atlanta

On Friday, Ceily PRETENDED to be sick and skipped school. So, we packed a bag, got our pillows and jumped in the car and drove to ATLANTA. I have to say, it was fun. My BFF Staci and her family are there, and 5 hours is too close to not take a quick weekend when Ceily's BFF Gillian is celebrating a birthday.

We watched GREASE and GILMORE GIRLS. We, or more exact, ME, drank DIET COKE. We ate at CRACKER BARREL and got too much CANDY at the shop. Our BIG GIRLS delighted their mothers and became LITTLE GIRLS again dying to play with AMERICAN GIRL DOLLS. ALL WEEKEND LONG. Staci and I SHOPPED at our favorite stores. We ate YUMMY treats and talked and laughed. The most LAUGHING was at my expense. After attending a wonderful church service and listening to a PROPHET'S COUNCIL, we left to come HOME. Of course 5 minutes after we depart from the driveway, my cell phone rings and it's Staci. She couldn't stand to be without me.

Or so I thought. I FORGOT something. So we turned around and retrieved our left behind item. 15 minutes later, after we had gotten on the highway, my phone rings AGAIN. It's Staci of course. Best friends are hard to leave. No, not really. I had forgotten my MAKE UP, AND MY PILLOW AND MY BAG OF CLOTHES. So this time we had to return. I'm a bit astonished. I'm pretty good at keeping my stuff all together, right MOM? But, we are finally on our way.

That's what you THINK.

This time, it's only about 2 minutes after leaving and my phone rings AGAIN. Staci is laughing too hard to even talk. I had forgotten my CREDIT CARD. (I'll blame this one on Brian. He's the one that took it from me.) I had to get my card back. I had to have a way to pay for gas. So we RETURN for the 3rd time. The FOURTH time I didn't go back. We were already an hour away. Yes, I had forgotten a shirt. And THEN, I got home, all ready to SNUGGLE up in bed with Chris and watch a little TV. And I can't find my glasses.

They are under the couch in ATLANTA.

I also can't find my CAMERA.****Camera has been found. No longer panicking.

p.s. thanks chris.

daily art 51

PEACE, LOVE, JONAS BROTHERS

by ceily

daily art 50

CRAZY PUNK
by eddie

daily art 49

PUNK ROCKER
by eddie

love a sleeping boy

too bad he's sick- again.

daily art 48

I LOVE PINK

by lana

daily art 47

BABY TV

by lana

daily art 46

LONGEST ROLLER COASTER EVER

by noah

Ok. So, normally, I don't get too many comments. That's ok. It's my family and few friends that read my blog. I usually talk to my family and few friends daily, so, they comment in my ear about how awesome my blogs are. But, sometimes I'll read a random stranger's blog and feel a little bit lacking in the comment department. But I get over it.

Well, I wasn't able to sleep. It's 5:19 in the morning. I have an hour until the babies have to be woken. So of course I go to my blog and of course I log in and WOW! I have 3 comments on one blog. That's pretty cool. Thanks commentors. You made my early morning.

But what has me feeling like a rock star is that one comment was made by a pretty famous person. Howard Dully, the author of the book, MY LOBOTOMY. You can read what I wrote the first time if you scroll down a bit.

Howard, I just have to say you are a brave man. I read your book and like I mentioned, was a bit depressed. It's not a good thing when adults feel the need to harm children. I didn't like that. But I failed to mention, because I was talking about laundry, not lobotomy, that I actually loved reading your book. My husband is now reading your book and I have recommended your book to many others. I hope they go and buy it. I was quite happy to locate your blog. Now I can listen to your NPR broadcast. I'll do it today. NPR HERE.

So, thank you Howard Dully, author of MY LOBOTOMY, for making me feel a bit special this morning, and those who read this post, please check out Howard's book, or even his blog HERE.

Now I'll go make cinnamon rolls for my waking babes.

why i love to do laundry

I actually love to do laundry. Not love it so much that I want to marry it. Just enjoy it enough that it's not a drudgery to have to get it done. I will add that I don't do laundry once a week. If I did, I think I would not love it at all. It would be too much to do in one day. So, I do laundry every day. At least one load, usually two. Of course it's never fun to have to touch someone else's dirty underwear. I even have issues with that(and having to touch raw meat or eating old food). Or having to unravel a wet, dirty, stinky, smelly, disgusting sock that has been worn by the male parties inhabiting my home. That's not too good.

But the process is what makes me happy. I can take a huge pile of dirty clothes, sort them into smaller piles, pick one smaller pile up, place it in the washing machine, pour the soap in, shut the lid, push the buttons and that's it. The machine is actually washing my clothes for me. Now I am free to read a book about a young 12 year old boy that was given a lobotomy because his step mom didn't like him.(this is a real book. it's called MY LOBOTOMY by Howard Dully...read it if you want to be depressed for a few days. it's good.) I also can go to the store and buy things as the agitator twists and turns making my clothing clean. I can go downstairs and mop the floor if I feel like it. Or watch a movie. I can even go to bed while my machines are washing and drying my clothes.

Or I can do my very favorite laundry time activity: Read blogs of families that I have never, ever met.
Daughter/Son/Husband: Walks into room, looks over my shoulder- "Who is this?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Daughter/Son/Husband: "What? You don't know them?"
Me: "No, I just like to read their blog every day."

So, as my clothes are washing or drying, I am able to accomplish something else...AT THE SAME TIME. How great is that? Pretty great if you ask me.

Now, ask me what I think about putting clean clothes away.

Umm, not too much. Don't like that part at all.

daily art #45

DOLPHIN RIDE

by lana

for her father on father's day

a little ocd

Chris. What can I say. I love him. He's awesome. He makes me smile.

I do have one or two things that get to me, but that's the stuff I keep to myself.

One thing I do not keep deeply hidden is my dislike of his ability to lose grasp of objects that he's usually tossing high into the air. Usually said object is aimed directly toward the space I happen to be occupying. There's been many (too many to even count) a close calls since the two of us have become a couple.

He's throwing the football, high, tossing it back and forth, catching it, until it zips past my head, missing me by a centimeter, knocking the lamp over. Or he has a shoe in hand, tossing up, catching, tossing up, catching, tossing up and over and he's trying desperately to get to the shoe before it hits me square in the head. Last night he was tossing the new tennis racket up and over, up and over, up and forward, knocking over the two picture frames on the table. I always just shake my head.

Or,how he has this uncanny ability to lock himself outside when it's 2:30 in the morning, or 7:30am and I'm still in bed, or 11:45pm and I've been upstairs, in bed sound asleep for two hours already. I'll hear a little knock, knock, knock. Now-a-days I don't even look at him. I just open the door, turn around and go back to bed. He's usually wearing a sheepish grin.

It's just been recently that we think Chris has a mutant gene. He has a few obsessive qualities that we talk about. Like how his shirt sleeves constantly bug the heck out of him. Next time you are next to Chris, notice how every other second he is adjusting his sleeves. He'll hike his shoulders up trying to adjust, or he'll take his fingers, grasp the sleeves at his shoulder, and move the t-shirt just a little bit further up his arm. And like I said, this happens constantly.

Sometimes the shirt thing goes a little bit further. We'll be sitting in bed, reading or watching television, and then all of a sudden I'll notice Chris freaking out, pulling his shirt off over his head like he's just seen a huge bug crawl up his sleeve. Once the shirt is off and has been thrown onto the floor quite forcibly, he's ok.

One thing I do love about this little problem, is that he tends to want to do something with his hands. If it's not throwing objects at my head, or tweaking with his shirt sleeves, or knocking on locked doors, he's lovingly rubbing my feet. I sometimes feel a leeetle bit guilty asking him to do so. I know that he's tired. I know he'd rather not. But then I notice that hands moving and in constant motion and I don't feel too bad. I really think sometimes he doesn't even notice he's been rubbing my feet for an hour. He's just content moving his fingers back and forth. Maybe he's not noticing the way his shirt sleeves are riding up, bothering him, making him think he's going to go crazy if he doesn't reposition them just one more time.

love love love...

this guy.

sick

I loved sick days when I was growing up. I loved them so much I can remember trying to fake a sick day, or two. I took the good ol' mercury thermometer and lit a match and placed the burning flame to the bulbous part, and man how quickly that silver streak shot up. I knew for sure my mom would believe me now...

...until the glass exploded.

Then I had to quickly pick up the cool mercury that was spilling in movable pools all over the wooden floor before my mom came back into the room. And I know for a fact I did not wash my hands after that. Sometimes my sickness would be real, and sometimes not, but my mom would always let me stay home. Always. I love you mom.
Lana has become my "love those sick days" child. She's sunny and happy when she wakes up two hours later than required and is still clad in her pj's, hair still crazy and not even a faint vapor of toothpaste hovering over her mouth. She knows her prayers have been answered. Even if she is sick for real. She's had a fever and sore throat for a while. Her fever is gone, but that nose is d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g!
I think she knows she can do anything, watch any movie, ask for food on the couch and suck her thumb all day long. And when you can take a bubble bath all alone, for as long as you like, it's hard not to go to bed wishing-praying for sick days.

daily art #44

PURPLE HEART
by ceily
for her dad on father's day

like my new lamp?

I love it.
but i LOVE her more.

happy birthday staci

for you, a cupcake. (or two)

nothing better

than a 9 year old.

soccer

Nothing better than a little pre-bedtime soccer in the front yard. Eddie was the coach. I heard the whistle blow every other second.

Teams: Yellows and Shirts. I wonder which team won?

I guess if you are playing with a 2 year old, a 4 year old and two six year olds, it makes for lots of instructional time.

Of course when you have lots of down time, there's lots of intramural activities going on.

love this beauty too

even if she wont look.

just because

she's so dang cute.

daily works of art #43

YELLOW

by eddie

for his dad on father's day

daily works of art #42

SELF PORTRAIT

by lana

sleeping ada

my friend staci is in town. and when she comes, she has to bring her baby. i'm ok with this. nothing better than a sleeping baby. we stayed up until 1am taking pictures of the slumbering angel.



the end.