little rough on 20. She needed some shaping and molding and some figuring out who she was and how she fit into the world. And she's still not there yet. <br /><br />Maybe that's where you come in, 30. I hope that's where you come in. Maybe you can be the fairy dust that gives a little confidence to 20. Makes her less concerned with what other people think. Please tell me the day I meet you is the day 20 stops worrying about every word she says. The day she makes choices for herself and not for other people. The day she loves her body because it a beautiful miracle, instead of wishing this was toned and that was thinner. Can you do that for me 30? Can you have this whole life thing figured out? Please say yes, because if you can't do it, is there really any point in appealing to 40? She's so far away and I'm not sure 20 can wait that long.<br /><br />I'm counting on you 30 to do your part. I'm counting on you to be beautiful and lovely and wise. If you aren't, I'm pretty sure 20 is going to throw a fit. Did you know she still does that? <br /><br />Keep in touch.<br /><br />Meerin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-84608681256861094672011-04-05T17:41:00.007-05:002011-04-05T18:08:39.953-05:00Well, crap.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zfZcJ7_frGU/TZubgCMLzwI/AAAAAAAAAc4/7AytGWIHy2w/s1600/spring%2B2011%2B020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zfZcJ7_frGU/TZubgCMLzwI/AAAAAAAAAc4/7AytGWIHy2w/s400/spring%2B2011%2B020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592234336956698370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pfSAh1meY50/TZubgnXvk4I/AAAAAAAAAdA/J1X2akq9gVQ/s1600/spring%2B2011%2B021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pfSAh1meY50/TZubgnXvk4I/AAAAAAAAAdA/J1X2akq9gVQ/s400/spring%2B2011%2B021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592234346937291650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbrc2Gt-gyQ/TZubNdvm_RI/AAAAAAAAAcw/qixoNeOel24/s1600/spring%2B2011%2B019.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbrc2Gt-gyQ/TZubNdvm_RI/AAAAAAAAAcw/qixoNeOel24/s400/spring%2B2011%2B019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592234017935523090" /></a><br /><br /><br />Dear Jacob,<br /><br />The walls? Really? I know you are tactile and curious and that often those things don't end well, but I'm beginning to think you might have a problem. Can you please take up another form of artistic expression? Or at least use another medium--like Vaseline.<br /><br />Love from,<br />The one who has to clean it up.<br /><br />P.S. Please don't really use the Vaseline, Mommy might die.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-41286049472626811372011-04-04T10:42:00.006-05:002011-04-04T11:35:27.181-05:00Healthy Eating Habits for KidsI haven't shared this website yet, but lately it has been my go-to site for ideas on healthy meals that are also kid friendly. Amy has some FANTASTIC ideas on presenting foods in a way kids will eat them (or at least try them) and I'm trying to incorporate her menu planning ideas as well so that we can amp up our vegetable intake.<br /><br />Anyway, without further ado, here is the fabulous: <a href="http://blog.superhealthykids.com">SUPER HEALTHY KIDS</a><br /><br />*Check out her Healthy Habits plates as well. I think I'm going to order four so the kids can have two each.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-66637746052686307642011-03-26T16:04:00.002-05:002011-04-01T21:10:02.313-05:00AnsweredChris has this nasty habit of getting all road-ragey on people if they do stupid stuff while driving. He wholeheartedly believes he has to be the one to let them know they are dumb. For instance, if they cut him off, he will cut them off on purpose to let them know how inconsiderate it was of them to do such a thing. Thoughtful eh?<br /><br />I won't lie, sometimes this <span style="font-style:italic;">scares the innards</span> out of me. <br /><br />When we were first married, I used to be all gaspy about it. I gasped so often though that it started to sound like I was hyperventilating every time he drove the car and it annoyed him further. <br /><br />So, one evening, a couple of years in, I was gasping again and white-knuckling the please-don't-let-me-die bar and I started to pray in my head and in my heart. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed in my life. It was more begging than praying really, but still, I was petitioning the Lord to come to my aid. <br /><br />I didn't pray for us not to die. <br /><br />I didn't pray for Chris to slow down and come to his senses.<br /><br />I prayed specifically for him to get pulled over for wreckless driving and get a big fat ticket and possibly even go to jail for 24 hours and that this would make him never want to drive fast again. I knew if we were going to live and if the Lord was going to help Chris overcome his weakness, He was going to have to do it through his pocketbook and his pride.<br /><br />Every single time after that when he would let his anger drive the car, I would brace my feet against the floor, grab the seat with one hand and the bar with the other, and I would silently plead with God for a cop to pull Chris over and give him a ticket.<br /><br />Maybe it is dumb to pray for something like that, but I knew that either: <br />A) we were going to die in a fiery car crash from hell and I had to be okay with going out like that<br /><br />or<br /><br />B) I needed help to get this fixed <br /><br />I chose B. <br /><br />Welp, it took about five more years, but the Lord finally answered my prayers. Chris got pulled over a couple of weeks ago going 51 in a 30 mph zone. He got a fat $238 speeding ticket and a court date. <br /><br />When he came home mopey about getting the ticket, I tried not to be too overtly happy. But seriously, I was just giddy with delight! I stopped then and there and gave a silent heartfelt prayer of thanks.<br /><br />His pride is a little injured, but he has slowed down and been super careful lately. We might just live long enough to find a new and seriously painful way to die without all the skidding on the road and being impaled by car parts. I couldn't be more joyous!erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-36375495819118424642011-03-14T14:12:00.004-05:002011-03-15T16:22:17.054-05:00RepeatThere was one time when Luke was two-years-old that he flooded the upstairs bathroom. He had somehow splashed enough water out of the tub to create a shallow pond on the tile floor.<br /><br />Today it was Jacob's turn. I went to clean up his other mess, involving playdoh and the grout downstairs, while he splashed around in the tub for a minute. Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of the toilet lid being played with. I rushed back to the bathroom and pushed open the door.<br /><br />He was giddy with joy while bailing water out of the tub with the hair-washing cup at the rate of a sailor whose dingy is sinking. There was no less than ankle deep water the entire length of the bathroom. It was seeping through the carpet on the other side of the door and down through the downstairs ceiling.<br /><br />I froze. <span style="font-style:italic;">Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!</span> Clearly I'm a wiz in situations like this.<br /><br />I grabbed the cup from him and tried to bail the water back into tub. He got mad, then he got even. Now out of the tub, he started jumping in the man-made mischief. Water splashed halfway up the walls. <br /><br />I yelled for Luke to come bail water so that I could get some towels. He deserted his post on the grounds that he didn't want to get wet. Traitor. I ran downstairs and ran back up. It took about 9 towels and 15 minutes of bailing to get the water absorbed. <br /><br />I'm trying to remember why I thought Luke was harder at the age of three instead of two. If the last month is any indication, Jacob may kill me if he follows trend and becomes even more difficult at three.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-4672611832163134672011-03-10T06:36:00.005-06:002011-03-10T08:21:01.761-06:00You Can't Make This Stuff Up...Hi Ladies and Gents! Let's round out Poop Week, shall we, and continue with more stories you never wanted to hear...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Story #1</span><br /><br />A day after the go-in-the-woods incident with Luke at the park, we went to a new park the next day (I won't tell you which one in case you don't ever want to go back). This park also lacks bathroom facilities for reasons I can't explain. Unfortunately, it also lacks proper woods-y-ness (that's a word). Ten minutes into being there, Luke had to go potty.<br /><br />Looking around uncomfortably, I hissed, "<span style="font-style:italic;">Luke</span>, scoot closer to the tree, buddy, there are a lot of other people here."<br /> <br />He moved two inches and proceeded to pull his pants down around his ankles. I could tell his bare bum was still visible to the passersby.<br /><br />"Don't go! Don't go!" I said urgently, while at the same time trying to pull him closer to the tree. Lamentably, this action coincided with the exact moment that he started to pee and caused him to fall forward and turn sideways so that I was in the line of fire. <br /><br />He peed all over my leg and foot. <br /><br />I trudged off toward the car and retrieved some diaper wipes and cleaned myself up as best I could. I didn't want to leave yet, the weather was too nice and Luke was already frolicking around like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.<br /><br />Ten minutes later he had to go again. I sent him behind the tree <span style="font-style:italic;">by himself</span>.<br /><br />"Mom! Mom!"<br /><br />He had sidled into view with his bare bum.<br /><br />I hurried over.<br /><br />"What's the matter?"<br /><br />Then I saw it. He had gone number 2. For a second I didn't know what I was going to do...I couldn't just leave it there. So I ran over, grabbed the wipes, wiped Luke's bum, and sent him off. I then proceeded to pick up the stuff and put it in one of Jacob's clean diapers so that it could be thrown away. I wiped down the dirt around the tree as best I could, hoping no unsuspecting child decided to hide back there. <br /><br />That day was the highlight of my week.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Story #2</span><br /><br />A few days later, Jacob was wet so I managed to take off his diaper and wipe him down before he ran away from me. I spent a few minutes trying to wrestle him into a new diaper before I gave up and decided he would be okay for a minute while I ran down to throw the diaper away in the outside trash.<br /><br />As soon as I came in the door he was calling to me and I knew I had made a mistake.<br /><br />"Bum! Yucky! Bum! Yucky!"<br /><br />I took the stairs two at a time and he grabbed my hand to lead me into his room. I think he was genuinely a little bit frightened of what had happened. There in the middle of his floor was some poop. It looked eerily similar to something a cat would leave behind.<br /><br />I'm just that lucky.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Story #3</span><br /><br />Last night I had a couple of very vivid dreams. The first involved my children and I staying the night at my high school boyfriend's parent's house. I'm not sure why. The high school boyfriend wasn't there, just his parents and a couple of his sisters.<br /><br />A little background info... I'm pretty sure these people thought I was the devil in high school. <br /><br />So back to the dream.<br /><br />As I laid Jacob down on their carpet to change him, he squirmed around and poop got all. over. the. floor. I frantically asked for carpet cleaner. They didn't have any. So I tried to wipe down the floor with wipes, only to make the carpet a wonderful shade of mustard yellow. All the fears about them hating me in high school washed over my brain as I woke up.<br /><br />I drifted back to sleep after a few minutes of reassuring myself that it was just a terrible nightmare, only to find myself in another dream that I'm pretty sure is the manifestation of my feelings for this week.<br /><br />A very large alligator was thrashing around in a shallow river while unconcerned children were floating in inner tubes dangerously close to it.<br /><br /><br />Do you have weeks like this?erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-46984371064475866712011-03-01T19:24:00.004-06:002011-03-01T19:34:39.616-06:00Remember when...Remember when I wrote on Saturday that Jacob had entered the realm of playing with the stuff in his diaper?<br /><br />Remember when he did it again today and put it all over the front of the entertainment center...sort of like he was coloring with sidewalk chalk...and then how he put it on the folding table we play games on and how he mushed it all over Luke's Thomas the Tank Engine?<br /><br />Remember when I had to clean all that up, but I couldn't really get it out of all the spots on Thomas and I might have to kill Luke a little bit by throwing it away?<br /><br />Then remember when I had to help Luke squat in the brush today at the park that doesn't have toilets and wipe his bum so he didn't get it on his pants and how I almost wanted to throw up because he is five and that is almost like wiping an adult's bum?<br /><br />Remember when my life didn't revolve around my children's bowels?<br /><br />I don't either. It was soooooo long ago.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-16901263057437331282011-02-26T08:04:00.005-06:002011-02-26T08:59:04.994-06:00And I Think I Prefer This to Potty TrainingJacob's dirty diapers usually come with timed regularity. I can almost always count on one within a half an hour of him waking up in the morning. And, I can usually count on another one the moment after I have given up in frustration that I have spent an hour and a half trying to get him to take a nap and he is still bouncing around in bed and calling gleefully at the top of his lungs, "Maaa! Maaaaaaaa!"<br /><br />Actually, it is kind of nice to know when he is going to need changing. The frustrating part is that it takes me a half an hour to wrestle him down to actually do the deed. He runs behind furniture, crawls under his bed, and when I finally get him pinned on the floor, he twists in such a manner that I know if I actually remove the diaper, there will be a bigger mess on the floor for me to clean up.<br /><br />So, I was utterly shocked and amazed when he came to me the other day, smelling oh so pleasant, and pointed at his diaper and wanted me to change him. <br /><br />Finally, <span style="font-style:italic;">finally!</span> he was not going to fight me on the changing of the diaper! I was as exuberant as one can be when about to change a diaper.<br /><br />I covered my nose with the front of my shirt, laid him down, opened up the dreadfulness, and found some unexpected surprises.<br /><br />There were two lime green mini porcupine balls and one of Luke's "rocks" to his dragon fortress all entrenched in the masses of filth and little bits of undigested olives. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31u8yphVKuL._SL500_AA300_.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31u8yphVKuL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41Xvr19pb6L._AA300_.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41Xvr19pb6L._AA300_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />For one alarming second I thought that the boy had somehow swallowed all of these balls and lived to tell about it. It then dawned on me that there was no way he could have swallowed the fortress rock when he couldn't even fit the thing in his mouth and that in actuality, the boy had entered the realm of finding it fun to <span style="font-style:italic;">play</span> with his dirty diaper and stuck the objects into his cake-like mess through the sagging leg hole of his bum cover. <br /><br />I gagged as I tried to salvage the fortress rock by plucking it out, wiping it down thoroughly, and disinfecting it with chemical spray. The porcupine balls simply could not be saved and I left them in the depths. Luke was heart broken that I wouldn't save them from such a fate. <br /><br />Later that night after dinner, I tossed Chris the rock ball and let him roll it around it in his hands for a minute before I took it, put it in his shirt pocket, and patting it said, "Guess what I did today?"erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-18811343549934095542011-01-27T15:09:00.015-06:002011-01-27T17:45:56.177-06:00Irrational-SensibilityLike most people, I have a multi-faceted personality. From what I've observed, this is fairly normal...just some people get better traits than others. For instance, I got forgetfulness and social inadequacy, while my younger sister got likable and charming. What can I say? It's really just how the dice roll for the most part.<br /><br />Though a single trait may be more dominant at one time or another, in general, they all keep each other pretty well balanced. However, every once in a while, personality traits within the same person clash horribly and create some sort of malformed offspring which really doesn't have a place within the carefully balanced human...kind of like a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. It tries to be lovely and delicious, but is more or less just sort of overwhelming and gross .<br /><br />In my case, irrationality and sensibility created just such a vagabond that has threatened my mental health more than once. I like to call this trait Irrational-sensibility...great name huh?<br /><br />Irrational-sensibility is a characteristic that is sort of grotesque and it hits me over the head more times than I can count in a day and usually involves food...like the time it made sense to eat a whole coconut cream pie by myself. And the time it made sense to eat 18 out of the 24 cookies that I baked for other people. You see, it makes me do things that are irrational, but that I can twist into being uber sensible in the moment.<br /><br />The I-S came upon me silently this morning when I was trying to be a good mother and feed my children breakfast.<br /><br />I ended up feeding them a half a pan of brownies.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I KNOW</span>.<br /><br />Let me explain. <br /><br />If I were gifted the single trait of irrationality, this morning it might have cheerfully said, "Feed your children brownies for breakfast." Hopefully you see how that's irrational. Irrational, but oddly free of any guilt because there is no sensibility to go along with it.<br /><br />Whereas, the single trait of sensibility might have said something along the lines of,"Feed your children oatmeal. Children need a wholesome breakfast to start their day off right and nourish their growing bodies." See how that's sensible?<br /><br />BUT, I don't have either of these traits. I have irrational-sensibility. Which sort of morphs the two into something that makes sense in my head, but is in all respects irresponsible...like what I did this morning. <br /><br />See if you can follow the thought process.<br /><br />"My children and I need to eat breakfast. I want brownies for breakfast. I'm allowed to eat brownies since I'm an adult and am fully capable of such decisions. But, my children will want brownies too and that's not a wholesome breakfast for children. I should feed them oatmeal. But, they will be upset if I get brownies and they don't get brownies. So, it makes sense that we should all eat oatmeal. I'm a good mom. I am happy."<br /><br />And just as I was pulling down the oatmeal, my stupid personality swooped in and turned a good thing into this: <br /><br />"Eating oatmeal makes me happy. Eating brownies makes me happier than eating oatmeal. I want to be happy so that I can be a good mom. I want my kids to be happy too. I should give my kids brownies so that they will be happier than if they ate oatmeal. So, it makes sense that we will all be happy and I will be a good mom if we have brownies for breakfast." <br /><br />And that's what I did. See how it makes sense and is irrational at the same time...we all get brownies for breakfast, so we are all happy (sensible), but <span style="font-style:italic;">we all ate brownies for breakfast</span> (irrational).<br /><br />Ugh.<br /><br />Any good ideas on forming new personality traits?erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-43850580713199190432011-01-02T21:56:00.022-06:002011-01-02T22:54:44.848-06:00Rainbow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TSFWTlK5shI/AAAAAAAAAcA/Bn3RTlv5zPo/s1600/rainbow.png"><img style="cursor:pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TSFWTlK5shI/AAAAAAAAAcA/Bn3RTlv5zPo/s700/rainbow.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557818309547242002" /></a><br /><br />The colors of the rainbow according to Luke. Illustrated by me.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-22536465993764659572011-01-01T14:32:00.004-06:002011-01-01T19:46:26.685-06:00The One With All the Pants<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.googleusercontent.com/public/HPY90CPOPQVzzEXMCv2cTWHLg02t2JhNem0HPkF-V6R6AaGtgj1JdnDxIo6K_WYOq0cwdyFhILviKRcfo4IDSSH6FqkPo9X6Iyw4lh1yneXj4gjgEeZkwyRuBbVXw9lgObFcks3NtWJvmfP6ByAmQBjK6tJypy6wteKyh7fAyK23Z1A=s180"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 180px;" src="http://lh6.googleusercontent.com/public/HPY90CPOPQVzzEXMCv2cTWHLg02t2JhNem0HPkF-V6R6AaGtgj1JdnDxIo6K_WYOq0cwdyFhILviKRcfo4IDSSH6FqkPo9X6Iyw4lh1yneXj4gjgEeZkwyRuBbVXw9lgObFcks3NtWJvmfP6ByAmQBjK6tJypy6wteKyh7fAyK23Z1A=s180" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />In our house, we've made a non-verbal pact to only go clothes shopping for Chris once every two years. There are several reasons for this. <br /><br />First, Chris. Hates. Shopping. (Let me rephrase that). Chris hates shopping for anything non-electronic or entertainment related. He would give up eating for a month in order to deck out his PC with a new power supply and graphics card, but he gives a compulsory mouth-vomit every time I mention the s-word (shopping) and goes into full on dry heaves if I tell him we are going clothes shopping <span style="font-style:italic;">for him</span>. <br /><br />Second, <span style="font-weight:bold;">I<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> hate shopping for Chris. Now, Chris is a manly man, a guy's guy and all that, but when it comes clothes, he can throw down the picky princess card faster than a 15-year-old girl. It always ends with both of us wanting to go postal on retail outlets and each other. It's just not pretty. <br /><br />Finally, two years is enough time for hubby's clothes to wear out to the point that he is forced to buy clothes, by sheer lack of any other option, without me having to do anything at all. Our marriage wouldn't survive if we had to go any more frequently.<br /><br />The week before Christmas our two year statute was up. One of his two pairs of pants got worn enough through the knee that we both knew the jig was up. I told him I refused to wash his one pair often enough for him to wear them every day and he, thank goodness, refused to just wear them out of spite, regardless of smell. <br /><br />We loaded up the kids, went to Kohl's, and parked the car. I sent Chris in alone to grab the exact same style of jeans as the ones that were worn out and I sat in the car with the boys. (Luke knows all the stores in our area and refuses to go into a single one that carries only clothing or home decor).<br /><br />I didn't encourage him to try on other brands or styles, I knew from previous experience that he wouldn't like them. He sticks with what works and I'm okay with that. After 45 minutes of trying on jeans, he came back with a single pair of jeans, exactly like the ones he already had. We were set for two more years.<br /><br />The next day Chris wore the pants to go see Tron and when he came home he immediately told me that he didn't like the pants. "They just don't feel like the ones I had. They fit weird," he explained. I nostril flared him so he would know the extend of my disdain for what he was telling me.<br /><br />We went back to Kohl's the next day and I sent him in alone to return the pants, while the boys and I waited in the car. Half an hour later he came back empty handed. "I'll get some another time. I'm too tired right now". Um kay, fine.<br /><br />After Christmas it became painfully obvious that he needed pants NOW. We loaded up the kids for a third time and went back to Kohl's. This time, after much whining from everyone, the boys and I went in with Chris. The boys ran around the store like banshees while I gave Chris every single pair of jeans I could find in his size. He tried Comfort Fit, Relaxed Fit, Regular Fit, Boot Cut, Straight Leg, Low Rise, Mid Rise, and every other fit, cut, and rise available.<br /><br />TWO HOURS LATER, battered, tired, and weak, we walked out of the store with his size in Relaxed Fit, Straight Leg Levi's, the exact same style and color of the jeans that had worn out. <br /><br />"That's so weird," he said "maybe it was just that one pair that didn't fit right. Maybe something was wrong with them." <br /><br />"Maybe something is wrong with <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span>", I thought.<br /><br />But this tale doesn't end there my friends. No, the next day when Chris went to work, he reached into the pocket of his perfectly fitting, fantastic pair of jeans and felt a piece of paper. When he pulled it out, it was none other than HIS ticket stub from the last time he went to see Tron.<br /><br />That's right folks.<br /><br />He bought <span style="font-style:italic;">the same pair of jeans TWICE</span>! And for <span style="font-style:italic;">MORE MONEY</span>!<br /><br />And that is the tale of how it will now be four years before we go clothes shopping for Chris again. <br /><br />The end.<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />And Happy New Year from the Fruitcake side of town!erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-82971245575436278152010-12-19T17:30:00.010-06:002010-12-19T21:48:34.330-06:00On Raising GeeksWith Tron: Legacy in theatres, and Chris salivating over it and all things Tron, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how I got to this point in my life. The point where my house is full of geeks.<br /><br />While we were dating Chris hid his geek side very well. There were no overt Star Wars themed conversations or long periods of time spent at his apartment watching him play video games (I had done that before...stupid, I'll admit...and didn't want anything to do with it again). In fact, I thought the fact that I could wipe the floor with him at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tecmo_Bowl">Techmo Bowl</a> on the original Nintendo was an all-in-all good sign and I relished in it heartily. <br /><br />After we were married, I quickly realized the fullness of the geek I had married and for the most part, I thought it was cute and I (heaven forgive me) <span style="font-style:italic;">encouraged</span> it. I wanted to be the cool wife who didn't nag her husband constantly about his video game playing and how he never spent time with me, so I did the best thing I could and I spent time with him in his own "private Idaho". We discovered the world of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Massively_multiplayer_online_role-playing_game">MMORPGs</a> and World of Warcraft. Now, I'll concede that I have a little bit of geek in me too, but to a very defined point. I'll even disclose that I got so good at playing WoW that I would wield my Paladin powers in the online universe while nursing my newborn son in this one. Impressive huh? <br /><br />HOWEVER, what I will not own to is the fact that it is partly my fault that our children also turned out to be geeks. You see, what I failed to realize while encouraging this behavior instead of quashing it the moment it reared its ugly head, was that really, I was nurturing the very characteristics that would be most prevalent in my own offspring. <br /><br />Case in point. The other day Luke was doing his imagination thing...fighting off bad guys and what not, when he came up to me and very seriously said, "Mom! We've got to fight the MCP!"<br /><br />And that's the moment I realized I'm raising my husband's clone in child form.<br /><br />MCP??? Really? Now for those of you who don't speak geek, the MCP (Master Control Program) is from the original Tron movie (mediocre movie, even given leeway for it's 1980's first-of-its-kind computer graphics-- but we won't go there). Chris loves original Tron in all its light cycle glory. So does Luke.<br /><br />What I'm wondering is how did I let it get to this point? Why didn't I see it coming when Chris's list of names for boys included Luke Boba Bailey and Lucius (as in Lucius from Harry Potter and/or Batman)?<br /><br />A few days ago Chris came into the room, pure joy in his eyes, and told me he had earned enough points on some website to get three free posters. <br /><br />"What kind of posters?" I asked.<br /><br />People, I sucked in a whole lotta air when he told me, "Legend of Zelda posters!" <br /><br />Naturally it begged the question, "So, where do you plan on hanging those?"<br /><br />"In the study!"<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />With that one word his expression became crestfallen and I knew I had crushed a little piece of him.<br /><br />"Well, I <span style="font-style:italic;">thought</span> that's where I would hang them." he said slowly while hanging his head.<br /><br />I couldn't do it. So I said, "Sure babe, it's your space, you do what you want to do with it" and I smiled. <br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />I can't help it. I've got Star Wars Legos spilled over into every space of my house, but I take the geek out of him, he just wouldn't be the same. So, I guess I'll just resign myself to the fact that I'm raising geeks in this house and they might get teased, but dang it, I'll keep filling their hearts with visions of the MCP, Zelda, and Darth Vader and hope for the best. <br /><br />Now, if anyone wants to reactivate my WoW account for Christmas, I think I'm gonna need it.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-82475476377698013372010-12-12T17:10:00.002-06:002010-12-12T17:28:26.067-06:00Does Anyone Else...wonder why Sundays have become the least restful day of the week? And ask Santa for a nap? a really really long nap...like three days worth...with no interruptions? That's what I want in my stocking. <br /><br />And I leave you this epic comedy until next time.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/we9_CdNPuJg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/we9_CdNPuJg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-13100452125449502992010-11-04T15:19:00.010-05:002010-11-04T16:17:55.591-05:00HalloweenPumpkin Carving<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWt8XyUBI/AAAAAAAAAY0/Xnna2hgaouM/s1600/IMG_7640.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWt8XyUBI/AAAAAAAAAY0/Xnna2hgaouM/s400/IMG_7640.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535793345524289554" /></a><br />Jacob was unsure about the feel of the pumpkin guts...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWuDMDz4I/AAAAAAAAAY8/9ipLcCUF-_Y/s1600/IMG_7641.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWuDMDz4I/AAAAAAAAAY8/9ipLcCUF-_Y/s400/IMG_7641.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535793347354152834" /></a><br />...until Daddy showed him how to throw them on the table (...and the floor...and the walls...)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWuphJ2VI/AAAAAAAAAZE/Aib_odiQgD4/s1600/IMG_7642.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMWuphJ2VI/AAAAAAAAAZE/Aib_odiQgD4/s400/IMG_7642.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535793357643176274" /></a><br /><br />Luke refused to touch the inside of the pumpkin altogether. Notice how he barely has his arm around it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMa43jF2_I/AAAAAAAAAZU/V3Bq5ldC4j8/s1600/IMG_7661.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMa43jF2_I/AAAAAAAAAZU/V3Bq5ldC4j8/s400/IMG_7661.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535797931254602738" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMbnWJZEzI/AAAAAAAAAZc/3blpvPb5adc/s1600/IMG_7667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMbnWJZEzI/AAAAAAAAAZc/3blpvPb5adc/s400/IMG_7667.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535798729742291762" /></a><br /><br />Luke's preschool costume parade<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMcezebkxI/AAAAAAAAAZs/KdvGH2WjdSw/s1600/IMG_7694.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMcezebkxI/AAAAAAAAAZs/KdvGH2WjdSw/s400/IMG_7694.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535799682507969298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMceWhXa_I/AAAAAAAAAZk/q1gquePAe-c/s1600/IMG_7685.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMceWhXa_I/AAAAAAAAAZk/q1gquePAe-c/s400/IMG_7685.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535799674735651826" /></a><br /><br />Tent or Treat<br /><br />Our ward had a "tent or treat" instead of a "trunk or treat" this year so we took the boys to that instead of doing trick or treating. I couldn't get any really good pics of the boys. It was getting dark and they kept pulling off various parts of their costumes...hats, buttons, mustaches. <br /><br />Luke had initially wanted to be Luigi so I built a family theme around him, but after changing his mind a million times, he settled on Mario. Since I already had Jacob's costume, we just had a "big" Mario and a "little" Mario.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMevPuQ5sI/AAAAAAAAAaU/dJEUy3y-OCc/s1600/IMG_7707.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMevPuQ5sI/AAAAAAAAAaU/dJEUy3y-OCc/s400/IMG_7707.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535802163991733954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMeus2gg3I/AAAAAAAAAaM/tHkyh9n4NiM/s1600/IMG_7700.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMeus2gg3I/AAAAAAAAAaM/tHkyh9n4NiM/s400/IMG_7700.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535802154631070578" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMeud3iLbI/AAAAAAAAAaE/WQE7JfOA43I/s1600/IMG_7699.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMeud3iLbI/AAAAAAAAAaE/WQE7JfOA43I/s400/IMG_7699.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535802150608842162" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMet2BlArI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/UyWLmdPhp50/s1600/IMG_7698.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMet2BlArI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/UyWLmdPhp50/s400/IMG_7698.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535802139913552562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMetTWpIZI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/vuc4VMhKpHE/s1600/IMG_7695.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMetTWpIZI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/vuc4VMhKpHE/s400/IMG_7695.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535802130606662034" /></a><br /><br />Chris and I wore these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMiq7Crn1I/AAAAAAAAAak/QbVz5dbqNr8/s1600/IMG_7713.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TNMiq7Crn1I/AAAAAAAAAak/QbVz5dbqNr8/s400/IMG_7713.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535806487767261010" /></a><br /><br />I was the "big" and Chris was the "1 up". Not as creative as in the past, but it works.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-37929580035521389042010-11-02T18:19:00.003-05:002010-11-02T18:31:06.457-05:00SuccotashCan I just say that we had <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Summer-Vegetable-Succotash-105227">THIS</a> for dinner tonight and it was so UNEXPECTEDLY YUMMY.<br /><br />You'd think a bowl full of vegetables would be bland, but this is full of flavor. <br /><br />Don't know what succotash is? I didn't either. Look <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Succotash">here</a>.<br /><br />My family thinks I'm killing them with all of these veggies, but someday they will thank me, I'm (almost) sure of it. <br /><br />Recipe alterations: I don't like raw onions as much as I like them cooked, so I sauteed them with the corn and squash. Also, I'm not sure what a pattypan squash is(... nevermind, I just looked <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pattypan_squash">here</a>), so I used a regular yellow summer squash.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-41194559598681186032010-10-24T17:06:00.016-05:002010-10-24T18:35:15.366-05:00One for the GrandparentsThrough the SPARK program in our school district we got to go on a firestation tour. Daddy got to come with us since he took the day off so that we could go to the temple. We got to sit inside the firetruck, tour the station, and Luke got to hold the fire hose and let water out. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_npHYt3I/AAAAAAAAAYs/QtTwbIUZ21o/s1600/IMG_7620.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_npHYt3I/AAAAAAAAAYs/QtTwbIUZ21o/s400/IMG_7620.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531756930090448754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_nVeCHVI/AAAAAAAAAYk/Qr_maiVk4c4/s1600/IMG_7608.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_nVeCHVI/AAAAAAAAAYk/Qr_maiVk4c4/s400/IMG_7608.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531756924816727378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_nGp0HeI/AAAAAAAAAYc/8DdmesED7fI/s1600/IMG_7607.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS_nGp0HeI/AAAAAAAAAYc/8DdmesED7fI/s400/IMG_7607.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531756920839609826" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8q1I2XII/AAAAAAAAAYU/dGP7Zw7HYPU/s1600/IMG_7598.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8q1I2XII/AAAAAAAAAYU/dGP7Zw7HYPU/s400/IMG_7598.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531753686322535554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qoWFA1I/AAAAAAAAAYM/VEeymeusVmc/s1600/IMG_7595.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qoWFA1I/AAAAAAAAAYM/VEeymeusVmc/s400/IMG_7595.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531753682888360786" /></a><br /><br />My sister, Amanda, sent the boys a box of cowboy goodies. These mustaches were in the box and they've had fun playing with them. We are going to use them as part of their Mario Halloween costumes next week.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qTGJLkI/AAAAAAAAAYE/iNzm4MxaKQ0/s1600/IMG_7591.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qTGJLkI/AAAAAAAAAYE/iNzm4MxaKQ0/s400/IMG_7591.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531753677184380482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qD1RMqI/AAAAAAAAAX8/HNA92WgoN1Y/s1600/IMG_7589.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS8qD1RMqI/AAAAAAAAAX8/HNA92WgoN1Y/s400/IMG_7589.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531753673087070882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7oUoQ9eI/AAAAAAAAAX0/A7TJS9Fj9Sw/s1600/IMG_7582.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7oUoQ9eI/AAAAAAAAAX0/A7TJS9Fj9Sw/s400/IMG_7582.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531752543724565986" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nuVMnaI/AAAAAAAAAXs/48tFmPh4fNI/s1600/IMG_7580.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nuVMnaI/AAAAAAAAAXs/48tFmPh4fNI/s400/IMG_7580.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531752533444042146" /></a><br /><br />Painting Pumpkins<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nQtWi2I/AAAAAAAAAXk/z4I4ooAoxE8/s1600/IMG_7574.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nQtWi2I/AAAAAAAAAXk/z4I4ooAoxE8/s400/IMG_7574.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531752525492292450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nHHFEAI/AAAAAAAAAXc/_PPdSb_nDZ4/s1600/IMG_7554.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS7nHHFEAI/AAAAAAAAAXc/_PPdSb_nDZ4/s400/IMG_7554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531752522915844098" /></a><br /><br />Luke started soccer this year. He is a pretty good little player, though he likes to take the ball away from his own teammates. I love seeing him in his soccer uniform. Jacob has a hard time at the games, he wants to be out on the field with everyone else.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS6qlQW4CI/AAAAAAAAAXU/8w81jCemg4U/s1600/IMG_7543.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS6qlQW4CI/AAAAAAAAAXU/8w81jCemg4U/s400/IMG_7543.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531751483035803682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS6qfxb8xI/AAAAAAAAAXM/ScS9lPqrfb4/s1600/IMG_7542.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMS6qfxb8xI/AAAAAAAAAXM/ScS9lPqrfb4/s400/IMG_7542.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531751481563935506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzW4i1BtI/AAAAAAAAAXE/ffmwnt4RPvE/s1600/IMG_7536.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzW4i1BtI/AAAAAAAAAXE/ffmwnt4RPvE/s400/IMG_7536.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531743448034772690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWsYOzpI/AAAAAAAAAW8/9fkLIqFXBC8/s1600/IMG_7531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWsYOzpI/AAAAAAAAAW8/9fkLIqFXBC8/s400/IMG_7531.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531743444769099410" /></a><br /><br />Jacob and Daddy<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWXDb-QI/AAAAAAAAAW0/lw3iHYdELzw/s1600/IMG_7528.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWXDb-QI/AAAAAAAAAW0/lw3iHYdELzw/s400/IMG_7528.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531743439044737282" /></a><br /><br />Jacob playing in the sandbox. Yes, those are sand-caked boogers dripping down his face. He sneezed and before I could clean him up he face planted in the sand. Then I took pictures instead of wiping him off. I'm great like that. He didn't mind.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWJ38yfI/AAAAAAAAAWs/s2Lbm5_AVGM/s1600/IMG_7519.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzWJ38yfI/AAAAAAAAAWs/s2Lbm5_AVGM/s400/IMG_7519.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531743435506895346" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzV5WkoQI/AAAAAAAAAWk/aiWfzMUtsRw/s1600/IMG_7506.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/TMSzV5WkoQI/AAAAAAAAAWk/aiWfzMUtsRw/s400/IMG_7506.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531743431071932674" /></a>erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-24335713414668782182010-10-06T11:34:00.003-05:002010-10-06T12:17:51.530-05:00The Whys Behind our EatingWe've recently changed the way we've been eating for a variety of reasons, mostly related to that we don't want to die anytime soon and maybe this will help. When I mention that we are eating more vegetarian meals and more organic foods people inevitably ask why we do it and so, dear internet, I'm going to not only answer them, but every one of you too. Don't you feel lucky?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Reason 1</span>: <br /><br />We are Mormon. If you want to learn more about Mormons and what we believe, go <a href="http://mormon.org">here</a>. In a nutshell, there is a revelation that was given by God to Joseph Smith in 1833 called the Word of Wisdom. In it we are told how to keep our bodies physically and spiritually healthy. To learn more go <a href="http://http://mormon.org/searchResults?theme=blue&query=word+of+wisdom">here</a>. <br /><br />Specifically this revelation says, "...all wholesome herbs God hath ordained for the constitution, nature, and use of man. Every herb in the season thereof, and every fruit in the season thereof....flesh also of the beasts and of the fowls of the air, I, the Lord, have ordained for the use of man with thanksgiving; nevertheless they are to be used sparingly....all grain is ordained for the use of man and of beasts, to be the staff of life..." (DC 89:11-14). To read the entirety of the revelation go <a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/89">here</a>.<br /><br />With this revelation comes amazing blessings if we follow this Word of Wisdom, blessings of health, wisdom, great treasures of knowledge, and that the destroying angel shall pass by them. Blessings I surely want, especially since I've been suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (that's a whole other post).<br /><br />When I evaluated how we were eating, I realized that we were eating meat-centered meals. Every meal contained meat of some kind and rarely vegetables and grains. We were, in my opinion, ignoring some of the benefits and blessings that come with living in line with this revelation.<br /><br />So, what have we changed? We eat more grains, lots more...whole grains. We eat more fruits and vegetables and we try to eat them when they are in season. We eat less meat...trying to only eat meat twice a week. Granted, this is still in transition mode and we aren't able to always follow this, but we are trying and I believe we are aligning ourselves more fully with this revelation. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Reason 2</span>:<br /><br />I get obsessed with things. Have you seen <a href="http://www.foodincmovie.com/">this</a> movie? I'm not going to lie, there is some scary stuff in it and I became obsessed. It is a movie I believe everyone should see. The basic premise is to educate Americans on where there food comes from. <br /><br />After this movie, I only buy organic where I can. I try to by free range chicken and beef, that is raised without antibiotics or hormones. If I can't afford it, I stick to buying the <a href="http://www.thedailygreen.com/healthy-eating/eat-safe/Dirty-Dozen-Foods">dirty dozen</a> organically.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Reason 3</span>:<br /><br />We don't want to die. I can't exercise much because of the Chronic Fatigue and husband doesn't exercise much for a variety of reasons. We were both gaining weight and with hubby's history of high cholesterol and triglycerides we were putting ourselves at risk. Enter diet change. It's helped us both lose a little weight already and we've only been at it for about a month and a half.<br /><br /><br />So that's it, mostly. The whys. I promised a post of other things we've changed and tips on certain additives that are in food. I'll add that and then some resources I've turned to for finding information and healthier options. Hope this helps answer some more questions.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-71095129217947625792010-09-22T15:28:00.007-05:002010-10-03T21:04:34.357-05:00RecipesI've had some people ask for recipes, specifically vegetarian ones, so I thought I'd post them in a central location of sorts. We aren't vegetarian, but we eat a fair number of vegetarian meals. I'll probably post later on some of the reasons why we eat what we do and some tips I've learned to make choosing what we eat a little more healthful. For now, here are some recipes that I think are really really yummy!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Quinoa and Vegetable Pilaf</span><br /><br />Ingredients:<br /><br />1 bag frozen diced mixed vegetables<br />2 teaspoons olive oil<br />1 cup dry <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quinoa">quinoa</a> (rinsed)<br />2 cups chicken broth (or vegetable broth)<br /><br />Directions:<br /><br />Thaw frozen veggies by running them under water in a colander. Shake off most of the liquid, add to a medium saucepan with olive oil. Saute for 5 minutes. Add quinoa and broth, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed.<br /><br />Season as desired. Try garlic salt, pepper, and parsley. <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Asparagus-Cashew-Rice-Pilaf/Detail.aspx">Asparagus Cashew Rice Pilaf</a><br />--on this I don't boil the asparagus as it gets soggy, I like to saute it in a little bit of olive oil and garlic until it is just tender.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://sites.google.com/site/cookincanucksprintablerecipes/black-bean-burgers-with-lime-cilantro-mayo">Black Bean Burgers with Lime-Cilantro Mayo</a><br />--The Kicker: You have to like cilantro. If you don't, cut the cilantro down or cut it out completely, but if you leave it, you won't be disappointed, I promise!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Quinoa-and-Black-Beans/Detail.aspx">Quinoa and Black Beans</a><br />--Only use one can of black beans. Trust me, its plenty.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Whole Wheat Spaghetti with Garlic, Zucchini, and Tomato</span><br />--Got this from CuisineNie as well, but I've changed it up some.<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />Whole wheat spaghetti<br />2 Tablespoons olive oil<br />coarse salt and pepper<br />small red onion, chopped<br />3 garlic cloves minced<br />1 large zucchini cut lengthwise into sticks<br />2 plum tomatoes cut lengthwise into strips (I use whatever tomatoes I have on hand and dice them instead)<br />1/2 cup parmesan cheese <br /><br />Boil noodles in salted water. In the meantime, sautee garlic in 2 Tablespoons of olive oil for 3 minutes. <br />Add zucchini, 1/2 cup water, and onions. Let sit on medium for 10 minutes. Drain off water and put zucchini and noodles in large bowl. Add tomatoes and cheese and lightly mix everything together. Salt and pepper to taste. (I add a little garlic salt).<br /><br />*What I really like about this one is the flavor the fresh tomatoes bring along with the parmesan. In the original recipe she doesn't cook the onions. Try it both ways and see what you like.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/mushroom_stir-fry/">Mushroom Stir-Fry</a><br />--This one takes a little time, but it is soooo worth it! I leave out the asian chili sauce and have been known to use apple cider vinegar in place of the rice vinegar. Also, I use low-sodium soy sauce to try and make it a little more health friendly.<br /><br /><br />Well, there you have it. These are ones we've tried and liked. I'll add some more later that are not vegetarian, but are still yummy and healthy.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-23274767008710361492009-03-25T10:51:00.005-05:002009-03-25T12:17:17.549-05:00Double, Double Toil and Trouble; the House Will Burn, the Toilet BubbleEldest child has been in a weird mischievous funk. <br /><br />For instance, in the span of the last two weeks he’s taken to licking things---the carpet, the walls, the baby’s head. <br /><br />Yep. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The baby's head.</span> <br /><br />I’m talking full on droolage all over little brother’s slightly misshapen noggin. Not that it matters much I guess, since the baby’s always wet from his unending string of spittle, but still…it’s unnerving, you know.<br /><br />Like he’s <span style="font-weight:bold;">tasting<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> him. <br /><br />Now, I’m fully aware that Jake’s head looks slightly like a giant lollipop on a stick, but I’d still rather not have my three-year-old trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center.<br /><br />In other news, the mysterious funk that has encapsulated my son has also put him on the track to having “Felony Arson” attached to his name forevermore. About the time the licking weirdness began, I started finding a variety of highly flammable objects in my oven --- a kitchen towel, a pie tin full of soft plastic baby toys, the LINT from my dryer screen. Can you say FLAMING. BALL. OF. DEATH? Fortunately, I haven’t had occasion to use the oven because my gourmet cereal dinner doesn’t involve any actual cooking.<br /><br />And to top it all off, what mischievous child is void of toilet curiosity?<br /><br />Luke’s had a little fascination with trying to see how much TP will actually go down the toilet all at once. The other day I overheard him in the bathroom cheering, “C’mon! Go down! C’mon! Go down!” I ran in and found him staring down into a bowl brimming with an entire roll of unrolled toilet paper. <br /><br />On separate occasions I’ve also had to fish out an entire roll of TP still on the roll, his underwear, and a hand towel from the depths of toilet-dom. Who knows what might have actually made it through? The baby does happen to be missing a conspicuous amount of pacifiers. Maybe he'll do me a favor and flush the dirty laundry down the toilet.<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />I think I need a job transfer.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-82325822446682976592009-03-06T08:27:00.002-06:002009-03-06T08:30:36.736-06:00As Long As He's Uncomfortable Too...I’m cold. It’s 73 degrees inside my house and I feel like I’m in a meat locker.<br /><br />There is this ongoing battle in our house for temperature control. It’s a nasty one too…with all sorts of mock guilt trips being tossed around like salmon at a fish market. The problem? Chris is perpetually sweating-to-the-oldies hot at any temperature above 67. I am perpetually hell-just-froze-over cold at any temperature below 77. And so, we both end up being perpetually uncomfortable because the definition of “compromise” always means lose/lose at our house.<br /><br />In the battle of wills, that Chris is a wiley one.<br /><br />I woke up a couple of mornings ago to all the windows in the house completely open. <br /><br />I promptly began to close all of said windows.<br /><br />“What are you doing?”<br /><br />“Closing the windows.”<br /><br />Whining like a baby, “Ahhh, it was <span style="font-style:italic;">finally</span> starting to get comfortable in here.”<br /><br />Also whining like a baby, “<span style="font-style:italic;">Baaabe</span>! I’m soooo cold. It’s like 40 degrees outside and the thermostat says <span style="font-style:italic;">65</span>!”<br /><br />Trying to guilt-trip me, “I guess what I want doesn’t matter.”<br /><br />Unphased, “You’re right, it doesn’t.”erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-61195267365920520692009-02-24T21:18:00.001-06:002009-02-24T21:19:50.469-06:003 SecondsDo you ever get distracted? <br /><br />Turns out, I have the attention span of a goldfish. Shiny objects and other such things tend to make me….<br /><br />Ooooh, a quarter!<br /><br />Anyway, so I couldn’t remember if I put conditioner in my hair yesterday while I was showering…it’s also possible that I don’t remember if I did it twice. Then I put face scrub in my hair. I have very clean hair. <br /><br />See, I spend almost the entire day of most days in my own mind. That amount of time spent in the fantasy land of my brain is liable to distract me from reality….a lot. <br /><br />It wouldn’t be such a problem if I were solving the great mysteries of the universe, but more often than not I’ve got a song playing in my head like some movie theme while I imagine all sorts of situations that could possibly….maybe….probably not….happen. But seriously, you never know when you might end up as a character on LOST (only for reals, because we all know that could totally happen) and have to run away from the smoke monster.<br /><br />This trait isn’t something new. When I was little I knew exactly what sort of super-human fighting moves I’d do if a robber ever came into our home. And I could fly.<br /><br />Chris hasn’t learned his lesson yet. He still asks all the time, “What are you thinking about right now?”<br /><br />I got tired of making up fake normal thoughts so I started telling him the truth.<br /><br />“I was just thinking that if I killed someone and I had to hide the body, I would put it back in those trees. I mean, that area looks like no one’s been in there in months.”<br /><br />“Really? That’s pretty creepy.”<br /><br />“Yeah, haven’t you ever thought about stuff like that?”<br /><br />“Never.”<br /><br />Awkward silence.<br /><br />(Darting eyes around furtively) “Oh…me neither.”<br /><br />So, what do I do in the rare moments when reality comes knocking? I shut the door in its face and continue washing my hair with my face scrub while mentally practicing my “hi-ya” moves on ninja monkeys.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-74166627616964779502009-02-18T15:42:00.003-06:002009-02-18T15:43:50.504-06:00What Did I Just Say?Toilet-training has been hard. The kid stubbornly refused to go number 2 in the toilet for a solid month (and that’s not counting the first attempt back in August). I had entered the desperate begging version of praying when at long last he got it. Finally. <span style="font-style:italic;">Finally.</span><br /><br />After the long, arduous, terrible ordeal that is potty-training, there’s only one response you can give when your three-year-old proudly yells out everyday from the bathroom, “Mama! Come look at my poo poohs!”<br /><br />You sigh. You run in. You say,“Gee whiz buddy! Look at that poop! It’s yellow today!” And you remember how one month ago you would have given anything to see that version of food at the bottom of the toilet. <br /><br />Then he turns his wide eyes and big grin toward you and says, “It makes Mama happy again.”<br /><br />Yes it does, Gooba.<br /><br />Every. Freakin. Time.erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-84011242628601959112009-02-16T13:49:00.003-06:002009-02-16T13:53:01.155-06:00The Post In Which Fence-Sitters Get Violently Shoved to the Correct Side<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CCHRIST%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">If any of you have been questioning whether I’m the queen of all idiots or just the village idiot, wonder no more.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I give you my dreadful tale of embarrassing woe:</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But first, a little back story. Luke has been charismatically disrespectful as of late. Megan came to see me a fortnight ago. After witnessing some gnashing of teeth, a suggestion was made to turn Luke’s doorknob around so that I could contain the little bugger whilst mothering the other one. Megan, I totally blame you for what follows. (Not really, I’m just kidding. Kind of. Almost.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, yesterday (and by yesterday I mean several days ago---why can I never do things on time?) started out deceivingly good. No real gloom and doom on my end, a rarity in recent months. We enjoyed the late morning at the park and when we came home the two critters and I headed upstairs to play “trains”. (I like to try out the ‘good mother’ role every once in a while.) (It never sticks.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I walked in first with the baby, laid him on Luke’s bed, and sat down for some track construction. In the meantime, Luke came in and shut the door. Heh heh. This is where it gets good. Luke asked for milk. I tried to leave the room, but the doorknob was alarmingly immovable.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jiggle.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jiggle…<i style="">jiggle</i>…JIGGLE.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Huh. Not good.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I rummaged around in Luke’s toy box for something to pick the lock.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nothing.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I opened his closet door. Ah ha-- a wire hanger. I can do this! I’ve read WikiHow on picking locks.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Twenty-minutes later…yeah, WikiHow, not so helpful.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I quickly calculated my options: Break legs while jumping out window, wait three hours for Chris to come home, open windows and yell hysterically until someone comes to help.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I opened the window and braced myself…</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You thought I was going to jump didn’t you?</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was. But, I had no idea if the front door was open and what good would my daring act of bravery have been if I was unconscious from blood loss <i style="">and</i> locked out of the house? I mean, how stupid do you think I am?</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I put my pride aside and picked the next best option. I hung myself out the window like a lady of ill repute and called out to the weed-whacking workers across the street…</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">and the man jogger with the headphones…</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">and all the cars with the windows rolled up…</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I finally got the attention of one of the workers across the street who stopped what he was doing, hit his buddy on the arm, then did the “man nod” in my direction. After some misinterpreted signaling, they stayed put.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stupid man workers.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, 45 minutes into the ordeal, our neighbors’ lawn care guys pulled up in a truck and I did my best blonde damsel-in-distress gig.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It worked. One of them came over and freed us from the awful nightmare.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Boy, that’s not something you come across every day. I’ll have to remember this one,” he said as he chuckled out the door.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gee thanks.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After he left, I picked up the shattered pieces of my self-respect and put both kids in front of a Baby Einstein video…they’ve got to get smart somehow…I’m only going to give them the idiot genes.</p> erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400120493302905288.post-18799217731455830902008-12-11T16:08:00.005-06:002008-12-21T19:55:51.124-06:00Jacob Kimball BaileyBaby Jacob made his debut Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008 via c-section. He was 6 lbs. 3 oz. and 19 1/2" long. We didn't have any complications, though he did have the cord wrapped around his neck 4 times. I'm slowly adjusting to having another baby around the house and the exhaustion that comes with it. I love my boys.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXR0t3QI/AAAAAAAAAQU/f8pRpb3TEf0/s1600-h/IMG_2175.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXR0t3QI/AAAAAAAAAQU/f8pRpb3TEf0/s200/IMG_2175.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282426994199223554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXDw67mI/AAAAAAAAAQE/KaCFbMQnU3I/s1600-h/IMG_2075.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXDw67mI/AAAAAAAAAQE/KaCFbMQnU3I/s200/IMG_2075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282426990425206370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXIfoF3I/AAAAAAAAAQM/GlRvWAkGxyU/s1600-h/IMG_2173.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2pPDGNRqbqk/SU7zXIfoF3I/AAAAAAAAAQM/GlRvWAkGxyU/s200/IMG_2173.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282426991694845810" border="0" /></a>erin j baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16815988983888178125noreply@blogger.com4