Room Swap with a Chance of Snow.

As if I didn't have a million other little things I could be doing, I suddenly decided a couple of nights ago that we absolutely MUST (without delay) switch the office and Ezra's room. I'm not talking about a simple furniture re-arrangement here... I'm talking about a full-on ROOM SWAP. Where everything goes from Point A to Point B and vice-versa. My sweet and longsuffering husband was willing to oblige my strange Tuesday night request, and so, the moving began.

I never felt 100% about Ezra's room placement choice- it's located by the squeaky front door and shares a wall with the living room. I'm sure it has been hard for him to sleep some nights as I curl up on the floor and watch 'Scrubs' re-runs at high volume while chomping on Cheezits. By putting his room in the back of the house, we can feel more freedom to dance around and sing Disney songs in horrific falsetto voices and operate the crushed ice machine without desperate prayers that the grinding won't wake the sleeping babe. It makes a whole lot more sense this way.

Ezra appears to really love his new room, and I think the office is great. We have yet to hang all the art and do all the window coverings and what not, but I thought I'd share some updated pictures anyways.

The Office. (take two)






Ezra's Room







Due to this random move, we have no internet on the desktop computer, so I am limited in my blog posting and vintage store abilities until we can get that up and running again. Oh, and did I mention?

IT'S SNOWING!!!!!!!!



Do you hear that sound? That's the sound of my pretty rose bushes SCREAMING.

Big, fat, yummy white flakes are drifting to the ground right now. Its so pretty and I haven't seen snow like this in years. All last night it was 'ice storming'. If you haven't lived in Middle America, you might not be familiar with this concept... It's like RAINING ICE. Not hail, not snow, but ICE. The roads and trees and telephone wires get covered with thick ice blankets, and when its falling from the sky it sounds like needles hitting your house.

I love snow. It's just one more reason to postpone my grocery shopping. wooo hooo!

Unabashed Tomfoolery! (UNABASHED, I say!)

Ezzie Boo is such a ham. He's discovered the THRILL of closing his eyes while walking. And while this pastime is quite amusing for him, it makes momma as nervous as a cat on rollerskates. Why is it that he heads straight for sharp corners the second he closes his eyes? It appears to be some yet-to-be-discovered Law of Physics, where:

Sharp Corner + Child With Eyes Closed = Imminent Contact.

Surely this 'hobby' of his can't last too long... If he keeps this up, my hair will be gray by next Tuesday.

Also, he's taken a sudden liking to having his picture taken. So much so, that he will strike a pose somewhere and continue to hold it until I can locate the camera, come back to where he is, set up the shot, and take his picture. Then he runs over (with much glee) to see the picture on the digital camera screen. It's so cute it hurts.

Example:



And Again, shown here:



He is so very, very fantastic.

In other news, we went to see Santa at the mall. It was Black Friday, so I was preparing myself for a 16 hour wait in a line that stretched from the BabyGap all the way to Kansas. Yet, when we rounded the corner, we were shocked to see NO LINE AT ALL. None. Yippie! No line! How can this be?? After entering the roped off area, however, we quickly discovered why we were on our own. There was some definite racketeering going on there.

First, the guy at the counter asked us if we wanted a picture with Santa, or if we just wanted to visit with him for free. We all said, "Picture, please!" because, um, isn't that the whole point? the cute picture you get to pull out years later and show prom dates? Duh?

He replied, "Okay, just enter this line here, and there's a price sheet down there around the corner."

Translation: You don't know how much we're going to charge you until it's too late to get back out of line. (If there had been a line, we would have been standing in it for about a half an hour before we would have been able to see this "price sheet". Who would want to wait that long and then back out when they finally could see that one 5 x 7 picture would only cost TWO HEALTHY LIMBS?)

We decided to go the cheapest route and just get the picture put on a CD... no prints included. After we got our picture with Santa (made tolerable for Ezra only through candy bribery), we went over to the checkout, where a very nice girl proceeded to tell us that it would actually be cheaper for us if we added a print to the package.

"Ok, Great!" I said happily. "Cheaper is good. I kindof need these limbs for things like walking and sipping wine."

"Sure thing!", she chimed back. "That will be a total of $28.93!"

"I'm sorry, wha?????"

30 DOLLARS FOR ONE PICTURE?!

Turns out, she had been sneaky with her wording when she said 'it will actually be cheaper'. She had meant that the picture CD would be cheaper, but didn't bother to mention that the 'added print' would be another $15.00 or so ON TOP OF THAT...

YIKES.

Something smells bad at the North Pole. The stench of trickery and unabashed tomfoolery. (that, and the drifting scent of corn-dogs from the food court.)

We changed our order back to the CD ONLY and fled from the North Pole before they had a chance to take more of our money.

In the end, though, it was all worth it. Simply because of this:



THIS may have been worth those exorbitant rates because, this?

This is PRICELESS.

One Full Turkey Day (in pictures)....

playing the piano...

thanksgiving smiles.

stuff that turkey!

cook that bird!

hanging christmas lights

basting. (my only contribution to the turkey process... hehe.)

decorating the treeeeee!

playing in the leaves...

raking the leaves...

screaming at the leaves....

and posing in the leaves...

this cat stalks our house and won't leave us be.

grandma and ezra!

grandma and grandpa.

finished product! (soooo yummy.)

le table

yum yum food.

happy thanksgiving!

Thankful.

Turkey Day! Woo woo! Weee! Yippie! Loud noises!!

Chris' parents are here in Oklahoma City with us and we started cooking yummy food this morning. I've never cooked a Thanksgiving meal, so I'm very excited to do it this year. I'm in charge of the green beans and Chris' dad is the Mashed Potato King and Chris is the Master of the Stuffing. Chris' mom is going to teach us all how to de-goo-ify the Turkey and not set it on fire. It's going to be delicious and there's something so comforting about the sounds of chopping and the smells of simmering celery and Ezras faint GASPS drifting down the hallway from his room where he is busy playing with his new Bob The Builder toy that Grandma and Grandpa bought for him yesterday at Target.

We're also going to hang the Christmas Lights and possibly set up the Christmas tree and walk to the park once the bird is in the oven. All in all, it's going to be a warm and fuzzy day and I really am so THANKFUL for family and this comfy house and the beautiful weather.

I'm thankful for all the people who are working at the grocery stores and elsewhere today so that I can make a million last minute trips to pick up things like Turkey Basters and Tin Foil and mascara. (What? I NEED it!)

I'm thankful for Ezekiel Cheatwood. Born yesterday to the coolest mom I know.

I'm thankful for all of you who read my internet ramblings. You all are helping me become more of who I am- allowing me to write... something I've always dreamed of doing in one form or another. Your encouragement and comments mean more to me than I can say.

I'm grateful for my life. So very, very grateful.

Now lets pull out some Turkey guts!

Proof that I have Too Much Time on my Hands...

It's time for another embarrassing admission by Emery!

This week's embarrassing admission happened about 30 seconds ago. I reached in the fridge to get a Pepsi, but the box was just sitting on the shelf completely empty. (A common occurrence in our household... I often will think we're good on groceries for a few days, only to discover that about HALF of all the boxes in the cupboard are, in fact, completely empty.) We just happened to have an unopened liter of Coca-Cola sitting in the fridge from a dinner party we had a few days ago, so I grabbed that instead and unscrewed the lid.

Like the good little merchandise-trained American I am, I subconsciously checked under the cap to see if I'd won anything. This is like a reflex for me. Second nature. Drilled into my brain from the age of 6. Instead of a "you've just won!" message, I found a jumbled mass of numbers and letters printed on the cap. A secret code of sorts. Normally, I would just ignore these numbers and pour my drink and forget all about it. But today was a completely different story. I got a feeling in my gut that said, "this could be THE ONE!" I could win 10 million dollars or something just by plugging these numbers into the Coca-Cola website and then, voila! We're rich! We build Chris a recording studio and move into a big ol' house and we're set! For life! Yeeee haw!

While picturing this glamorous lifestyle, I headed back to the office to enter the code into their website. I thought it would be a quick, easy process, you know? Like, type code in this box and we'll tell you if you're a ga-jillionaire or not.

I was wrong.

First I had to register. Now, most normal people would decide that Coca-Cola didn't deserve to suck up the amount of personal time it would take to go through this registration process and they would just drop the whole idea and move on with their lives. Me? I took the time to register. WITH THE COCA-COLA WEBSITE. Not only that, I had to fill the whole page out FOUR times because I kept forgetting to check a box here or there or I had entered the scrambled code in wrong at the bottom... All in all, I spent way too much time doing this. But I couldn't stop because of that pesky 'gut feeling' I had that I was about to be a millionaire. What if I had given up and been THAT CLOSE to an instant fortune? Oh the irony!

So, after I registered, it asked me a hundred more questions and then FINALLY took me to the box where I could enter my lucky secret code. I licked my lips and began to type the numbers in slowly. No room for mistakes. MUST BE ACCURATE. Sweat formed on my brow. The world grew silent. The computer hummed softly.

After I punched in the last number, I hit the submit button and awaited my fate.

"Thank You!" The page said. "You now have 3 points!"

Huh? Points? *blink blink* Where's my money?

Turns out, each time you enter a code, you get three points. And then, when you've amassed a huge wealth of thousands upon thousands of points, you get to chose from the prizes. (Chuck-E-Cheese arcade flashbacks, anyone?)

I disappointedly click on the store button to see what the store holds. Ooooh! I can download a ringtone with 16 points! (wait...thats an EXPENSIVE ring tone...) Or, for only 26,000 points, I could win the hood of the coca-cola NASCAR driven by Kyle Petty! (I've always wanted a NASCAR hood!) OR, I could win a walk-on roll on a Hollywood movie or TV show!

WOW! thanks, coca-cola! All of this and I'd only have to buy 8,660 liters of Coke! You're too generous!

PS. In the last 20 minutes that it has taken me to type this post, I have received 5 new junk e-mail messages in my inbox. And they are all from Coca-Cola.

*heavy sigh* I've brought this upon myself, haven't I?

The Lesson of Big and Little

Chris and I have a house guest staying with us for a few days, and she was kind enough to offer to babysit one evening for us if we decided we wanted to go out so that she could say thank you for opening our home to her. Being the polite host that I am, I immediately pounced on the offer like a ravenous beast and all but kneeled to clean her shoes with my tears of rapturous joy.

So, last night we went out on a DATE. (It's been awhile.) We went to see the movie 'Stranger Than Fiction'. If you haven't seen this movie, you should STOP reading this blog right now and go hop in your cars or catch a bus and head down to the movie theatre and see it. NOW-ish!



Maybe I'm just being a tid bid overenthusiastic because the last movie I was able to go see in the theatres was 'Chronicles of Narnia' a ga-jillion months ago. Maybe I could have gone to see the theatre re-release of 'Glitter' and still been just as pleased because, hey, let's face it- I'm the mother of a toddler and it doesn't take much, you know? Give me a coca-cola slushie and a bag of popcorn and sit me in front of a wall of drying paint and I'm good to go. Just so long as there's no toddler in the room yelling "CAR! CAR! CAR! VROOOOOM!" over and over again, I'll be in heaven.

It's funny how kids have a way of making life a whole lot more complicated, yet simplifying it at the same time.

Becasue, sure! I may have to drag a huge purse load of baby gear with me wherever I go and I have to actually PLAN AHEAD and schedule my life around naps and meals, all the while stimulating his mind and preparing him socially and spiritually for the real world he's going to be growing up in, but man-o-man! ... I've sure learned to appreciate the small things in life in the midst of all the chaos.

Instead of coming up with fancy ways to spend our time, Chris and I have learned to savor the taste of two-buck-chuck by the romanic Citranella candlelight... sitting on our patio in the evenings- fending off the monster mosquitoes and enjoying the occasional smokey treat or two... The little pleasures become huge while the things that used to seem so huge and pressing become little. Unimportant. Obscure.

This week at gymboree, Ezra learned the difference between Big and Little. As I watched him absorbing what the teacher was showing him, I couldn't help but smile, because... well, I guess I'm still learning that too.

The Christmas Question.

I just got back from my oh-so-wonderful-and-refreshing-once-a-month-moms-meeting, and I'm really excited because we talked about CHRISTMAS. Christmas with kids. And how the heck you do it without running yourself into the ground at 600 mph in the name of all things Martha Stewart and Holiday Cheer-meister.

They talked of all the basics: how to teach the joy of GIVING and SERVING rather than the joy of GETTING and STUFFING FACE. They talked about charity and opening your home to those who are lonely and in need during the Christmas season. They talked about giving meaningful gifts and establishing traditions that teach the importance of the Holiday. They talked about listening to your heart instead of listening to the screamy, whiny American Merchandising Monster. It was great. I even took notes.

NOTES, people!

This is all great stuff and yadda yadda yadda, but then, finally, came the topic that I was dying to find an answer to. I shifted to the edge of my seat and readied my pen.

Let's talk Santa Claus.



I'm in that whole slew of mommies that doesn't want to lie to their children about Santa, but doesn't want to spoil the fun of it completely, either. Isn't there a way to tell your young children that he's not really real, but let's pretend like he's real anyways, and then WHATEVER YOU DO don't tell any of your friends at school that he's not really real but we're really pretending he really is?

No? I didn't think so.

The woman speaking told us what she did with her children growing up. She told them all the real story of St. Nick. She told them how he was a wealthy priest who lived long, long ago that gave very generous gifts anonymously to those who needed it in order to bless others without getting any credit or glory for his charity. St. Nick was said to have left three bags of gold in the houses of three poor families that had no dowry to marry their daughters with. Without a dowry, these girls couldn't marry and would be sold into slavery. His name, St. Nick, became synonymous with 'Anonymous Gift Giving'.

So, she told her kids this story, and then everyone would have a "St. Nick" present each year and the tag wouldn't say who it was from.



That way they still got to keep the fun of the 'secret gift'... and when the kids heard, "This one is from Santa", they knew it was from a secret family member gift-giver, not from a house-hopping, reindeer riding, cookie eating magic old dude in a red jumpsuit.

I thought that was a really cool way to do things. I love hearing about other family's Holiday Traditions. It's that time in our lives when Chris and I get to start forging our own. What traditions did you guys have in your families that were fun? What would you/do you do differently? How did your family navigate through the Christmas Madness?

Oh, and can I pirate some of those oh-so-special family traditions and make them my own?

MWA HA HA

Death by Hippie

I got bombarded today at the supermarket by a 40 year old lady trying to recruit me to go on her "month long camping trip" with her and a slew of others "as cool as her". (her words, not mine.). She and her two small children were lurking around the soy milk cold case (the perfect lure for their prey) when they pounced on me and trapped me in front of the big, refridgerated wall of dairy. I couldn't move. She had me cornered. Meanwhile, about 12 other shoppers were trying to GET IN to the cases to get their milk, and they all were very, um, unsympathetic towards me and my prison-like-state.

My captor began asking me a million questions...none of which seemed to lead anywhere or bring the end of her inquisition any nearer.

"Have you ever been to GROOVEFEST?"

"No."

"Have you ever been to a LOVEFEST?"

"No."

"Have you ever been to a RAINBOW GATHERING?"

"No."

"Have you ever been to a PHISH concert?"

"No."

"Have you ever been to a DEAD concert?"

"No."

AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON....(I'm not kidding. She asked me like 20 questions just like this.) She should have just come out and asked "Do you want to smoke pot with me and my friends in the Forrest for 30 days?" and spared me the lengthy round-about invitation.

By this time I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I would never again see the light of day, and was doomed to perish in front of the wall of milk at the local grocery store. The cause of death on my death certificate would read: "Death by Hippie", and at my memorial, everyone would speak of how they never could have prepared themselves for this tragic, tragic end.

Finally, she said something about a month long camping trip somewhere in Arkansas... where they have a 'play area' for the kids...and she told me about some website to visit. (I'm kicking myself now for not remembering it. I'm sure the site is probably quite comical. At the time she told it to me, however, I was too busy making my peace with God to write anything down.)

I eventually got away from her "aggressive recruiting strategy" and immediately thanked Jesus for a second chance at life.

When I got home and told Chris about my encounter, he didn't seem surprised.

I personally was baffled why someone would target ME of all people for their hippie camping trip, but Chris just shrugged and said nonchalantly:

"It's because you're wearing a beanie."

Note to self: Burn all beanies... And, while I'm at it, burn all bras too. No, wait! Just the beanies. Yeah...just the beanies...

Maybe moms aren't for everyone...

I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not cut out for this whole "making mom friends" gig. Lately, every time I attempt to talk to another mom I suddenly get the taste of rubber and dirt in my mouth and it's then that I realize it's because MY SHOE IS IN IT. Examples:

I was at Gymboree again on Thursday and there was a great group of moms there with their kids so I vowed to try to talk to some of them before we all left instead of doing what I normally do- which is smiling at their children and exchanging 'oh he/she is sooo cute' looks with them, but never actually speaking to them. I usually take this approach because then all the moms think I'm nice (she gave me the 'your child is sooo cute look!') and I spare myself the eminent embarrassment I am sure to cause myself by trying to construct sentences.

So, we were all playing and smiling and having a good ole' time when I decided to talk to another hip young mom that was standing next to me.

"What's your son's name?" I asked.

"Emerson.", she replied.

Me: "Oh! That's like MY name. MY name is Emery. Did you know Emerson means 'the son of Emery?' ohhhh wow. I should have named MY son that. tee hee snort snort!" *blush*

Her: "Ahem. Oh, uh-huh. It's funny... I've been meeting a lot of little girls named Emerson lately."

Me: "Oh, well that's just silly now isn't it? Everyone knows that a name ending in -son means the SON of... you, know?" *awkward smile*.

Her: My daughter's name is AddiSON.

Me: *dies*

Right then was a convenient time for me to run and chase Ezra who was all the way across the room and CLEARLY outside of the boundaries of the 'Keep your child within hugs-reach AT ALL TIMES' rule- a rule that was taped up on the walls and mirrors and ceilings and floors every three inches or so in case you didn't see it posted eye-level on the front door when you came in.

Later, I attempted to enter conversation with this really beautiful younger mom who brought her two kids to the class. I think her and her children were speaking Russian to eachother and I was like 'Woah! Cool exotic mom!" So, when we were all seated doing the group activities, I watched her trying to coax her kids over to the mat. They were refusing to participate and she was getting frustrated.

"It's OK," I said. "My son didn't like the group stuff at first, either."

Gorgeous Russian Mom: "Oh, really? How long did it take to get him to start participating?", she asked desperately.

Me: *blush* "Uhh.. Three or four weeks?", I lied through my teeth. In all actuality, it was only about HALF A CLASS. I hadn't even been to three or four classes yet.

Her: "Yeah but we've been coming to Gymboree for MONTHS!"

Me: "Oh. Um. I'm sorry...?" *dies AGAIN*

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. The lesson being: Never open mouth. EVER. But, I apparently haven't learned a thing, because today, I tried to take Ezra to the storytime at our local bookstore. (which we promptly had to leave because the teacher had the AUDACITY to COVER UP THE TRAIN SET so she could read her story and Ezra had a screamy melt down while the teacher tried to sing her little song about her Indian Drum.)

Before the story started (and the conniption fit), I smiled at another girl standing there who was about my age. She had brought in a little boy about Ezra's age with her.

"How old is your son?" I asked sweetly.

She glared at me and said shortly: "Nephew."

Me: *Gulp* "Ahh. Nephew.."

Her: "Two."

Me: *smiles weakly and backs away slowly into a corner. Then, dies.*

I think I'll go back to the "smile but don't speak" approach. It will be my little way of making this world a better place to live in.

In a Nutshell.

#1. Ten Things I Want To Do Before I Die :

1. See a Broadway Show.
2. Learn to play the piano.
3. Write a Book.
4. Own a BIG bathtub.
5. See my husband's wildest dreams come true.
6. Learn to Cook. (and enjoy it)
7. Record an album.
8. Write a Children's Book.
9. Learn to Smile at passing strangers.
10. Own a coffee shop.



#2. I Want To Create a Family that Is...

...fearless in love and life. FULL, no...overflowing with joy and laughter, hope and peace, love and communication.
A family outside of the box.
A home with doors flung WIDE OPEN like a big warm hug on a chilly day.
Hearts grounded in gratefulness and sharp with awareness.
Eyes that see the others around us- unafraid of eye contact and BOLD smiles between strangers.
A family without rugs. No rugs to sweep things under. (Completely RUG-LESS! ...RUG-FREE! ...DOWN WITH RUGS! ... Etc.)
A family that navigates without a detailed map and a well-thought-out plan.
Messy, but ALIVE.
Uncharted, but always GUIDED.
For better or worse.
lather. rinse. repeat.

...you?

"Jump"

Every so often, there comes a new commercial that makes me laugh so hard I cry every time it airs. The latest commercial is this one for the Dodge Nitro.

Unfortunatley, it airs most often late at night, when Chris is sleeping soundly next to me in the bed and I'm watching my "shows". (Translation: back-to-back re-runs of 'Fraiser'.) Everytime it comes on, I start laughing so hard I have to leap out of bed and leave the room so I don't wake Chris up.

And, NO, we don't have Tivo. Or cable. Or satelite. (This explains the Fraiser re-runs...)

I found this clip on YouTube.

Jesus in the Hallway.

I accidentally called my son Jesus the other day.

It's taken me awhile to get up the nerve to tell you this. It's one of those things that just slipped out of my mouth and, even though I was completely alone at the time, (well, besides Jesus and Jesus Jr...) I still blushed crimson and covered my mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. This was immediately followed by some whispered monologuing... something along the lines of "OMG I can't believe I just said that tee hee hee!" Or something equally as mature.

Here's my explanation: I've been working on a new song lately and there's this verse that says something about Jesus but I can't get it quite right so I've been re-writing it and re-writing it, and I'm constantly trying to hash it out in my brain during the day because it's like a big WORD PUZZLE and OH NO, I can NOT let word puzzles go unsolved, are you kidding me?? *twitch twitch*.

So, at the time of the incident, I had just been working on that song. Ezra woke up and I got him out of his crib and he started running down the hallway all cute like... as if he had somewhere to be, and then I was all:

"Where you goin', Jesus?"

Ode to Ezzie.

He's getting so big.

Today he turned 21 months old. In three short months, he'll be TWO. It's funny how it feels like he just got here, yet at the same time, I can't remember us before him. In only 21 short months, he's hunkered down here and put his little feet up on my heart. He's carved out a place, a comfy little corner of the world to call his own. He's developed a brilliant spark deep down in his green eyes and he lights up with our praise. There's no one like him.



I've often thought how I couldn't wait until Ezra was a bit older so we could actually speak to eachother and he could express himself through language and tell me all about who he is and what he thinks and feels and who he wants to be... I had no idea that words were unnecessary for this... that Ezra would be able to communicate himself so fully to me before a single adjective or noun. He's so expressive and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He can be coy. He thinks he's hilarious. (rightly so.) He walks with a jaunt that screams "man on a mission". He carries intensity and purpose.



When I say that I can't remember life before Ezra, that's not completely true. I can remember... It was much easier. Less complicated. More relaxed. But it was also less colorful. Less appreciated. Less generous. I'm slowly learning to appreciate the colorful NOW more than the carefree THEN. Color is better than free-time.



The days are far from perfect and sometimes that jaunt of his carries him right past my line of sanity and straight into the land of Woe-Is-Me, where the fuse grows short and the days grow freakishly long.

Sometimes that 'brilliant spark' deep in his eyes gets a mischievous glint to it and threatens to melt me into a puddle of messy mom-goo.

And yet always, (ALWAYS! ALWAYS!) that giggle works its magic and disarms my skeptic heart.

Thank you, sweet boy.

Kids Say the Darndest Things....

I'm learning that one of my biggest pet peeves is when parents teach their itty bitty children to quote the latest Snoop Dogg lyrics or to repeat the latest borderline phrases whenever anyone is within earshot because they think it's sooooooo adorable when their sweet precious babies are saying inappropriate things ISN"T IT SO CUUUTE??

No. It isn't.



Maybe it's just me, but I don't like hearing little kids tell me to "Step Off" when I'm trying to help Ezra down the slide.

And then there was the time I was walking through Target and I overheard a little girl (no older than 4) trying to get her mommy's attention. "Mommy!" (no response). "Mommy!!" (no response). "Mooooooommmmmyyyyyyyy!!!!" (no response). Needless to say, this little girl was becoming frustrated and desperate to get her mother to look at her. So, she stopped calling to her mom and paused and looked around. There were a few other people (including yours truly) who were milling about around her and her mother in the kiddos shoe department, and she looked desperately from one stranger to the next and then loudly blurted out:

"Dwap it wike it's hawt! Dwap it wike its hawt!" while bouncing up and down.

Some of the other people nearby smirked and giggled and the little girl beamed proudly with a huge grin on her face. The little girl's mom heard the giggles and smiled and bent down to her daughter-- finally giving her the attention she was looking for. "You goof ball!", she said.

Yuck. Icky. Gross.

Just because these kids don't understand what they're saying doesn't somehow make it okay. I personally think that these kids are already bombarded with enough questionable images (BRATZ, ANYONE?!?!) and content (CSI KITS FOR KIDS?!?!) waaaaaay before they should be.


"There are hungry children in this world! Let's buy a mini Cadillac Escalade!"
Stepping off the soapbox now.

What ever happened to the days of Snorks and Smurfs and Strawberry Shortcake? *sigh*

When it Rains, It Pours...

It seems like whenever Ezra isn't feeling well or something is bugging him, it causes this chain reaction and all these things start getting all out-of-whack and, before I know it, I've got a child with more issues and little ailments going on than I can count on all ten fingers. He is usually so healthy, but when he catches something, it's like everything goes at once. (Kindof like that old car I used to have... If so much as a headlight bulb went out one day, it was pretty much guaranteed I would have TOTAL transmission failure within 24 hours.) I guess it's nice because we get all the yuck out of the way in one go, but YIKES it sure is draining.

Today Ezra has:

A runny nose.
A nasty cough.
An excema outbreak on the sides of his mouth. (AGAIN.)
Gas pain that woke him three times last night.
Random face scratches. (Maybe these are from him attempting to wipe his nose and those 4 INCH LONG FINGERNAILS getting in the way. Let's just say lately he runs squealing when I get out the nail clippers...)
Nasty diaper rash.
Possible Two Year Molars coming in?
And a left ear that is TWICE the size of his right one on account of him being allergic to mosquito bites. (Okay, this one is more than a little comical.)



Ummm... I've got my hands full. I've got ointments for his mouth and his rash, tylenol for his teeth, hot steam baths for his cold, a humidifier on full blast in his room, and lots of tissues handy for the goo-fest.

He's quite the grumpy housemate right now... throwing tantrums left and right and inexplicably refusing to wear pants.

Is it bedtime yet?