What did I do so Right?

 I can think of nothing in my life...

 that I've ever done so right...

 to warrant being a mother...

 to this little girl.

It's a mystery...

all I've got to say is...

 thank you.

 Thank you.

Thank you.

Bloomin'

Because my baby's on a sleep strike I don't have much time today to blog about what I really wanted to: Booty Bling.  I'm sure I can save my thoughts on embellished bums for another day.  I mean it's a super important topic that needs to be addressed, but hey when your baby won't sleep, your baby won't sleep. 

Here is the subject in question. Why won't you sleep?  Are my bosoms in your face?  They're the bane of my existence too, little one.  Actually a half block later she was snoozing, drooling all down my five year old t-shirt.  Notice her cute hat?  Made by a super talented woman named Katie Godfrey.  Thanks Katie!  I didn't even get the cutest part in the shot of her little pink poof on top.  It's difficult taking a picture from this angle.  Yes, I wear my baby around.  I'm one of those mothers.  I don't shave my legs either.  And I just love granola.  Just kidding.  Sort of.  I don't love granola.  Without further ado, this is what we saw on our neighborhood walk. 

I've been trying to figure this out for months.  This particular residence has a three tiered stone wall.  I noticed this stone a couple of months ago.  It intrigued me.  Is there a bluebird in one of the many stones surrounding the house that I haven't found yet?  Or is this message more philosophical?  Like when my English teacher my senior year talked about how his little boys were the "extra frosting" of life. 

 I love sidewalks.  That is all. 

 Oh and Sycamore trees.  Is there any tree lovelier?

Poor pantless baby Katrina. She doesn't seem to be bothered by it though, just chillin' like a villain at the local park swing. 

A Good Reminder

I was up every hour and a half with the baby last night and so I'm sitting out church this morning in hopes that my eye balls might begin to feel like they won't roll out of my head at any given second.  I'm going to sleep shortly but before I do I found this post on a mormon blog I actually found through The Huffington Post.  How's that for irony, my Republican Friend?  And you know who you are.  My staunchly republican friend can't understand my affinity to get news through what she believes is a pathetic excuse for a news outlet, but the feeling is mutual...ahem, Fox News.  You know I love you, Republican Friend.  We've had a lot of good discussions about politics and it would be no fun to talk about it with someone who thought the same way I did about it all. 

The author is a woman newly divorced with three children, one who is autistic.  Her ex-husband is apparently not in the picture any more.  Her post deals with what it feels like for those who feel they fall far short of the "ideal" mormon family.  It made me cry and made me really think what it must feel like to sit every Sunday listening to what your life should be like when through no fault of your own, it is not.  If you read through the comments there is a good debate about how helpful it really is to teach the ideal week after week.  I don't know what the answer is.  I always love to read each side of a debate.  Good points on both sides.  I think in general teaching church doctrine with more sensitivity and empathy should be more front and center. 

A Message for You

As I rounded the corner to Ava's school yesterday, five minutes late as usual, I thought to myself wow we are really late, there are zero cars here.  Then it dawns on me.  There was no school on Monday.  We all could have slept in.  I groan.  What am I going to do with Ava on a rainy day? 

I decided to take her to McDonald's playland.  I have a good book I'm reading and a sleeping baby, what could be better than letting Ava run rampant through the colorful gerbil tubes?  I take I-80 and exit onto the belt route.  It's raining pretty hard and looks to be turning to snow.  For a girl who grew up in Cache Valley's Siberia I feel pretty inept at driving in snow.  Especially at high speeds. 

I take the 3300 exit and pull into the McDonald's parking lot.  Sure there is a McDonald's closer to our home, but I distinctly remember last time we were at the REI across the street Ava begging us to let her play at this "new" McDonald's.  I notice a disheveled man walking through the parking lot.  He opens the door for us.  I take a good look at him as I do with any man, disheveled or not, in case I need to identify him later for police.  Have I ever told you I distrust men?  It hasn't been helped by my morbid affinity for true crime shows. 

He has blondish red hair and leathery skin as if he's spent a good amount of time exposed to the elements.  He has on warm up pants and worn sneakers.  On his torso he sports a light shell of a winter coat zipped up to the top of his ribcage.  Underneath copious amounts of blond chest hair spill out.  He is not wearing a shirt.  He also has a long goatee which reminds me of an ex-boyfriend.  The one I professed my love for when I was sixteen to which he answered, "I know."  Listen, you're not Han Solo and you could do with a good dose of deoderant.  For the record I was not in love with him.  I enjoyed kissing him.  I know, I know, after that deoderant remark you're wondering how that was possible.  I can only theorize that my sense of smell was blinded by my rampant hormones.  On the right day Pig Pen could have gotten lucky. 

I'm pretty sure this guy was a transient.  I placed my order and waited while Ava flitted off to the playland.  I think the woman taking the orders was new.  She took our names down which I have never had happen at any McDonald's.  It was busy, although it was well past the lunchtime rush.  She seemed flustered.  I hate to be rude but I couldn't help notice that her arms resembled Robin Williams.  If you don't know what I'm talking about just google the term.  In all fairness I'm sure she noticed the ginormous third eye blooming on the bridge of my nose.  I'm nearly 30.  Really?  Really?  What have I done to anger the pimple gods? 

The goateed man waited for his order with his hands grasping the counter.  Step back and give the poor lady some room, I thought to myself, can't you see she has enough problems?  It's going to take some serious shaving cream to create a manicured lawn from an overgrown jungle.  I'm sorry.  That was a bit below the belt, wasn't it? 

Some machine was going off behind the counter, a steady annoying beeping that seemed to be adding to the lady's distress.  That's when the man leaned forward well into the lady's personal space.  I thought, okay here we go, he seems to be about what? Five eight, five nine, maybe 140 pounds?  You can rely on me police sketcher. 

"Hey lady!" The man says loudly.

"Yes?" She smiles at him a little fearfully.

"Your machine has a message for you," He says.  The lady gives him an expectant look.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!" The man exclaims.  That voice.  It sounded like Lloyd Christmas off of Dumb and Dumber.  I'll sign off with this little gem, for your listening pleasure:     (Link)     View more               Lloyd Christmas Sound Clips         and        Dumb & Dumber Sound Clips