Christmas Terrors

This ornament scares the sugar plums out of Koley.

It's hard to get a decent shot of these mystical creatures.

It's a unicorn.  Let's call it a Christmas Unicorn... then that answers the question of why I have a unicorn on my tree. I don't know why Koley is terrified of it.
One day we were sitting looking at the tree... like we do every day... and he just started screaming as if he saw The Ghost of Christmas Past.  I couldn't figure out what it was!   After I asked "What?"  thirty times, the poor boy musters up the courage to touch this Unicorn of Dread and then run from the room.  I took it off the bottom of the tree and hung it at the top where he wouldn't be able to see it.  But that Koley.  After I calmed him all down and told him the ornament wasn't scary and we were safe and I broke out the coconut Chex Mix (that always helps) and coaxed him back by the tree and under the blanket... he started scouring the tree.  He wanted to be sure the unicorn was gone.  It took awhile.  But he found it.  And screamed his head off.  And I'm sure lost some trust in me.  I tried taking it off (as he watched) and putting it in the cupboards under the entertainment center.  But he would just scream and cry and point to the door.  Like the fluffy, cotton filled, ornament mightt just break through those doors and get him!  So... it's been sitting on top of the fridge back behind some old mail.  Where it can no longer terrorize the Christmas Spirits of young children.

And, I'm signing off until the New Year.
No need for me to explain.

Merry Christmas.

Our Family Christmas Picture

We tried to leave our ward Christmas party before Santa came.  I wasn't feeling particularly well, Ken had homework, and Kole was ready for a nap.  On the way to the door a lady grabbed us and asked if we were leaving.  "Yup!," I responded, "The party was great.  Thank you." 
"Well, just come in here one minute."
And....
We were trapped.
There was Santa, The Mrs., and 2 merry elves waiting in a little room for... us!
Ken immediately said, "No way.  We're leaving."
"Yeah," I agreed with a smile to the crowd, "Kole's too young this year."
But this was a very pushy group of Kringles.
Santa reached for Kole which started him into hysterics.  Ken took Kole back as we tried again to decline and reached for our coats... but the photographer shut the door and ominously announced, "Every one gets their picture with Santa."
Mrs. Claus tried giving Koley a toy.  More crying.
The elves made funny faces.  Crying peaks.
Santa told me to sit on his lap.  I wanted to cry.
I absolutely hate the idea of adults sitting on Santa's lap. It's wrong. And uncomfortable. And this Santa smelled a little like moldy cheese.

Mrs. Claus told Ken to sit on her lap.  I don't think he even gave a response.  He just remained standing as if she didn't say anything.
And on the count of three....
a Poulsen Christmas classic was captured.
It's timeless.

I love that me and one of the elves are the only ones smiling at the camera.  Santa looks like he is going to smack Kole.  And the little elf... just staring at that poor crying baby wondering how he got ringed into dressing up to hear babies cry.  And, my favorite, Ken's face.  When we got in the car he said, "That was photo rape."

Elle. Ey. Zee. Why.

You know, before Kole goes down for his (now only) nap of the day I reach my peak of energy.  While doing a last diaper change and helping him put his books back on the shelf- my mind is thinking of all the things I am going to do while he is sleeping:

1. Put something in the crock pot for dinner.
2. Load/unload the dishwasher.
3. Haul those 4 bushels of clean clothes upstairs.
4. And put them away.
5. Write a charming and witty blog post.
6. Shower?  (eh... maybe.)
7. Get that upstairs toilet scrubbed.  I hate vomiting into a disgusting toilet.  I'd rather it be sparkly and bleach-y smelling.
8. Lose the ring around the tub.  One baby leaves quite a mark.
9. Haul those stinky "PU" diapers outside.  A must.
10. Address my Christmas cards.
11. Make sugar cookies!  With frosting and sprinkles.
12. Have a snack... Nachos... with a side of egg salad sandwiches on those mini Hawaiian rolls.  And a pickle.
13. Shop online and pretend I have all the money in the world.
14. Call Natsmo.
15. Sign the Christmas cards.
16. Write thank you notes.
17. Dust my hall bookcases.  It's getting gross.
18. Clean out under the bathroom sink.
19. Catch up on some "Glee."
20. Wrap Ken's presents.
21. Learn to knit.
22. Get around to the second journal entry for the new baby.  Totally neglected.
23. Get dressed and fix my wretched hair.
24. Think of and create a Christmas craft for all my neighbors that have been dropping off yule tide cheer.
25. Finish the lame book I am reading so I can finally start a good one.  Seriously- 2 duds in a row.
26. Upload all the pictures off my camera and categorize them online.

The list is endless and I am on a buzzy high all excited about my own "me" time coming up.  I lay Koley down, no tears, no fuss.  I shut his door.  Pick up the pail of diapers, take it to the dumpster- and I am worn out. 
I go up to my room.
Turn off my phone.
Shut the blinds.
And lay down.

I'm out.

2 hours later, Kole's up... and.... the only word I can think of to describe what happened is "lazy."

And then I think "pregnancy" and give myself a break.

The Tree Is Up.

We bought ourselves a real Christmas tree this year.
The house smells phenomenal.  So rich and wintry.
We strung lights, hung ornaments, and finished with Feliz Navidad Tamales. 
(I was craving Mexican... but still wanted it to fit the Christmas theme.)
When all was done, we turned the lights off, snuggled under a blanket, and watched the tree.
Koley is this years biggest tree fan.  By far.

In The Event of An Advent

I love advent calendars.  Adds to the antic-eee-pation of the season doesn't it?  When we were little my mom made the coolest advent calendars for us.

Now, bear in mind this is a copy and it dates back to 1994.  She drew the tree and put 31 "ornaments" on it.  We got to color in the tree but not the ornaments.  When we did what the ornament said... like, "Put out crumbs for the birds."  We put one of those circle dot stickers on it.  You know the ones, they come in red, green, blue, and yellow?  You get them in a pack of like 500 for seventy-five cents.  Yeah.  Those.  Then, at the end of the month your tree would be all decorated and your heart would be all warm from all the nice things you did.

Last night I whipped my own up.  Meaning I traced my Mom's tree but used my own handwriting to make one for my Activity Day girls.  I am only doing 25 ornaments.  (And I only filled in 20... they have to think of 5 ideas on their own.)  It'll take them right up to Christmas Day.  When the little Koley Fazoli gets big enough I'll do one for him too.  I think I'm going to try computerizing it.  So!  If you want to do it for your kiddos (young or old does not matter) here are the ideas my mom had on hers. 

1. Say "I Love You" to someone.
2. Make a Christmas card for your Primary teacher.
3. Surprise your sister by doing her after school job.
4. Use a happy voice all day long.
5. Draw a Christmas picture of your family.
6. List the good things that happened to you for 1994 in your journal.
7. Read or listen to a scripture story.
8. Write a thank-you note to a friend.
9. Share a smile with as many people as you can.
10. Thanks Heavenly Father for your blessings.
11. Help make the house look clean.
12. Write a Christmas letter to a missionary.
13. Say "Merry Christmas" to a neighbor.
14. Ask mom what you can do to help.
15. Do something nice for someone you don't know very well.
16. Make a gift to give as a surprise.
17. Do something nice for Dad.
18. Say something nice to a person you know.
19. Tell a friend why you like her or him.
20. Put out crumbs for the birds.
21. Write your feelings about Jesus in your journal.
22. Leave love notes for your mother and father.
23. Write a letter of thanks to the bishop.
24. Draw a picture and give it away.
25. Memorize a scripture and recite it for someone.
26. Clean your room really good.
27. Call Grandma Morelli.
28. Talk to someone who seems lonely.
29. Practice a Christmas hymn from the hymn book.
30. Make a list of ways you can be like Jesus for 1995.
31. Sing Christmas songs as you work.

Ma mere.

Now, don't fear, I'm not going all "how-to" on you.  I just love this idea.  And I remember being in 3rd grade and being really excited to get my whole tree full.  My Mom took her role so seriously.  I'm really glad I have a Mom that did that.  And a mom who saved all this stuff for when I need a good idea for Activity Days.

Season of Thanks

You know, Thanksgiving always gets me all sappy and sentimental.  I used to not be this way.  I would dread the dinner conversation of "What are You Thankful For?"  I don't know why I didn't like it.  Oh, yes I do!  I was emotionally closed in.  Or something Freudian or Melfi or something.
Maybe the old age is finally getting to me- but my cup truly overflows on Thanksgiving.  With gratitude.  And bubbly!
This year I am most grateful to be living with Ken again.  I remember thinking (and having people tell me) that once we are living together again and "it" is all behind us, I'll look back and see it just wasn't that long.  Well, maybe not enough time has passed yet... but I look back and go, "Whoa.  I can't believe it was that long.  How did we do that?"  Moving into the same house again and living in the same state was not easy for the first ________. Day?  Week?  Month?  It took patience and relearning about each other and negotiating and talking things out.  Which is still my weakest link.  But we did it.  And our marriage has solidified again.  Just beautifully.
I'm grateful for the Kole Bob.  He's really good to me.  Takes two naps a day.  Likes to snuggle.  Sings to the radio with me.  My favorite things about Kole right now?  Hmmmm.  He likes walking on his tip toes.  Which always makes him look eager.  And excited for what is next.  It's a good reminder.  He also sees any Santa Claus and yells, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"  Cute Central.  And finally, his long horns.  He have a field behind our place and there are two long horn cows out there.  I started putting two fingers up on either side of my head and saying "Longhorns!"  Then I charge Koley.  Now, he puts his hands on his head and yells, "Lollo!" and runs into the couch.  What a deary.
Finally, I am grateful to be blessed with another baby on the way.  I don't know how the heck it happened.  I mean I do... but... medically it shouldn't have been possible.  But according to the 5 pregnancy tests I took... I'm carrying another little cubber in there.
I have my first appointment next Tuesday and I'll get all the goods.  Like, how far along I am.  Because... I have no idea.  I know I'm somewhere in between conception and not-throwing-up-every-15- minutes.

Truly, lots to be grateful for.
Bring on that Bubbly!

Logo Logic

Last night Ken was wearing an Under Armour t-shirt.  Kole kept pointing to the logo and giggling.
"I think he likes this logo," Ken told me.
"Oh yeah, Koley?  You like that U and A?," I asked in my best, highest baby voice.
"That's not a U and an A,"  Ken informed me.
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Okay," said I, "What do you think it is?"
"An H." Ken said with strong confidence.
"And what does it stand for?"
"Hero."

And I just didn't have the heart to argue with that one.

Pon de Replay

I can't resist this little shell.

Between Me and The Kole Miner

Mom (me):  Kole, Who ARE you these days? 
Kole:  The three words that best describe me are:  Screaming, Hitting, Intellectual.
Mom:  Yeah.  I've noticed.  Let's talk about the screaming and the hitting.
Kole:  What's there to talk about, shoog?  I'm happy.  And when I'm not youze has gots to know.
Mom:  Quit leaning on the wall that way.  And put that cigarette out!  Man!  Where did you get that leather jacket?
Kole:  I stole it.
Mom:  (sighs)  Look.  For the last 6 weeks or so when you would scream I would ignore you because I thought that's what I was supposed to do...
Kole:  Only gonna make me scream louder.  A brother needs heard.
Mom:  I tried telling you "no" nicely but...
Kole:  Oh, yeah!  Real effective, Mom!  "No no no little honey.  No no no."  Oooooo!  I'm scared!  Don't say "no" one more time or I might pee my pants.  Ooooooo! 
Mom:  Well I'm just telling you that all hells about to break loose up in 'ere.  And if Ize gots to get up in your grill.... I will.
Kole:  Don't try talking ghetto.  You're too old.
Mom:  Well.... Just take this as a warning.  These are about to change.
Kole:  We'll see.
Mom:  Yeah!  We WILL see!
Kole: Psht!  Whatev.
Mom:  Don't you talk back to me like that!
Kole:  Or what?  Huh?  What?  I'm not afraid of you!
Mom and Kole:  Rolls eyes

Glad To Be Bradley

I've been thinking of my sisters all day.
Will Krissy sell her house?  Gosh she is so pretty.
How are Vicky's wedding plans coming?  Man, she's pretty.
How much bigger is Julie's blog going to get? Probably lots.  Super super pretty.
I wish Andi was coming for Christmas.  Or that I was going to Cancun with her!  She's so pretty.

So, sisters, this is for you.  I watch it like 38 or 39 times a week.

I'm Awesome. Therefore, I'm Patty.

Just so you know, "awesome" is one of my least favorite adjective.

I got some feedback yesterday from my fan club.  You wondered why some current neighbors of mine didn't want to spend time with me when all of you were jumping out of your seats hoping I'd pick you to dine with.
I can see why you have this attraction to me.
I mean, come ON!

I'm (almost) 5'9".  That's tall.  They make tall jeans especially for me in order to accentuate my legs that go all the way up and make a booty out of themselves.
I have had 2 knock 'em dead hair days.  In.  A.  Row. All I've done was blow dry it and flat iron out the fly aways and it has looked stellar.  Bouncy.  Full.  Pantene Pro-V commercial worthy.  I've loved it. 
I don't bite my nails.  That's a trait worth investing some time into girlies.  They pay off is.... not really that noticeable... but anytime you reach a goal... you....  Hmmmm.  I just like my nails okay?
I'm a reader.  Which used to make me dorky- but nowadays it means I am mysterious and chic and smart and edgy.  Oh yes.  That's me all over.
I am going to start a mug collection.  (Tune in for THAT post next week.)  Collections are cool.
Kids really like me.
I still send hand written mail.
I pretty much always say "yes."  This is sometimes my undoing.  That garsh dern over sized heart of mine.
I gave up on P90X and don't feel all that bad about it.  I'm pretty without a six pack of abs and killer gymnast thighs.
I'm equally good at giving and receiving compliments.  That's super hard to come by.
I always buy stuff from school fundraisers.  Spending $17 on 2 feet of wrapping paper is totally worth it to me.
I can play the piano... quite well.
I make the best sugar cookies across 3 galaxies.  If you leave your address I will mail you some.  (Or at least the recipe.)

So you see, kiddos, I'm golden.  I know I'm golden.  You know I'm golden.  In time... they'll want some golden too.  I'll just wait in my awesomeness until they come begging for some Patty scraps.

Rejected.

Today I went out on that limb and asked someone to come over for lunch.  Gotta make a friend here.  She said she couldn't.  The rejection hit me like a 50 pound tuna sandwich but I bucked up and called someone else.  Also a "no."  I ended up calling 5 different people.  They all said no in different ways.  And not only no to today.  They had excuses for tomorrow too.  Only once did I venture out and ask about Monday.  Apparently she "doesn't plan her calendar out that far."
Seriously.
What is up?
Do I have the gang green? (What is the gang green?)
I wallowed... for about 20 minutes.
Then I sunk deep into despair.  I looked in the mirror and said mean things to myself like:
Take a shower grease ball.
Lose some weight fat bottom girl.
Crack a smile Ms. Demeanor.
Maybe then you'd score a friend.

After my pep talk I have decided I am going to shower and start my Christmas shopping.
I never really believed in retail therapy but all of the sudden it seems like a brilliant idea.
(I love how British people always use "brilliant."  Watch Harry Potter if you don't know what I am talking about.)

And don't feel obligated to leave some sun shiny comment about how wonderful I am.
I know I've got it.  Damn, I've got it in spades.

Celebrating.

They say "You are Lucky in love."
After 6 years of marriage, 0 door slams, 0 walk outs, 0 nights not talking it out, 0 big nasty nasty fights (maybe just a couple regular nasty fights)... I still wouldn't say I'm "lucky in love."
I would say I am committed to love.
And to Ken.

But Lucky in love?
Hmmm. I guess it started with luck. Lucky we were in the same Art class in college.... but beyond that? . You can't ride that wave your whole life. Being together takes work and patience. Sometimes you have to watch Clint Eastwood Dirty Harry movies all weekend long to prove you love someone. (And sometimes he has to watch back to back English Romances to prove he loves me.) I can tell you neither one of us consider ourselves lucky at those times! I can't chalk a successful marriage up to luck. That's baloney. Luck won't stop the bills from piling up, or break the blow when MRI results come in, or kick out the baby blues that never leave. Luck won't help when a job doesn't work out, or days go horribly awfully wrong. You have to be committed. And we are.
Ken and I made it to number 6 and there is no end in sight for us. Upward and onward. New horizons and challenges are coming. We can take it. We've got it pretty good. It takes practice. Trying to show you love the other person in every different way just to make sure they are getting the message is not something that just happens. Not every day is easy. Not even a majority of the days are easy. But, sixty-nine years from now when we are having a big luncheon (with deli swirls and devilled eggs) for our 75th Anniversary and someone says to me "Oh you are one of the lucky ones." I'm going to sit them down and give them a good talking to.

Because I don't believe love has anything to do with luck. And old people are like that.

Happy Halloween

Our costumes were always home made.  Never store bought.  Never had a cool princess mask though there were years I wish I did.  We weren't allowed to dress up as anything scary.  (I plan on implementing this rule for my own children.)  And all 5 of us were normally dressed as the same thing.   My dad would always take us trick or treating.  My mom told us that it was rude to have a pillowcase at the door.  So we carried the little plastic pumpkins and would empty into a pillowcase dad held when our pumpkins got too full.  I think this worked to our advantage especially towards the end of the night.  People, not knowing we had just dumped, would feel bad we had empty pumpkins and really LOAD us up!  When we got home all the candy was piled on the dining room table and divided equally.  Dad would take a few samples here and there to make sure nothing was "poisoned."  I went trick or treating well in to my teen years.  I'm thinking 15 maybe 16.  And I still feel like as long as someone is dressed up.... and I mean really dressed up...  (No wearing your pajamas and saying you're a baby)... you can go trick or treating.  I'd give them candy.  heck yes.

And tonight, if you stop by, you'll be getting Kit Kats.  Ken's favorite.  I hope there's enough left for the kiddos.

Lookie what I got!

So, I have a new bestie. 

She's thin.  She's trendy. 
She has dead on recommendations for me.  It's always what I needed to hear.
She's likes to tag along wherever I go.  Which I LA-HOVE!
I'm always telling her how smooth she looks.  (I think that embarrasses her.)
We've been spending hours together.
I think Kenmo might be a little jealous.

What do you think?

Her given name was "Patricia's Kindle."  That may change in the coming days.
In the mean time if you have a "must-read" title.... send it our way... Patricia's Kindle and I are taking another weekend get away.
Yes.  Together, we do have it all. 

The Girl From Impanema

We were listening to Stan Getz's The Girl From Impanema.  It is one of my favorite songs. 
 "....Tall and tan and young and lovely...."
I said, "It sounds like they could be singing about me."
Ken said, "No it doesn't! Not at all!"

Ouch.

The car ride was a little awkward after that.
I still think it sounds like me though.  Hmph.

Truck Driver, Baby!

Look closely. 

You can hear that ol' diesel revvin' up!

How I Spent My Thursday.

Today I spent 3 hours and 18 minutes talking to insurance customer support.  (I am grateful I have it Skippy... can't I just hate it a little?)
Rather than spending that time on the phone I would have liked to carve a jack-o-lantern, or put together my spooky foam house my father-in-law sent me, or make sugar cookies.  Heck.  I would have rather scrubbed bunions off cows hooves.
Ultimately it was a huge waste of time.  No one could answer my question. And I got the distinct feeling (after the 9th person I was pawned off on) no one wanted to hear my question.
Tomorrow it will all be gone and forgotten.  It's actually already gone and forgotten.  Couple deep yoga breaths.  A few moments of mediation in the corner... and I'm all good.
Happy Patty.

I am taking a vacation this weekend.  I'm not telling you where.
Should be spectacular!

Have you done a truth is yet?  I don't think soooooo.

Trix for Treats

Hi Mom!  Look what I did!  I wanted some Trix and got them all by myself!
I'm a BIG boy!
Not to mention smart, crafty, and cunning.

Oh these are so good.  NomNomNomNom They are sweet nomnomnom and nomnom and round and nom Mom never gives me this many!

  

Can I get some milk up in 'ere?

TRIX FOR LIFE!



Aren't you proud of me?



Surfacing

Sometimes something happens in your life.  And your heart breaks.  You don't feel like a whole person.  Something, that you can't name, is missing.  You're lonely.  You're anxious.  You feel like you have lost everything.  It goes against all logic.  Your hope is gone.  Your happiness is gone.  Maybe even your faith.
Sometimes nothing goes right for a very long time.  Nothing will ever be the same.
And that is all you can think about.
Even when you are having dinner with your family.  Or opening Christmas presents.  Or riding a swing.  You're happy, but not really.
Your heart is hurting.
Sometimes you live life this way for so long that it feels like a real life.  It looks whole.  Nothing is really "wrong."  You're just... different.  People around you quit asking "what's the matter." 
"Nothing."
You're a shadow of who you were.
You're a ghost of a person who was dearly loved.

And then.
One day....
You look up.

And see things are just as they should be.
And you feel...
complete.
You feel like "you" again.

Today I looked up.

Pharmacy Woes

This is what I hate:

• Calling about medical insurance
• Getting dumb people who ask impertinent questions about my funk diseases
• Do you really need to know the side effects?  Trust me, you don't want to know.
• Do you really need to know how long I've been taking this medication? 
• Isn't that in your computer? 
• Come on.  Push a button.  See for yourself. 
• What does that have to do with the price of Coffee in Tajikistan?
• Do you want to know how long I've been married?
• My license plate number?
• The last movie I went to?
• I can read you my horoscope for today if you'd like?
• Not knowing if I take the "cycloset" or the "parlodel" version of the drug. 
• I'm not the doctor. 
• I'm not even A doctor!  Unless you count LOVE doctor! 
• I didn't write the script.
• I just pour the glass of water and swallow the pills.
• ... though parlodel sounds familiar....
• Having to go to pharmacies in person
• Being told by one pharmacy my prescription is $306.19
• At another pharmacy it's $267.18
• At a third pharmacy it's $262.51
• And the last time I bought it I paid $196.84

What the frickin' h?

All I want is some Bromocriptine.  I don't want to spell it anymore.  I don't want to give you my enrollee number or program number or RX Bin number. What's the difference between those anyway?  I don't want to tell you how often I take it or what it treats.  I just want the bottle filled.  Today.  60 little pills.  Two for every day.  Let me get out my 10-key here.  (clickclickclickclickclick)  Okay.  That's a one month supply.  I just want it for a reasonable price.  And it's your lucky today because I am feeling like anything under $200 would be pretty reasonable.  Although I'll have to sell the cow to pay even that.

Best Not to Say Anything

Tuesday I was babysitting one of my neighbor's kids.  It was just one little girl and I don't mind helping out where I can.  This little girl wanted her best best BEST friend in the whole world to come over and play.  (The schedule we made included baking cookies, drawing princesses, watching Strawberry Shortcake and the Glimmerberry Ball, makeovers, pedicures, playing kitties, and drawing hearts.)

 We went to ask the mom.

Patty:  (with Little Girl) Can your daughter come over and play?
Mom: Oh!  Well... she has been asking me all morning... but
Patty:  I really don't mind at all.
Mom:  Well... we are about to sit down to lunch. (nods and scrunches face up in that "you understand" look.... only I didn't understand.  At all.)
Patty:  Oh!  After lunch!  She is welcome to just stroll right over.  We'll be together until about 3 or 3:30.
Mom: Well.... aren't you babysitting? (puts hand on the door to close it)
Patty:  Yeah.  But sometimes it's even easier when they have a friend.  We were going to make cookies and draw princesses. Huh? (looking down at little girl I'm watching)   It's going to be so FUN!
Mom: Well... like I said we are about to eat lunch. (nodding and half way closing the door)
Patty:  Yeah?  Well, Nooooo problem you can bring her over later. (smiling widely)
Mom:  Well.... I think we're going to the store. (door is three quarters of the way closed)

It is not until THIS point that I realize the mom is trying to tell me "no" and HAS been trying to tell me "no" as politely as she can.  If I count them up... she told me "no" 4 times and I was just as persistent as can be.

I was fully embarrassed.  I felt my cheeks getting hot.  I grabbed my little tendees hand, and dashed back to my apartment.  Waving over my shoulder something about how we better get our lunch going too.

Ugh.  Awkward.  Humiliating.  Sad.  Fill in the blanks with any kind of those words you can think of.

I've been too nervous to take the trash out just knowing I'll run into the mom and I'll have to talk to her again with my absolute lack of social radar.

I Can Cook, See?

I've always had a chip on my shoulder about the pioneers.  Especially in the part of the country I live in...Utah.... there's a lot of people with pioneer ancestry and they are very proud of it.  Which is great.  Go genealogy.  But I've got roots too.  And they have nothing to do with a handcart company.  (They may or may not have something to do with the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.... just saying.) Ken and I were walking the Koley the other night.  We passed a house that had a plaque.  It showed a silhouette of pioneers pulling a handcart with the caption "Remember."  Maybe that stirred some one's heart but my reaction was, "Give me a chance to forget for crying out loud!  Geez!"  Ken told me I had a bad attitude towards pioneers.  Yeah, no duh.
But this morning I put my prejudices aside and put my metaphorical pioneer bonnet on.  I made applesauce from scratch.  I'm not one to can or bake pies or churn butter or take the horse to town. (Though I admire the women who do.) I'd rather buy a jar of applesauce.  To me, that's one of the greatest benefits of my generation... grocery stores.  They have food.  For you.  On a shelf.  You don't have to hunt and gather.  But, my dear sweetie brought home a big old box of apples and after I searched for the perfect cobbler recipe online (I figured I could probably make 6 or 7 with the amount of apples we have) Ken suggested I make something healthy, that didn't include sugar so Kole could eat it. 

In unison now: "Boooooring."

We compromised.  Half the apples are boring old healthy apples.  And half the apples are super fun, ultra sweet, covered in brown sugar, cinnamon, and tasty crumbles apples.  I'm looking forward to the latter.
Now let me show you my ignorance here.  Do you know how easy it is to make applesauce?
This is all you do.
1.  Boil the apples.
2.  Mush the apples.
Voila!  Applesauce.
Pioneer hardships.  Please. 
Maybe if they didn't have any cinnamon to sprinkle on top.  That would be difficult.

Down Four.

Well I started P90X.  I shouldn't really say started because I've done it three days.  I missed yesterday and I haven't hit today yet.  So that's not looking too good.  I am in no way giving up.  After all, I just got the name down.  I used to always call it PX90.  I don't know why.  I'm still pumped up for it.
Because, according to my scale (that I don't really trust), I have lost 4 pounds.
I don't believe you can lose 4 pounds in one week doing what I did.
As mentioned, I did P90X three times.  I took walks every day.  But that wasn't anything out the normal and I ate what I wanted.  Does not sound like a recipe for weight loss.
Let's break it down.

• P90X.  Hard.  But really entertaining for me.  That Tony Horton just cracks me up.  He says funny things without meaning to be funny.  "Are you just kicking like this?  *minikick*  Is that all your doing? Huh?  That's not working out.  That's not melting goo.  That's keeping you fat!"  I laugh right out loud.  Apparently I'm the only one who thinks he is funny.  Ken sure doesn't.  He always teases me and says I hope I got a workout in with all that laughing going on. Ken normally is upstairs. I don't like him in the room while I am attempting karate kicks that come about 8 inches off the floor.  So far the one that is most funny to me has been Cardio X.  5 stars right there!  Give it a whirl.  You'll sweat harder than you thought humans could but what a laugh you'll have!

Okay- so doesn't sound like I could have lost 4 pounds laughing at my television set.

• Maybe walking?  I put Koley in the stroller, grab Ken, and we walk in the evenings.  We don't walk super fast or super far.  It's just walking.  I've always counted it as a way to make Koley-o tired.  Cold fresh air just wears a baby out. 

I've taken Kolester on walks pretty much every non-snowy day since he was born.  There is no reason why my body would all the sudden click and say "Oh yeah!  She's walking!  We better drop some weight!"  First, because bodies don't talk and even if they did... mine wouldn't sound like that.  Mine would be all gangsta gangsta in yer face. Up in 'ere.  And second, like just isn't that easy.

• Finally, I ate what I wanted.  No surprise there.  I have been using MyFitnessPal.  Who I think I need to name since it seems to be a perhaps hidden and secret weapon.  I've stayed in my zone for calories... but I've eaten Oreos and egg salad sandwiches (all time fave) and corn dogs.  I mean I don't feel like I'm cutting back here.

So, what the h, right?
4 pounds in one week?
4 pounds in one week.
I know.  But I don't know.

2 Faults

There are two things I am really really bad at.  (Make that 3 if you want to add "ending sentences with a preposition.") 

1.  Talking on the phone.
I talk over people.  I pause too long.  I can never say just one good bye. Good byes are generally awful if you call me.  I'm like a love sick junior high girl.  My sense of humor comes off wrong.  I repeat myself.  I know I sound like I am not interested in the conversation because I am constantly saying "Oh?" and "Great."  and "That's interesting."  I really am trying to interject at the right places and I inflect my voice... but it never comes off right.  Then, I know who is calling (doesn't everyone who owns a cell phone) but I act all surprised:
(phone rings.  I look down.  Hermione Calling.)

Patty: Helloo?
Hermione:  Hey, Patty.
Patty: Hi....
Hermione: It's Hermione.
Patty:  Oh, hiii Hermione!  How are you?!

I don't know why I do that.  I love it when I call someone and they go "Hey Patty!"  as soon as they pick up.  My sister, Julie, is excellent at this.  Often using nicknames.  I get too nervous.  And then treat my nearest and dearest like strangers.  Oi. 

2.  Making small talk.
I just fall on my face.  Every time.  And having just moved to a new place I give props to the people who keep trying with me.  I go to play groups (once you're a mom play groups are the place to mingle) and I try putting myself out there.  It just doesn't work for me.  I don't know why.  I pride myself on being genuine, funny, and semi-witty.  I should be the party-MAKER not the party breaker.  I think once the ice is broken through (with a steel pick) I can be that person.  But for the years it may take to crack the ice... it's pretty unbearable.

Example #1
Neighbor:  So, Patty.  How are you liking it here?
Me:  I like it.
Neighbor:  Are you all settled in?
Me:  Yes.
Neighbor:  (stares at me)  Does your son seem to like it?
Me:  Yeah.
(long pause)
Neighbor:  What's his name again?
Me:  Kole.
Neighbor:  That's a nice name.
Me:  I know.

Or sometimes I try putting myself out there and I instigate the conversation.  I just can't finish it.

Example #2
Me:  Hi, Celeste!  (I wave as she unloads her car)
Celeste:  Hey, Patty!
Me:  How's it going?
Celeste:  It's going good.
Me:  Are you liking your new job?  Are the kids adjusting okay?  Do you need anything?  Am I still babysitting on Tuesday?
Celeste: (giggles) Everything is going great.  I'm really liking the time out of the house.  And the money helps.  I'd still like your help Tuesday if you are available?  So, yeah all in all I'm great.  What about you?
Patty:  Um... I have to go get the mail.

I mean come ON!  Later when I am sitting alone and wondering about why I don't have any friends here I replay these conversations and it all becomes crystal clear.

Up and At 'Em!

My sister talked me into trying MyFitnessPal.com.  I'm not into all that weight loss hullabalooski.  I could stand to lose 15 pounds... sure!  But am I going to go out of my way to do it?  Never have- never will.  Maybe that's why before I only had 5 pounds to drop... then it crept up to 10... and now I stand at a firm 15.  I'm in no way over weight.  Sure, I got a little bounce to my booty but I've always said I was "curvy."  It's hot. 
...or not.

Anyway, Vicksmatoria has been raving about myfitnesspal.  An app.  Now, I'm not cool so I don't have a smart phone but you can use it online.  She kept telling me it's like a game and you don't have to eat differently and it just flows into your life.  And you lose weight.

Sure.  And then pigs sprout wings and we all skip around on rainbows eating chocolate covered cherries and singing songs from The King and I.
But, when Vic lost 4 pounds in 2 weeks I threw my hands up, went online, and signed up.
Let me tell you, wow.  Is it fun.  You just go on and type in anything you ate.  Like yesterday for breakfast I had a Kashi bar.  (Ken bought those for me.  I would have totally bought the Rice Krispies Squares covered in butterscotch.  But with this blood sugar thing.... he got the Kashi.)  So I typed in Kashi Bar and *BAM* it pops up all the Kashi bars ever so I can pick the exact one I ate.  I picked it and it logged how many calories, carbs, and all that other health stuff that was in there.  And then told me what I had allotted left for the day.  Like 1500 more calories.  That sounded like a lot.  So I went down and ate some candy corn.
After lunch I was punching in my PB and J when I saw a line for snacks.  What?  I have to track those?  Do I have to count the candy corns?  I typed in candy corn. Sure enough it showed up.  Rats.  It asked how many I ate.   ...  Not a fair question.... I didn't even know I was supposed to be counting those.... Like a handful?  .....  A small handful?  ..... Let's call it 7.
I put in 7. 
*Zing*
48 calories. 
I'm not much of a calorie counter.  Obviously... but I felt totally ripped off.  I had "seven" measly pieces of candy corn.  And got whammed.  Gosh!  It's Halloween!  Give me a break.
Luckily we had taco salad for dinner which is healthy.  (Well healthy according to me.  Healthier than a Double Double from In N Out which was what I wanted for dinner.)  And I still had 170 calories left to inhale at the end of my day according to my counter. 
So I had 3 Oreos.
If you don't use it you lose it.
You can't carry over calories you know.
And I am not one to waste!

So today I am supposed to get my exercising in.
Ken's been doing P90X.
It sounds really hard.... and he is dripping in sweat when he finishes.

Might as well try it.
It'll be something to blog about if nothing else.
And I think my fitness pal will be really proud of me.
So watch out Jillian.  There's a new super buff workout guru in town. 

Or at least there will be in 6 weeks.

Truth Is...

• I had no idea it was Thursday this morning.  I woke up, saw snow on the mountains, and thought CHRISTMAS IS HERE!!
• I plan on staying in my pajamas all day. 
• Koley and I are going to listen to Christmas music, bake cookies, sip hot chocolate, and watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  The claymation one.  Or maybe Elf with Will Ferrell.
• I really miss the Old Britney.  My sister, Andi, posted about Queen Brit on Facebook yesterday and I feel the same way.  Miss 'er.  And if I was just slightly more computer savvy I'd be able to put the video here... but instead....

• I wasn't embarrassed, ashamed, or looking for attention with last weeks "Truth Is."  Some of my comments really surprised me.  And apparently the post surprised some of you.
• I'm reading my last book that I got for Christmas last year.  I've noticed I am taking it really slow so I don't have a period with nothing to read.  Looks like it's time to check out the local library.
• I read 16 books so far this year.  For me... that's really good.
• People who think reading is super dorky or only for smart people watch too much TV.
• But I admit to being both dorky and smart. 
• I think Steve Jobs meant a lot to my generation.

At The End of the Why

Yesterday I saw a mother at the store with a little tiny pink pink wrinkly baby.  The baby only looked a few days old.  I smiled broadly at the mother and asked, "How old is she?"  "She's 6 days old."  I smiled on the outside and congratulated her but on the inside I was screaming,  "6 days old?!  How are you out in public?  How are you walking?!  6 days?  Why aren't you crying?  How did you manage to fix your hair?  6 DAYS?!! Is that makeup you are wearing?  How the "h" are you so put together?"  And then then inevitable:

"What was wrong with me?"

I've thought about this question countless times since I had Koley.  Anytime a friend (or a stranger) has a baby and they send pictures of them in the hospital all smiley and done up I think "Why wasn't I that way?"  Anytime I get a link to view the baby photo album.  You know... the cute expensive ones when the baby is a week old and naked and wearing a hat or a tutu.  I've never been able to wrap my head around the idea that a mom was able to function within a week of having a baby.  I was barely functional at a month.  Or I hear about parents of a newborn taking a trip.  To another state. I could have never.  I still panic about a 3 hour drive.  But I'm smart and capable and really confident.  Aren't I?

I just want to know why. 

Why was having a baby so hard for me?
Why was I in labor so long?
Why was getting my life running again the impossible task?
Why was I spinning out of control for months?
Why wasn't it all sparkles and puppy dogs and smiley faces?
Why?

Why do I still think about it?

Kole is strong, healthy, smart, and snugly.  I couldn't ask for anything else.  And I'm a knock 'em dead mom.  I shouldn't still be thinking about this.

But I do.  Every.  Day.

In one of my favorite movies, "A Room With A View,"  they say, "At the end of the everlasting why is a yes and a Yes and a YES!"

I guess I'm  moving towards my "yes."

Visit From Up North

We had a slow weekend.  It felt like Mulled Apple Cider.  Warm.  Cozy.  Sweet.
Ken's parents drove down from Idaho Falls and spent all their time with us.  Even when Kole was sleeping they stayed and visited with us. 
It was really special.
Special because as a parent, your kids get lots of attention.  Which is fantastic and as it should be.  But as a 27 year old... I still feel like a kid from time to time.  I liked some of that lime light being on me this weekend.  It was memorable.
We didn't go anywhere.  There was never something we had to do.  We talked.  Played Phase 10.  Watched Koley.  I made my special Fall Treat Mix.  (Candy Corn and Honey Roasted Peanuts.)
I'm still living easy off of it.

Kole loved seeing them again.  He was especially attached to Grandpa.  They read the Atlas.

Truth Is...

I have one major "Truth Is" this week:

I smoked.
For a week.
Like 8 or 9 years ago.

I was waitressing at Winger's.  And boy did I love being a waitress.  Something about being paid to refill Cokes and bring out platters of wings appeals to me.  All I had to do was flash my billion dollar smile and the money poured in.  Those were the simplet...easier days.  It was one of my all-time absolute favorite jobs.
I loved everything about it EXCEPT when people took smoke breaks.  They would go up to the manager in their stinky smoke clothes and their yellow smoke teeth and beg for a "smoke break."  In the middle of a dinner rush.  Da nerve.  They'd go out back, sit on the curb, and smoke for 5 minutes and then chat for another 5 and I (the healthy NON-smoker) would have to cover their tables, run their food, and refill their drinks.  Ugh.  Annoying.  More annoying since they got the tip for my "hard" work.  (Hard is in quotes... because who are we kidding... there's nothing that strenuous about bringing people food.  I'm just out for number one.)
So.  Not.  Fair.
So one night I asked for a smoke break.
My manager told me no.
I told him I was really jonesing for a cig.
(Yeah... I didn't really know the jargon.  Aaaaand I still don't.)
He told me I didn't smoke.
I started in on how it isn't fair that some people got breaks and others didn't and somewhere in the Employee Handbook there had to be something for the little gal and "Breaks for Everyone!" yadda yadda yadda.
"Only smokers get breaks, Patty."
"Well then... that's me."
I marched right out the back door.
Of course, I had to borrow a cigarette, have someone light it for me and then tell me how to smoke it.
Apparently, I still did it wrong.
The cigarette was gross.
Hot.  Ashy.  Stinky. 
I felt like my teeth were going to turn to dust and fall out of my gums and my lungs were going to dry up instantly.
I finished about half and couldn't go any further.
I reeked when I went back inside.
I kept up the charade for a whole week.
Constantly bumming cigarettes, having people light them, and trying to smoke them.
I became proud of my crusade.
Breaks for Everyone!
One night my manager came out and sat next to me on the curb.
I was choking down a cigarette.
"You can stop smoking now,"  he said.
"Me?" *cough* "Why would I stop?" long drag *coughcoughcough* "I love these things."
"Everyone can have breaks.  Smokers and nonsmokers."
I smiled, stomped out a nearly full cigarette, and went back to work.

For a long time I was so proud of myself.  I smoked to make a stand and it made a difference!  I should be on the cover of TIME magazine.  I was totally justified.
But really....
I didn't make a stand at all.  I caved.  I smoked to get breaks.  Making a stand would have been NOT smoking and finding a way to get breaks.  Sure breaks came later- but that was probably because the guests could hear me hacking out back,  Or maybe the smokers complained I was crunching their style (or wasting their cigarettes).  Either way I didn't make a stand.  I cowered.  I keeled.  I could have just helped people out.
I would have done it differently.  I should have down it differently.
Truth is... I'm a little ashamed I did all that silliness.
Truth is... Everyone should get breaks if you're a waitress, a mechanic, an accountant, a banker, a mom, a dad... everyone needs them.
Truth is... I hope my mom doesn't get mad at me when she reads this!




P.S.  Would you vote for my blog post over here?  Maybe I'll win.

A Summer Re-Run

I entered this in a little mini contest.  It was one of my favorites.

5.27.2011

Labels Hurt


Took a little over nighter to the Big Salt Lake City. It was my darling's birthday. (I saw a motel called The OverNiter and that really got me going.) We stayed at my favorite hotel. Staying at a hotel makes me feel ultra-important in general. Like I have a story. It's deep and complicated. And traveling is all a part of the aura.

It's kinda like when I was in high school and my choir group would go to to the air port and sing during Christmas time. (Are you getting the picture of the kind of teen I was.) After we sang for 45 minutes or so we had the rest of the day to spend... at the airport. Nothing like a day pretending to be on stand by. My other choir members would eat at the airport restaurants or grab a Cinnabon or buy Cosmo and give each other the twenty quizzes that are in those things. But my favorite thing to do was to get on the moving walkways and pretend I was about to miss my flight. I'd pass others and gently touch their arm with an urgent "Excuse me" or pass them and pretend to stumble, catch myself, and turn around and wave a "Merry Christmas!" I'd stare at my (empty) wrist and then pick up my pace. Ha! I felt so important. Staying at a hotel makes me feel that same way. No one knows my back story. I'm just a twenty-something, independent traveler. With mysterious eyes.
I love going into the bathroom and seeing all the toiletries lined up and the origami towels. There were at least 15 stacked up and then two nice big thick ones on each rack. They had the washrags shaped as fans and even the toilet paper was folded creatively. Oh the rapture of staying in a hotel! I picked up the dainty body of body wash and it read "Cleanse." I breathed deeper.... yes.... cleanse. I picked up the lotion "Moisturize." Another exhale...Mmmmmm....Moisturize! I picked up the mouthwash "Refresh." All these brilliantly labeled little bottles were transporting me to another realm of tranquility. I picked up the bar of soap. It read:

Clean Your Face.

Zzzzzwwwwzzzzpppp!

Back to reality. Clean Your Face? That doesn't sound nice. It doesn't quite roll off the tongue like cleanse and refresh and moisturize. When I read it... my mind added to it. As if the mini bar of soap was talking to me. "Clean Your Face You Filthy Bum! Try to look presentable- You're in Public!" I looked in the mirror. I wasn't a international traveler with oodles of rupees and mysterious eyes. (Certainly dancing eyes but in no way mysterious.) I had Kole on my hip. He smelled pretty... stale. And he had drooled a considerable amount on my shoulder. My hair was frizzy from the rain and half up half down. My shirt was all stretched out. My makeup had been rubbed almost totally off.
And I did indeed needed to clean my face.

I just don't know why I had to be told so bluntly.


[By order of Star Command.  Come In Star Command:  Want to win ad space on The Bloggess? Link up your best post at lovelinks on free fringes like I did!]

Dead Pan Koley

I have zero good pictures of Kole sitting and being sweet.  They are all of him with food all over his face or rolling his truck around.  Or reading.  And Koley likes to sit and be sweet.  He does. Wait- no.  He likes to sit and EAT sweets.  I easily get those confused.  Maybe that's why the hips are getting wider and the booty is getting dimpley-er.  Mine.  Not Kole's.
So, this morning I decided to whip out the Nikon and get busy. I was ready to snap some great pictures to mount on our new walls and send to those ever-eager Grandparents.   I put him in a clean handsome outfit AND combed out his mangy bed hair (that still has some nail polish stuck in it.)  We went in his room- I opened the blinds... nice morning light.  My excitement was uncontainable.
Cameraaaa (click) on!
"Okay, Koley, Look at me!"
He crawls in the other direction.  I head him off.
"KOOOOoooooleeeeeey!  HI!  Looky at mommy!  *tickticktick*" That's me clicking my tongue.
He picks up a book and starts "reading" it to me.
My voice kept getting higher and higher.
"Kole!  Can you smile at me?  Hey buddy!  Look it's fun!"
This time he went to his puzzles and started throwing the pieces around.
I was persistent.
"Koley- Oley-Oooo.  Say chhhhEEEEEEEEeeeeese!"
He didn't even look up.
What is with this kid?
I kept at it for about 45 minutes.  I was exhausted.  I think Kole had a headache from listening to my pleadings.
 It was nap time.  He was cranky.  Heck, I was cranky.
I think this was a successful fail.

"I'm not looking up, Mom.  Face it."

Oh, yeah.  He's walking now.  Maybe we'll talk about that tomorrow.  Where my old world went, I don't know.

He's thinking of spaghetti and meatballs!



A little dopey looking here.



Great smile.  Wish I could see it.



His train is in there.



If only I didn't move.  And it was a little clearer.



Coming at me to take (and destroy) the camera.



Sick of the camera (and my high squeaky voice).  Nap time.

I don't know how anyone has any nice pictures of their kids.  I found it quite impossible.