The Greatest Gift I Ever Got...

Chris made me an anniversary video and sent it to me because we couldn't be together this year. He's in Kansas City. I've watched this way too many times to admit without embarassment, and my eyes are puffy and red because everytime I watch it, I bawl like a baby.

I. love. my. husband.

Three Years.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. I love you. Hurry home!

The Closest Thing To Heaven-on-Earth.

While my parents were in town, we took Ezra for a free trial class at Gymboree.

At first, Ezra made sure he was in the farthest opposite corner from where all the fun and kids and games were happening. It was as if he and the other children were polarized opposites and some powerful magnetic force was keeping them apart-- no human effort was enough to drag him towards the group of obedient children- sitting and clapping and following directions like a little cluster of Mini-Saints.



At this point, I was worried and convinced Ezra would never learn how to mesh well with other kids and I would have to spend the rest of his childhood taking him to "play" in places like corporate office buildings and empty fields... places where we would be certain not to run into another child and be forced to actually SHARE SOMETHING. Ezra can't even bring himself to share oxygen with other kids half of the time. (Moooom!! Moooom! They are breathing MY air!! Whhhiiinnne yell scream kick...)




So, I was trying to acclimate myself to the idea of being a gymboree-less mom, when Ms. Emily pulled something out of the cupboard that changed our lives forever.

Bubbles.




These were no ordinary bubbles. These bubbles drifted and filled the entire room and never seemed to pop. Ezra ran squealing over to the group of kids and started twirling and dancing and laughing in the middle of them all- catching bubbles in his hands. A few bubbles floated down and caught on his gi-normous eyelashes like snowflakes. They were everywhere.



And he was hooked.

From that moment on, Ezra was the most obedient, most Saint-like child of the bunch. What's that Ms. Emily? Pick up a corner of the parachute? OKAY!! Shake it like a polaroid picture? OKAY!! Clap my hands? SURE! Jump and twist like Gymbo the clown? NO PROBLEM!

It was so much fun to watch him interact with kids and actually have a good time doing it. I was so excited and thrilled.

The group he was in that day was a group of kids that were a bit older than him. (Up to 28 months). I took him again this morning, but this time he went to the group that was one step lower- making him the oldest in the class. He seemed to do better at the games and songs in the older group, so now I'm in a dilemma. Do I put him in the younger group so he can feel confident in all the activities? Confident in himself? Or do I put him in the older group where it might be a little more challenging? I'm torn.



Anywho, it's official. I'm a gymboree mom! Thanks MoMar and DooDad for the awesome gift.

Night Owl. Hoo. Hoo.

from the looks of this picture, you'd think my knuckles would drag on the floor when I walked.

Ezra goes to bed every night at 8:00 PM.

Sharp.

This isn't because I am some structure-crazed scheduling fanatic, but because at exactly 7:59 PM every day, all of my energy instantly runs out and I am immediately too drained to make even one more airplane noise or GASP with awe over one more game of "let's hide Thomas behind a pillow and then pull him back out 6 seconds later with much GASPing and awe!" weeeee!

I am at home with my son all day everyday, and I am so grateful and appreciative of the fact that I am able to do this at all. It's such a blessing to our family. But after 12 straight hours of enthusiastic clapping and cheering for my son while repeating the SAME WORDS over and over and over again ("Juice-juice? Can you say Juice-juice? Airplane!! Thomas! Ball? Throw the ball! YAY! Good boy! Now, catch! Where's your nose? Eyes? Ears? Mouth? Goooood booooy! Is that a doggie? Did you hear a doggie? Bye-bye? You wanna go bye bye? But where's your shoes? Can you say shoes? What's a snake say? GASP! Eat your food! Eat it. Eat it. Open up. Eat it. Eat it. Goood Booooy! No, no don't spit out your food...don't spit it out!! eat it. eat it. eat it. please? [times infinity] ) one gets a little, um, shall we say unbalanced?

So, around 7:00pm, (on good nights) I start watching the minutes slowly unfold on the microwave clock in the kitchen- anxious for the moment I can lay Ezra in his crib and close the door and GO HOG WILD. You know, do crazy things like bathe and watch Will & Grace re-runs and catch up on my W's. (My www.'s.) (Get it? Meaning the internet?.... oh, dear lord- let's just forget i ever said that.) I read my book and I munch on cheese puffs and dunk Oreos and I talk to my husband, or I write about my husband to all you fine folks. Yeah, watch out, world! You ain't seen partyin' till you've seen me in my Mickey Mouse Pajamas, eatin' crushed ice and checkin' my MySpace... woot woot!

But here's the trouble: all this farting around makes my average bedtime about 1:00 AM. I just get in this mode of enjoying MY time after Ezra goes down and I lose all desire for sleep. So, when Ezra wakes up at 7:00 the next morning, I am TIRED somepin' fierce. I drag my feet around all morning...and afternoon...and evening until it's 7:00 and I'm craning my neck to see the microwave clock again. And, without fail, every time I put Ezra to bed I get this burst of energy and I can't sleep. I'm all out of whack.

Now, add to all of this a frickin TIME CHANGE and you've got yourself one big, giant mess. I'm a mess. He's a mess. We're all a mess mess. It's enough to make me move to Arizona where the time stays the same and a nap/sleep schedule can live in peace.

Good thing my parents are here to help. Although, coming from Nevada, they are still adjusting from a two hours time difference from our Central Standard time PLUS that one hour we lost Saturday, MINUS the one they also then lost Pacific Standard Time and ... uh... hmm.... aww, forget it.

I'm gonna go get me some oreos and come up with a million different reasons for not crawling in bed right now. Like Slingo. WARNING: Don't click that link unless you have aspirations of becoming a cheese-puff-eating, Mickey-Mouse-Pajama-Wearin' insomniac like me.

ezra's sleepy stare

PS. This post was a Spell Check NIGHTMARE.

*yawn*

The Grinch Who Stole Buzz Lightyear's Place of Utmost Honor and Praise.

My parents are coming into town tomorrow! Yippie! I'm very excited for them to see our new house and our huge baby-toddler-child. (the one who has suddenly and unexpectedly removed Buzz Lightyear from the 'Throne Of Obsessive Interest' and replaced him with none other than 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas'- officially ending the AROUND-THE-CLOCK Toy Story marathon THANK YOU JESUS.) The Grinch will, from now on, always be my hero. He has single-handedly rescued me from the incessant drone of Tim Allen's voice.



There are times when I miss my family so much that everything else that I'm doing in life seems a little fuzzy- slightly out of focus. I would love to be able to eat meals with them, laugh at Ezra's antics with them, know that they are only a few minutes away if I need them... Maybe it's just the upcoming holiday buzz in the air, but my family is on my mind constantly lately. So, I am really looking forward to my time with them.

Plus, Chris is going out of town for a few days again to help record an album in Kansas City with our friend Joel, so the timing couldn't be better. It seems like everytime Chris has been gone, I've had someone around to help me. (This is probably because God has heard my ceaseless mutterings of "help me help me help me i need help help me help me..." and so on.) I'm hoping to spend some good quality time just hanging out and playing with Ezra because this time with him is so precious for MoMar and DooDad who only get to see him a few times a year.

Here's some pictures of the hike that Chris and our friend Craig took Ezra on while I was out of town. Um, CUTE.

Sploosh...

Did you hear that sound?

That was the sound of my heart melting right out of my chest.

The Question of Two.

It's funny how many times I was asked when Chris and I are planning on having another baby while I was in California. (How many times, you ask? 1,263,465,309 times.) And it makes sense... They haven't seen me in awhile, and Ezra is now huge-normous and practically old enough to rent out his own apartment and attend night school while holding down a job to make ends meet. (all this before the age of two! wow!) Why not get started on a second one, right?

Here's the thing: I haven't even really thought about having a number two yet. Not seriously, at least. The first time I got asked that question while I was in CA, I was speechless for a few moments before I could answer. It's like I'd forgotten that having more kids was even an option and the question struck me as so foreign that I felt like I suddenly needed a translator.

A couple weeks ago, though, I started having these intense dreams about giving birth to a baby girl and then handing her over to this other lady in my dream who was trying to kill all of the artists in the world (including me and my husband.) The second I handed this evil lady my newborn child, she immediately broke down and started weeping and stopped trying to kill all the artists. She just sat there and rocked my child and soothed her with lullabies and kisses. I awoke from these dreams feeling really calm and peaceful, like there was something amazing in our future, But also feeling like it wasn't quite time just yet.

I'm not quite ready emotionally (or practically) to throw another munchkin in the mix right now, and Chris isn't either. But even so, the fact that I was feeling excited and confident that there even would be a number two in the future was a huge step for me. Up until very recently, the thought of having another baby was completely overwhelming and unimaginable to me. I was more like, "ONE IS ENOUGH, THANK YOU" and "PEOPLE HAVE TWO OF THESE THINGS? DEAR LORD WHY AND HOW??"



Even now I still have those days where thinking about starting all over again with another little baby seems completely crazy. I mean, I've made it this far with Ezra, and it sometimes feels like a mountain I don't want to turn around and scale again, you know? I'm in this mode of taking it day-by-day while holding on to the hope that this is just a season and soon he'll be tying his own shoes and sleeping over at friend's houses and going to Preschool. More independent. I don't want this precious time to completely pass me by, of course. But, to be honest, sometimes I wish I could fast forward a little and get to the "remember when Ezra would curl up into a ball on the floor and scream whenever another kid came anywhere near him?" phase of life. Where the challenges of today become the funny memories we share with friends and family tomorrow.

Before, it was mostly "just let me get to that place, God, and then everything will be OK. Let me get to the other side of this. Just let me get there, let me get there, let me get there..."

I know that when the time is right, Chris and I will know it. I personally would like to get Ezra out of diapers before Number Two comes along. That would be nice. Although, judging by the loathsome "Nooooooo!" wail Ezra emits whenever I mention the word "potty", this could potentially be SIX YEARS FROM NOW.



And I must insert the necessary disclaimer here: If Chris and I were to find out tomorrow that we were pregnant, we'd be thrilled.

SHELL SHOCKED, but thrilled.

(PS- you know those 'name lists' that I had put away after we'd finally named Ezra? Somehow they ended up spread out all over the coffee table last night. I swear I don't know how it happened. And then I must have tripped or something because before I knew what was going on, I had spent a good chunk of time reading through every name on those lists until I suddenly came to and realized WHAT THE HECK I WAS DOING.)

eegad.

**PLEASE NOTE: this post may have been nothing but a shameless excuse for posting pictures of teeny weeny little Ezzie Bug for your viewing pleasure. Apologies.**

Back from California...

I'm back!

My trip to California was amazing.

I was alone. And relaxed. I laughed too loud and too hard and too long at anything that was even remotely humorous. It was so good to see all of my friends again... To roam the streets with Kristy and giggle at her adorableness and hang out in her comfy house...

the "let's see how awkward we can be" picture.

... and to admire Snag's dance moves and pretend like we didn't know him when he played the toy piano really loud in the bookstore...



...To stay up late and have encouraging conversations with Brook and Simon, all the while laughing so hard I was CONSTANTLY having to pee...




...And enjoying my dear friend Cameron-- seeing him do what God has created him to do and watch gobs and gobs of people be blessed by his work and his heart.



...And driving around with Jess and talking about life while little Jo-Jo hung out in his carseat and discovered how to "GASP!" after just minutes of being with me. (I no longer wonder where Ezra learned this "GASP!" from...as it turns out, I GASP twenty times a minute on average...)

Also, Seeing my sweet, precious, stunning Harmony get MARRIED and whisked away on her honeymoon... Indulging in Smokey Treats at the Gaddis' house... drinking the BEST cup of tea made by 'Tea Master' Darren Clarke... drawing goofy pictures with Jessie and Kristen... the list goes on and on and on.




I'd be lying if I said I was 100% ready to come back home when the trip was over. I missed my husband intensely while I was gone, and every little kid I saw reminded me of Ezra and sent a pang through my heart. But being on my own for 4 days was incredible. I felt like my old self again. No dirty dishes in the sink, no poopy diapers, no nap-times to schedule around or babysitters to find... just me. Me and old used book stores. Me and Nutty Bean coffee in the mornings.

I even enjoyed the flights to and from CA... I'm not much of a flyer... I usually dread the experience... but I was flying solo this time and didn't have to worry about how to pack Ezra's juice without becoming a suspected terrorist. (No liquids or gels on airplanes anymore... they even stole my chapstick. I can just see it now... "Watch out! She's got LIPSMACKERS!!" *frightened screams*) Even when I was thousands of feet up in the sky I was relaxed and grateful for my time away. I journaled and people-watched and listened to music. I looked out the window and saw clouds under my feet.

It's good to be home, but I'm still re-adjusting to reality. I find myself a little despondent and quick to lose my temper... It probably doesn't help that immediately after I got home, Ezra started TEETHING with his two year molars, making him a grouchy, gooey booger-making toddler in place of the non-teething, mellow, mostly-booger-free child I left behind.

And yet, he's getting so big and so smart. I love this age. Here's the latest evidence of his impressive knowledge of various zoological vocalizations:



brilliant.

My Mouth: Where the Root Canals Multiply like Rabbits.

this picture pretty much sums up the last few days of my life.
If you've been reading this blog for a little while, you may recall my past ramblings about how horribly awful my teeth are. If you are a new reader, let me tell you something... my teeth are HORRIBLY AWFUL.

The latest tooth drama started this past Thursday when I woke up with a throbbing toothache on the right side of my mouth. By the time I got around to calling my dentist, it was Friday AM and his office was closed for the weekend. Needless to say, this made for one extremely long weekend full of pain medicine and mushy bananas because I couldn't chew much else.

I planned to call the office first thing Monday morning, but I was awakened that morning by throbbing pain again- only this time it was coming from the LEFT side of my face. WHAT?! It moved! I made my appointment for later that day, and by the time I got into the dentist's office, the pain had moved AGAIN. Now it was coming from one of my eye teeth near the front of my mouth. I had never experienced anything like this before- I was having 3 toothaches all at once. It was like my teeth all got together and decided on a mutiny while I was sleeping one night. They all attacked at once and knocked me flat onto the couch where I held my face in my hands and whined INCESSANTLY for hours and days upon end. I think Chris went and bought some high-end ear plugs to ease his pain, and unfortunately I think Ezra has picked up a pointer or two on 'HOW TO BE RELENTLESSLY ANNOYING VIA INCESSANT GROANING AND MOANING WHILE HOLDING FACE.'

So, my dentist looks in my mouth and I'm watching his face to see the horrified look I just know he's going to shoot at his assistant when he peers into my cavern of decay, but instead he holds it together and orders a round of X-rays. After looking at the X-rays and listening to a condensed version of the weekend's INCESSANT MOANING AND GROANING, he informes me that I am in need of 4 more root canals.

That's not a typo.

FOUR.

As in, more than any single person has ever needed at the same time since the dawn of time FOUR.

Oh, and also? Each root canal needs a crown after that. Including the last two root canals I had that didn't get crowns on them before due to the fact that our insurance told us they wouldn't cover squat until our policy was in place for 6 months. So, if you'll do the math with me here, that's a total of 6 crowns. 4 root canals + 6 crowns + 6 months of insurance payments with no coverage to show for them = MUCH RED INK for the Family transaction records.

I'm hoping the root canal I get today will take away the majority of the pain because I have a vacation ahead of me in about two days, and I don't want my first solo retreat to be filled with constant weeping and gnashing of teeth. (I understand the description of hell in the Bible now: it's abscessed teeth.)



In the meantime, I'm thinking I'll give this guy a call.

Nightmarish Tacos

I was making tacos tonight, and I accidentally left one of the tortillas on the skillet too long when I was warming them up. I pulled it out of the skillet with my handy tongs, and when I flipped the tortilla over onto my cutting board, I was greeted by this image:




Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not used to being 'spooked' by corn tortillas, so I may have squealed like a sissy a little bit.

And backed away from the counter.

When Chris saw the spine-chilling tortilla, he suggested we take pictures of it and send them in to the local news station.

"Saturdays are usually slow news nights.", he mused.

I guf-awed and told him he was silly.

But then I remembered that a few nights ago, we were watching the local Oklahoma news, and they'd reported on a woman who claimed to have found the image of Jesus on a potato chip or a hairball or something like that, so I decided that if that freaky old lady could hog up precious air-time, then why the heck can't I?!

I sent my photo to News Channel 4.

Because, "When in Rome..."