because the Mall Santa sucks

Local Utah photog Jennifer Eliason is offering a sweet gig

rather than wait in line with your screaming offspring to get a picture with the generic mall Santa

book a Glimpse of Santa session with her instead!

avoid the line

avoid the awful picture you have to pay an arm and a leg for

avoid pretty much everything

aaaand

!!!BONUS!!!

all proceeds go to help a sweet little girl baby fighting Leukemia

you can read about baby Odette and her family here

and book a session with Jennifer here

 

SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE MALL!

so go forth

and book

and be awesome

Prep Work

It's relatively late, and I'm baking rolls.  Rolls for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday to be precise.  This is the first time I've been given a major role (snicker) in the dinner production and I was sort of sweating the outcome but never fear, I nailed it and they are melt in your mouth awesome. 

score

Kalli=1

Rolls=.5 (for tasting delicious)

Into the freezer they go until their big debut on Turkey Day.  I'd like to thank my Connie for sharing her scrumtrulescent recipe, and even though I had a mini emotional breakdown when they took an eon to raise, I'd like to give myself props for waiting it out and rolling such fine crescents in the end.  Last time I tried they were more than a little wonky, but looks like my skills have since matured.  Hoo-Ray and hallelujah my friends. 

I've got big plans for this week, big plans involving elastic waistbands, ponytails (finally, my hairs are mostly long enough again), my sewing machine, the movie theater-maybe a few times, football games, naps,and  food, a lot of food.  Oh and a 5k.  Yippee!

I sure like my life.

 Happy Thanksgiving Lovelies

may your rolls be as good as mine
       

truly nothing is sacred

If you've ever wondered what my retainer looks like

click over to my new post on Rocky Mountain Moms Blog and find out

ponderings of a Thursday morn

Here's the question

If you have a favorite pair of jeans, some that are like 5 years old and worn enough that the pockets have started coming off, do you feel awesome that they still fit after so long, or embarrassed that there are giant holes in the crotchtile area from your thighs rubbing together?

hypothetically speaking

of course.

really

Don't worry that it's 12 freaking 34 am and I'm waiting for the Hub to get home

because he's staking out the mechanic who's been holding our jeep hostage for the past almost 6 freaking weeks after it internally exploded.

I mean who takes 6 weeks to fix a dang jeep?  This crack head, that's who.

All I can say is that there is going to be a lot more love in our home once we're back running on all 16 cylinders.  I don't even know if that's how many we have, that's how tired I am.  Does my car have 6 cylinders or 8?  How many does the jeep have?  Who cares.  The point is that Hub is not coming home until that stupid thing is fixed and the dang mechanic can't skip out this time and stop returning calls and avoiding the justice of my holy wrath.  Plus now I know where he lives so things could get real ugly if they don't turn out how I want.  Real ugly Mr. Rotten Tooht Mechanic Man.

Make that 12:41.  

And on the 6th day the Lord created sweatpants

Don't mind my hair here, it's a little gone with the wind

but the sweatpants, yes, look at those

you can find them here,

go buy 10 pairs, like now

thanks sis, you know me too well

no birthday is complete with out stretchy pants

I'd go back to work if I could work here

BSB represent!

this one goes out to my Stoopid

 Logan, UT 1999 yo!




just bathe in the awesomeness of it

28 on the 16th

1. dessert is best eaten straight from the pan, no plates necessary
2. motherhood suits me. I was real scared and a hot mess at first, but I think I've finally got the hang of things now
3. milk is an appropriate beverage for only three things: brownies, donuts, or chocolate cake
4. I like my showers scalding hot and right before bed
5. I can do hard things, that suck, and are hard, but I can do them
6. short hair and I are not best friends and probably never will be
7. saying "I'm sorry" won't kill me, it just tastes bad on the way out
8. acrylic nails gross me out, I mean what's under there? Unless you're my mom, hers are okay
9. a lot can be fixed with sweatpants and a good movie
10. pebble ice is one of mankind's greatest inventions
11. my thighs will never not rub together
12. mayonnaise is just wrong
13. I like dogs, I have one, but I still wouldn't call myself a dog person
14. if they ever invented a dog that had alopecia, I'd be first in line
15. this is a dirty secret, but I used to like cats until one day I just didn't anymore
16. I hate having my hair touched, unless it's at the salon, in which case that's just fine
17. I hate it when people give their kids dumb names with weird spellings
18. I don't know anything about music. On my ipod I have a lot of Jason Mraz , Jack Johnson and Mariah Carey. Boy do I love me some Mariah Carey.
19. secretly I'd love to go to cosmetology school, just for funsies
20. I'm the best wife my husband has ever had, which is funny cuz he's had two
21. raisins are right up there with mayonnaise
22. I'm a compulsive hand washer
23. I'm very self conscious about my nose, thanks to multiple traumatic childhood experiences involving my brothers and a rather unfortunate nickname.
24. I don't get Utah hair. If you rat your hair excessively and have a hugemongous poof at the crown of your head, please explain because I'd like to know what the appeal is. It just makes me feel awkward.
25. If I won a million dollars the first thing I would do after paying off whatever and buying a dang house is go to Europe for like 3 months, and eat a real Belgian waffle, because I heard those are amazing
26. I think being tall is awesome, and I like to say awesome whenever I can, because that's awesome
27. boogers gross me out in a huge way, like when I have to use that nasal bulb thing on my kid, it makes me dry heave every time. Again, thanks to traumatic childhood experiences involving my brothers.

28. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY!!!

marital bliss

I finally showered today around 4:00 because I had somewhere to go, somewhere that involved wearing pants that did not sport an elastic waistband and a 60/40 cotton spandex blend. This translated into my $5 wal-mart sale rack skinny jeans, my self gifted pre-birthday present boots (oh don't you worry, I'm planning an entire post about birthday boots, calm yourself), a white long sleeved tee and a black scarf, nothing fantastic, but certainly nothing offensive.

Or so I thought.

When I walked into the kitchen Hub gave me the once over and this look spread over his face:

*ATTENTION-these are not photos from the actual event, instead I present a semi-dramatic photobooth re-enactment for you visual reference

as in you look friggin' weird and why are your pants tucked into your boots?

me=dirty pissed

he=backtracking and apologies

me=walking out the door giving him this look in return:

translation: I'll tuck my dang jeans into my boots if I want to

and you won't say a day-mn thing about it again now will you?

tread lightly young Padowan, you still have much to learn in the way of women

and scene

purposeful living

We do a lot of this lately.

He runs, I chase. Him laughing all the way to mortal peril, or at the very least bodily harm.

You wouldn't think that keeping up with a chubby cheeked, slightly sticky toddler would be that hard, I mean he's a fat little midget for pity's sake. I should be able to handle that. Except he's a fat little midget with lightning speed and evasion tactics worthy of a Bond film. You turn your attention away for a second before strapping him into his seat and he'll slither out of your grasp and make a bee line for the middle of the parking lot to do a chicken dance of death with oncoming traffic and shopping carts gone rouge. You streak after him only narrowly avoiding a confrontation with the cart rack yourself, just in time to scoop the boy up unharmed (and finding this all hilarious by the way) but not without winning the disapproving gaze of the old lady in a Buick staring you down with her judgmental cataracts and support hosed snobbery.

Ah the perils of toddler independence.

I'd be a lot more annoyed with this type of behavior if there wasn't something overwhelmingly fantastic about it. Watching him run away from me as fast as his chubby legs can move evokes this feeling of pride and accomplishment (aside from the panic) because holy freaking moly I MADE THOSE CHUBBY LEGS, and look at all of that perfection working in harmony together!

In my church, we are taught much about our purpose in this life and if ever I have felt closer to fulfilling the divine measure of my creation, it would be thanks to that crazy little boy.

He is a masterpiece if I do say so myself.

Now if only I can keep him away from traffic...

p.s. it is my birthday in 6 days, just so you know

down home on the farm

me and the fruit of my womb

Home at last, on my bed in the prerequisite spot, sipping my first hot chocky of the season (from an owl mug of course), watching some DVR'd Ugly Betty and finding myself wondering why the hizzell Betty still has braces 3 seasons later? I mean that's some serious teeth work, hello, I'd know.

The weekend was spent at the Connie Compound (don't worry, my dad lives there too, he even has a shop, the holy grail of man-land), except Connie and my dad booked it to Denver for my brother's big game so we three (4? does Gus count?) found ourselves kickin' it Sanpete style solo.

I love Sanpete in a big way. There's something about the air down there, it's different. I guess it's my inner farm girl. You grow up on a ranch in the middle of nowheresville Wyoming and things that smell country like wood stoves and burning ditches (and yes, sheep poo) smell like home. I love it, I love it, I love it.

So we did Sanpete things, or at least Sanpete things according to Kalli. We sojurned to Manti for burgers and freaking kill me delicious onion rings, a walk around temple grounds, some ridiculous posing in doorways, and of course, Manti Motel ice cream (note, winter selection not nearly as good as summer). Back at the compound there was a fire, some brats, some s'mores, I read a book and for the love, I can't remember the last time I've sat down long enough to do that. The weekend was like a giant stress detox and boy howdy did it hit the spot.

One of the things I am most grateful for is the fact that my parents live close enough for me to hop in the car and be there in under two hours. The good Lord knew me well enough to know that I would need them in a big way. The word "need" is probably even something of an understatement. I depend on them, as the youngest it is my right (or so I tell myself). Even when they're not physically around, their home has enough of that comfort and whatever else that it fills my empty spots right back up.

It's a happy thing to be the daughter of such good people. My family might be weird and quirky in all sorts of special ways, but at the head we are grounded by goodness and love, and you can't go wrong with that.

Plus they live in Sanpete, which is awesome, but didn't I already say that?

p.s. those boots in the photo? Connie's, circa 1982 or thereabouts. Maybe I long term borrowed them. Maybe they're awesome. Maybe my pants could be a wee bit longer...

you've made your bed now lie in it

I spend a good portion of my time in this position. Perched on our bed, laptop out, pondering the deep and more often not so deep aspects of my life (pinchy underwear much).

I love our bed. I do. I'd like to make a joke right now about how I love it so much I want to make out with it but that just seems a little inappropriate given that it's a bed, and well, you know what happens in those.

Sleep, sleep happens you pervs.

Sleep where you dream about your high school best friend and how a tornado was chasing you both down and you ended up in a Costco that was magically transformed into a junior high and once you got inside and closed all the windows and bolted the shutters the tornado disappeared, the Costco/junior high turned back to just a Costco, and you went looking for samples instead. I think the dream was about my upcoming 10 year class reunion and how much I loathe the idea of going, but that's just a stab in the dark. Maybe it was more about how much I love Costco. Both seem entirely plausible.

Our bed is of the king size variety. It is gigantor and pillow topped and rightfully broken in. So much that it sports a hill (I had originally typed "hump" but that felt dirty) in the middle thanks to the body grooves created by two dead weights on either side. My indentation is actual perfection. It is my nest. Do not cross the middle line into my domain unless you a. my husband and are offering 1. a sensual massage which I do not have to reciprocate, 2. a good back scratch, again-no reciprocation required, or 3. food, preferably crunchy grapes or peanut butter toast. Those are three exceptions I will gladly make. Other than that, venture over at your own risk.

Hub and I are not one of those couples who enjoy close quarters. We spoon only briefly, and then retreat to our respective areas for the night. No touchy! The idea of falling asleep while snuggling makes me feel claustrophobic and suffocated. It's just not us. Plus I move around a lot when falling asleep, kind of like a dog circling around to mat down the ground. Hub is a bit more spastic, I've been punched in the face a time or two. Thus the necessity of a mondo bed.

It works for us and keeps us married. I fear a smaller bed would have some consequences, or at the very least at least a couple of unplanned pregnancies. What?

Mama's got a brand new gig

Hey homies

I've joined the posse at Rocky Mountain Moms Blog, woo woo!

Give it a visit, leave a comment, don't make me look like an idiot or whatever.

My post HERE.

(talking swine flu, big shock)

dawn of the dead

This day began with a screeching call to consciousness at 5:45 a.m.

5 freaking 45 in the morning. That's not even legal if you ask me.

I will tell you this right now, I am not a morning person.

And for emphasis sake, I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON.

I realize that early rising comes along with the territory of parenthood, but man I suck at it. I am angry, and bitter and accusatory and generally unpleasant, which, contrary to certain opinions is not my usual mode of operation. Sarcastic, yes. Unpleasant? Not unless you do stupid things like cut me off in traffic. I'm talking to you stupid lady in the SUV. I will hurt you, if I ever find you, which isn't likely so count your blessings.

For me, being up too early involves a lot of narrow eyed staring, huffing around, slamming cupboards, a lot of "dude, what is your deal?", and a lot of staring at the clock waiting for nap time. Once that nap begins, and especially if I take the privilege as well, then happy happy joy joy life is sunshine and roses again.

It's a good thing I really like my kid and regardless of when he wakes up he's so lovey it doesn't matter, and that I got a nap today, or else things could have turned out a whole lot worse.

After my 2nd wake up call at 10:30 I was feeling back to my good mommy self. Made my kid some mac and cheese (and peas, nutrition please), we basked in the weather and walked to the park, I sewed a few baby gifts, made some dinner which brings me to my next point. You should probably make this pasta, like tomorrow. Because I've already made it twice in the last month. Yeah, that good, but only if you're into pumpkin, which lucky for me, I am in a huge way. Sausage tends to gross me out but it's so delicious I'm willing to ignore the fact that I'm eating ground up intestines or whatever.

So the moral of this post is, if your kid wakes you up too early then just take a nap and at the very least one thing you must do before you die is make and eat this pumpkin pasta because it is derishous and semi-nutritious.

The End.

nacho disturbance

don't worry
he paid for it later

or all night long