A Black Cat, Evel Knievel and Tinkerbell Walk Into {a crowded street for trick or treat}

Posted By on October 31, 2014

(major props to the girls for picking insanely easy costumes this year. tatey’s was finished in the wee hours of this morning and, if I may, I’m going to pat myself on the back for sewing the entire thing on the fly over the past three days. power to the sewing machine and midnight oil.)

In The Evenings

Posted By on October 26, 2014

Every fall and spring since we moved in, the skies above our neighborhood have been filled with hot air balloons on clear days. They follow the sunrise and sunset for some amazing views of all the mountains on either side of us. Usually we exclaim over them in passing, rushing off to school or inside for dinner. Lately, though, no matter how perfectly cooked and hot our dinner is, when someone cries out “Balloons!!” we all come running. Out the door in bare feet, chasing the bright colors from one viewing spot to another. They disappear behind the trees and everyone waits impatiently for them to reappear somewhere else.

The other night was no different. Vegetables were left to get cold and pizza was greasing up the boxes on the counter as we all rushed out behind the kids. Bare feet on the cold driveway, we started to count all the bright spots in the sky. One by one, they popped up over the treeline, five in all. They surely looked as though they were heading far away to the south, but then all of a sudden, as we tried to usher everyone back in the house, they started floating right up and over our yard. Over they went, skimming past the chimney and brushing the trees. The girls stood in the yard, waving and yelling, hoping to be heard over the roar of the fires.

I stood in the yard, snapping away, determined to get every ridiculously awesome shot I could before they drifted away. Somewhere along the way, I noticed that the husband had disappeared. Assuming he had just gotten hungry enough to go in, I kept clicking. And then, all of a sudden, into my frame comes . . . the husband’s newest toy, buzzing along. Yelling at him from behind the camera, I fussed over how close he was trying to get his drone to the balloons. Laughing, he kept trying, hoping for an awesome video.

And then, a gust of wind sent his drone across the street, where it lost power and dove into a tree.

It was a magical evening, as the sky slowly turned pink behind us and the whooshing sound of the balloon fires faded away. An hour later, we had eaten our cold dinner, marveled over the amount of balloons we saw, and watched the husband climb a dead tree to retrieve his precious toy. Which, thankfully, was completely unscathed and ready to charge up for the next adventure in attempting to harass unsuspecting people out for an enjoyable evening ride.



Pumpkin Traditions {carrying on}

Posted By on October 22, 2014





Three, Three {somebody’s three}

Posted By on October 21, 2014


Three, oh three, oh three. It seems like forever ago that you, my sweet Tatey, were the tiny baby around the house as your older sister turned three. Time has flown, and I’m not sure how to balance loving the big kid you’re growing into and hanging on to the baby boy I can still see. I can’t wait to watch you grow up, but am not at all looking to hurry it along. This last year with you has been amazing. When we once wondered where your words were hiding, you’ve now decided to use them all. Every last one, all the time. You talk with your hands, and your whole body follows along. One question is all it takes for you to launch into a five minute story, so animated we all end up laughing from the pure excitement you have in sharing your thoughts with us.

You know no bounds when it comes to challenges, determined to scale every piece of playground equipment and test every toy for lifetime durability. Grass stains and mud streaks are an expected part of every outfit, along with the occasional fashionable accessory you’ve stolen from your sisters. You stand your ground, sometimes too firmly, but are the first to come running to sooth someone else’s tears. Sorry is a word said often and it’s always followed with a full body hug. You embody every bit of advice we’ve heard about how boys are the best cuddlers. Except at 6 in the morning. You must have heard that 6 in the morning is actually for wrestling and dragging covers off the foot of the bed . . . something the rest of us never got the memo for.

All you wanted for your birthday was a horse cake. Every question of what present you wanted, what you wanted to unwrap, or what you wished someone would give you, your answer was always a horse cake . . . followed by a pony. If it could have been done, you would have found both a pony and a perfectly themed cake today, but the neighbors may have had a fit about a live animal like that in our tiny yard. I hope I met all your expectations and those three candles shone brightly on the thing that made you happiest today. It wasn’t the best, the most delicious, or worthy of a thousand pictures, but seeing your face as we brought it out will be something to remember for years to come.

Tonight we smothered you in extra kisses and tucked you in. Gone are the pacifiers and the endless hand-holding to get to sleep. Now you “read” and snuggle down under your own covers and roll over as the lights turn out. If we’re lucky, we only have to shush you once or twice. Soon you’ll be the big brother and this birthday was just the last step on the way to really growing up. Tomorrow when you come running into our room, all legs and arms and boundless energy, I have no doubt it really will seem like you’ve grown inches overnight.

Goodnight, my sweet boy, on this first day of three . . .

Thirty Four {and three fourths}

Posted By on October 3, 2014

Yay! It’s another rare pregnancy update!

This weekend, I’ll hit thirty five weeks. Which, whoa. That’s impossible, I’d say, if it weren’t for the size of my belly (capable of clicking the track pad on the laptop all on its own when I move around too much). So near to the end, and grateful for it, as my shirts are beginning to be too short and I’d like to burn everything with an elastic waistband. And bras. Let’s not even begin to talk about bras.

After months of having an ever-growing list of projects in line before life changes for the hectic, things have finally picked up in the completion department lately. The husband spread a million yards of mulch for me, we have actual progress on three spots in the house getting functionality improvements, and some of the baby items have actually made it down from the attic to be washed. Our room is once again transitioning from Grown Up Space to Shared Space and, with it being the second time around in an itty bitty room, we’ve made a lot of wiser choices about what it really needed once again.

What pushed all of the to-do listing into high gear, I think, was a bit of a scare. Due to being completely miserable from itching from head to toe, we suspected that I might have had a lovely issue going on that was going to require a 37 week induction. Thankfully, I don’t, so we get the full 3 to 5 weeks after that to scramble around, but that was still a kick in the pants for a the few days the blood work took to come back. And, those extra weeks are going to come in handy, as I seem to have completely over estimated the amount of baby items I had stashed in the attic and was shocked to discover that we actually only still own 20 articles of clothing in the newborn to three months size range. That’s . . . not a lot. At first, I was thrilled over the idea of shopping for adorable tiny things. Onesies! Footsies! Gown thingies! But, then I went out and spent quite a while searching, and only came home with a dismal handful of gender neutral outfits. Apparently that was another thing I had forgotten about, the struggle for anything in the middle of a sea of blue and pink. When all else fails though, there are indeed plain white onesies.

So, onward we go. Still itching from head to toe and convinced I’m just allergic to being pregnant. Still hobbling, waddling and having my bones crack as though they are breaking in two, thanks to that broken back seven years ago. And still teetering on the edge of keeping all those lovely emotions in check on a daily basis. I actually cried tonight over the discovery that the Lightroom trial (photo editing software) the husband had installed for me would instantly rename all of my files. Sorting the last year and a half of pictures that I’ve fallen behind on is on my part of the to-do list and this will literally save me hours upon hours of manually renaming them. So, I cried. Perfectly logical.

(I had to pull the following picture off the husband’s phone from our camping trip because it just looks so absurd to me and makes me laugh. Sure, of course the hobbling pregnant lady with the basketball under her shirt will crawl around on the ground to get the perfect picture of her kids against the sunset. She’ll just need a few minutes to figure out how to get back up again.)