When Date Nights Go Bad.

Your date night suggestions were fabulous! However, our date night didn't end up going as well as we had hoped.

Let's just say that the night began with Chris getting handcuffed to a briefcase full of Krispy Kreme donuts for an excessive amount of time- and then it only went downhill from there.

More about that later. We're having a birthday party for Chris today, and I need to go make a boat load of chicken enchiladas. Mmmmm.... enchiladas are my FAVORITE food group.

Random Acts of Babysitting.

A friend of mine called me out of the blue yesterday and asked if she could watch Ezra overnight for us tonight, simply because she knows that we don't have family in town and that Chris and I could probably use a night off.

Needless to say, I fell directly off of my chair and died and then saw the light but then I went to the hospital and they resuscitated me and I came straight back home in order to tell you that I may have screamed "YES!!" very loudly into the phone- prompting an awkward silence as my friend paused to check if her eardrum had, in fact, been ruptured by my outburst of acceptance or not.

Ok, none of that really happened. Except for the part where my friend really did call and ask that. And I really might have screamed a wild "YES!" into the phone in response. What can I say? I am easily excitable. (I am also easily distracted by shiny things, but that's another post entirely.)

This random act of babysitting will now allow me to go and watch my husband's show tonight- a thing that I have not been able to do freely in about 2 years and 8 months. (But who is counting?) He is playing drums for his friend's band and then after that? The night is ours, baby!

Here's the thing, though. What do people even DO after 9PM on a Friday night? I have no clue. I never have had a clue. I met Chris when I was 16. (The whole story? click here.) The "bar scene" is as foreign to me as the River Jordan is wide. And, nightclubs? Talk about intimidating. We tried to go out "dancing" once, but I felt so out-of-place... like I had just walked through the doors holding a baby panda. Who was JUGGLING. With baby kittens. And flaming $100 bills.

It was awkward is all I'm saying.

Chris and I love to dance, and I mean REALLY dance, but we haven't found anyplace that's fun and comfortable apart from friend's weddings. We like to have yummy drinks and talk about life. We enjoy a good smokey treat every now and again. We love to listen to good music... jazz splits us open.

My question: What would YOU do if you had an entire night of freedom handed to you on a platter? I want to make the most of it, but I am completely clueless on how to do that. My 'night life' up until this point has consisted of coffee shops, Target, bookstores, and MY PILLOW. Any advice from the well-versed life-after-dark folks?

omg i think he means it.

FREE MONEY!

A couple of days ago, Ezra and I were having a grand ol' time in the local Barnes & Noble Cafe- eating grilled cheese sandwiches and making up songs about The Happy Car Wash. (Your guess is as good as mine.) He loves putting me on the spot and forcing me to make up songs about random things. Like hopper cars and cereal.

The soap squirts out!
The bubbles aren't mean!
The brushes come down
and we're squeaky clean!
Haaaaapy CarWaaaash!

We always have such a good time when we go to Barnes & Noble. He will actually sit still long enough to eat the food there for some reason. Perhaps it's because their fancy grilled cheese paninis boast FIVE cheeses while mine at home boast just one?

After we eat, we always play with the train table and read oodles of books about 'Rocket'. (Quick! Name that kid's show! I'll give you a hint: it's by Disney! ... What? That doesn't narrow it down for you?)

Anywho- right after we were done eating and Ezra was about to bolt for the kid's section, I noticed something under our little corner table.

It was a five dollar bill.

I've never had such luck! That's like stumbling upon a pile of FIVE HUNDRED pennies! I grabbed the bill and quickly assessed the situation. It couldn't have belonged to anyone around us because, well, there wasn't anyone around us. We'd been sitting there for at least 20 minutes. For a split second, I wondered if I should take the bill up to the cafe register and 'turn it in'? Just in case someone wandered in later and said, "Has anyone turned in a five dollar bill? I, uh, lost one earlier?"

Yeah. Right. I would have been slapping my own forehead for days if I'd followed my first instinct and handed my free cash over to the emo girl behind the cafe counter for safekeeping and just distribution.

So, I kind of haphazardly threw the bill into my jumbo purse and followed Ezra to the train table.

Well, that was about three days ago, and just this morning I remembered the $5 bill and thought I should pull it out of the bottomless pit that is my bag and stick it in my wallet so that I know where it is if I need to use it.

I dug.

And dug.

And dug.

The bill is gone. Which means that during one of the fifty thousand times I've been shoveling through my bag over the last couple of days- either trying to find a toy car or a wet wipe or my blessed Burt's Beeswax chapstick- the bill fell BACK OUT of my bag and returned to its original state: FREE MONEY.

I obviously didn't do the right thing with that five dollar bill, and it has since jumped ship to find someone who will (hopefully) be more generous with it than I was.

*resounding forehead slap*

Card Declined. State of Mind.

Today I went to the grocery store to grab a few things, which quickly turned into a few more things (minus of course the ONE THING I needed more than anything else), but when I finally got to the check out, my card was rejected. We'd forgotten to transfer money from Chris' business account to our checking account. Again.

I started to sweat. I grabbed the only other source of money that I had, a card that I knew didn't have more than $50 on it, even though the groceries were up around the $90 range. I prayed that the card would just go through so that I could grab my stuff and get out of the store- possibly never to return due to my level of embarrassment. Ezra was FREAKING out in the cart because he wanted a "new car" (damn those people who decided to hang Matchbox cars right next to the checkout...) and I tried to keep from turning beet red and crying like a little girl as I watched the nice gentleman swipe my second card.

I thought that the look on his face said 'This card didn't work either', so I started to ask if we could split the cost in half and try running one half on each card? He was very kind and said we could try that, to the horror of the line forming behind me. That's when I realized that it HAD gone through on my second card, so I told him that was fine and signed the receipt and fled the store as quickly as I could.

Ezra was BAWLING his face off by now because NO, he did not get his new car. I had told him prior to going into the store that if he was a good boy for mommy, if he didn't whine or stand up in the cart or disobey me, then he could get a Happy Meal when we were all done shopping (so sue me), but that there would be no "new car" today. He was most definitely NOT listening or obeying me in the store, so I told him his behavior had decided that we would NOT be getting a Happy Meal after all. I was somewhat relieved about this, because as it turns out, I didn't have a way to pay for the Happy Meal anyways.

I called Chris. We started the whole blame-game thing. I got angry and hung up.

I drove Ezra straight home. He cried the whole way. I'm learning that my son is unique in the fact that he doesn't get upset over the consequences of his behavior so much as he gets upset at me being unhappy with him. He wasn't crying the whole way home because he wasn't going to get a Happy meal, he was crying the whole way home because he knew I was not happy with the way he'd acted.

Wow.

This behavior in Ezra is pretty amazing because it makes for a really well behaved child... he loves to please Chris and I or anyone else who is watching him. It is VERY rare that we have to really discipline him or set up consequences for his actions like I did today at the store. He is super-duper sensitive and will sometimes suddenly break down and start bawling simply because I tell him "No!" in a firm voice.

While it's nice to have a child that is genuinely obedient and anxious to please, it can also be a challenge. Sometimes when I tell him "No", he will crumple and get this look on his face like I've broken his little heart. Then he immediately runs up to me with his arms open wide and hugs my neck so tightly that I can barely breathe. He cries and slobbers into the nape of my neck and then looks up into my eyes- searching for forgiveness and softness and pleasure.

Perhaps I am wrong here, but I am under the impression that this is not typical toddler boy behavior?

Tell me- HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH A CHILD LIKE THIS? It's hard to know how to discipline a child who becomes INSTANTLY repentant after he's done something he knows he shouldn't have done; Who can crumble emotionally under one small word of correction. It's hard to know how to nurture that strong desire to please that's inside of him without teaching him that he's not okay unless everyone around him is happy and pleased with him.

So, for now, I hug back- just as tightly as he hugs me, and I let him cry for a bit. I look in his wet eyes and I tell him that every thing is fine, mommy loves him very much, but his actions were not acceptable. He sits in timeout for two minutes until I come and re-explain why he was put there, and then I get a big hug and kiss from him before he can get out of his timeout chair. After that, I try to direct him to something fun so that he won't follow me around for the next 20 minutes whimpering and sniffling and looking at me with those potently powerful puppy dog eyes.

When he's disciplined like this, I can be 99.9% sure that he won't repeat the offense ever again. He just gets it after that. It's almost like this kid was pre-programmed with manners and a willing heart. He now says 'Please", and "Thanks!" and "Your welcome!" without any prompting from me. Also, he's picked up "Excuse Me" after he farts or burps (which I swear I never even taught him) and just yesterday he started covering his mouth whenever he coughs- which I am remiss to admit I didn't teach him either. Every single time anyone within his earshot sneezes, he says "Bess You!" and he's extremely sensitive to the emotions of everyone around him. If Chris or I seem even slightly sad to him, he will come up and pat our shoulders while saying "It's Okay, Dada" or "It's Okay Mamma."

If we go over a big bump or something in the car, he will quickly assess that everyone riding in the car survived the jolt okay. "You Okay Dada?! You Okay, Mamma?!", and he will repeat this question over and over and over again until both of us reply, "Yeah, we're okay Ezra! Are you Okay?" to which he'll reply "Yeah... I Okay. That was close!"

I am so grateful for this tender hearted boy. He is constantly surprising me with his generosity and care for others. I am learning that with a boy like this, there is no black and white when it comes to correction or discipline. I have to read every situation separately and try to gage his emotions in order to help me make my point clear to him. This just isn't how I expected it would be when I learned I was having a boy. (To tell the truth, I was relieved to know I was having a boy because I just didn't know how I was going to deal with all the emotions of a little girl.) I was under the impression that boys were just more clear-cut: less emotional, more rough & tumble. Ezra seems to be a hybrid of some sort.

(What a pleasant surprise.)

Have any of you experienced anything like this with your young boys? Or known any little boys who are similar to Ezra in this way? I don't want to encourage his melt-downs, but I don't want to tell him to "Man up, already!" either.

Help?

A Letter to my Husband.

Dear Chris,

First of all, I'm sorry about earlier when we were at the bank and I snapped at you and told you it was rude of you to take the chair at the banker's desk while I stood awkwardly with the stroller and my bag and tried to sign papers without the luxury of sitting. You are not rude. I am hormonal.

It was your twenty-sixth birthday yesterday, sweetheart. You'd think that it wouldn't have snuck up on me like that, what with me knowing the date 365 days in advance, and all. But it did. I am no good at planning things like birthday celebrations, and I'm sorry about that. Every year, on my special days, you go ALL OUT. Rose petals and well-thought out gifts are showered upon me. Dates are planned and surprises are arranged. You are so good at making me feel good about myself- like I am worth celebrating.

We went out on a date last night for your birthday, but it didn't turn out just as I planned. I had planned to take you to that fancy restaurant in the museum, and then whisk you away to that snazzy piano bar we've heard about for drinks and smokey treats. That was the plan. When we showed up at the restaurant, they were CLOSED. They aren't even open on Mondays. And I would definitely have known this if I had only taken a minute to call ahead, or if I had just looked down on the piece of paper I was holding in my hand from the restaurant that said "CLOSED MONDAYS".

You didn't even bat an eyelash. (oh those gorgeous eyelashes!) You saw me crumbling under the disappointment with myself and you stepped in to save the day. YOUR day. You drove us straight to a little place on Western that I've never been to but have wanted to try out for a very long time. You've been there a few times, and I know you love the food, but I think you were actually just thinking of me when you took us there. You thought, "Emery hasn't been able to try this new place, and I know she'll love it." You thought only of me, didn't you? Putting me first, even on your birthday night? This place is an amazing little pizza joint. I had wine, you had beer that tasted like wet soil. You like beer that tastes that way. I prefer my beer to taste more like carbonated water with a hint of lime. (AKA Corona Light.) You ordered us appetizers- even the prosciutto wrapped pears with goat cheese and balsamic that I said sounded tasty. (words cannot describe... MMMM.) We had a truffle mushroom chicken pizza that tasted like the sweet tears of angels in my mouth.

Then, instead of me taking you to the piano bar that I never really got directions to, you suggested we just head to the little chocolate bar down the way. The chocolate bar that you know I love even more than prosciutto wrapped Asian pears and goat cheese. I ordered a raspberry truffle and a small cup of decaf coffee. You got your favorite: a slice of the orange soaked cake and a cup of decaf as well. We sat and talked for a long time. About birthdays and life and adoption. I fell in love with you even more as we sat there and talked like we'd been born with the same brain.

We are old fogie-ish these days, so we decided to head back home after this. It was the shocking late hour of 9:30 pm.

Our sitters quickly turned us back out of the house when we arrived home. They told us it was too early for us to end our date night, so we high-tailed it back out of there. (Most amazing babysitters EVER?) We were thinking of catching a late movie. Either 'The Bourne Ultimatum' or 'Hairspray'. We just couldn't decide between the two... you'd have thought we were trying to decide between death by rabid monkeys or death by Snakes On A Plane! On the way to the theater, we passed a bowling alley. The sign was flashing: Open. Bowling. Open. Bowling.

I instantly saw the twinkle in your eye, even from my distant passenger side of the car.

So, we went bowling instead. Do you remember how fancy we were dressed? Me in my plunging black dress and sexy heels? You in your nice gray pants and white, crisp button-up shirt with that skinny blue tie? Were you wearing suspenders? I forget. We bowled till closing and ordered drinks. We laughed and you tried to keep up my morale so that I wouldn't throw my hands in the air and start being miserable the second I started to suck. The first game, I bowled an 88. I almost let myself get angry at my ineptitude. (Don't ever take me mini-golfing unless you want to see the inner beast in me.) An yet, simply because of your encouragement, the next game I was able to bowl a 114. A ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN! A personal best! (why are you all laughing?) I don't remember what you got. A 3,763 or something.

After bowling we headed back home again. I was dizzy from the joy of the evening. If it had been left in my hands alone, the evening could have turned out miserable- simply because I would have been miserable that it didn't "turn out" exactly as I had wanted it to. And my miserableness would have made you miserable, too. You know me too well to let that happen, don't you? I hate to say it, but at the end of the night, I think I was the one who ended up feeling celebrated. I hope that you felt celebrated too.

That's the thing with you, honey. Whenever I'm near you, I feel like you're celebrating me. Treasuring me. Prizing me. You make me feel like long lost gold. Like I have limitless VALUE. You bring it up from the deepest waters where it has been hiding in sunken ships for numberless years. It baffles me to no end. You have a way of doing this with everyone you meet- treasure hunting the best out of people and letting the broken vessel drop quietly back to the ocean floor. I am so blessed to have a man like you in my life. You are an amazing man. Thank you for always putting me first.

Even on YOUR birthday.

I love you infinity,
Emy Boo


Top photo credit: Cameron Ingalls for OneTruth Clothing

Spotlight.

OK, so my show went GREAT and I had so much fun that I actually can't wait to do it again.

Usually when I know I have a show coming up I get all stressed out and I suddenly realize that my songs are total crap and no one will want to hear them. By the time my show rolls around, I have no confidence in myself and I just want to get my set over with ASAP so that the people who came to hear good music won't have to suffer at my hands (and vocal chords) for too long.

But this time, it was different. I had lots of fun and felt good about the songs I played. A huge part of this, I think, was knowing that the band really liked the songs too and had fun playing them with me. My next show with Shannon is on October 13th at a little bar/grill place called Galileo's, and I am PUMPED.

And, since you asked, here is the outfit that took ridiculous amounts of time to pick out even though it really is nothing special and it looks more like an outfit I pulled out of the bottom of the laundry hamper (in the dark) 30 seconds after I stumbled out of bed at 7AM after a long night of wasting away in Margaritaville... or something:



Chris' gray tank top.
Little black shorts.
Purple tights.
Black cardigan.
As fancy as a trash bag.


In other news, today is Chris' 26th birthday! Woo woo! There is a gooshy, lovey post in the works in honor of my main squeeze, so consider yourselves warned.

Shortest Post Ever.

I have a show tonight. I'll be singing with Shannon Horn and also playing a couple of my own songs with a full band. I'm pretty dang excited about this, and I just spent an HOUR picking out my outfit.

Now I must go pack a dinner for Ezra to take to the co-op (quesadilla with cheese & turkey), where he will be watched along with all the other kids for our co-op's first "Mom & Dad Date Night". This is where two sets of parents will watch all the kids from 4-8pm and the other parents get to go spend time together like they used to before their 8 lb. forces of nature arrived and swallowed all reasons to dress fancy.

CO-OP RULZ!

Family Ties.

Chris, Ezra, and I will be in Reno for the entire months of November and December. I have become so excited about this fact that I have grown to hate the month of October- simply for getting in the way. Ezra will spend eight full weeks getting to know his very own family better, and there is nothing more that I want for Christmas than that.

When I was growing up, my extended family lived far away, too. It was a very long drive to go and see them, so we didn't get to go very often. My mom's mother died when I was very young, but I still remember her being larger than life- someone who was glamorous and could sew outfits for my dolls simply by glancing at them once. Beautiful dresses would arrive in the mail, and they would always fit my dolls perfectly. She always made my mom's clothes as she was growing up, and my mom's girlfriends would beg my grandma to make their clothes too. She was also an amazing artist. One Christmas, she stepped on one of those funny, oversized, bright plastic thumb tacks and it poked a hole in her foot. I have hated those dumb plastic thumb tacks ever since.

My grandma's husband was my grandpa Bill. He was loving and jolly and was missing a few fingers. I don't think I ever really found out why, because the story changed every time I asked him about it. hehe. He gave great big hugs and sloppy cheek kisses, and he always made me feel like a million bucks. He knew all the pretty waitresses' names in the restaurants by his house. He passed away a few years ago.

My mother's real father was named Bud and I don't remember very much about him at all. Except that one time he was chosen to go on that game show called 'The Big Spin', and we went to watch the taping of the show in CA. I gave him a little white bear that had a rattle in it's tummy, and he took that bear on stage with him and proudly told the game show host that his granddaughter gave it to him for luck. I remember crying with joy when he said this on TV because it was the first time I felt like my grandpa Bud thought I was something special. Before this, he'd sent me a couple of letters over the years. They always had 'Sarah' written on the envelope. He didn't do very well on the game show that day. Like, he won the very least amount of money that he possibly could have. I remember feeling like it was my fault, because the "lucky" bear didn't work.

My mother also had an amazing sister who was so full of life and love and laughter that you couldn't help but feel embraced and welcomed and joyful in her presence. She was one of the most amazing women I have ever known in my life. She was sick for a long time- battling with Lupus since she was just a teenager. We spread her ashes by the Joshua Trees near her home because she loved the desert and wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. I miss her and think about her still to this day. I am honored to share the same middle name as her, and I think about her every time I write it out by hand. Josephine.

My father's parents were brilliant human beings. Really amazing, generous people who loved us well. We got to spend a lot more time with them because they had long, full lives and we always saw them over the holidays. Grandpa Bob had a crooked pinky that, no matter how hard I tried, I could never get to go straight again. He was loved by his community and a very hard worker. I had a big soft spot in my little heart for my Grandpa Bob, and I think he had one in his big heart for me, too. I gravitated towards him when I was around him because he had a gentle spirit just like my daddy does. His laugh was like a slow, breathy guffaw- his head tilted back in quiet merriment. My dad is like him in so many ways.

My grandma Peggy just recently passed away. She was the full embodiment of the word 'Matriarch'. Noble and lovely and proud. Her eyes were a piercing, clear blue and she was always sharp as a tack. She was a passionate gardener; President of the California Garden Club. Hands in the earth. Some of my fondest memories from growing up were running around in her gardens- picking good things to eat and throwing salt on snails with my brothers. (And then always crying afterwards because they slowly melted to death.) Her house always felt peaceful to me, and that's how I will always remember her. A woman of peace who sowed good seeds in her children and her children's children.

How did this post turn into a recap of my own extended family growing up? Where did all of this come from? I don't really know. It's not the post I set out to write. But I am just so excited to spend more than a whirlwind few days with family- to be intentional about time and stories and laughter in crowded kitchens.

All I know for SURE is that family is precious. That becomes so painfully clear once you have children and live far away. No one will ever love Ezra the way that Auntie Candace or Uncle David or Momar & DooDad or Grandma & Grandpa do. No one will love him like Uncle Jared & Aunt Kristy or Uncle Jaxon can. Seeing the looks on their faces when Ezra is around is SO refreshing to me as a parent, because, as a parent, you only want the best things for your child.

And those looks of love and delight are some of the very, very BEST things that this life can ever offer.

Never Never Land.

The public has spoken.

Robin Costume: NEGATIVE 1 votes. (haha, skylana.)
Dash costume: 1 vote
Train costume: 2 votes
Potato costume: 5 votes
Peter Pan costume: 13 votes!


So, Peter Pan it is! I liked what someone said about the PRACTICALITY of the Peter Pan costume... no masks or big things to get in the way of important functions like SITTING DOWN or, say, WALKING. Also, I liked what bb said about giving the kid a bow & arrow and calling him Robin Hood. (Maybe I could do that NEXT year and then not have to worry about buying another costume, eh? eh? I'll just make him watch "Robin Hood" a lot next year so he'll be excited about the recycled costume plan.) I think I might be a genius. A very cheap genius.

As for letting him decide which one he'll wear? THERE ARE PLENTY OF YEARS AHEAD FOR THAT. I'm going to dress him how I want to now while I still have the chance. Mwa ha ha ha! (evil laughter.)

Thank you all for your input! He's going to make a yum-diddly-umptious Peter Pan.

Now all I need to find is a crocodile outfit for myself and a plastic "hook hand" for the hubby.

We are going to be ridiculously awesome, is all I'm saying.

The Costume Question.

First and foremost, I have a large painful pimple growing on the very inside edge of my right nostril. So, somebody please kill me now.

Chris is home and we all are doing well and feeling great. (minus said pimple.)

I am beginning the search for a Halloween costume for my little Ezzie Bug, and I need your help. These are the ones I am trying to decide between:

mini peter pan?


mini dash?


mini robin?


mini train?


mini mr. potato head?!

The Mr. Potato Head one is simply because he recently received a Mr. Potato Head for a gift and HE LOVES IT almost as much as he loves breathing, I think.

So..... help! Which one screams "Ezra" to you?

I am Lonely.

My husband has been out of town for 24 hours and I miss him.

Last night I stayed up until 2AM simply because I think I was subconsciously waiting for him to come to bed before I turned off my light. I stayed up reading and watching old re-runs of 'Sex & the City' on the small TV perched on the tall dresser in the corner of the bedroom. The voices and people on the screen made me feel less alone.

I've been hooked on 'Sex & the City' ever since they started playing re-runs on one of the local stations here. I became so hooked that I asked Chris to rent a season on DVD for me so I could watch it on one of our recent trips. It turns out, however, that the episodes I've been watching on TV are EXTREMELY EDITED, so when I put in the DVD to watch a full length, un-edited episode, I was SHOCKED. I blushed and turned the volume down and then turned it off completely because, well, I guess I just do not enjoy watching soft porn in airports. I think I'll stick with my "edited for TV" version, thankyouverymuch.

I curled up in bed last night and ate some Salt & Vinegar chips because Salty is my best friend. I finished the book I was reading, "PLAN B: Further Thoughts on Faith" by Anne Lamott, and underlined nearly every word in the second to last chapter.

I still was restless, so I picked up the collection of Ernest Hemingway's short stories (the book that got me hit on for the first time in... ever) and figured I'd read as many short stories as I needed to before falling asleep. After reading for awhile, I decided to stick a pillow under the covers next to me- to try and trick myself into believing Chris was there. It did not work because Chris does not have the stature of a pillow; he has the stature of a handsome bean pole. I was not fooled. So I kept reading.

My mind started to play tricks on me. I rolled over and imagined seeing a stranger standing silently in the doorway of my bedroom. My heart started to pound. Should I go get my cell phone just in case? I imagined what I would do if that really happened. Would I remember to run and grab Ezra before I bolted out of the house? These thoughts make me feel nauseous, so I do what I always do when I get freaked out. I say the name "Jesus" really loud, thinking it will spook all the boogie-men away, because I imagine boogies are freaked out by that sort of thing. Then, I remembered some of the best advice I have EVER RECEIVED in my whole entire life:

My brother, Jaxon, told me (when I was probably 6 years old or so), that all I had to do when I was scared was picture Garfield the Cat swinging into the scene on a vine rope- kicking all the bad guys butts and easily saving the day. So, I did just that.

I started to feel better after that, like I always do, so I kept reading.

I thought about bringing Ezra into the bed with me, to bring me back to reality, but then decided against it. For such a small guy, he can take up A LOT of room when he's sleeping. And I do not like to snuggle when I am falling asleep. I need my space.

The story I was reading was about a man who was camping alone in the wilderness. He set up camp by a stream and spent the days fly fishing. In the mornings he caught grasshoppers as bait while his coffee was brewing and his grits were cooking over the fire. When he spoke out loud to himself, his voice was shocking and seemed out of place because there was no one around to hear it. He was alone.

I felt like that guy in the wilderness last night, too.

I eventually (finally!) drifted off to sleep- dreaming about buying Scottish kilts from stores that were carved out of big boulders.

My Couch is an Island.

I am feeling the kind of sick that requires a retreat to the island of my living room couch. My shield is a queen sized comforter with puffy crocheted roses all over it. My landing strip is a pile of pillows. I am also feeling the kind of sick that requires copious amounts of cranberry juice (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN) and an equal amount of mindless magazine reading. My insides feel blech.

No leader's retreat for me. Boo. I am under the weather. Ezra is suddenly convinced my stomach is a trampoline, and this is not helping things ONE BIT.

My husband picked up the latest 'Lucky' magazine at the store for me as he was filling a prescription or two for himself, for what appears to be... shingles? Maybe? Doc said it was either that or a bug bite. Chris has been complaining of an itchy back/side for DAYS and DAYS now- begging me to scratch his back softly and listen to him talk about HOW MUCH IT ITCHES for long periods of time. Every day begins and ends with a recap of his itchy plight- how it has moved a little to the right, or is getting more intense. I smile politely and nod. I find that listening to someone talk about an itch for multiple days in a row reminds me faintly of Chinese Water Torture.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

I try to be supportive. My poor hubby is in a lot of discomfort. I try to suppress my inner punk. Meanwhile, my insides feel like they are slowly turning into what's left behind after the tide goes out. So I sip more cranberry juice and hunker farther down into the blankets, counting the hours to Ezra's naptime.

While at the store, Chris also picked up a cool new plastic gun toy for Ezra. It shoots these colorful foam discs, and Ezra thinks it's the best thing since sliced cookies. I am grateful for the entertainment it provides for him as the rainbow discs buzz by my head every now and then.

Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.

It is finally nap time. Ezra gathers up his disc gun, his yellow school bus toy that he is borrowing from the neighbors, and a mini light-up sword. These are the toys that will have the honor of sharing his bed with him this afternoon. The "chosen ones", if you will. He lines them up just how he wants them on his blanket, and then proceeds to shoot at all the people in the bus with his disc gun. Then he pokes them for awhile with his sword.

Poke.
Poke.
Poke.

I sneak out of his room and fall back into the couch. Sweet relief. No more trampoline tummy. I think I'll put in a movie. It will most likely be 'You've Got Mail' (because that's the movie I ALWAYS put in), or 'Sliding Doors'. I could watch these movies over and over again. These, and also: 'Elf' and 'The Royal Tenenbaums'.

I shake out my comforter to re-position it on the couch. As the blanket billows, it pushes three colorful little foam discs upwards in the air towards my head- like confetti left over from a New Year's party.

****

In other (equally riveting) news, this is what I wore yesterday:



I liked it because it was comfy, and it had the perfect light layering pieces for the Fall edge in the air.

A Mayberry kind of Life.

I got up this morning with a stomach ache due to a night of toss-and-turn stress & worry. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, I woke up and suddenly realized that, hey! Bringing Ezra to the leader's retreat this weekend is sooooooo not going to work at all! What was I thinking? Have I completely lost my mind? Have I forgotten that I own a toddler? A toddler who would make a 'retreat' of organized workshops/worship times feel more like a disaster of biblical proportions? And also, where have my sunglasses disappeared to? Did I leave them on that park bench last week?

So, I didn't get much sleep. And I've been stressed out all day- pretty much resigning myself to the fact that I will no longer be attending the retreat that I have been desperately looking forward to all these weeks. And whose fault is this again? MINE. I suck at forward thinking. I suck at planning ahead. I'm utter crap when it comes to an organized, scheduled lifestyle. I'm much more of a 'fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants' kind of gal, which works GREAT as long as you don't have to do things like arrange for childcare or become a responsible adult before you one day realize you're 30 years old and still bringing your laundry to mom's house on the weekends.

(Not that there's anything wrong with that. No, wait, there IS something really wrong with that. Moving on...)

As of now, I'm trying not to dive headlong into Lake Pity Me, but I'm definitely cooling my toes in its waters and contemplating a quick dip. Having a child requires a lot of sacrifice. And living a life of unorganized chaos makes one tired. And late for things. (That is assuming, of course, that one remembers to show up at all.)

Really, I'm okay with sacrifice for the most part. But when the sacrifice is required simply because I FORGOT to actually think practically about what it would look like to drag Ezra along on a retreat- a retreat that Chris and I are meant to be leading worship for- then the sacrifice becomes much more difficult to bear. Because it's served with a heaping side of shame and embarrassment, and a nice tall glass of 'It's Nobody's Fault But Your Own'.

So, for now, it looks like I will be staying home while Chris goes to the retreat. (Drums are much more important than Background Vocals, so, he goes and I stay.) I will most likely spend the weekend nursing my wounds and repeatedly kicking myself in the buttocks. (Metaphorically speaking, of course. I'm not that limber.)

Can I end by just saying, for the record, that I miss the days when life moved at a much slower pace? When cell phones were non-existent, and if someone wasn't home you just left a message? I don't feel like I'm cut out for this rat-race world. I feel like I was cut from a different cloth. I think that life, for the most part, should be pretty kicked back and relaxed. I don't want to feel like I'm a bad person simply because my day planner isn't my best friend. I don't think it's healthy or good for someone to be expected to answer the phone 24/7, just because it fits in their pocket. I'm not saying I think it's okay to be irresponsible, of course, but I just don't think we're meant to live and work under such constant NOISE, such uninterrupted hustle & bustle.

Maybe that is all just a cop-out on my part, but I just personally liked it when the world seemed much larger... when things were less instantaneous, and you waited eagerly by your mailbox for a response from your penpal who lived halfway across the world- in a magical land called Phoenix, Arizona.

It reminds me of a slogan I saw written on the side of a building up in Kansas City a couple of weeks ago. It was a store that sold perscription eye-glasses. This slogan really stuck with me and brought a whispered "Amen" to my lips when I drove by it. It said:

"We promise to take more than one hour on your glasses!"

Preach it, mom and pop eyeglass shop! Way to take a stand against the Walmarts of the world! Oh, and BTW, do you validate?

Credit Card Fraud Inspires Me.

Today's trip to the library was extra magical. The quick walk turned into adventure after adventure for my small boy in his big world. As soon as we stepped outside, we spotted a big, shiny, red firetruck parked in front of a hydrant at the end of our street. Ezra started yelling and waving and squealing as three firemen hopped out of the truck. They were checking all of the hydrants in our neighborhood- opening them up so that water gushed out with so much force that it completely traversed the road and drenched the yard across the street from where it sat planted in the ground like a big, red thumb. The firemen were busy, working hard, so they didn't see Ezra's desperate attempts to catch their attention. We were still a ways up the street from where they were.

They hopped back in their truck and pulled away. Ezra didn't have time to feel sad, however, because a big, fat, gluttonous garbage truck pulled up the street just then. We marveled at the size (and smell) of the thing and passed through it's rumbling shadow. We waved. The garbage men waved. Ezra beamed.

Then we saw a small, yappy dog. Yip! Yip! Ezra turned to look at me and said, with hands turned upwards in a questioning manner, "Who Dat?!" I found this quite humorous.

We came to another little intersection in the neighborhood and we were just crossing through it, when the firetruck showed up again. Another hydrant to check. Ezra again started waving so desperately that I thought his arm might fall off.

This time, the three firemen jumped out of the truck and spotted my little guy right away. They smiled and waved back almost as enthusiastically as Ezra was waving to them. I stopped and turned the stroller so that Ezra could see what they were doing to the hydrants, and the firemen played it up for Ezra- acting like the water was knocking them off of their feet over and over again.

Ezra laughed hysterically. I giggled. We smiled and waved some more and continued on our way to the library.

We picked out some new books, and brought them to the checkout. I paid my 40 cent fee for the last book that I turned in late. (Oops.) Then we played at the park for awhile before heading back home.

The sky over our heads was a shocking electric blue.

******************************

Chris called a bit later to tell me that the bank called and told him they thought someone had been using our credit card fraudulently. There were 4 separate transactions that came through today for $100-$200 each. Each transaction was from different grocery stores. Grocery stores that we don't shop at.

The credit card company said someone probably had a fake card. Chris and I don't use that card anymore- two weeks ago Chris cut up the cards and threw them away. Someone maybe found the cards and pieced them together and got the number off of them and then ordered a new card or something? I don't know. We canceled the cards and just have to fill out some paperwork.

I don't know- I am not upset or angry about it at all. Maybe I'm just incredibly naive, but I can't help thinking that there might be someone out there who has groceries in their house right now for the first time in a really long time. Heck, if our money helped buy someone some FOOD, some GROCERIES, then I really couldn't be happier about it, you know?

I will never really know just what that money was spent on. All I really DO know is that I want so desperately to live a life that overflows with generosity and compassion, a life with doors wide open- where all that I have is not really mine- but I feel like I never know just where to start with that, so I end up doing nothing at all. Like cement boots of love. They are there, on my feet, but they don't move too easy, too often.

I'd like to think that if someone came up to me and asked me to help them buy food, I wouldn't hesitate to give them all that I could. If I knew who it was that was using our card, I would want to ask them if there was anything else I could do to help them out. Jesus said "turn the other cheek", "share your coat", "if someone asks you to walk a mile with them , walk TWO". Isn't that beautiful? I want to be the kind of person who genuinely respects and honors people, no matter who they are or where they've been, because, really, who am I to judge anyone? We're all human beings, and we're all equally loved. Simple as that.

I want to be more compassionate, empathetic, una-frickin-fraid of the human condition.

And if some stolen numbers off of a little piece of plastic can help push the doors of my life open a little more, then I'm grateful for it.

Every person in this world is fiercely loved. I want to see people as God sees them. I'm tired of boxing myself up in my comfy little house and then pretending that that's okay. There are people right here in this community that need HELP, that need a compassionate ear, a soft shoulder, or a nice warm hug. People who need clothing and food and diapers. If the doors to my life were wide open, I would be able to see and hear these requests coming from the streets right outside my door. When they are shut tight, I can't hear or see anything.

I want Ezra to see his mom and dad living these things out daily.

I want him to know that a life with a wide open door is better, simply because it lets in more light.

Calling All Oklahomans!

Say whaa?!

I just discovered that I've been nominated for 'Best Family Blog' in the 2007 Oklahoma Blog Awards. Woo woo! I'm SO excited!! Thanks to those who nominated me!

So, if you are a blogger and you LIVE in the state of Oklahoma, click here to vote for meeee!!!!

I must confess, however, I don't think I stand a chance.... heh.

Something is in the Air.

I stepped outside today and felt something really strange. It was a sensation that I have not had in a long time, so I was completely taken aback by it.

I felt a COOL, DRY (!) breeze gently blowing against my skin. And I felt cold.

Fall showed up today. And I pray that it stays for a long, long while. Instantly after stepping outside today, I had a strong urge to go buy a pumpkin. And drink apple cider. As a compromise, I brought out my Body Shop Cranberry Home Fragrance Oil, and heated some up so my house would smell like Fall incarnate. I opened windows. And, my neighbor and I grabbed the kiddos and headed to the park down the street where Ezra displayed his mad skillz by repeatedly going down the slide with his eyes closed. What pizazz!

I feel so happy today, because I know that an end to the humid, heat-soaked days is in my sights...




*******************

Last night, after Ezra went to bed, Chris and I started working on background vocals for Joel's latest album that they just recorded in Kansas City a couple of weeks ago. We decided that the occasion called for some diva shots.





We were convinced of our hilarity. Absolutely CONVINCED. Although, now, looking back after a good night's sleep, perhaps we were mistaken?

*************************

In other news, I finally spent my online Target gift card that my brother and his wife got me for my 25th b-day. I got these two things:




A chocolate brown duvet cover, and a pair of shoes.

I am so excited to get them in the mail. And, can I just say, I have NO idea what has come over me lately as far as shoes are concerned? I have NEVER EVER EVER been a "shoe girl". The extent of my interest in shoes used to be that I would replace my cheapy flipflops with another pair of cheapy flipflops after they disintegrated off of my feet. I never cared much about shoes. So, what's with the sudden shoe fascination?! I don't usually have a whole lot of extra cash to actually buy shoes, but I LOVE to look at them and imagine buying them- I love to imagine strutting around town with them hugging my feet.

I feel like I talk about shoes on this blog almost as much as I talk about diet coke. Has it really come to this?

Is this merely a rite of passage that all women must go through in order to reach true adulthood? Is it really true that ALL WOMEN love shoes? I never used to believe it. But now, I'm not so sure.

I never thought I'd say it. But, I love shoes. They make me weak in the knees! (some of the taller varieties, quite literally.)

Ezra + Ethan = Bestest Buddies on the Block

Chris and I met some friends, Steve & Erin, at the park the other day for a playdate. Ezra and their little boy Ethan have a BLAST whenever they get together. Erin is a great photographer, as well, and she was kind enough to snap some shots of the kids and send them my way.

Whenever I look at these photos I practically go BLIND from the excessive levels of cute. So, be warned.

Project: Organize!

This weekend's unexpected project was the complete transformation of the bedroom closets. They were getting so bad that I considered buying a roll of yellow 'Caution' tape to mark them off with and calling it good. We began the weekend by searching for a new dresser to stuff more stuff in, but then my brilliant husband pointed out that, um, we have no ROOM for another dresser, and hey! Look at all this unused space in the closet! (Dur!)

So, he hauled himself off to Lowe's after I begged and pleaded that he go get some new closet organization systems. I knew it would help me feel less cluttered in my mind if I could get those two closets under control. I needed an organizational project like this for my restless mind this weekend, and I was thrilled when Chris agreed to do all the hard work so that I could primly place things in order on my new shelves.

My husband believes in doing things right and well and thouroughly the FIRST time around, so this little project quickly became a two day fiasco for us. We (from henceforth, please note that by "we", I mean "CHRIS".) had to pull out the old shelving, patch the walls where the shelving had been, prime the wall and baseboards, and then completely re-paint the insides of both closets. Then 'we' had to measure off the shelving while doing complicated math formulas to scale the measurements in the instruction manuals from an 8 foot closet space to a measly FIVE FOOT SIX-ish closet space. After that, 'we' had to CUT all the shelving with a hacksaw so that it would squeeze into our itty bitty closet space. All that was left after that was the complicated assembly.

The results:

Our bedroom closet, BEFORE.


All the insides of our closet, on the outside.


Handy AND sexy.


The new shelving.


Our bedroom closet, AFTER.

Now, on to Ezra's closet results:

OKay, I wasn't able to get a before pic of Ezra's closet, but picture all of this stuff piled precariously in a tiny closet- where Ezra couldn't get to any of his toys without help from mom or dad.


Chris working hard on Ezra's closet after we put Ezra down for his nap in our bedroom.


Ezra's closet, AFTER.


And, as an extra bonus, I was able to rearrange Ezra's bookshelf a bit too.


After all of this hard work, I feel like my house is somehow lighter, brighter, cleaner. I feel like I can breathe easier again. Ezra has been playing happily on his own in his room all morning because he can (imagine this!) REACH HIS OWN TOYS! What a concept!

So, I'd like to send an extra special THANK YOU to my husband for all his hard work and patience this weekend. I love my new closets!

Mode of Transport.

It's one in the morning and sleep is eluding me like chasing after an important piece of paper that's gotten away from you on a windy day. It's right there, but every time I lunge for it, it moves just beyond my reach.

My tummy grumbles loudly. Chris shifts in his sleep. I am now convinced my tummy possesses the power to disturb slumber, so I wander into the living room and grab the laptop.

The room is dark, the screen is bright... My own personal spotlight. I should be asleep. I'm not. I browse Target's website, looking for storage bins for our new closet configuration in our bedroom. (pictures soon.) I fill my little red shopping cart icon with storage bin after storage bin, only to remove them minutes later. This is exactly how I shop in real life, too. Interesting.

I smile as I recall the antics of my son from earlier in the evening. Chris, Ezra and I stopped in at the Goodwill down the street earlier today. We were looking for a dresser for our bedroom. A bigger dresser than the one we have now.

Because, we need more room.

Because, between the two of us, we have enough clothing to completely bury the island of Manhattan.

So, we popped in to see if they had anything that could hold such capacity, but they didn't. It's hard to find a good dresser for a small amount of money. Trust me, I've been searching for one for months. I asked Chris why he thought it might be so difficult, and he replied simply "Because why would you ever get rid of a good dresser?"

Ah, yes. Good point.

We were in the Goodwill for only a handful of moments before Ezra casually rounded a clothing rack and spotted it. It was just sitting there, basking in the gloriousness of all its glory.

Red. Yellow. A Little Tykes Cozy Coupe car, peeking out from underneath the children's overalls section.

He gasped so hard that everyone within a four rack radius turned sharply to see what was so incredibly astounding. I worried that he'd finally managed to swallow a lung. He moved quicker than I have ever seen him move. He was in that car so fast, it was as if he'd been running for his life. Like a wild pack of vacuum cleaners was hot on his trail. The startled looks from nearby onlookers simultaneously softened into smiles. An older gentleman looked at me, chuckled, and said, "SOLD." This big, plastic, Ezra-sized vehicle was only minutes away from being stuffed into our car. And this man knew it.

I laughed because I knew it too. Ezra drove the car all over the store for the next 20 minutes- completely stoned on the freedom that came from pushing that car up and down the isles of the poorly lit thrift shop. The wind in his hair. The flourecent light on his face...

So, we brought the mustard and ketchup colored monstrosity home with us. For just five dollars, Ezra's infinite happiness was sealed.

I didn't see much of Ezra for the rest of the day/evening. All I could see was the yellow top of the car zooming by me every few minutes, and all I could hear was the squeak! squeak! of the little horn as it passed by. Ezra and his car were inseparable.

This was cute and all, but it also made nap time difficult. And trying to get him to use the potty difficult. And dinnertime difficult. And bath time difficult. And putting on pajamas difficult. And brushing his teeth difficult. Bedtime? It was DIFFICULT.

He flat refused to get out of the thing without a fight. You'd have thought I was trying to separate salt from water. With my bare hands. It was that difficult.

I really would have begun to loathe the Cozy Coupe if he didn't look so darn cute in it. He would drive it from the piano to the TV (a whopping 15 feet or so), then he would open the door, solemnly get out of the car, stand there for a second or two, and then proceed to get back in the car so that he could then drive from the TV back to the piano. He did this for a VERY LONG TIME. And the whole time, he was talking to himself. And you could tell that he'd pretty much found heaven on earth in his new mode of transportation.

He didn't seem to see that the plastic was all faded and the vibrant colors had long gone. He didn't see all the scratches or the missing sticker decals. He didn't even see all the places it looked like the car had been CHEWED ON BY A DOG... He saw nothing but four sturdy wheels and the open road.

(An open road that looked a whole lot like our living room.)

(I long for that kind of ignorance in my own life- Like, so what if I'm scratched and faded in spots and bruised and missing my original, shiny decals? I'm still breathing, aren't I? Did God himself not say that he uses the WEAK things of the world to confound the STRONG? The faded jalopies will always win the race! Go, jalopies, GO!)

I marveled at my child this evening. He's gotten taller. Older. Less toddler, more BOY. I thought forward to the day when he'd be driving away in a real car- a car that would take him much farther than our living room piano. And I couldn't help but wonder-

Will I feel the same mixture of awe and sorrow then as I do now? Awe at how fast time goes by? Sorrow at... how fast time goes by? And, without the confines of the living room walls to box him in, just how far will this boy go?

So, I stop. I stop and I pray that nothing will ever become large enough to hold him back from his journey.

And, while I'm at it, I pray that for me, too.

My Boy is a Mini-Urb.

Today has been much better than yesterday, thankyoujesusforyouaregood.

It was Co-Op Day, so, happy happy joy joy!! I am in a co-op with a few other moms, and every Friday two of the moms watch all of the kids at someone's house while the other mommies gallavant off through the town. From 9AM to 1PM. That's 4 hours of un-Ezra-fied bliss, people. FOUR HOURS. That's just about enough time to do anything I darn well please!

So, every week (when it's not my turn to stay and watch the kids), I pump myself up about how I'm going to drop Ezra off and then drive straight back home to clean the house from top to bottom. Yet somehow, every week, before I even know what has happened, I find myself standing in a Goodwill, or some other such place of thrifty fabulousness, wandering the isles like a woman with too much free time on her hands. And then, today, after wandering around in a thrift store for a ridiculous amount of time, I drove to Ross and wandered around in there. And then I drove myself over to a bookstore and wandered some more!

It was glorious.

I got absolutely nothing done. I spent a little of my left over birthday money that's been burning a hole in my pocket for two months now. I got Ezra some cute new threads. I picked up a gift for a friend.

I took deep breaths and appreciated my time to myself. Before I knew it, it was time to go pick Ezra up again. But the wonderful thing about co-op days is that as soon as you get home, it's nap time! So, Ezra is sleeping soundly and I'm enjoying the silence as I type and look out my window at the darkening sky. It's going to rain. I love the rain more than I love Diet Coke. Which is a whole lot.

(BTW- I did not cave yesterday and drink a soda. Although, Megan's comment on my last post almost sent me over the edge. 'Just one! It's a treat! I deserve it!' All very true, but instead I opted to eat a bowl of Raisin Bran. It just wasn't the same.)

Would you like to see the goods that I got today as I wandered from store to store? Okay!

First, here are Ezra's thrift finds:


And no, Ezra is neither Italian nor Texan, and come to think of it, he isn't a Summit Eagle, either. But he sure does look cute in cheap clothes that claim he is! Also, how cute is that little plaid vest I found? And that purple collared shirt? He's going to look, like, OMG, soooo mini-Urb! ("mini-Urb"= Urban Outfitter's fashion, only pint sized.)

Next, momma's new goodies:

The super cute tank dress was only $4.99 at Ross. Sometimes I wonder why I bother to shop anywhere else. That bag I found there too- just the bag I've been hunting for for the past couple of months. I'm smitten with it. The big, gaudy elastic belt is from Goodwill. It's going to look awesome paired with some of my dresses and my brown suede boots this Fall. Wee haw!

So, all in all, it's been a great day. Tonight, we're going to a dear friend's birthday bash/BBQ, where I will eat too much and probably acquire 300 more mosquito bites on my legs.

Did you know that the mosquito is the official State Bird of Oklahoma?

What's that? You say it's NOT the state bird?

Well, IT SHOULD BE.

In Which I Vent.

Today has been a rough day, which (I am glad to say) is the first in a very long time. Ezra has been extremely whiny and sensitive- if I even look at him the wrong way, he starts wailing and crying and flailing on the ground. He's been clingy too, not wanting to let me out of his sight all. day. long.

He has been sticking his fingers in his mouth NON STOP the last few days, and I'm worried that his teeth are bothering him. They don't seem to hurt him when he eats or anything, but why else would he be sticking his fingers in there? I don't think he's teething because I'm pretty sure he's had all of his teeth for quite some time now, but what do I know? I look in his mouth and see... um, some teeth. There's hardly enough time to COUNT how many are in there, because Ezra can only sit still for like 4 milliseconds.

I took him to the store earlier today with my neighbor and her daughter, and he was doing fine until we let the kids play with the train tables they had in the store. Ezra is usually SO good at sharing and playing well with other kids, but today he was freaking out the whole time and getting really possessive about the toys. I told him if he couldn't play nicely, we were going to have to leave. He continued to flip out, so I stuck him back in the cart to go home and he was crying so hard he started to cough like he might throw up. I was trying to calm him down, but he just wouldn't stop. I was poking around in his mouth to see if I could see any teeth that might be bothering him, and he bit down on my thumbnail so hard that I saw stars and almost screamed in pain.

I didn't know whether to be pissed about it or if it was my fault for sticking my finger in there, but I just felt so upset about it all that I almost started crying too.

The somewhat humorous part of all of this was that the young girl checking me out at the register was pregnant, and she was looking at Ezra and I with this look of masked horror. I was that mom. Haha!

So, yeah. A rough day.

To top it all off, I started to think about this leader's retreat we're meant to be going to next weekend, and I'm realizing that Ezra is going to have to be with us due to lack of grandparents within a bajillion mile radius, but Chris and I are both meant to be helping lead worship for the weekend, and how do you successfully do that with a two and a half year old running amok? Hmmm? I started to get all stressed about it for some reason, and I just haven't been able to calm back down. I know it will all work out fine, but if I could just figure out how EXACTLY it will all work out, then maybe I could convince my brain to CHILL OUT ALREADY.

It's been one of those days where you just need a good cry- something to let out all your frustration so that you'll instantly feel much better. But, at the same time, I don't feel like crying. (Perhaps I should go poke my finger in Ezra's mouth again? That'll get me going for sure!)

Also, Chris and I are supposed to practice tonight for an upcoming show with Shannon Horn, (do yourself a favor and CLICK ON THAT LINK. She's sooooo good!) but silly me didn't figure out the babysitting situation in time so now I will probably be stuck at home and not able to practice. Joy of joys. Days like this make me so jealous of the moms and dads who live by their parents. I know moving far away was our choice, but it's ridiculously hard and I just feel... jealous.

Anywho, I'm sorry for my venting post, but I do feel a little bit better after throwing this out there. I'm hoping that after Ezra's nap, things will calm down a bit and we can all just return to our regularly scheduled programming.

*sigh* I could sure go for a Diet Coke right about now. With a splash (or tidal wave) of rum in it.

Ah, well. Water will have to do!