I call this one..."Happy Family at the Top of the Wet Mountain."

cribs and derbies.

I took the rail off Kacie's crib.

No more clanking of the toys against the bars after naptime.

No more crib. No more baby.

I'm not prepared for that.

Conan and I made our first Pinewood Derby car this week.

Jake, all cute and grown up in his uniform.
He didn't win a ribbon; of any kind.

He cried himself to sleep as I told him about Ekaj the Pirate Boy, who didn't win the big boat race, either. Ekaj watched all the faster, shinier, bigger boats pass by, and was kissed by a dolphin, and saw a Unicorn slide down a purple rainbow. He made it to the end, and cried on the beach, head held low, in last place. Then he was socked in the stomach by a roller skating supernova. He didn't get the win, but he took home an exploding star...on skates. (Conan and I just watched Xanadu; the skates made sense.)

I think he understood. Someone will always have a faster boat, but they may never hold a super nova. Or smooch a dolphin. He cried, some more, and said it was the best story he ever heard in all his life. sweet jakey.

I went to sleep trying to think up a good one about Ekaj getting his heart broken by the Pirate Princess Aihpos.

I'm not prepared for that.

Kacie plays the bongos and rips up books now, instead of sleeping.
Jake has a list of treasures from the Derby; but still wants a ribbon.

Naptime is disappearing.

Stories don't fix everything.

Someone will always have a faster boat.

I'm not prepared for that.

Good thing I've got a hamper full of purple rainbows.
And ripped up books.

Make sure they love the did list; so says the black book.

I have a little black book.

I stays closed by my bed until we have something to talk about. My clicky pen attached, the ribbon marker holding the next blank page, and the elastic band keeping our conversations from leaking.

This is where I put the thoughts that may keep me up at night.

Like this...I often lay awake watching the ceiling fan fling around all the things I didn't get done that day. So one night I made two lists. What I Did and What I Didn't. Just to stop it from splattering all over my walls.

Then I closed my eyes comfortably; because the black book told me I was a dork. The length of my did list very clearly illustrated the fatal flaw of my tired mommy eyes...they tend to blur the done and fixate on the not done. Sharpening the image, until I can't stop staring.


I'm grateful now I can watch my fan fling the did. I'd much rather wake up with that all over my face.

My hair is deeply moisturized.

Beauty products kill brain cells.

I did a few wild and crazy things in my old age and wrinkly face, I'm willing to admit...I bought products last month...and I started a face washing regimen. I've never really washed my face before. I'd rinse it, maybe use a cotton ball, do the Noxema splash, but that's it. Never with hair pulled back and the washcloth and the soapy eyes mummy walk to find the towel. So, I liked the new Dove commercials and chose to browse the beauty aisle. As a result, I've become bedtime buddies with the gentle exfoliating Dove soap bar, a washcloth, astringent, the lotion, and the mummy walk. The whole shebangbang. And I pluck. Which has nothing to do with my story.

So here's where it gets good, bad, and ugly...

As we were packing for Alabama I grabbed my face lotion and threw it in the toiletries bag with my tweezers. Then, for the first time in like a month I took a second look at my hair de-frizzer to decide if I really needed to take it with me.


And I was like...



Because. And this is why...

The bottle on the left is my face lotion. The bottle on the right is my hair cream.

*** the crickets chirp here.

Uh...NO it's NOT!!

Big humongo DUMB!!

So there it is, my beauty product buying friends and forever family who will choose not to make fun of me. The reason I don't call. My brain is dumb. And my rebellious hair is apparently untamed. But it is UVA Protected.

Here are my excuses for the mix up...


um.


In my defense, they are both 4 oz. Very similar.


Dear 2009,
I promise, with all fibers of my being, to pay more attention when applying anything creamy onto my body, or any soft surface, and to leave the beauty deals for the smart people. I will not allow genius marketing skills to target my 30 something vulnerability. And I will write a letter to the Dove top dogs explaining the miraculous results I've had using their hair cream. On my face!

The end.

Dumb.


I'm making Mexican Fiesta Biscuit Bake tonight. in case someone needs ideas. And still believes in me.

40 Winks Til Christmas. and whales.

It was hot and stinky. Kacie was climbing on my face, and Dani was discussing with Emelia who was the most popular in the 4th grade. Both trying to beat eachother's best Napolean Dynamite impersonation. Funny...for the first 20 minutes. Gosh.

The eager parents and their oversized camera bags seemed to fit nicely in the water closet sized gymnasium of our Elementary School. Everyone had a place...in the aisle or against a wall. Or on the floor. If you were prompt and efficient in being 1 hour early, you got a seat.

Then the hush of chaos as our comfy little Tetris grid was rocked by a stream of cute little 1st and 2nd graders in festive pajamas filling the bleachers. Parents stood, cameras flashed, cuties waved with grins bigger than my headache. Understood. Everyone wants to see their kid. And in the chlosterphobic nightmare, go ahead, stand for a minute.

I made good eye contact with Jake, blew a kiss and kept my place, being careful not to raise my camera too high and block the view of the sea of raging parental pride behind me.

Did I mention it was hot?

Jake had the introduction. I couldn't see him, so I did indeed raise my camera a few inches past the point of no respect to perhaps get a shot of his adorable animation as I listened to the voice of my sweet boy. I had to do what I had to do to get the video for daddy, who was coaching Andy's basketball team.

As Jake returned to his place, 5th spot 3 rows down, I put the camera away and listened, because I couldn't see anything, and I'd get annoyed at the parent who was letting their kid stand on the chair right in front of the 5th spot 3 rows down if I tried. To see.

So I listened, and spent quality time hushing the Napolean's and peeling Kacie off my face...and watching the lady a row in front of me, stand. The whole time. In a chair seat.

There was drama.

A few parents asked her out loud to sit down. Repeatedly. Some nicely, some not. Most parents just grumbled obsenities as she ignored every request. Some moved, clogging other crowded corners. She responded at one point by turning around and informing the congregation that if they wanted to see they could stand up, too.

And she stood.
She was widely unliked.

I was a little disturbed.

So as I heard the program, I watched her. And wondered what her story was.

I think she grew up in a normal home. According to whatever normal you choose. She had kids early (she didn't look very old), thus giving up her dream of saving whales so she could be home to raise her young family. I didn't see a dad, so I think he works nights. Missing his youngest's first Christmas program, and sad about it. I can respect that.

And maybe her son has had some behavior, or health problems. And she's really proud of him for wearing the red pj's instead of the black ones. And they spent all afternoon making his Santa hat together. And she just couldn't hold back the tears as she tried to mentally document the evening for her over-worked and absent husband, so they could reinact the good parts when he's home on Christmas Eve. And maybe she chose to stand in a chair seat instead of against the wall because she was desperate for her other children to stay and support their younger brother and not sneak off for a soda. Or a smoke. So she locked them in the middle section, and stood, praying that others would understand. But we didn't.

The real story {whatever it is} may not justifiy the action, but it isn't my job to judge that. I'm no author of justice. I can just write a story. Or invite her to lunch.

So whales are what I chose for her, as I watched her stand.

And listened to my Jakey.



He's the moral of the story.