I'm over-thinking this title.

As Jesus passed on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. (Mt 9:9)

That's all. He just got up and did it.

Men.

I imagine calling the women would be a little more difficult. Explains why the twelve are all men.

Maybe Jesus walked up to a group of women doing the wash and said "Follow me."

So then Betty says "Who are you? We don't even know you."

And Sally goes "Yeah, go where?"

And Jane is all "Can I finish this load first?"

And Diane says "I'll have to ask my husband if it's OK with him."

And Louise asks "Is Susie invited too, because we don't really get along well and I wouldn't want to cause any drama."

And Amy is like "Am I wearing the right shoes?"

Women: this is a great skill we have, to question things and work out problems. Sometimes, though, just stop. Stop worrying, stop bellyaching, stop looking at every item in your kitchen and evaluating what type of bloody and gruesome injury could befall your children if they move that chair over there and move that thing and open that cupboard and then fall while holding a knife and a lighter and a hot iron and a jigsaw.....

Just Stop.

Get up and follow Him.

An Ode to Chubby Baby Cheeks (sweetened and condensed)

Oh, you perfectly edible offspring of mine,
What glorious rolls you posses!
So round and white and smooth,
Like a remarkable combination of a pearl and a pillow,
And a delicious cheeseburger.

NOMNOMNOMNOMNOM

Sto lat

My birthday is basically my favorite day of the year.

Occasionally, Thanksgiving falls on my birthday. Those years, when we're going around the table, saying what we're thankful for, y'all better say "Lo-lo" or more than the turkey is going to get cut. ( ;) )

And don't think that you can just put a candle in the pumpkin pie and call it my birthday cake. I want the Real Deal Funfetti layer cake, hand-crafted for the special occasion.

Also, I get to sleep in until at least 9am.

The Lions, preferably, should win. They often disappoint.

Anyway, Thanksgiving falls a week after my birthday this year, so there's plenty of days a surprise party can be thrown in my honor without being invaded by green bean casserole or cranberry sauce.

I definitely love my birthday.

However.....

I'm starting to feel old.

I know, I'm not old. I'm really quite young compared to the majority of the American population. But strange phenomena are happening lately. I need two cups of coffee just to function. Two beers give me a headache the next day. I enjoy shopping for dishes!

Possibly worst of all, I'm realizing there are adults, who have actual jobs and families and real lives, who are YOUNGER than I am!!!

I know, it's an abomination.

The only way I've found to cope is to just accept it, bake cupcakes and say whatever the heck I want. Because I realized that even though I'm not that young and adorable new nurse at work, I no longer care what people think about me! So what if I'm starting to get wrinkles? They're awesome! They show that I know how to smile so much that it's being permanently etched around my eyes! Your young eyes are framed by your super-cute designer glasses? Ha! My are framed by wisdom and excellence! And a couple gray hairs!

And while I can't remember a time I was actually asked for ID at the bar, they always ask at Meijer.

So at least I don't look older than 40.

Retail Therapy

Great news is, I put off fall clothes shopping for a good 12 months by the convenience of gestating last year.

Bad news is, I've been wearing maternity jeans for the last 9 months or so.... There's just nowhere to store this fashionable fanny-pack of skin my children have so lovingly bestowed upon me.

So I find my quarter-century-or-so self hating the task of shopping. Not in general. I actually really enjoy looking at dishes or coffee tables or nail polish. Those things always fit.

Why am I going to spend hundreds of dollars on things that will be threadbare, faded and probably out of style in a matter of months? (I say "probably" because you think I can keep up with fashion these days? Girl, please. I ain't no Kate)

Not to mention that that money could be used on any of the more important and necessary purchases I need to make (i.e. fixing the furnace, hiring a maid, getting a pint of Blue Moon at the local public house...)

I could try to save a few bucks and go the the thrift store, but that requires effort (and about three less children). People think I have my hands full when I've piled three children into one behemoth Target shopping cart: one asleep and the other two silently clutching a package of Oreos as if it's the ring of power to their Gollum???? You better believe those people will make an about-face as they approach the crazed woman with her feral children making animal sounds from the bowels of the "women's casual" clothing rack at Value World. They wouldn't know whether to call 911, CPS or animal control.

I suppose I shall have to brave the treacherous waters of retail one of these days. Until then, it looks like a lot of cardigans and elastic in my future.

Sorry, have to go, Alfred Dunner just called.....

Back to the Future part V

The husband and I occasionally have conversations about a parallel universe in which we never met and therefore are not married (because clearly I would never have found anyone with nearly as perfect of eyebrows as the ones my darling sports).

Many times this conversation points out the fun things we would do or have with the disposable income we would presumably have. Things like: the husband would probably eat at Mexican Fiesta for most meals, or that I would live in a super cute townhouse in a fun city and own WAY more shoes than I presently do.

However, we usually end up noticing the things we wouldn't have. I certainly don't know how I would decorate my house without all of the adorable pictures of my children, and the husband probably wouldn't have the fantastic beard I make him wear (Seriously, the man's beard is phenomenal. So gorgeous. So manly). 

You better believe I would not have had season tickets to the Lions 2008 season (best wedding gift ever).

I mean there are some things I could do without: C-section scars, alopecia and crumbs. Everywhere, crumbs. Why. I think I'm sitting on half of a cookie right now that isn't mine, and maybe a grape from three weeks ago that's been ground into the carpet. 

Mostly, though, I'd miss out on the most obvious thing we wouldn't have.

This:

Also the husband, all of his love, and his efforts to bring me and our family to Heaven right along with him, but that's the answer you expected.

Someday my prince will come bring me a glass of wine and a piece of dark chocolate

Guess what! I'm a princess!

I had been suspecting it for years based on my inability to sleep if there's even the slightest wrinkle in my bed sheets, or if my pillow is lumpy (AKA Princess and the Pea syndrome)

I came to realize my status while driving my children around town in my complete-with-third-row-seating SUVhorsedrawncarriage and listening to the family favorite "Tangled Songs."

As Rapunzel was describing her day, wondering when her life will begin, I commiserated greatly with the young lass. Both of us, living life, waking up at 7am, cleaning and cooking and baking all day, playing hide and seek with little green creatures with sticky tongues....

I got to thinking about the other Disney princesses, and how they lived their lives in the rising action of their films. It appeared most of them were restricted women, locked in towers and homes, forced to complete domestic duties and stick to familial obligations.

Then they met the men of their dreams, ran away and ruled kingdoms or something.

Little girls of the world: That's real life. Only backwards.

First you're swept away by Prince Charming, THEN you're locked in a tower with a hairy beast and what seems like seven small people, talking to birds, eating rotten apples, and hiding your trinkets in a secret cove to protect them from being demolished by irate mermen.

Don't worry, ladies. It's actually a lot better than it seems. Every day my Prince comes and sweeps me off my feet, and the next day I get to do it all over again. What those Disney movies didn't tell you, is that you find much more joy in serving a family that you love and doing the daily tasks together, than in dancing the night away with some strange man with a foot fetish.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have some royal doodies to which I must attend.

Taller than the tallest tree is

If I could live off of banana nut muffins for the rest of my life, I totally would.

These things are probably the best thing I've ever made. I figure they have to have some sort of nutritional value. They're vegan, so there's that, right?

Forget that I'm mildly allergic to bananas. And nuts.

I have no idea where I'm going with this.

Oh yeah, so my husband and I will be married for five years this week! (don't judge, there's a connection. The husband likes bananas, and I'm a nut)

The poor husband. I've been considering opening up his cause for sainthood.

He has to listen to my endless bellyaching day after day after day.... and then come home from work and listen to it some more while I demand that he spend "Quality Time" with the kids, wash the dishes, take out the garbage and for goodness sake open that box of wine before I just poke some holes in it, get a straw and go to town!!!

Then there's the fact that I'm terrible at buying gifts for him. The only thing I have working for me for anniversaries is that we go by the traditional gift guidelines.

Turns out you can find pretty much ANYTHING YOU CAN EVER IMAGINE made out of wood.

Thanks, Etsy. You've limited my gift choices not at all. Way to go.

If you seek a pleasant peninsula... too bad.

Looking for this season's hottest vacation spot? Look no further than Lower Crooked Lake.

This luxurious location has been a family favorite for generations (at least four!) and provides a relaxing environment for you and your loved ones. When you arrive, be sure to say "Hello!" to the family, ready to greet you with a smile!

Perhaps you'd like to take a fanciful cruise on the pontoon with some of your dearest friends at hand? (Don't forget your life pacifier! Er... preserver!)

Or maybe you'd rather gather around the campfire for a gourmet dessert consisting of toasted marshmallows, crispy graham crackers and the finest chocolate, stacked into a sinfully sweet heap?

Maybe looking for the catch of the day is more your pace. If so, get your spinner bait and jig and head out to the dock to take your chances with the bass and bluegill. Catch something worth keeping? "That's awesome!"

You can always recline near the trailer with every camper's best friend (the beer, I mean).

However, remain vigilant for the dangers ever-present. Loose planks on the dock, risk of falling into the lake from a drifting boat or not wearing shoes in front of Grandpa are minor compared to the threat of Buno. Hold on to your eyeglasses, because this dude will snatch them up quicker than you can say Jim and Billie if you dare to dive into the murky depths where his despair festers from the pain of unrequited love. Don't wander too far onto Buno Island, for you may run into the shrine he built in an effort to impress his beloved, bringing inexplicable horrors upon yourself (mainly inexplicable because we haven't actually met anyone who has been tormented by Buno. We're guessing he doesn't leave survivors).

For your reference, artisic rendering of Buno pictured below:

It's best to arm yourself as heavily as possible.

On second thought, just stay home. I don't think there's enough room for dabofofus.

What about me, Mummy?

No, I did not try to climb another mountain and actually fall off the face of it to my demise, never to write again. My absence of words can merely be explained by an everlasting bout of monotony.

Actually, the monotony only recently started. Let me give you an update:

In my hiatus I managed to carry and deliver my third child, a bouncing baby boy, L. He's fabulous, adorable, and serious like his dad. He smells like his own baby-ness and I love him just like my two other rowdy rascals. He reminds me a little bit of his great-grandpa: napping all day, and waking up a little too early in the morning, wondering where the coffee is.

I also started, and quit, a new job. It was a fun little excursion of rebellion from my previous job, to which I will be returning in a few weeks.

The husband got a new job, a M-F 9-5 kind of deal, and therefore I have discovered I am not a morning person, yet all three of my children are.

My hydrangeas survived the heat last summer and blossomed gloriously this year. Somehow one bush has both purple and pink hydrangeas: a real miracle considering those are the best colors. It's living the Hannah Montana life and getting the best of both worlds.

However, I have now slipped into a world where every day melds into the next and I wonder how long my sanity will hold.

But truly, it's the best gift.

The more the days are the same, the easier it is for me to notice the small changes. How L is learning to smile reluctantly, and would rather gaze into my eyes with the cutest furrowed brow you can image. Or how precious Batman can be with the squealing voice of a two-year old. And how somehow Z managed to transform from a baby into a little boy, full of love and care for his little sister and brother. When I'm not worrying about how the day will go, I can sit back and relax and watch how fun it is to be growing up, rather than grown up.

I'm glad I'm still growing up, too.

I wanted to be 4,395 feet taller.

So we went on vacation last week.

I climbed to the almost top of a mountain.

We vacation hard core.

The whole way up I kept telling myself, if I could have two kids, I can climb a mountain. This line from "Up" kept coming into my head: "He hurdles Mount Everest! He... goes around Mount Everest!" After I had a panic attack at about 4,300 feet I said some Hail Marys as I climbed a little higher. Then we got to this part where, I promise you, it was a smooth, 20 foot high slab of rock with a three inch foothold about ten feet up.

Maybe I exaggerate, but that's when I gave up.

However, I do not consider it a failure. I climbed to the almost top of a mountain! I could see the top! I didn't fall off the face of a mountain to my death!

Maybe you're not impressed. Maybe you've climbed to the actual top of a mountain, one that's even taller. As for me, I'm counting this as a win.

I had never even seen a mountain before that! Definitely a win.

You make me feel so young.

So many things are just way too hard. Specifically, being an adult. You know, having to clean and work and cook and make phone calls. UGH. Phone calls. The WORST.

I'm learning life is so much easier as a three-year-old, and there's no reason I can't enjoy life with the same reckless abandon.

Who says we can't have ice cream for lunch, or watch Disney movies from dawn until dusk? And what's the problem with getting unreasonably excited about the prospect of a birthday party, for which your house is going to be filled with dozens of helium balloons in an assortment of vibrant hues? (nothing, because it's going to be freaking awesome)

I'm going to play at the park and make my stuffed monkeys talk in high-pitched voices. I'm going to make murals of monsters in the dining room and step back and admire my work. And when the lamp breaks I will revel is the grand ruckus the crashing ceramic produced as it plummeted to its demise.

Most importantly, I will take a three hour nap every afternoon. Goodbye, responsibilities of adulthood. Hello, care bears,  rainbows, unicorns and butterflies.

Clean up, clean up, wash your dirty underwear!

There are certain chores I despise.

Sure, washing the dishes and doing the laundry are time-consuming, never-ending tasks. However, there are other things much much worse than those.

I call these tasks "invisichores": those chores that, upon completion, no one either notices nor cares that you spent precious minutes of your life performing said tasks.

Here are my top 3

3. Cleaning the microwave

The caked on spaghetti sauce and pulled pork were disgusting and intolerable yesterday, but does the husband even acknowledge the sparkling microwave with its lemony scent today? No. Perhaps next time I'll leave the turntable in the sink as evidence.

2. Dusting

Personally, I don't dust unless the Pope is coming over, but I can imagine that the absence of dust is hardly any more unsettling than the presence of it in my home. I just pretend the layer of dust all over the bookcase is in fact the actual color of the wood and not dust mite excrement.

1. Cleaning the toilet

Not only do I risk being splashed by water that has touched a container that has touched human waste, but it takes me freaking forever to clean the toilet! I don't know why, maybe I'm doing it wrong. The only bonus to this chore is that I always leave the blue liquid in the toilet afterwards as proof.

There you have it. Have fun doing your chores. I know I won't notice they've been done.

Let me know if you have some invisichores of your own, and how you leave proof that you didn't just spend your day eating bon-bons and watching weird Netflix shows.

A moving buddy. If you don't have one, get one!

I have terrible timing.

About a month ago I decided to rip out ten hideous bushes from my backyard that stood about 20 feet tall. Now, when the temperature has been running about 100, I decide I must plant some flowers.

What is wrong with me?!?!

First of all, no one is even selling flowers anymore. The nurseries are closed, and the garden stores have shriveled-up sorry excuses for perennials on triple-double clearance.

Nevertheless, I will be trekking to the Husband's ailing grandmother's house to rip out three hydrangeas and two roses to plant at my house. I hardly even enjoy moving about in such weather as this, yet I'm about to go force these poor plants into tiny pots and drag them 10 miles to a new home. How
inconsiderate.

Wish me luck and lots of water.

The poor hydrangeas will be needing it.

Minus the Russian spies and all that....

I am recanting my previous post and moving further back in time. Supporting statements as follows.

Point 1:

The Husband claims that people are getting more and more obese every year because of air conditioning. We've been trying to get a little more fit lately. Ergo, it's now 80 degrees in my house. Surprisingly, the conditions are not as miserable as I first assumed.

Point 2:

Since it is now so warm in my homestead, and of course considering I'm as fashionable as they come ("they" being 20-something mothers of two who have too many student loans, watch too much Gossip Girl, and have a Target card) dresses are taking over my closet. It's incomprehensible how many adorable dresses exist in stores this year. I think I might accidentally buy five right now.

Point 3:

Speaking of shopping on the internet, I purchased a new iron yesterday. It has inclined me to embrace my status as goddess of domesticity and iron all of the Husband's shirts, my bed sheets, the children's clothes, and the curtains that I don't even own... yet. All of this, of course, will be completed while wearing heels and pearls in my fabulous new dresses.

In conclusion, I watched Rear Window last night. I'm certain I will present myself as Grace Kelly, in her $1,100 Parisian gown on a 90 degree day with nary a bead of sweat, and not as the chubby sunbather who makes weird sculptures and yells at the murderous neighbor about flowers or something.

Well, maybe I'll just shoot for the middle ground and be the quick-witted home care nurse, Stella. That lady is ballin'.

Getting my Cardigan on.

I can't care about anything but vehemently rocking out to 90s pop-tunes.




While I'm at it, I'm going to wear ostentatiously colored shorts and jelly shoes. That's right, I'm in elementary school again. Thanks for the selection of everything in neon, Target!

Food is delicious.

I have two things for you to digest today.

Number one:

Stop comparing breastfeeding mothers to monkeys.

I get it. Primates are kind of like humans, having opposable thumbs and wearing clothes while they play musical instruments and all that. BUT THEY'RE ANIMALS! Just because a chimp suckles her babes until they're in preschool doesn't mean I have to. Humans have the ability to make intelligent decisions for themselves and their young that are not based solely on continuing the species. Love and affection are a few key ingredients in the mix.

(Disclaimer: I fully, 100% support breastfeeding until you and your babe are absolutely ready to discontinue, whether that be at 6 months or 6 years)

Number two:

I think I'm going to eat banana bread for every meal, and bake it every day. I'm also going to add pecans and chocolate chips to the batter, every day. Also, love and affection.

Holy Roller? Holy Roller.

You might have heard of this 2 word story thing before. I really don't know much about it, but I do know that I see the signs all over the place.

Today I saw one that said "Content? Content."

I thought, "that's the dumbest thing ever."

I suppose living a Christian life can make you feel more content, but I think it should do exactly the opposite. While striving to become more like Christ, we should feel challenged, and empowered. Never content.When we start to feel too content with our spiritual lives, that's when we invite laziness, and we stop working to become more holy.

And just so you don't feel like I'm getting too serious:

Happy Birthday, G!!

Video game championship.

How my life is like Tetris:

I know for a fact that all of my 3oz liquids and gels fit into that 1 quart bag for the flight out. How has my face wash bottle turned without my consent from a convenient line to one of those T shaped pieces with a tail growing from it?! And who put a square lotion right in the middle!?!?

The fridge was almost certainly empty when I left to go grocery shopping. I know I spent over $200 on groceries, but does that mean they need pile into the fridge with such speed that I'm mere fractions of a second away from sure demise? I will not fail you, pork tenderloin!

The kids are packed neatly in their beds at precisely 8pm. We beat the clock and every toy is stacked away nicely. I finally have a sense of accomplishment on leveling up and must force myself to take a break from the challenges or I'll definitely dream of blocks falling from the sky (although that might not be a dream if I don't tread lightly near the bookcase where the toys were precariously piled...)

It's morning, and the call of the game is unrelenting (or maybe that's Z saying "Hello! Mom! Come Here!"). We're onto the next level, but I think today we'll just stick with cuddling on the couch, three in a row with no squares in-between.

We'll go for the record number of tetrises when the husband gets home. He'll fit right in to family cuddle time, FTW.

It is illegal to let your pig run free in Detroit unless it has a ring in its nose.

Turns out the 90 degree weather last week was a fluke. It got down to below freezing again yesterday. Oh, Michigan.

On a related note (in that Michigan is a bizarre place), my husband will not let me cut my hair. It's not like I want to do anything drastic... just take off a couple inches or 10. To make his defense, he cited a bogus Michigan law at me (see #7). So I guess for now I'll settle with my beautiful flowing locks and get an adorable hair cut when my husband finally comes around to the 21st century. (20th? 22nd? I've never understood centuries...)

For those of you curious, toddler accidents are easier to clean off of the wood floor than off of underpants.

Potty training isn't going too well.

Finally: I want a pet pig! Recently the husband and I discovered tea-cup piggies. Way. Too. Fun.

We decided we need a new house before we get a few, though. Our current piglets make it a little difficult to store a litter box for the new pig. Toddlers and pig poop is a combination I don't intend to experience. Dreadful.

I'm totally serious about the pig thing. I will have one some day.

Random update: It feels like spring outside.

I only have six years and five months to learn fluent Italian. I thought I was fluent for one evening, but that may have just been my friend Jack Daniels translating for me. Molto male.

There are way too many cute things to buy in the world, and I want them all. Seriously, why do I not own this whisk???

Life if extremely stressful. Insight: that must be why there are so many fun things available for purchase. They're there to distract us from how horrible life can be.

Sea salt and chocolate is a magical combination. Also, bacon is a superior meat product.

Cell phones make people dumb. Really, is Angry Birds more intriguing than.... anything else in the word? Pink whisks, for example?

Finally: I love colors.