Love poem

The following is a poem I received from Adam while working at The County Seat in 1986. It is written on the back of a Levi’s promo card in purple marker.

A Dream

Love always,
Adam

I love you too, still.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

The curse of the winter white pants

While taking a speed round through Old Navy last week, I found a pair of winter white velveteen pants on sale for $6.97. Of course I had to try them on. Tan or brown would have been preferable, but a sale is a sale.

As I was trying these pants on I thought to myself, there is no way these white pants are going to look good on me. I mean who looks good in white pants? Who buys white pants anyway? Certainly no one in Minnesota with the slush and the snow and the slush and the snow. And, what mother of three would ever think to buy white pants to just throw on, especially a mother that has forgone the hand towel and just uses her pants as a rag instead?

Well, I bought them and they are so comfortable and cute especially for $6.97. The only problem is, every time I wear these pants, I fall down.

NO, I am not kidding.

The first day I was helping a friend of PJ’s into the car and told her to watch the ice, as I rounded the van after putting her securely in her seat I wiped out, wiped out to the point of ripping a gigantic hole in the knee, blood dripping down the knee and dirty patches all over the front and side of the pants. This mishap incurred another trip to the store to buy a new pair of winter white pants that now have cost me a total of $13.94.

The next time I wore the pants, I was walking through the preschool parking lot. An acquaintance of mine yelled hello from the bottom of the stairs and as I was trying to step up onto the curb with KP in my arms, I lost my footing and tripped. The thought went through my head that I may have severely sprained my ankle, seeing it took an entire walk through the school corridor for the sharp pains to subside. But as least I didn’t drop the baby.

Today, I am wearing the pants again. Last night it snowed. I was chasing after KP who was headed down the driveway and toward the street and damn if I didn’t fall on the ice AGAIN.

I am wondering if I should stop wearing these things. These winter white, cute, cheap, and comfortable velveteen pants. Because I fear if I keep wearing them, I may end up on crutches.

Maybe I should give them to Mrs. Bickerson. It is her birthday today. Happy Birthday! Let me know if you want the pants.

Here’s to a wonderful day…

Did you get the new Victoria’s Secret catalog yet?

What do you usually do with your copy?
a. order your favorite pair of thong underwear
b. think of how HOT you would look in your winter-white skin in this?
c. hand it over to the male in the house, because it was CLEARLY printed for them

Butter up some cornbread and grab the whiskey

I by no means think of myself as a country music lover. In fact I dislike the thought of myself liking country music at all.

That said, around three months ago Erik brought over Ryan Adams cd, Jacksonville City Nights. It has yet to be taken out of my daily play list, which includes the following: Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, Jacksonville City Nights.

This album, which I think is appropriately categorized as alt-country (but sounds very country), is fabulous. With its amazing imagery and haunting lyrics, I’m not sure I will ever grow tired of it.

So sit back, take a shot and give it a listen.

“Nothing” is sometimes everything

This past weekend was filled with so much of nothing. No schedule to keep, no set meal times, no butt wiping, no fighting, no TV.

This past weekend filled me back up. Time spent sleeping in past 6:30, having dinner at 10:30 pm just because our Mexican margarita lunch started at 3:00, reading a novel or People or the old worn copy of Northern Birds, knitting, running in the daylight, laughing, lots and lots of laughing.

This past weekend allowed me to re-enter the storm of sickness that still was raging within the house and tackle it with a calm and serenity that I had somehow lost along the way.

Thank you ladies.

And, thank you honey. I’ll be here to hold your head out of the toilet, rub your back and still be able to smile.

Thank You – I’m Sorry – Good Luck – See Ya Sunday

In less than five hours I will be taking off, with three friends, for a girls’ weekend. This is the first time that my sweet love will be alone with the kids and clearly “in charge” for longer than a 10 hour stretch of time.

Honestly, I can’t wait to leave, but I do have mixed emotions. I’m leaving him with the following: two boys with ear infections and diarrhea and a little girl who was up all night with puke-o-rhea.

For those of you out of the exploding bodily fluids arena, puke-o-rhea is when one simultaneously and violently pukes and diarrheas for an extended period of time. This looks very similar to the onset of a bad case of food poisoning but include a high fever and a pale-ashen-dark ringed circles under the eyes look.

So, I will be handing off my bon-bon eating/soap opera watching baton to Adam. Please stayed tuned, he will be guest blogging right here and telling us all what he’s servn’ up while I’m away. Watch out, he may even leave you with a haiku.

Happy Trails
Bon Voyage
Ciao
See Ya Sucka

oh and honey…

I love you!

Fish food

PJ fell asleep on the couch yesterday while I cooled my jets to try and figure out how to extract the carrot. Once she awoke I bribed her with the possibility of watching an early television show if we got it out ourselves instead of dragging everyone to the ER where the doctor would surely hurt her much, MUCH worse than mommy, she took the bait.

We chose the couch as the place to perform the procedure. She laid-back, I knelt beside her. She held Dori, I held a tweezers and a straw (thank you Peggy). She started blowing. I saw “it” start to move. The nap and endless tears seemed to have created an abundance of snot around the carrot and plugged the entire nostril. I held down the opposite nostril and told her to blow…out shot the mucus covered carrot, right onto my sweater.

Stand off

I’m sitting in the kitchen in a rage.

PJ is sitting in the living room wide-mouthed and quiet and scared.

She won’t let me extract the CARROT CHUNK that she lodged up her nose over lunch.

Blowing hard out of only one nostril didn’t work. Pushing down on the carrot externally didn’t work.

I need to go in with a tweezers.

She won’t let me.

I have tried to reason with her. I have explained things simply and easily. I have held her gently. I have pinned her down.

I’m at a loss.