Patty. Published.

I'm Snobby and Mad

2012-02-10T11:05:00.000-08:00

When I found out I was pregnant, I sought out the best medical professional to assist me through the pregnancy. I got referrals, I researched doctor's background and credentials. I called and spoke with their staff secretaries to get "a feel" for the office. In the end, I chose the head of Obstetrics and Gynecology at the University of Utah. Pretty, pretty, pretty prestigious.
I put my snob badge on and attended my first appointment.
And, boy. I knew I arrived.
Spa music played in a dimly lit room. Water features lined the walls to help each pregnant woman reach tranquility. They had oodles of magazines. And not just lame old Parenting and WebMD magazines. They had People, Rolling Stones, Glamour, Oprah,Cosmo. All the best smut. A woman brought around a cart with your choice of 5 different juices, and any snack you could think of. Oreos, graham crackers, Goldfish, Pretzels, Fruit snacks, Chippies. I was in heaven. I thought to myself, "I wonder where they hide the personal masseuse?" And as if my thoughts had been read, out walked a strong (but kind) looking Swedish woman. Obviously, their masseuse.

Okay.

It wasn't that nice. Not even close. They do have a fish tank... which is sorta like a water feature. And their receptionists are way above par. And they do offer snacks and juice if you wait more than 10 minutes. That's really what sold me. That and all the excellent references I got on my doctor.

Now.

I live in Utah. You know, Land of the Pioneers, Polygamy, and Midwives.

I, personally, have no ill feelings in my heart towards midwives. I find them to be caring, helpful, and sensitive women. Although, most seem to lean a little towards the hippie side. You know, flowy skirts. Tie dye scrunchies at the end of their braids. Station wagons. Knock-off Birkenstocks. Using a midwife to deliver a baby is not my thing. A round of applause to the women who do use midwives- it's your personal call.

... so... at my first appointment with my medically trained doctor, I am introduced to her staff. A few Nurse Practitioners. A swarm of nurses (to do the weighing and pee-pee sample). And 2 midwives. Rita and Laurel. I think they probably changed their names to that after they decided to become midwives. I have to admit I was shocked. Midwives? Here? In the hospital? In a really fancy schmancy hospital? Don't they go to your house and apply rice packs to your back or something?
It gave me an unsettled feeling.
My first appointment I met with the doctor. Whom I instantly bonded with and knew this would be a good pregnancy.
2nd appointment... the midwife came in.
Cringe.
I know I started out with a bad attitude. I KNOW! But that doesn't make me change it now does it?
She asked all the normal questions. How I was feeling... if I had any concerns... blah blah blah. I answered her questions but couldn't help thinking "Even if something WAS wrong... what would YOU do about it? You're not even a real doctor."

Yeah... the bad attitude just gets worse and worse.

When I was scheduling my next appointment I told the receptionist I'd rather not see the midwife again.
She asked if something had happened.
"No."
"Did she meet your needs?"
"Yeah."
"Did she offend you?"
"No."
The receptionist honestly seemed puzzled. So I filled her in.
"I would just prefer a real medical professional."
"I can assure you our entire staff is medically trained..."

Here I cut her off.

"It's a personal preference."
No one can argue with that one. The receptionist kindly obliged me.
I left feeling better. At least I would get the treatment I was paying for from now on.

Or so I thought.

Yesterday, I went. I had to wait forever. Forever being 55 minutes. Which is a long time to do nothing. And I could tell they were swamped. So even though I wanted to let out long, airy, irritated sighs... I contented myself by crossing my legs and keeping one eyebrow up really really high while I stared at the TV refusing to make eye contact with anyone. That'll show 'em.
I went back did the usual him-haw and my nurse said, "It'll be just 3 minutes and the doctor will be in."
3 minutes later the nurse poked her head in. "The doctor is running behind. You can wait and see her in half hour? Or one of our midwives can assist you."

Cringe.

I had Koley at a sitter (for the first time.. like ever.) I didn't want to be late picking him up. "I'll see the midwife."

And in walks Rita. Hippie hair a blowing in the wind. Wearing combat boots and a skirt that didn't even go to her veiny knees. Not professional. At all.
I admit I was unfriendly. I was a big whiney pants baby about it and gave one word answers.
(I cheered up when I heard the heartbeat- it's hard to stay mad after that.)
I didn't even schedule my next appointment on the way out. I was so angry.
And about what?
I told Ken the whole story and he told me I have issues. And that I'm a doctor snob. And my doctor wouldn't have midwives on her staff if she didn't think they were qualified.
Yeah. I get it. They are qualified. And they probably draw in a whole different crowd. The home-birthers. The people who want to have their babies in tubs or swimming pools or suspended from the ceiling. And I say, more power to those people! They found what works for them. God bless 'em!

But you know what works for me? Being cared for by someone with M.D. after their name. Someone with 25 years of experience and all kinds of plaques and certificates on her office wall. Having my baby surgically removed from my stomach. THAT works for me.

And as a "P.S." I love hippies. I love the free-wheelin', loose-spirit bunch of them. When I am going to go camping or go on vacation. Or I want to have a sing-a-long with a ukulele.

And I know I stereotype. A lot. You don't need to tell me that in my comments.

The Unclean Vessel

2012-02-07T11:01:00.000-08:00

We've beat the "Ken-Calling-Me-An-Unclean-Vessel" horse to death in my opinion... but he seems to think there is still a little life left in there.

ACT I

Scene: It's 10:30 PM. Patty and Ken are laying in bed reading their books. Ken is reading At Home by Bill Bryson. Patty is reading Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire. Although he doesn't mention it *cough* for once *cough* Ken feels quite superior that he is reading a book that you can't buy in the Teen Fantasy section. Go Ken! You're officially a grown up now.

Patty: I've decided I'm not going to drink pop the rest of this pregnancy.
Ken: Smiling. Nay, BEAMING with delight. That's great, Patty! I'm really proud of you! I'll quit drinking it to. Then it will be easier on you.
Patty: Moving in for a snuggle. Awwww.... you don't have to do that. I just really don't want to drink caffeine and if I drink pop I'll want a Coke. So I'm not going to drink it anymore. Until the baby comes.
[Ken puts his arm around Patty. Snuggles ensue.]
Patty: I am still going to drink lemonade and fruit punch though.
Ken: Arm flies clear of Patty. What?!
Patty: What? I still like stuff besides water. I'm just not going to drink pop. But if we ever go out somewhere I might get a Fruit Punch. That's all. What?
Ken: That's just as bad as pop.
Patty: Nuh uh.
Ken: Yeah. It is. It's loaded with sugar.
Patty: But there's not as much sugar as in pop and there's no caffeine.
Ken: There is JUST as much sugar. It's so bad for you! You really shouldn't drink it either.
Patty: Feeling severely deflated. You know? Every time I get a great idea and I try to improve on something and I share it with you... I end up feeling stupid about it. I wish you could go back to where you said "I'm proud of you" and you put my arm around me and we can think about nice things.
Ken: Well, you're arguing with no facts. Or just bad facts. Or your feelings.
Patty: I'm not arguing at all! I said I'm not going to drink pop anymore. That's a fact. I said I'm still going to drink lemonade and fruit punch. Also a fact. I see no argument.
[Ken stares at Patty in amazement. Ken starts laughing]
Ken: I think I'm going to take my shower now.
Patty: Okay, deary. I love you.
[Ken begins to cross the bedroom.]
Ken: What you said to me is like saying "I'm not going to eat Ding Dongs anymore, I'm just going to eat Snickers."
Patty: Laughs. Not true. But clever.
Ken: It's like saying I'm not going to eat cookies anymore... I'm just going to eat ice cream sundaes.
Patty: Take your shower.

End Scene.

ACT II

Ken emerges from his shower.

Ken: That's like saying I'm not going to eat Big Macs anymore... I'm just going to eat Whoppers.
Patty: I like Whoppers better anyway.
Ken: You're not getting the point.
Patty: Smiling. I guess I'm not. But you're being very funny.

End Scene.

We read for a little while longer. Turned off our lights. Said our goodnights. And Ken said "You're just an unclean vessel. And I think it's hopeless." To which I replied, "It's not hopeless. I have given up pop, right?"

Parlez vous Koley?

2012-02-06T15:32:00.000-08:00

Kole talks all the time now... and I have NO idea what he is saying. I used to just make it up. Kole would say, "Abba neeno bui bui bui?"
And I would say, "Oh you want some milk and a book and a blanket?"
And then round up those items.
Or Koley-doo would say, "Shma Shma ooble."
And I'd say, "Yeah! If you go get your shoes on we can go outside."
But over the weekend Ken said something that brought me back down to earth.
Kole was looking at Ken and said something like, "Oy! Dagg winka bee bee."
I was already to chime in with a, "It's not time for lunch yet." (Where I get this... I really don't know.)
And Ken says, "Kole, I don't think you're speaking English."

And then it dawned on me. Yeah. I don't think so either.
I get the whole talk to your kids and that's how they learn to speak and be the excellent mother.
But... really I think I was taking it too far.

Sure, he's saying something. But it's not English.

"MY" Day

2012-02-01T10:12:00.000-08:00

Did you know that Wednesday is my day to sit up front and say the prayer?

There are 7 people in my natal Bradley family. We were each assigned a day to say the prayer at dinner. And to eliminate the fighting over which girl got to sit up front- the day you prayed was also the day you sat up front.

I've always liked Wednesdays for that reason. It's "My Day."

When my two older sisters moved out of the house, it would be dinner time on a Monday and Dad would ask, "Whose day is it?" We'd respond, "Krissy."

That would make him so frustrated. "Well, Krissy's not here! So somebody else say it!"

Nice and reverent for prayer time.

Even now, when Ken and I are sitting down to eat, and he asks "Whose day is it?" (meaning his or mine) I always think of which Bradley's day it is first. It's still so automatic.

Sunday: Dad

Monday: Krissy

Tuesday: Andi

Wednesday: Patty

Thursday: Vicky

Friday: Julie

Saturday: Mom

From Left to Right: Andi-Candy-Girl, Jules a Bug Stinkweeder, Patsmo (on bottom),
Vicks-matoria (back up top there), and Teener Weiner.

Stress on Multiple Levels.

2012-01-31T13:02:00.000-08:00

Today I am stressing because I have 3 errands to complete:

1. Drop off library books that are due today.
2. Refill printer cartridge.
3. Go to post office to mail letters.

I wish I could explain why having three things to do stresses me out. I like having one thing to do a day. And I like it when that one thing is "Get the mail."
I think about 3 years ago- I was working in an accounting firm and January was my busiest, most hellish month of the year. And I THRIVED on it. The deadlines. The mayhem. The phone ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Working Saturdays. Man! It was a major rush. I mean, I hated it. But it really got my blood pumping. Today, I have 3 incredibly mundane things to do and I can't control my breathing I am so nervous about it.
Don't know.
I also need to take my nail polish off but I don't want to kill myself from stress levels. So that might wait until tomorrow. *wink*

On a more emotional side- I've been worried about this new baby. Not health wise. I think the cub is thriving. I feel him moving and I know he is fine. Ken makes me eat all this healthy crap anyway. Like broccoli. Without veggie dip. Which, I mean, have you had broccoli just plain? It's really dry. You need a little Ranch in 'ere! Ken claims I am an "unclean vessel" and he needs to help the baby as much as possible. Pa. Lease. Yeah, I did hear the FDA banned eating Doritos during pregnancy. Too unhealthy for the mother and unborn child. Yeah right. Let me have my Cool Ranch, babe. Trust me, I need them close right now.
I'm worried because I don't feel as close to this unborn child as I did with Kole. I remember constantly rubbing my belly with Kole Bob (even before it stuck out). I would talk to him and read and write in his journal. I'd dream about him and make up songs for him. Koley-Unborn took up all my thoughts.
And with this little gremlin... I sometimes forget I even am pregnant. Like, today, I'm sorting laundry catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think, "Time to lose that Christmas weight." I stand up straight to take a closer look and remember I'm pregnant. That's why my belly is sticking out. How does a mother forget she's pregnant? Do I really care that little?
When I think of having a new baby I am excited about it. I just think of it like... once a day... or every couple days. And the rest of the time... it's completely off my star charts.
So, I have this fear that the new baby is sensing my unpurposeful neglect and is going to come out all mad and screamy. I mean, maybe Kole is so mellow and cuddly and close because I was that way with him pre-birth. And with this new baby... I mean...

I could be in serious trouble here.

HUMILIATION with friends

2012-01-27T12:04:00.000-08:00

Since I got my iPod Touch (and grew out of my Angry Birds phase) I've been all about the "Words With Friends." I don't know why they don't just call it Scrabble. That is what it is after all. I play around the clock. It keeps track of when you play and posts so when your friend comes on it'll read "Patty played EXECUTES 6 hours ago." I was embarrassed at first because every time I got on it would say "Rachel played GUITAR 6 seconds ago" or "Wendy played COINS 3 minutes ago." Maybe some people wait it out a little to "be cool." But we know I lost those cool vibes decades ago. I've resolved within myself that I am punctual and reliable and I post my word immediately. Even if I have to wait 8-12 hours for them to post a word back. Dorkus Schmorkus. Hey. Don't call me names, man.
Anyway- Ken suggested I break out of the Words with Friends game a little. I never like to change a good thing- but I do like to please my Kenner. So, I downloaded CHESS with Friends!
Original!
Totally Different!
Way out of the box!

Not really. Plus, apparently there aren't that many of my friends interested in playing Chess. 4 were listed and none of them had played in the last 6 months. So, after much consulting with myself, I decided to have the world wide web chose an opponent for me. This was daunting. I'm an above average chess player (Toot! Toot! <---- That's my own horn blowing.) but I'm not competition worthy. And, summoning an unknown opponent felt a little like entering a competition. I was assigned a player and in my head I pictured them as a 4th grader who was just learning how to play. I grew confident that over the course of the game I'd be able to teach my little pupil something. Some fast moves. A couple tricky maneuvers. Something he could brag to his friends about in between rounds of Pokemon Battles.

The game began.

Move One:
I advanced a pawn.
As did my opponent.
Move Two:
I advanced another pawn.
He brought out his Queen.
Over zealous move. I scoffed.
Move Three:
I moved my third pawn.
He moved his bishop and a blue pop up window read "Check Mate! You Lose!"

Jaw drop.
Three moves. I was checkmated. I was dead meat. I was lifeless on the doorstep.

What the heck? Why did they put me up against the greatest chess player in the world? Didn't they know this was my first time trying this? How about a confidence boost?
If I wasn't so impressed I would have been seriously upset.

It was really embarrassing. My opponent probably sat in his living room with his huge brain (and multiple cats) watching Vampire Diaries casually ruining my self-esteem in 3 moves. My head was hanging pretty low. Ultimate embarrassment. I couldn't even tell Ken for a day or two.

To wrap this up, I haven't been able to start another round of Chess. I'm too nervous I'll get pitted against another genius.
But I am trying to get signatures on my petition to switch the name from "Chess with Friends" to "Humiliation with Friends." It seems more suitable.

Truth Is...

2012-01-19T10:34:00.000-08:00

Truth is Koley is 18 months old as of yesterday.
He seems a lot older than that to me.
Sometimes he seems like he's my age.
Or maybe it's the reverse and I am a lot like him.
I don't know. He just seems older than one and a half.
Those feelings I'm sure will go away when the new babe-a-loo comes and my confidence dwindles.

Truth is Ken and I did go on our 5th date in the last 18 months last Friday.
We went and saw Jim Gaffigan.
He was saying his wife just had their 4th baby.
In describing having a 4th kid he said:
"Imagine drowning... and then someone hands you a baby."
I laughed. For the full hour and a half he performed.

Truth is... I don't feel like I am drowning at all.
I feel really on top of things. Like I could be the life buoy.
Don't throw this back in my face when I am gravelling for a break. And crying because "life's too hard."
I think it's the magical 2nd trimester- and not puking 50,000 times a day.

Operation: Shutty Uppy

2012-01-18T11:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I seriously want to bite some peoples head off.
In the last (let's round up and say) 10 days, people (neighbors, friends, strangers, haters) have made the following comments to my face regarding my son.

"Why does he wake up in the middle of the night still?"
"You can give him just a little candy, it won't hurt."
"His hair is really long. Have you ever thought about cutting it?"
"It's really okay to leave him with a sitter, nothing will happen."
"Do you spend all you time with him?"

Now, I possess tact. So I take these slightly condescending remarks and questions in tow. And I cover for you. I make you feel comfortable and at ease and not like the completely disrespectful, nebby nosed, nincompoop you are. So, fear not ding bats- I will continue to take your insults to my motherhood in stride.
But just know that on the inside I am an inferno and my real answers to your questions are interlaced with swear words.

What I say out loud:

*Shrugs* Could be a growth spurt.
Thanks, but I'd rather not. *smiles*tilts head*
Isn't it? And it's so silky! *strokes Kole's hair*
We're discussing options for a sitter. *Nods incessantly* We are looking for really specific qualities.
I do. Yup. It's my job.

What I say inside:

Really? You're asking me why? I'm 27 and I still wake up in the middle of the night! It's human nature. It happens. I can't explain everything about babies. Why are bushes bushy? Why are leaves leafy? I mean we could be here all night! And then nobody would get any sleep. Would you like that, hmmmmmmm?
I'm not raising a diabetic. So don't offer it, k? And especially quit giving it him when you think I'm not looking. I SEE you! And I throw it away.
Mind your own damn business. If I want Koley to be a free-wheeling, loose talking, hippie with hair down to his ankles... I can raise him that way. You get to keep your mouth shut from now on. And it wouldn't hurt to keep the eye rolls and disapproving looks to yourself.
I normally just imagine hitting the person I am talking to over the head with a hot cast iron frying pan. Boiiiiiiiing! And they fall straight backwards. Like a cartoon.
Uh. Yeah! He's my kid. I'm his mom. We go together. And every day I still manage to shower. I read. I catch up with my friends. I maintain a household. I do laundry and scrub bathrooms. I take a walk. I work part-time. I function as a successful adult... and surprise (!) I can do it with an 18-month-old son. I don't think that merits any applause.

For an excellent (and hilarious) post, written by Ru, on women who complain about how hard it is to be a grown-up read HERE.

And I Really Like That.

2012-01-17T17:34:00.000-08:00

Ken's that Dad who is never ever mad.
Never mad at me.
Certainly never mad at Kole.

It is impressive. He comes home and it's hard to tell who is more excited, Kole or Ken. Ken throws his coat on the couch and runs for Koley- who runs in the opposite direction with his hands above his head screaming in delight. The chase each other around the island in the kitchen and end up in a wrestling fit on the living room floor. Both giggling. Both red in the face.

On nights when Kole maybe isn't in the wrestling mood... nights when there wasn't sufficient nappage durnig the day... nights when I can't wait for Ken to get home because I am having a hard time lookign at Kole without feeling frustrated... Ken comes- and all is well.
He is soft with Kole. Ken holds him and wraps him in a blanket in his arms. He asks him how his day was and what Kole and Mom did today. And I can see Kole relax... and "un-tense."

They are a perfect match for each other.
Koley wants to be like Ken so bad.
And I think Ken thinks that's pretty cool.

Truth Is...

2012-01-12T10:46:00.000-08:00

The truth is...

I read all labels on all products in my entire house. I care very very little about nutrition facts. I think it's more of a boredom thing. But, lately, I have noticed I read all kinds of labels and find myself playing "Ms. Quality Control" or a little game I have come to call "Really? REALLY?!!"

Example 1
"Ms. Quality Control."

My tube of toothpaste. I'm not a brand snob (but I do insist on buying a toothpaste with Whitening Power.) A couple nights ago, I'm brushing my teeth and reading the label and there is a checklist on the back of my toothpaste tube. A list of 7 results my toothpaste offers. And not for the first time in my life- I went down the list and graded each advertised result.

Fights Cavities [F] I can't prove this one... but I know I have 2 cavities right now. And I don't feel a war waging in my mouth when I brush. Sorry.
Contains dentist recommended ingredients. [A] The list of ingredients included all kinds of Sodiums and Fluorides and Ions that I couldn't pronounce. Bravo Procter Gamble.
Helps the natural whiteness of your teeth come through. [A+] How much credit goes to the paste and how much goes to the Crest Whitening Strips is hard to say. But my smile is dazzling.
Provides effective tartar protection. [I] In case you've been out of high school for awhile. "I" stands for incomplete. Which is where my evidence is. I don't have a tartar protection measuring kit. And I'm pretty sure they don't sell them on Amazon. But, I might have to patent that idea. I'm sure more than just me is curious about the level of tartar protection they are receiving. Right?
Is gentle on tooth enamel, leaves teeth clean and feeling smooth. At this point I rubbed my tongue over my teeth and was quite literally stunned by how clean and, yes, smooth my teeth felt. They should have put this right at the top of the list to really pull buyers in. [A+++]
Leaves breath feeling refreshed. *Hard breath onto hand.* Mmmmm! ~~[A-]~~ [C] I had to switch it to a C. Harsh? Maybe. But my breath only felt that refreshing for like 3 minutes. I'd like a longer lasting refreshing feeling.
Tastes good without the salty aftertaste. [B] I think pizza tastes good. Sushi tastes good. Pad Thai tastes good. When I think of things that taste good I never think of a big spoonful of toothpaste. Come on. They were pushing that one. Maybe it could say "Taste good (as far as toothpastes go) without the salty aftertaste." That would be a little more shot on.

Example 2
"Really? REALLY?!!"

This one really has quite befuddled me. Kole has been huge on raisins the last week of so. He'd plop down with the box in front of the window and watch cars and eat raisins all day. Knowing raisins are nature's candy I haven't been that worried about his consumption. But, the label reading woman I am, I flipped the box over and read the ingredients.
Know what it said?

Ingredients: RAISINS.

What? I mean. What?
Really? REALLY?!!
Shouldn't it say Grapes?
That's like listing "Pudding" as the ingredient in pudding. Or "Cookies" as the ingredient in cookies. Or "Granola Bar" as the ingredient in granola bars.
I mean - Come on!

Labels Outrage Me.

Christmas Time Was Here

2012-01-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

I'm still revelling in Christmas. Well, going back and forth between revelling in all the goodiness and Christmas Cheer and being depressed that it's over. For another whooooole year. Sigh. Sad. So so sad. I don't remember being as excited as I was for this Christmas since I was a kid. I was excited for Kole to open presents. I was excited to see all of my family. I was excited to eat. I'm always excited to eat- Christmas or not. It was just a wonderful. My in-laws scored me a Nikon COOLPIX. It's required to capitalize that right? I'm still working on taking a picture that is not blurry. Which has always been my biggest flaw. But I think the way I am feeling would best be described in a monologue inspired by the made for TV movie "A House Without a Christmas Tree."

(Tell me you are laughing. Tell me you know where that is from.)

Some things to know about Bradley Family Christmases:

1. Mom likes to feed us every two hours. With a snack on the interval hour.

2. There's 5 girls and lots of laughing.

3. This year we made Gingerbread Houses. Mom got them for each couple to make. Ken opted to snooze by the fire with Koley do Andi and I built one together. It won the gold medal. That wasn't actually passed out.... but had it been... it would have gone to ours. If not for the exquisite craftsmanship than certainly for the creative effort. And time spent. Everyone else whipped theirs out in like 45 minutes. Me and Andi labored for nearly three hours. On a deeeee-vine Gingerbread Hacienda. Complete with an authentic pinata, Mexican flag, and burro out front.

4. We're all so rosy-cheeked because Mom and Dad set the thermostat to like 85 degrees.

Patty's Pregnant

2012-01-03T10:48:00.000-08:00

Due date is July 9th.
I'm opting for the almighty C-section.
Labor is for pansies.
I think it's a boy.

Because I'm Cool Now.

2012-01-02T11:32:00.000-08:00

Ken got me an iPod Touch for Christmas. Know what I got him? A cookbook.
The shame.

I had an iPod Nano, that is purple, that I love, that I have filled and emptied and filled and emptied "x" amount of times. Ken found a solution to my dilemma and got me a gift that I thought was far beyond my technical capabilities. I mean... come on. I'm young and all- but I'm not great at computers or cell phones or Pokemon. I have got a good grip on my Kindle now. Pleased to announce.
But this! This little gadget is too fun not to try out and understand. The first thing I did was I plug her in to the PC and filled her half full with songs I've been wanting to listen to for months.
You just touch it! And it moves around!
Did you know you could check your e-mail on these things?
It gives you up to date Stock information? (<-- not really that cool.)
You can read the newspaper on it?
It takes pictures and movies?
You can "message" on it!? (<--- haven't done it... not sure how it works... too embarrassed to ask Ken.)
Ken registered everything and set up all the accounts and programmed the weather to show up every day on it.

I downloaded Angry Birds.
Now I get what the hype is all about.

Christmas Terrors

2011-12-21T12:02:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-14T10:59:00.000-08:00

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.

2011-12-13T11:57:00.000-08:00

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:

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

2011-12-05T13:50:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-30T11:05:00.001-08:00

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.

Say "I Love You" to someone.
Make a Christmas card for your Primary teacher.
Surprise your sister by doing her after school job.
Use a happy voice all day long.
Draw a Christmas picture of your family.
List the good things that happened to you for 1994 in your journal.
Read or listen to a scripture story.
Write a thank-you note to a friend.
Share a smile with as many people as you can.
Thanks Heavenly Father for your blessings.
Help make the house look clean.
Write a Christmas letter to a missionary.
Say "Merry Christmas" to a neighbor.
Ask mom what you can do to help.
Do something nice for someone you don't know very well.
Make a gift to give as a surprise.
Do something nice for Dad.
Say something nice to a person you know.
Tell a friend why you like her or him.
Put out crumbs for the birds.
Write your feelings about Jesus in your journal.
Leave love notes for your mother and father.
Write a letter of thanks to the bishop.
Draw a picture and give it away.
Memorize a scripture and recite it for someone.
Clean your room really good.
Call Grandma Morelli.
Talk to someone who seems lonely.
Practice a Christmas hymn from the hymn book.
Make a list of ways you can be like Jesus for 1995.
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

2011-11-29T10:34:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-21T10:40:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-16T09:45:00.001-08:00

I can't resist this little shell.

Between Me and The Kole Miner

2011-11-14T15:12:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-07T15:38:00.000-08:00

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.

2011-11-04T15:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-11-03T10:37:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-11-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-31T14:34:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-10-27T12:23:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-10-21T09:02:00.000-07:00

Look closely.

You can hear that ol' diesel revvin' up!

How I Spent My Thursday.

2011-10-20T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-19T09:51:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-18T16:02:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-17T12:08:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-14T13:41:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-10-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-10-12T11:56:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-10T15:34:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-10-07T10:09:00.000-07:00

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...

2011-10-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-05T09:34:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

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...

2011-09-29T10:55:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-28T16:01:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Blog Brainstorming

2011-09-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

You see although I find my blog sinfully entertaining and cheeky (while occasionally being so truthful and moving we all run for the Kleenex) I have wondered lately why the writers for Stephen Colbert's THE COLBERT REPORT haven't called me yet?
Am I missing something? Am I only amusing myself here?
I went to Ken. My harshest and ~~favorite~~ most accesible critic.
He came up with his answer a little too quickly.
1. Niche
2. Design
3. What are people getting out of it?
and
4. Your title stinks, honey bunny.

I admit I had trouble getting past the thought of Why isn't niche spelled nitch? Should we spell witch: "wiche"? Honey and Bunny are running the same problem. I think honey would have to be switched to "hunny" instead of bunny to boney. You see where that leads us.
After about a half hour of running around the phonics track I reordered the list.

1. Niche/Purpose
2. Title
3. Design

So the Niche:
I talk a lot about family. The one I made and the one I am from. I could talk about parenting... but no one would really want advice from a first-time know-it-nothing-er.
I could write about.... confrontations I get in. Those seem to come easily enough. But I'd hate to have to go look for them. You know? Could be dangerous getting into a fight every day. I'm wanting your feedback here. What is or should be my niche? What do you like reading about most?

Then there is the issue of the title. I've never really had a title. I mean there is something up there but it's never struck a chord with me.
I thought of:

Patter Chatter
The Patty Melt
Chatty Patty

I'm lucky my name is Patty and there is a lot of other patties too. York Peppermint. Beef. Chicken. The Open Face Patty Melt. The great Irish Saint. I keep thinking somewhere in all that there is a really great blog title. Still looking. Still thinking. I thought doing "The Chatty Patty" would be fun and having a picture of me looking like the Chatty Cathy doll complete with the pull string and everything.... but that brings me to my last hurdle.

Design. I can see it in my head. But there is no button on the keyboard to get there. I downloaded a trial version of PhotoShop that I am loving. And hating. I need to YouTube a tutorial on it.

So my devoted, steadfast, amiable readers... what can I do for you? To keep you coming back? Any title ideas? Design do's and don'ts?
Help push my lost ship to shore. P-P-P-Please!

And don't say you just love everything about me. I'm not in the mood for that right now.

Time Machine

2011-09-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

January 4, 1994

Dear Diary,
Today we had a snow storm. Us girls went SLEDDING! That was fun. We have a big hill in our backyard. I start at the top and down we go. It is incredibly fun. Andi's dollhouse people came alive. Here is a question no one knows the answer to. Why do hot dogs come in packs of ten and buns come in eight? Don't KNOW!!!
How did the dinosaurs die?
Where did GOD come from?
When you come down from Heaven where do you land?
That's all. Not all but all for that category. Okay that is all.
Bye,
Patty Bradley

This picture was taken in '93-'94 school year. (4th grade) A Patty Classic. I like how I explained how we sledded. Like some people start at the bottom and sled uphill? Doubtful. I remember when Andi's dollhouse people came to life. They wrote us notes and moved into different poses. When we weren't looking of course. I'm pretty sure I got my hot dog question off of Animaniacs. And, finally, it seems like I was really having some trouble wrapping up this quaint entry.

Post a school picture this week. I get such a kick out of them.

That's Me. All Published Now.

2011-09-23T10:57:00.000-07:00

I got a package yesterday.
I feel superior to other people when I get a package on my doorstep and they don't.
I also feel infinitely inferior when I see a package on someone else's doorstep... and part of me is always tempted to check the label to make sure the mail man didn't accidentally put my package on their doorstep.

I got a box full of the book I was recently published in.

*Cue applause*

Thank you. Thank you.
I really wasn't prepared to give a speech. [Holds book at a slight angle and stares at the cover before pressing it to my heart.] But since you're all here... [wipes tear and smudges mascara]... I should have worn waterproof! [Another fake smile and release of a nervous (and practiced) giggle.] Haah. [clears throat] It is such a pleasure to be included as one of the authors of An Eclectic Collage Volume II. The competition was stiff and biting but the best prevailed. Ha. Obviously. [Half eye roll.] I would like to start by thanking Jane Freund, my publisher who is an incredible woman. She is innovative, kind, and unbelievably good. She is what people call "the salt of the Earth." I wouldn't be here in this extravagant expensive gown holding this peice of literature without her. So, thank you Jane. [Blows kiss.] I would like to thank Bill Gates for Microsoft. It makes writing so much easier. Pencils and erasers are such a drag. [Practiced laugh.] My writings that were published were inspired by my son, Koley Roley Poley Canoli Fazoli Holly-Holy Likes Bertolli Poulsen. He made me into the true version of myself.
I'm honored and grateful for this privilege.... [tearing up]....[shakes book above head]... May writing live on!

In all seriousness, I am floored that I got published. I'm really proud of myself. You should check out the Freundship Press website. And I'm selling these puppies! They are $19.95. You can contact me (pattypoulsen@gmail.com), get it from the publisher's site, or right off Amazon in the book or Kindle version. If you get it from me.... I'll throw in my signature... free of cost. Just a little graveling.

Truth Is...

2011-09-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

I'm trying one of these Linky-Dinks. Don't hate. Participate. (And don't hate for the gangster cliches. I know I'm so white.)

Truth Is...I feel rich when I drink bottled water. Especially SmartWater or that Glaceau.

Truth Is...I make my bed everyday. Mostly because my husband wants me to.

Truth Is...when I get mad at Kole (it happens... like when he smashes a bottle of fingernail polish on the rug and then smears it in his hair and in his mouth and on his clothes all in the 2 seconds it takes for me to reach him) I hug him really hard and start singing. And then it goes away.

Truth Is... I think that would only work with Kole. I'm pretty good at staying mad.

Truth Is...I sleep with an eye mask on and encourage everyone to do the same. You'll never go back.

Truth Is... Every day I think I will get fun mail instead of bills and ads. Constant Optimist.

Truth Is... my favorite blogs (for the time being) are people I've never even met. Her and Her and Him.

Truth Is... I want to dress up for Halloween this year. Like Bellatrix LeStrange. I hope I get invited to a party.

Truth Is...I wish I could talk to the younger version of myself...you know... ask her questions... get her opinions.

Truth Is... I use "..." way too much. It's a cruel, cruel habit.

Looking Go-ooo-od!

2011-09-21T10:56:00.000-07:00

Last night I told Ken I was feeling a little "droopy." That word was totally new to him. I know, right? Droopy.

Meaning: ..... lowered shoulders, lots of sighing, a little tired, kinda bored, maybe sick, frumpy.
You know, droopy.
He told me to get dolled up and go out.
I shook my head.
Where would I go?
I don't have any friends here yet. I don't have anywhere to go. Woe is me.
It was the Droopster talking.
15 minutes later I was doing my makeup and slipping on the shiny new flats Vicky sent me for my birthday.

I went to Rue 21. Have you ever been there? It's for teeny boppers. And moms that dress like teeny boppers. (Which I can't STAND!) I browsed for about a half hour and would say "Oh I love that!" and then turn and see something else and "OOOOooo!!! That is gorgeous!" Soon my head was spinning and I was also turning in slow tiny circles in the middle of the store as I looked all around me. With my mouth open. (I've got to get out alone more often.)
I realized in my bombarded state that I don't really have a "style." There are articles that I like and that I think are lovely but they wouldn't work with my body type.
Which is: "The CCV"

Chesty. Curvy. Vivacious.
So I left Rue 21.

I started thinking about what I look best in.
Blouses.
V-Necks.
Jackets.
Vests.
Cardigans that go right past the top of my butt.
Dark jeans.
That are long.
Heels for to elongate my legs.
Spanx.

I look best dressed like a GAP ad. Put together. Belt showing. That modern classic classy look. Do you know what I am talking about?
I walked over to Kohl's.
It was close and it was a nice night.
This time I was looking with a purpose: FIND SOMETHING THAT FITS MY STYLE!
I bet most people have shopped that way their whole lives.
Not I! I only started last night.
I found something too.
A staple for my wardrobe.

And THIS is a teeny tiny picture of them! Hahaha. I can't get it any bigger without it being blurry. It's Croft & Barrow Cable Knit Open Front Cardigan. And I'm pretty sure it was made for me. See how the sweater curves back? My body loves that look. And it doesn't come down past my rear-end? So it won't look like I stuffed some pillows under the blanket I am wearing. Oh they were gorgeous. I wanted to buy all of them. But figured I would start with the black. Next month. When I get paid.

Wmmaaaaah Wmmmaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Nursing Nostalgia

2011-09-20T09:36:00.000-07:00

It's been one week since I sent Koley to Milk Rehab. He's fully recovered. No more pulling on my shirt and face planting into my chest. He's blossomed into quite the Independent. He will only eat what he can feed himself and will spit out anything you try to feed him from a spoon. Then, he'll growl at you while showing his 7 teeth. He loves sitting in his high chair and eating peanut butter toast. Although, he realized he could just suck the peanut butter off and not eat the bread part. That little stink butt peanut butter head. He's a smart cookie.
Koley's thriving and I really miss having him as a Snuggle Bug.
I don't miss my clothes smelling like rancid milk. I don't miss having to dash to the car using anything to cover my chest because I forgot to put a nursing pad in. I don't miss being engorged. I don't miss being the only one on the planet that can calm him down. Wait.
That last ones not true.
I do miss that.
I don't like it that Koley can go to sleep without me. Anyone can just swoop in and put him to bed. And he'll sleep! For 14 months I was the only one that could do that and in one week he's totally forgotten all about that. I miss morning sessions when I was too tired to go down and make oatmeal for us. We'd just lay in bed and snuggle. And sleep some more. Then read. I'd read my Bill Bryson and he'd read his Theodore Geisel. I miss how he'd curl himself into the teeniest ball to try to get as close to me as possible. He would sweat when he was nursing. It could be 15 below out and Kole would sweat. But after... it was like he was drunk. He couldn't stand up straight. Or crawl in a straight line. He'd talk all slurred. And everything was funny. And not just "sorta smile to be polite" funny. Kole would crack up and hold his belly he'd be laughing so hard.
My milk was intoxicating to him.
I didn't know it then....
... but having him that close for that long, was quite intoxicating for me too.

Koley's First Haircut

2011-09-19T11:18:00.000-07:00

This weekend, at the playground, several children referred to Kole as a girl. Kids are kids and I get it. But then this teenager by the swings was swearing and his friend slapped his arm and pointed to Kole and said, "Shut up, man! There's a little baby girl in that swing."
What the heck?!
He dresses in blue.
He normally wears clothes with dinosaur, tractor, dog, or truck graphics.
He is really broad boned.

On the other hand....
His eyelashes are incredibly long and luscious.
He has a heart shaped face.
His smile is very tender.

But aren't all babies that way? You know... soft.
Ken and I figured it was the hair. We've always liked his long hippie hair. Or 70s rock band hair. Kole was channeling his inner Samson. It was long and when he'd get hot and start to sweat it would get a little curly. I thought it was adorable. Apparently everyone else thought it was girl hair.

So, last night after his bath Kole got his hair cut.
We just wanted to cut the extra scraggles in the back.
.....
It's a little crooked.

You can tell we are amateurs.
He is now channeling his inner Friar Tuck.
I called Ken to tell him what it looks like dry since we cut it wet last night before bed.
"Sorta' like an A-line Bob. Like my hair cut... but shorter."
He said, "Well I've never cut hair before. I'm not a barber. I'm a CFP. Put that on your blog and smoke it."

What were we thinking?
What do you think... more girly now?

Doesn't Let Up

2011-09-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

The pain set in before I took the pregnancy test. I could hardly stand I was having cramps so bad. I was leaning against the kitchen sink trying to do dishes and I just clenched onto the counter top. It hurt. Pain. Lots of pain.
The pain didn't ease up during pregnancy. I didn't have any cramps. But there was the heart burn, the difficulty breathing, the unfathomable stretching of skin. (Not just on my belly either... boobs, butt, thighs.) There was also the inflation of my feet. They got so big they looked like Hobbit feet and they wouldn't bend. Walking hurt my feet. And my back. And my legs.
The last month was the worst. Stairs. UGH! I dreaded stairs. Or having to sit down. Or stand up. Or lay down. Nothing felt good. Everything was painful.
Or so I thought until I was in labor. I tried to be wonder woman and deliver Kole without meds. I only lasted 7 hours. Pushing a baby out is painful. Like...nevermind. Let's not get into it. It hurts before, during, and after. For months and months after.
I decided to nurse Kole. That's painful for a few days. Try to imagine a little lost puppy gnawing on your nipple for horus if you've never nursed before. They don't know what they are doing, you don't know what you are doing and it just hurts.
When your baby is 6 weeks old you are finally feeling more confident and a little less achy and you have to go for a stupid gynie checkup where they move everything around again and make it all hurt. By this point my body was pretty well shot. I didn't even have the energy to wince at pain anymore.
As of this past Monday, I officially quit nursing Kole. It was beyond time. He's 14 months old this week. As in 2 months over a year. Recently, anytime I would be changing he'd crawl full power over to me begging for "mo, mo, mo, mo." That's his way of saying more. He'd sit up and point at my chest and bounce all smiley. Then he started tugging on my shirt... in public. Yeah. Definitely time. So I stopped.
And holy hell it hurts.
I feel like I am carrying two anvils in my shirt. And they are throbbing. And hard. And very very sensitive. I just can't believe my body is still in pain. I can't believe how much the female body goes through to bear a child. It never ends. Never lets up. I think I will be in pain for the rest of my life. It seems to be the pattern. If you have kids- you will be in pain. Eternally.

P.S. Last night Ken flipped over in bed and pretty much body slammed my left boobie with his elbow. It woke me up and I screamed it hurt so bad. Ken says in his sleep (kinda gruff), "Now that's enough of that!" I sat up (felt fifty pounds hanging from my neck) and looked at him to make sure he was asleep and he had this big grin on is face. He then said, "Koley, Koley, Koley, Koley. KOLEY! Koley." And started snoring again.

Good Idea Bad Idea

2011-09-14T15:02:00.000-07:00

The week after we moved in I headed down to IKEA. It's about 20 minutes away and my sister is always raving about the deals she swipes in the "As Is" department. I parked in the delightful "Family Parking" area that has ultra big spaces and wider aisles, stopped for a cinnamon roll at the snack stand and went straight to "As Is." It's a little cluttered. I assume because there are a bajillion stay-at-home moms/interior decorators (or just Swedes) that rummage through it every day all day. Some of it was obviously going to stay in the "As Is" department for quite a while. I don't know why someone would want a pepper mill shaped like a porcupine. They get you went they mark it down to fifty cents. Then you HAVE to buy it, right?
I scored a poster of penguins for Koley's room and a bright blue frame to hang them in. They hang on his wall by the closet. They are looking at the dogs all day. I figured for $5 I made out. Then I saw a how stack of lamps. Floor lamps. For $1.99!! I picked up a box. Heavy. How could you not buy a lamp that was only $1.99. I thought about where it could go in our new place. Living room was full.... bedroom? well-furnished... Koley's room? Already has one. I shook my head and all the reason came out of it as I placed my floor lamp in my cart. I was beaming. And I knew I would find a place for it.
2 weeks have passed and the only place I have put it is in the closet (still in the box) in K-Bear's room. Youch. But I still held my head high. $1.99! It would get used one day.
Yesterday, I was going down to Julie's house and figured, what the hay. I'll give it to her. If she doesn't like it she can do a give away on her blog. She's big on those. So I hauled it south. She was thrilled. After lunch we opened it up to decide whether she would keep it or whether she would give it away. We started unpacking. The base. The stick thing. The top? The top was flat. Really heavy but flat. Where's the light part? We both looked in the box again. Empty. And looked at the directions. Which were just illustrations of people putting a lamp together. I was so confused. Jules suggested looking it up on the IKEA website. The box said "BLOMSTER."
Julie typed that in and started laughing.
"Blomster means candlestick. It's a candlestick!"
I laughed too and we immediately figured out how to assemble it.
It stood on her counter. Taller than both of us.
I felt really dumb. It was like 3 feet tall! And really heavy! I thought I had problems when I didn't know where to put a floor lamp! Where would you put one, three foot tall, white candlestick?!

It apparently comes in a set of three. I bought the tallest one for $1.99. I felt really ripped off.
Sure a lamp is a good deal at $1.99. But a candlestick?
Nej.

Bras

2011-09-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

Part of my surprise birthday gift was shopping at Victoria Secret with Sheri. <-- She's my mother in law. After a year of having my little cub gnaw on my I needed a boost. Big time. Now. To rewnid a little into Patty's Bra Past.
Before I got married I was a 36C. You know, that perfect size. It's the size that has the most fun colors and patterns and styles. I loved being a 36C. A few years after I got married I let the girls at VS measure me up again. I just loved hearing "You're a 36C." Well, I was shocked when she said, "Does 36D sound right?" Ummmm. No. No it doesn't! But sure enough, after trying on the "samples", it was a perfect fit. They showed me the drawer of the style that I liked and all it had in it was beige and white bras.  I held one up. Total Grandma Bra. Where were the flowers?  The lace? The red snakeskin print? I guess once your chest gets so big they figure you don't deserve it. I sulked around for a couple days. And resolved that the "D" in "36D" stood for Deeeee-scusting.
I thought I had it bad then.
Psht. Now up to present time.
Last month, I went and got measured after a year of nursing the Koley. I had come to peace with being a 36D and needing boulder holders and was even okay that they only came in grandma colors.  The sales girl measured me.
"Ok. I have you at a 38 Double D. Is that what you are wearing?"
I'm sure I blushed.
"No, that is NOT what I am wearing. I am a 36D. I used to be a 36C."
She just looked at me. Really unimpressed, apparently, that I used to have the perfect cup size and decided to share that with her.
"Well," she continued, "We can have you try on a 36D to see if it feels comfortable but you are measuring larger than that. At the Double D."
Maybe it was only in my mind but I swear she put an emphasis on the "double". Like one D couldn't do the job or something.  The D had to call backup. I can't even say "Double D" without making a double chin and cringing.
It should have come as no surprise (but really came as a HUGE surprise) that the 36 D did not contain me. At all. Shocker. I tried stuffing everything in but it was pointless.
With my head down I asked for a larger size.
At least the sales girl wasn't all glib about it. She politely smiled and asked me to try on some new styles.
The Double D's fit like a glove. Worked like a charm.   And were much more comfortable. Have you tried Incredible by Victoria Secret. I mean, wow. When I put it on my back immediately felt better. Ha! That should have been a clue that my boobies were huge-y. I dressed and came out of the dressing room with the Incredible in hand (which is amazing) and told Sheri I was boosted up to a 38DD. She hardly believed it.
The sales girl took me over to the drawer where I was fully expecting to see a drawer full of dingy colored bras and a little note card that said something like:

We aren't going to waste an excessive amount of beautiful material to make a bra large enough to cover your expansive hooters.

-VS

I was happy there was no such card. And happier still there were pink, purple, and teal bras. With a leopard overlay. Gorgeous! Sheri stocked me up and can I say, I think wearing a bra that fits me (even though it is on the large end of the scale) actually makes me look less big. Not AS full. It contains the reckless bounciness. I'm loving it.

And- yes, I am a 38DD. I am pretty sure that's the top of the food chain.

After DD where do you shop?

This is me in about...25 years.

Dog Day Morning

2011-09-07T09:39:00.000-07:00

Kole says one word really well.
"Dog."
As a result of his proficiency, everything is a dog. I'm "dog." Ken's "dog." Kole sees a plane, points up and says "dog." There are some longhorns out back... "dog." He wants more food and says "dog" while pointing to the cabinet. I know a good mother would correct him and teach him the right word for all the objects surrounding him. But I am a ultra-cool-super-fun-amazingly-talented-awesome mom.
I went to the Dollar Store and bought a dog calendar.
I cut the pictures out and taped them to his wall across the room from his crib at his eye level.
Kole was in ~~hog~~ dog heaven!
He stood at the wall and walked himself along it, pointing, and talking really high saying "Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog!" He'd look back at me with his eyebrows up so high. He'd grab my hand and have me point to the pictures. "Dog!"
I figure this really can be a learning experience. He'll recognize dogs as dogs from the picture and maybe quit calling his pants, fork, water, chair, diaper, and truck "dog."
While we were admiring the canine specimens taped to his wall I told Kole that dogs say, "Arf! Arf!" and I pointed to the picture. "Arf! Arf!" Kole had it down in no time.
I was so proud of myself. And him of course. What a smart little stinkmo he is.

However.
I laid him down in his crib about 25 minutes ago for a nap.
There has been non stop chattering ever since.
He is in a habit of talking himself to sleep but it was really dragging on.
When I went by Kole's door to listen I heard, "Dog! Arf! Arf! Dog! Dog! Arf! Arf! Arf!"
Maybe the placement of the dog pictures wasn't the best.

I LOVE DOGS!

Triple Header

2011-09-06T14:03:00.000-07:00

When me and Ken were living apart we would cram everything we could into a weekend. Outings to the park, zoo, movies, grandparents house, grocery shopping, walks. We'd go to the pool and go get a movie and really live it up. We'd stay up to watch 2 or 3 movies because we wanted it to be special. Like a party. And we ate a TON of junk food. A party isn't a party without good snacks.
I figured once we were reunited- the fizzle would drizzle out and we'd spend our Saturdays plunking around the house reading the paper and doing Sudoku puzzles.
I'm pleased to report the fizzle still has sizzle!
We had a double... no, TRIPLE header this weekend.
Saturday was Pool Day.

I love love love to swim. I love feeling weightless. Especially these days when I am further from weightless than ever. This pool has got a lazy river, a water slide, and the best Koley attractions around. Kole does not understand the concept of depth. So he'll be crawling around in the kiddie section and start heading for the deep end, just bobbing his head along. Soon the water is to his chin- but he will not be deferred. I think he would try to crawl across the whole pool. (Like that one part in Pirates of the Caribbean.) He gets really confused when water starts going in his mouth and he can't breathe. Now, we obviously pull him out before anything dangerous happens. Gosh. We are his parents.

The pool has a wicked water slide for ~~kids~~ me. It's two stories high. I set two records Saturday. One for "Most Personal Rides" down the slide and one for "All Time Highest Speed." I'd cross my legs and arms, lay down and try to make myself as water like as possible. I was zooming. And would come shooting out the bottom going like Mach 5. Yeah. The 8 year olds were really jealous.

(Pssst. I totally made up those records. They don't really award them. Though they should.)

Our next treat was lunch with my sister, Jules-a-bug-Stinkweeder, her husband Chris, and their daughter Greta-Babe. We met at Caputo's on Labor day. I love it there. Ken was a super doll baby and got me a WHOLE Caputo (not just the half), and big ole' Coke and 2 cookies for later. Does he know me or does he know me? I really should have opted out of the Coke. Pop makes me sick. But I like it so so so so sosososososo much. I think any day can be made better by going out to eat. (Why do I act confused about my weight? I eat ALL the time!)

Our last big hitter of the weekend was the Hogle Zoo. Now. At lunch, Jules and I decided that the Pittsburgh Zoo is the all time greatest zoo. That's where we are from. Pittsburgh. Not the zoo. I was certainly prepared to be let down by the Hogle Zoo. I was prepared to stick my nose high in the air. But, as it was, there was no need for that. The Hogle Zoo delivered! It was big and clean with lots of good animals. Not just like, donkeys and goats. (Which, let me tell you, is what was at the zoo in Germany.) There were lots of interactive stations to learn more about the animals. Which will be great for Kole when he's like 7. I learned that I weigh as much as an elephant poops in a month. See?! Kole will go crazy for that in like... 6 years. The zoo had a killer gift shop which IS on my list for What Makes a Zoo Good. AND! We stopped and got ice cream at one of the many Concession stands! We NEVER do that! It was a blast. Kole ate most of my cone... that little stinker.

So, yeah. We're still renegading our weekends.
And I love it.

Sans Naps

2011-09-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

I put Kole down for nap number two Sunday afternoon. He did his normal squawking that turned to chattering that turned to singing that turned to humming that turned quiet. He was quiet for about three minutes.Then the humming started up and turned into singing that turned into chattering that turned into squawking that turned into full blown sca-reaming. Ken, bless his timid heart, would look at me with these big worried eyes and ask, "Do you think something is wrong?"
"No. I don't. He was fine in there. It was quiet and then he started it all up again. I'm not going in there."
Half hour later the crying was really getting to me. Maybe something was wrong? Plus it was getting close to 5 anyway and there's no point in taking a nap at that hour. Might as well wait until bed time.
So I marched my butt up the stairs and into Kole's room.
Now, normally, when he is crying and I go in there he is in his sleep position (flat on back, hands over his head, eyes shut) singing/screaming in all his sleep-time glory. He hears me come in, opens his eyes, starts laughing, and scrambles to get up and rub it in my face how wrong I was to come in. This is what I expected when I went in.
What I saw?
Koley standing in his crib totally naked.
"Where's your diaper, chauncho?"
Kole started smiling and then laughing and pointing at the ground directly at his diaper.
"Ohhhh... you're funny, huh? Taking your diaper off, are we? Sleeping in the nude, are we? You little turkey butt."
I bent over to pick up his diaper and he started crying and jumping. I looked at him. He was pointing in his crib.
I followed his little pointer finger and saw why he couldn't sleep in there.

There was a plum sized turd in his crib.

And I think Koley was afraid of it.
I just started laughing, picked Kole up, and called for Ken.
I couldn't blame the boy for crying. I wouldn't want to sleep in an old poop bed either.
Kole started kicking and laughing and bouncing in my arms. Apparently feeling safe from "it" and seeing the humor in the situation. Or maybe he just really likes being naked.

Monday was really hot. I decided (foolishly) to let Koley sleep in his diaper for one of his naps. He slept fine and when I went in to get him- Kole was a little naked Indian boy jumping around his crib laughing and making coyote calls.

Time to scratch the diaper naps, the Master Mind has figured out how to take them off and sleeping all nakey is his prefence.

Up and Running

2011-09-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

Moving is a pain in the toock-us. All the sorting and organizing and wrapping and labeling... actually the labeling isn't that bad. That was probably my favorite part. I really like writing in black permanent marker. My mom and I had fun writing silly messages on most of the boxes. We would describe the level of heaviness. "Rather Heavy." "Surprisingly Heavy." "Leave This One For Someone Stronger." "May Strain Your Uterus." I sure hope those that helped us moved enjoyed my humor. I put some real time into labeling those boxes.
We moved to Utah. The biggest perk (other than being with Kenmo everyday) is having an In-N-Out Burger about 3 minutes away. I had never had one before and I always heard people (mostly returned missionaries) talking about how good an In-N-Out burger is and all the special codes and how could I have never had one! I used to feel really "out of the club" like a whanny loser who didn't know exactly what was being discussed but knew I was supposed to be impressed. Well, my deary took me(and all our moving help) the day we moved in and I liked it so much I went back the next day for the repeat. And in the 11 days we've been here... I've gone back 2 more times. That's 4 times in almost 2 weeks. Yikes. That sounds like a lot. I bet In-N-Out is happy I'm here! Boosting those sales one Double Double combo at a time.
We are renting. Ken picked the place all on his own and my first time seeing it was the day we moved in. Not the best experience. But it is gorgeous. Big windows. Big rooms. There's some long horns out the back. I'm not kidding. I'm really fascinated with them. There are only 2 which is weird to me.... but I know very little about the normal number of longhorns kept in an area.
Renting has it's perks and it's non-perks (?) What's the word for that?

Perks:

Someone does my lawn. Well there's like a cohort of 7 that do it. Last week me and Kole sat at the tippy top of the playground equipment and watched them. They put on quite a show for Koley. Going in circles, pretending to run into each other, waving their arms all over the place. It was like a circus full of middle aged Mexicans. Very entertaining.
AC. Ken and I have been going back and forth and ending up at each other's throats about the optimum temperature the house should be. I say 70. He says 75. Which isn't even on really. But I am sure he's thinking about the bill and I am thinking about the comfort. I tried meeting in the middle at 73... but that just feels so hot!
We have an island in the kitchen. I know you could have that in a house- but our house didn't and it makes me feel so "upper class." Other things in the town house that make me feel upper class? 1. Our bathroom has Jack and Jill Doors off the master. 2. I get my own sink. 3. Out our bedroom window there are just trees. All you can see are leaves and branches... it feels England-y. Like a cottage...no! An estate. Yeah... an estate. 4. The back door has a window with a blind built into it. I love that.
Really super fast Internet. Something in our old house blocked the Internet connection a lot. So no matter what "G" I ordered... It always seemed like "G" stood for I will Gradually get there. Here it is fast and fun and frisky and flying and... I'm being redundant.

Non-Perks:

Kole has had to adjust. I know this isn't permanent... but I sure miss him sleeping all the way through the night.
None of the roads have creative names. Or even boring names. They are all numbers. East and West. North and South. I guess I am going to have to break down and learn which direction is which. I am fine if I am standing outside and can use the mountains and the sun as a reference... but I was in Target for like a half hour trying to find hand soap so I asked a worker and he told me to head south and go to E3 and the hand soap would be on the east end of the aisle. I wanted to cry. It was like listening to a foreign language.
I'm just not used to having a parking lot outside my door. We're lucky- no one parks right outside of our house. It's just a weird feeling.

I am completely unpacked. Which feels great. I am reading a really good book (Fall of Giants) which is off topic but I wanted to plug that in. The book I am getting published in comes out next month. Yippee yippee. And here are some pics to send you off with.

Kole's new face. It could mean he's thinking, he's angry, or he's eating something cold.

Doesn't care what temperature the house is on... just keep the Popsicles coming.

Bring On The Champagne

2011-08-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

I would like to ask you to, please, hold your applause until the end.

First off, I had my yard sale this weekend. Ken referred to it as the Red Neck Extravaganza. It was a little white trash for his liking I suppose. That is until it was all over and we were sitting around counting our piles of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck. (You know... the rich uncle from Ducktales?) My mom and Ken's parents donated tons of items to increase the size of the sale and therefore the bounty. And, my dearies, it was bountious. So a very special public thank you to our parents. And a regular special thank you to our friends, our neighbors (who pre-shopped the sale for days ahead of time), the crazy early bird dickering yard salers of Idaho Falls, and the Mexicans who make this country run.... we made enough to buy over 1,000 junior bacon cheeseburgers.
Ka. Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching!

Second. We are moving on Saturday, the 20th. I can't add anymore to that glorious sentence. We've been a part for over a year and it's time. Amen.

Third. Remember when I said I submitted some work to be published? Well...... IT HAPPENED!! Both pieces I have submitted are going to be published in a book coming out in a couple months. And... Yes, I will sign your copy. I'm going to go out and buy a special pen just for that purpose and practice my fancy loopy celebrity signature. And daydream about when me and Jo...that would be JK as in JK Rowling to you.. can sit in peace and chat about our successes and poke fun of Stephanie Meyers. *sigh* This is the big leagues.

Fourth and finally, tomorrow I turn 27. I enter my late twenties. I am very excited to be 27. It sounds mature and experienced and suave.

Why Haven't You?

2011-08-03T09:22:00.000-07:00

Enter Andi Girl's Give Away, will you?
It's a GIVE away.... meaning free.... as in no cost. So to break it down: If you had $10 in your wallet you could essentially go enter this giveaway, still have $10 in your wallet, AND be that much closer to winning!
She's amazingly gifted.
And it's fun for her.
And it'll help build her talents.
And she'll knock your socks off.

Come on. I know you want to.
Don't let me down homies.
Click here.
http://doublclik.blogspot.com/2011/07/doctor-is-in.html
Enter there.
Be happy.

Isn't she pretty?

Alive and Well

2011-08-02T20:51:00.000-07:00

Sorry.
Have I told you we're moving?
Or having a huge yard sale?
Or celebrating my entrance into the late twenties of my life?
Or raising a baby?
Or moving?

Yeah. All those a happening. And my leetle blog has plummeted to the bottom of my priority list. My blog stats have followed suit. *frowny face* But I think of you guys everyday. I wonder how Wallene is enjoying summer break and if Ru and Spence are getting enough quality time together. Or if he is potty trained yet. I think about all the Poulsen's and figure they are having one family reunion or party after the other. And Chris and Court in Georgia... are you guys ok? I think of my sisters everyday and KNOW they are thriving. It's in their blood. I think about Rory the Scot and wonder if his hand is better and what the heck happened to it anyway? I think of my old youth leaders and their families and all the summer fun they are planning. I think of my neighbors whose blogs I read and how much I'm going to miss them in person. Even if I don't see them that much now.
I think of you blog world people. A lot.
You are all in my thoughts (and sometimes my prayers).
Keep me in yours these next few weeks.

We'll be back to normal in no time.

The First 1st Birthday Party

2011-07-28T13:20:00.000-07:00

Koley had his first (of three) birthday parties on Sunday. It was a dog theme. That theme was picked strictly on the fact that Koley can say "dog." He loves to hear dogs, point at dogs, pet dogs, see dogs... anything dog related is right up Kole's alley. I ordered a cake from Sam's and got them to put a dog on it. (They said the picture was edible... but I tasted it and it tasted like wet paper towels. I mean I guess you can eat wet paper towels if you want to but they aren't any good.) The cake was good though. Yellow cake with strawberry filling and butter cream icing. FanTAStic. Dare I say, my favorite. (About half was left after the par-tay and me and Ken ate it within 36 hours... yeah... good.)

Koley got his own cake. Being one and all. Ken didn't totally think he'd go for it because Kole doesn't like sticky things... but we all do crazy things for sweets. The boy had cake everywhere. In his hair, eyebrows, ears, belly button, arm pits, and in between his toes. I was so proud of him. He likes sweets just like hims mama.

When I was growing up, the rule for birthday parties was- you can invite Grandma and one friend. But I'm running my own house now and I'm a big softie and let Kole invite 2 friends. He invited Colton and Taylee and they were party animals! Literally.

Kole hasn't grasped the concept of presents. Luckily, Colton was there to help because Kole was happy as can be just... sitting on his gifts. People look at me funny when I sit on gifts but Kole got a lot of laughs.


This was his first present. I sat it next to him and he just looked alllll around. Like there was nothing there. I asked my mom, "How do I make him open it?"

It was a gorgeous day to celebrate my gorgeous son. I amso proud of him and Ken and myself.
Yup!
I'm still riding that confidence wave.

Simply Irresistible

2011-07-19T09:44:00.000-07:00

Anytime we had balloons (so basically just on some one's birthday) my sisters and I would stuff them in our shirts and back of our pants. Then we would have big ole' boobies and butts! We completed the ensemble with shawls, old lady slippers, knitted hats, and I apparently thought a kazoo would be appropriate. I think we honing in on the old ladies at church.

And when that got old.....

I'm the little one in blue. And, yes, that's a bungee cord holding that robe on.

Do you see why I want girls? I don't think I could get Koley to do this. I don't think Kenmo would approve.

Uno

2011-07-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

All day today I have been looking at the clock going:
"It's ten to 10. We were getting ready to head over to the hospital."
"It's 10:05. We were driving to the hospital. I was telling Ken,'Don't speed, don't speed, don't speed. I don't want to get pulled over."
"It's 1:00. They wheeled in that tray of baby delivering stuff. They broke my water."
"It's 5:46. I was pushing."

My mom told me I would do this today. I think it's just natural. She also said that on the baby's first birthday it's really the mom that deserves the cake and the presents. I would have to agree. But I'm a big cake lover. And who doesn't love presents.

I have felt a current of emotions today.
Starting with proud.
I am proud my little man can do all that he can. He really impresses me. He is sharp as a tack. Loves to point at dogs, planes, me, Dad, food (especially oaties), and books. I am proud that he is a lovey baby who wants to snuggle all the time. I am proud that he is determined to reach his goals. I know they are only little baby goals... like get the blue ball and push it into the kitchen but he tries really hard to reach them and never gives up. That makes me proud of him. I'm proud that he is a good sleeper and a good eater. I am proud that he is not a complainer and I like to think I taught him that. Though, truth be told I'm pretty sure he inherited that from his Dad. I am also proud of myself. For doing this. For becoming a mom. I consider myself one now. I'm proud of how I raise Kole.

I've been a little teary today.
I feel like I am losing my little baby. He has no idea that he is one now and a "toddler" but he is. I miss holding him all day and taking naps together in the big bed. I miss all his little teeny tiny soft cries and his little fold up bath tub. I miss his tiny clothes (even though they were never that small). I miss setting him on the bed and knowing he will be there no matter what. I miss having Koley as my baby. I remember Day 1. It seems like Day 1 was yesterday I remember it so well.

Finally, I have felt extremely confident today.
I did it. I made it through a whole year. All the crying (on both of our parts), and worry, and learning, and growing, and adapting, and change... I did it. I feel like "Bring It On July 19th! I already did your day once and I can do it again." I am confident that I am doing the right thing in the right way and no one knows better than I do when it comes to Koley Moley Stromboli. He is my son.

And he is one today.
It has been a very good year.

Failing a Swim Test

2011-07-14T10:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took Koley to a local pool. You have to pay to get in and they only let you swim for an hour and a half before the blow the whistle, make everyone get out of the pool, and recharge you if you want to get back in. Sorta lame- but with a little one- and it being a real scorcher yesterday- I knew an hour and a half would be just the ticket. I brought my little neighbor girl, Jasmine, with me.
The pool is roped off in 3 sections and forms an "L". The shorter bottom part of the "L" is the kiddie section. It goes from 2-3 feet. Then when you start up the long leg of the "L" about three quarters of it is for adolescents I guess (?) it's 4-5 feet. And then there is one more rope and past that rope it goes up to 10 feet and there is a diving board. I know, heaven on earth, right? That's where I like to hang out. Or did before the Kole-one. The deep end. Where the wild things are.
In order to go into the deep end or jump off the diving board you have to pass a swimming test. I'm not kidding. No matter how old you are you have to wait in line by the lifeguard and then swim the width of the pool. Which might be 20 feet? Piece of cake. Piece of crumb cake. (name that movie Julie and Andi)
So...yesterday I am there and I give Koley to Jasmine because I want to do a cannonball. And, lucky me, there is no line for the swimming test. Now, one more thing... I had a pool growing up. I know how to swim. I know the strokes. I swam everyday I was in Germany for exercise. I swim laps. I'm an astute swimmer and find this test to be silly and ridiculous if you are over let's say 12 years old. I ask if I can take the test and the girl (maybe 16...dressed like she's 19..all tan with her tank hanging off one shoulder... and HUGE glasses.. chewing on a straw) anyway, she nods. I swim effortlessly from one side of the pool to the other. Perfect strokes, even breathing, loving that water gliding over me. I even showed off a little and did one of those flip kicks like the Olympians do on the other side to head back. I mean A+ job right?
I stop and look up at the lifeguard smiling.
"You have to do it again. You didn't keep your head in the water," she informed me.
What?! Didn't keep my he- "Excuse me?"
"You have to re-take it. You need to keep your head down in the water."
"Why would you want me to keep my head in the water? I can't breathe like that. I was taught to turn with the strokes (pantomimes stroke and head turn) it makes sense. The point of swimming is being able to keep your head above the water not in it." That was my defense atleast.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not letting you in the deep end until you pass."
"I just passed."
"No. You didn't. Like I said you didn't keep your head in the water. You failed."

I look around. A line of kids is forming. And they are watching me. Fine.
I head back across the pool with my head flat down in the water but it feels so unnatural. And I can't breathe or see and I don't know where I am. I feel like I am flopping like a hooked fish. I tread water for a second while I glance up to see how far I have to go. "HEAD DOWN!" Eeeeks! Swim swim swim. I reached the other side and paused for a second. Touched the bottom and started back. I ran right into the wall because again- I had no idea where I was in the pool.
I was angry and embarrassed. There were about 10 kids in line all looking at me. Waiting for me to get out of their way so they can start having fun. I doubt any of them know how to swim the right way. They might be able to stay afloat but hey are not English Channel material
The lifeguard says, "You touched the ground."
"Yes. I did for like a second."
"And you stopped in the middle."
"I didn't know where I was."
"You have to re-take it."
"WHAT?!"
"You have to re-take it."
"I'm not re-taking this stupid test. I know how to swim. I think I have proved that. When I go off the diving board I know I'll be able to swim to the side. Trust me! I can swim and I'm not swimming across this pool for a THIRD time!"
"Then, I'm going to kick you out and not let you swim at all. Rules are rules, ma'am."

I was fuming. 1. I hate it when people (especially people younger than me) call me ma'am. I'm not even in my late twenties yet! That hardly qualifies me as a "ma'am." 2. Rules are rules but this one is so stupid. I get that they don't want little kids not knowing how to get from the middle of the pool to the side of the pool in the deep end. Safety first and bravo. But I'm a qualified swimmer. And, yes, I touched at the edge, and I stopped to see where I was- but I made it there and back without drowning. That should be a gold star and a "Pass." 3. Quit humiliating me.

I didn't say any of that to her. I just glared. All the kids in line started splashing impatiently.
I simply started back across the pool. Head down. Feet up. Pissed off.

I only went off the dumb diving board once.
And that lifeguard girl stared at me the whole time.
Ugh.

I Got Schooled

2011-07-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

One closet can take several days to clean out.... especially if there happens to be yearbooks or boxes of pictures stored in there. I found a big box of pictures and have been parked in one spot going through them and smiling and laughing. Enjoy some Patty Classics from School Picture Day!

Kindergarten. This may be my all-time favorite. That big black bow had diamonds on it and was made of silk!

5th grade. Ruler of the School!

6th grade. I remember I specifically wanted to wear an outfit that matched the bands on my braces. Which were pink at the time. That explains the pink country-style body suit I was wearing. I'm afraid there is no explanation for the vest. Other than I loved that vest. May I also comment on the very statuesque collar bone I have here. Gorgeous. Very Somewhere In Time.

8th grade. Can you tell I got contacts and was allowed to wear makeup? I felt so pretty and confident this day. (Just go with me here.) I stole the shirt out of my sister Krissy's closet and felt like a grown up.

Line up boys!

(Later I got in boo-ko trouble... because Krissy also wore this shirt for her school picture and when my pictures came back.... well.... it was obvious I stole it for a day. Pretty damning evidence. Didn't think that through at the time.)

Wud Up Gangsta!

2011-07-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I don't hide in corners. It's not my style. I try to live openly. And honestly. But there are some things I just keep secret. One such thing- that I have been dwelling on lately.... I just have to let it out.
My affinity for rap music.
I know it doesn't go with my nurturing roots, mothering style, or top-notch spic n span home. You probably thought I blasted Michael Bolton all day.
Nay nay.
I am in love with 50 Cent.
I thought I was over it but this weekend I had to run to the grocery store and got to go by myself. No baby. (Those babies want to go everywhere with you.) And I could not resist the temptation.
In went Fiddy.
Up went the bass.
I loved it like a fat kid loves cake.

It was enchanting.

Plus... he's got such a handsome face.

He's an incredible lyricist. I'm an incredible sing/rap-a-long-ist.
We make a pretty good team.

And I bought the CD at Walmart... oh so many years ago so there was really very little swearing.

Wish I Was Raving- but I'm Ranting.

2011-07-08T15:20:00.000-07:00

I had a house showing today. My house has been on the market for almost a year. It has showed at least 50 times. That is not a joke. I have scrubbed this place top to bottom fifty freakin' times. With a baby, that's not easy. Yesterday my perky realtor called and asked if she could show it today.
"Sure!"
I always get my hopes up. So from yesterday at about 3 to this morning at about 9 it was scrub, scrub, scrub. (I also tended to Koley and slept for 7 hours.) The place "pinged" when you looked at it. We left for an hour so the people could look at it.
Janny called at about 3 today. "They loved you house! They really, really love it. Especially the wife."

I am waiting to hear And they have put together an offer! Would you like to come in so we can discuss it?

Janny continues, "They just want to mull it over. You know him haw around a bit. Sit on it for a couple days. Think it all over."

Do they teach them these euphemisms in Realtor School? I took it as a no-go. I asked her when she would get in touch with them again. I wondered if their him hawing would be a day or two or a month or two. She said she would give them until next Monday or Tuesday and then call. And then she says this:
"You know, Patty? Just one little tip that I think would really help your house to sell..."

I'm all ears Janny.

"The baseboards at the bottom of your basement stairs look like they could use a good scrubbing. Or a new paint job. I think that would really help things out."

I swallowed. And held my tongue. And quickly said my goodbyes. I didn't know if I wanted to cry because the entire house is sparkling except for some downstairs baseboards or laugh because Janet thinks if only those baseboards were clean this house would just FLY off the market!
I chose to laugh. Damn you baseboards. If only you had been clean this whole time! A buyer would have offered full price for my house! But you! You have ruined everything, dirty baseboards.

Phenomenon

2011-07-08T10:58:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for John Travolta (along Liam Neeson, Jeremy Piven, and Robert Pattinson), but who isn't, right? I got Phenomenon on my Netflix last weekend. It was unbelievably cheesy- but the plot outline went something like: Well-to-do mechanic (Travolta) loves jaded woman (that lady from the Closer) thinks he is abducted by aliens and becomes the ultimate knowledge machine. He can suddenly read 30 books a day, move things with his mind, learn a language in under 20 minutes, predict earthquakes.... I mean the list goes on and on... break mirrors when he is mad! The movie goes through how this small hick town processes the new "phenomenon" which was their old friend George O'Malley (John Travolta).

Well, wouldn't you know it, we come to find out that he can do all this now because he has a brain tumor! And it is enhancing his capabilities to think and learn and act as a human being. In the movie he said something like "This is what all human have the ability to become." Anyway the brain tumor is killing him but making him ultra smart and able to do all this outrageous stuff in the mean time.
And you know what I thought?

Why can't my brain tumor do that?
I'd like to find lost kids and shatter glass and throw thunder. I want to sit at Berkley and create incredible fertilizers and solar panels.
All my stinky brain tumor does is give me headaches, cause irritability, and make me lactate.
Not cool.

Ken reminded me of the perk: Mine isn't killing me.
Yeah- but can't I have the best of both?
If you have to have a brain tumor, admit it, you'd want it to be cool.

Staying On Top Of Things

2011-07-07T13:37:00.000-07:00

I'm running behind on my list. My birthday is only35 days away. Then, I'll be 27. In my late twenties... blecgh. When I first started this list I felt like an over achiever and I didn't want anyone to think I was trying too hard. Or being the Teacher's Pet. No one likes a suck up. Do we? So I slowed down and slowed down and have pretty much halted. Now I am behind. Isn't that how it goes with everything in life? We get excited and motivated for like... a day. Maybe a week and then.... fizzle. So to catch up:

~~Dye my own hair~~

Done and done. It turned out...okay. I did it reddish black and it turned out really super red where my old dye job was growing out and super super black below that. Sorta like a skunk dressing up for Valentine's day. I've been living with it. But now my grays are growing in (thick). So it's gray, red, black, and trashy.

Knit a scarf
Decorate a cake
Go swing dancing with Ken
Golf 18 holes
~~Retry the foods I don’t like (tomatoes are done...yuck. Mushrooms are done..pretty good!)~~

I am crossing this off because I really don't like trying foods I don't like. Tomatoes made me cringe and mushrooms were tolerable but not wroth changing my whole way or life. I drank this Mexican Iced Tea Ken is always raving about and have just decided I know I don't like those foods. End of story. I'll promise to be open to things I haven't tried but let's not tie a brand new bow around the same old thing.

Hike the Menan Butte
Introduce myself to one new person a week
Watch “~~Casablanca,~~" “Citizen Kane,” and ~~"An Affair to Remember"~~

I loved an Affair to Remember. Watch it if you haven't. It's incredibly romantic and so clean. Casablanca was a place in Africa! I had no idea. I have a dead-celebrity crush on Humphrey Bogart now. That voice. Mmmmm. I can see why it's a classic. But it left me wanting more lovey dovey-ness. Citizen Kane is on the Netflix Que.

~~Get 27 blog followers~~

I am thanking you. Onward and Upward Blogettes.

Start a Gratitude Journal
~~Complete a DIY project~~
Go to the Hogle Zoo
Do one act of service per week

I'm obviously not complete with this until my birthday week- but can report I have fully enjoyed it. And it's gone way beyond one per week. I've driven my drunk neighbor to doctor appointment, babysat, weeded flower beds, tied quilts, threw surprise baby showers, helped a kid with his bike. You know, it's hard to stop. It's like eating chips. You start and before you know it....

Cook all weekend meals for Ken (this oughtta be funny)
Finish “Gone Away Lake” (This is the only book I have started and not finished. I started it in 3rd grade. It's still haunting me! Gotta track it down)
Plant a tree
Write a letter to the president (heck. I'll even mail it.)
~~Play piano solo~~
Read 5 3 books (2 down! Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim and Water for Elephants)
Begin aggressive treatment for the Graves and The Tumor
Run the Firecracker 5k (...eeeks. I already wish I didn't put this one down.)

Um... I didn't do this one. And I don't feel bad. It wasn't worth the work and the stress. I am replacing this goal though. LEARN THE DANCE TO THRILLER!

Switch to homemade bread
Start my own savings account
~~Gift a magazine subscription~~ (I love getting a magazine every month. I want someone else to feel that happy..... but whom?
Get my idea patented (And no I am not telling you what my great idea is. You'll just steal it.)

So... I've got a ways to go. But the fire is lit and I'm not going to get burned this time. The less time the more hectic and crazy it'll be. Bottoms up!

352 Days

2011-07-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

Kole is going to turn one on the 18th.
I know I should be over "it" but I'm just not. I can't even name what "it" is. But, I still cry about it and dwell on it and try to name it.
The delivery?
11 pounds?
The pain?
The healing?
The hurt?
The emptiness?
The loss?
The longing?
The difference?
The change?
The let-down?
The blues?
The ________?
I am still me but not. I think there was a Patty before Kole and she died July 18, 2010. And then there has been this Patty. Who looks like me. But doesn't think or act like me. She smiles less. Is tired more. Always agitated and on edge. Hardly ever laughs. She's not spontaneous and won't take risks but complains about never doing anything anymore. She's not anywhere near as funny as the old Patty. And she's quiet. A lot.
I was reading the journal I have kept for Kole last night and before he came the entries are witty and upbeat and you can feel the radiance and excitement. And after- it's more of a record. Facts sprinkled with a few niceties.
I struggle with this because I love my son, I do. And I teach him and play with him and make him laugh. He has a beautiful life. But, something feels gone in mine.
I've been hopeful that I'll wake up one day and feel my heart beating like hers. I keep waiting to go back to her.
But I don't think I'll ever be able to.

This Is Our Day of Independence.

2011-07-05T13:15:00.000-07:00

Reasons I Dis-Love the 4th of July
1. Trent, our neighbor kid, started his fireworks at 5:00PM and ended them at 1:00AM. I can't really put on my angry shorts and march out there on a holiday. But it got old and I swear it was getting louder.
2. I don't know the difference between fireworks and firecrackers and am always worried I will refer to either as the other.
3. I don't have any cool patriotic clothes to wear. I ended up wearing purple. For "Purple Mountain's Majesty." Pretty clever if you ask me...but I had to explain it a lot to fellow patriots.
4. Kole goes to bed before the big fireworks show. Deep down I wanted to go but knew it was more important to get Kole down for the night. I felt like I was giving up all this fun stuff and have been for the past year! I turned into Crabby Patty pretty quick.
5. People park us in to our house while the parade is going on.

This picture makes me laugh. The lady on the right... uh.... who is she?
Why is she posing for my picture?

Reasons I love-LOVE the 4th of July.
1. Cook-outs! Can I get an amen! And another round of corn on cob please.
2. Ken was home for 3 days and made each one special. Saturday: Breakfast at Perkins and Rigby Lake, Sunday: Drive out to the country and special nap for mom. Monday: Breakfast on the Boulevard, Parade, Shopping, Pool Party, 7-Layer Bean Dip, Sno Cones. Awesome.
3. I get to dress Koley in red, white, and blue.. and he's young enough that he won't complain about it.
4. Ken agreed to do Sparklers with me in the backyard. What a sweetie. He also watched A Room With A View with me. He said numerous times that he thought it was dumb but watched it anyway.
5. All those patriotic songs to bellow around the house. "I'm proud to be an AmeriCAN!!" or how about... "o'er the la-hand of the fa-rrrEEEEEEEE!"

Patty Published?

2011-06-30T16:57:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I was approached by a publisher to write (or submit) something for a new book coming out. I was flattered. Me? Moi? Really? Oh stop. I'm blushing!
It's a local publisher and I'm sure there will be book signings at like Hastings but... AGHHHHH! YIPPEEEEE!
I just submitted two pieces I have been working for awhile on.
I won't hear anything until July 15th....and I probably wont' even make it through round one of rejections but....

I'M SO EXCITED AND CAN'T SIT DOWN AND I'M PACING ALL OVER THE HOUSE AND CHECKING MY E-MAIL EVERY 2 MINUTES.  THE SUSPENSE IS FANTASTIC!

I'm pretty sure my heart is going to implode before July 15th.

The Whittler

2011-06-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

Do you know after you have dessert and it was oh so good and you don't want another FULL piece because then you are a porky hog.... but you would like a little more? So you take the knife just sliver a piece off. It's really just icing anyway. And since that was so good and everyone is still talking you figure it's safe to take one more skinnyskinny piece. And you sit there for a minute thinking you are satisfied.... but you go back in for a skinnyskinnyskinny piece. The cycle continues until the pan is empty and the knife and spatula have been licked clean. If you engage in this activity you are a "Whittler." You just whittle away at it bit by bit and no one notices (maybe you sneak into the fridge in the middle of the night) and then BOOM! it's all gone.
Some people look down upon or even tease Whittlers.
But I think it's an excellent habit to bring into every area of life.
Today I did some much needed whittling. It wasn't a Edwards Key Lime Pie. I would have devoured that in one gulp today. I whittled the pictures on my camera. I was taking blurry pictures of Koley- that's all I can take these days- and started playing with the features. In the top corner it said 388/797. 797? What's that number mean? Is that how many pictures I have on here? No I don't. GASP. Ohhhh. Yes I do.

So I went through and deleted all the blurry ones, the almost duplicates, and the ones where I can't see Kole's face. I learned this trick from my sister Andi. She's a professional and I guess I'm a sentimentalist. But the truth is what am I going to do with nearly 800 bad pictures. I thumb through all of them and give them all value and say they were priceless. They aren't. They are poorly taken. They aren't in focus. They aren't even of the front of Koley. (I think this problem started many years ago when I couldn't throw my stuffed bears on the floor because they had "feelings.") Pictures don't have feelings. I kept repeating that to myself as I whittled and whittled and then got the axe out. I'm down to 186. Yeah 75% of the pictures I deleted. For. Ev. Ver. But what's left are gorgeous, quality pictures that I want to save. I think 181 are of Kole, 3 are of Ken, and 2 are of animals at the zoo.

Other things I've whittled lately:
1. The frozen cookie dough in the freezer (sorry Kenmo)
2. 10 pounds of body fat. (Go Patty!)

My Boy is Now a Man

2011-06-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

Likes being in nature. All natural.
What a physique!

New Favorite Toy: A Wrench.

Loves sitting by the sprinkler. If it's running or not bears no weight.

Is planning an escape to freedom.

Have a Laugh at My Expense

2011-06-23T21:59:00.000-07:00

I seriously hit the jackpot with Ken. I mean seriously.
When we were younger and ready to date my mom told my sisters and I that we had to date 100 boys before we got married. We didn't have to seriously date 100. More like just go on at least one date. To see what we liked and didn't like. Wanted and did not want. Ken was somewhere in the 80s. Anyway- I was going through the old journals again. I was dying laughing. They KILL me! I (naturally) recorded my feelings and thoughts about some of these boys I went out with. Man. I was so lost. We're talking off the grid lost. It's fun. nee.

June 8, 2000

"I guess ________ doesn't like me. And when I think about it I haven't liked him for about 6 months or so. Since about Halloween time I guess. I was over his house one day and _____ was there and I could tell he liked her even though he always told me he didn't. But he does and I think she likes him too. So it's a good thing I don't like him at all."

Notes: I'm sorry! It's okay- you don't have to hold in your laughter. I mean you can read through that lie in a second. Kudos to younger Patty for trying to sound tough.

April 16, 2003
He's great- everything about him is great. Except he criticizes me. A lot. But I don't mind because I know he loves me.

Notes: Everything is great EXCEPT. If everything was great there would be no except. And criticizing is a huge "except." And I even said "a lot." I mean you can picture my shoulders dropping and me trying to avoid eye contact. Ridiculous!

April 23, 2003
We were walking into Broulim's and I was walking close to him and he says "What are you walking so close for?" I told him I wanted to be close to him. He give me this look and says "Not in public." He's just too fun. He knows exactly what I want and he refuses to give it to me. Oh I love him.

Notes: If you use the dates as a reference- this is the same guy. Laugh. Let it out. I sure am. I "loved" him for pushing me away in public. Winner.

June 6, 2004
I called _______. He was at a BBQ (in really cute shorts I bet.) I was asked to call him back before bed. He didn't answer. We were probably dialing each others numbers at the exact same time.

Notes: Yeah, Patty. I bet that's exactly why you didn't get through.

October 28, 2004
I have been thinking about _______ and knew that is worth documenting. I told ____ about it and he said ______ means "the pretty"- and it applies! I called him today because I wanted to see him so badly. It was CRAZY! I just think of us as an "us" all the time! I'm going to make something happen. I love feeling this way!

Notes: Calm down, Patty. Put the phone down. Be patient. There is a reason he wasn't calling you. Probably because you are a little crazy and stalker-y

When I read these- I laugh. I also feel bad. I want to help little floundering Patty. Tell her to respect and trust herself more. Tell her she doesn't need a man in her life when she is 16, 17, 18, or 19. I always think "Why did I do that?" or "I can't believe I acted that way." or even better yet "I can't believe I put up with that."
I feel like I am too strong of a woman now for all that absurdity. But I realize the key word is "now." I am too strong a woman now. I know how to stand up for myself and when to fight and when to let it go and how to trust and how to love openly. But maybe I wouldn't have known all that without being such a silly girl once. I'm proud of the improvements I have made in my life. The growth I've been through. It's rewarding. It's given me a beautiful family.

July 16, 2010
The baby's due date it tomorrow. Crazy. Crazy how happy I am. I have officially retired. I'm a "kept" women as Ken calls it. My last day was June 28th. Still no baby- but so much happiness and relief- and very little stress. I love being in charge of a home and feeling in charge of my life. This, right now, is the ultimate peak of happiness. All my struggles, fears, heartaches were worth it. Every prayer has been answered.

Christmas Comes But Once A Year

2011-06-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

That saying can be applied to any of the holidays. I don't know why we use it exclusively for Christmas.
This Father's Day, for instance, felt like Christmas.
Because.
Um.
We bought a bike trailer for Father's Day!
Hip Hip!
HOORAY!
Merry Father's Day?

Kenmo put it together Saturday night and Sunday we had our Maiden Voyage. (Yes. That's capitalized. It's going to become a holiday. The paper work has been filed. You won't have to work on Maiden Voyage Day.)
It's orange and it's gray and it's magnificent. It has a flag! That's my favorite part. I am going to decorate the flag really cool. Some... how. Ken suggested our family crest. Which I would have to invent/design.
Koley loves it in there. He likes the windows and the fresh air and seeing dogs on his level. Kole loves dogs. He says "dawd" and points (anywhere) when he hears one bark. And if we are lucky enough to see one Kole will start clapping and bouncing and really show you some moves.

Ken making sure my bike "worked." You can't see the Koley but can you see the breathtaking flag? It's astounding!

So, on Maiden Voyage Ken rode his old mission bike (that's practically new) and I carted Ol' King Kole around. It was hard work. My butt hurts. And my quads and shins. Even my ankles are sore. I would fall so far behind and Ken kept hollering back, "Shift DOOOWWWN!"
But I ain't no holla' back girl.
And shifting down didn't help anyway. It just made me look stupid. I'd be pedaling a zapillion times a minute and move 2 feet. Idiotic. I don't mind moving slow as long as my pedaling matches. Does that make sense? It's so liberating to have one. I feel like one of the cool moms now. I keep saying that "Kole loves it." But who am I kidding? I'm the one who is completely gaga over it. I mean.... I took three bike rides today. And I'm going to try to take at least that many tomorrow.

Can you see a little head in there? Or are you too busy staring at my gut? It's REALLY sticking out for some reason. "Not sucking in" is most likely the reason.

I'm trying not to be all boring and parent-y and only talk about my kid. But, let's face facts. I'm all of those things. And this is a big deal for me.

Come What May

2011-06-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

The reason I married Ken is I didn't know life could be that good.
He made life easy.
He would pick me up from my night classes and ask if I needed anything. Anything.
He would get it.
He cared about me so deeply. Intimately.
Every up I had he experienced the euphoria.
Every down - he was there.
He made decisions easy.
It was my thoughts with his words.
He supported every whim, idea, indulgence, desire, and plan I ever had.
Getting married wasn't hard.
Being married isn't hard.

It made life clearer.
The reason I married Ken hasn't changed.
It has resonated further within me.
He hears me out.
He doesn't judge.
He never doubts.
That's why I married Ken.
He is that man.
The man who carried me into a world I didn't even know about.

Bumpers

2011-06-16T16:46:00.000-07:00

Lately, it has been bugging me that I don't have any bumper stickers on my car. I'm sure there are people who think they are ugly and tactless and gaudy and impossible to get off- but I just love them! It's like introducing yourself to people in traffic. Anytime people invest money to put extra things onto their vehicles it defines that person... through their car.
For instance, someone has a bike rack and a luggage rack and some Teton bumper stickers (or Colorado plates) you can guess that person enjoys the outdoors and probably eats granola and shops at Whole Foods. They probably name their children Apple and Virtue. They are just salt of the Earth people.
Then you can take seeing a teal Chevy Cavalier with extremely tinted windows and blinging rims and a killer bass system and a big pastel pink Playboy Bunny vinyl on the back window. You would draw conclusions from that too.
And Vanity plates! I love vanity plates. I like trying to figure out what the really crypted ones say. Sometimes I can't figure it out before the light turns green so I hurry and write it down to work on later. I keep a sharpie in the cup holder.
All my car says about me is... she has her license. Lame dash O. I keep thinking what would I put on my bumper? Something Harry Potter I think. Maybe. That's a little childish I guess. I'm not into the family stick people. My family isn't that big. I'm from Pittsburgh-but I'm not huge on the Steelers. It's really a difficult decision. Maybe that's why I haven't made the leap yet. But I am on the look out.
Suggestions?

Good Morning, Doctor.

2011-06-15T12:05:00.000-07:00

Kole slept until 9:30 this morning. He went to bed at 8:15 last night which is a little early for him. I was ecstatic. I was awake but decided to stay in bed and read until the Koley started grumbling around. At 9:30 there was no grumbling and I figured instead of throwing our whole day way WAY off schedule I'd wake him up. I went in there and immediately knew something was wrong.
He didn't sit up when I came in. He didn't look at me when I called his name. He was just laying there. Staring. He was breathing real slow and his eyes were all glazed over. I rubbed his back. "Koooolllleeey. Are you ready to get up sugar pop?" He let out a little moan. I touched his forehead and he was burning up! I mean burning. When I picked him up his body was limp and he shivered and shook for a bit. I nursed him and he just kept his eyes close. He's never been like this. He fell asleep a couple times while nursing and when breakfast was over... he just laid there. I set him on the floor and he fell over. He tried to get up but just cried and cried and cried. It was too hard for him.
I went over what we did yesterday. A lot. Lunch with the cousins, zoo with the cousins, playtime with the cousins, (today's post was supposed to be a lot more fun.) We went father's day shopping. We did a ward service project. A lot happened. Was he dehydrated? Did he have heat stroke? Do babies get that? I called Ken who said to call the pediatrician. I suggested waiting an hour or so to see if he perked up....but after I took his temperature (101.5) I called. We went in and Kole was all sad and snugly. When the doctor came in Kole was a little scared. I think it was the mustache. And the crazy hair and crazy shirt and crazy props. Kole is a mellow kid. "Over-the-top" doesn't really work on him. It worked on me though! I was completely charmed by this on call doctor. I felt like he really understood his audience. (Which is kids...not mothers.) Anyway- after the doctor checked all his vitals and assured me all THAT was fine... Kole started to pep up a little. Which is great but also so embarrassing. I felt like saying, "I swear he wasn't feeling good 10 minutes ago." The doctor quizzed me on what we did over the weekend. Saying if he was sick it would have been something that happened then. Nothing was out of the ordinary from my answers.
Then the doctor pulled Kole's lips a part like he was a little colt.
"Aha!," he exclaimed. "Your son has 5 teeth coming in right now."
I was shocked. Embarrassed. Relieved. Comforted. I felt a little sheepish. And I let out a huge breath I'd been holding in all morning. I get really nervous when I am going to a doctor for something that should be routine. I've been this way ever since I was diagnosed with the tumor. I went in for nothing big and found out I had a brain tumor.... the nervousness sorta sticks with you.
The doctor told me it was rare to get so many teeth at once but it does happen. Kole just needs a little extra help over the next week or so in the form of Infant Ibuprofen, Popsicles, distractions, and cuddling. I was really surprised when he just flapped Kole's mouth open like that. I'm always tender and think "Oh he doesn't want me to touch his gums." I gotta toughen up. A top one is barely peeking through the gums and there are three more throbbing, puffy, pillows next to it. And then one more coming in on the bottom. It looks so painful.
I took Kole to Walgreen's and we got the goods. I picked some Popsicles that I would eat too. I'll eat the rootbeer ones. Koley can have the cherry ones. Dad can have the rest.
He seems mostly sleepy now. I gave him the ibuprofen which he downed like a champ. I hope that breaks his fever. I'm supposed to check his temperature every hour as long as he's awake.
It's scary when your kid is sick.
Even now when I know it's just his toothers. I still don't like seeing him so not himself.

Chop Goes the Axe

2011-06-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

This is me... uh... 3 hours ago. It's also been me the last, I don't know, 10 years. You see all through high school I had super super super short hair. You know, the "pixie cut," it was shorter than most boys' hair. Short. And most of the time bleached almost white. When I was a senior I decided I better grow it out so it would be long when I got married. What a good planner I have always been. I don't know if it was the hair in this picture or the angle of the camera or the outfit or the "baby weight." But... I look rather stocky in this picture. It's okay. You can agree. We're friends.

Then today... I visited Julie... and goodbye last ten years of the same boring hair cut! Hello sexy mama! I do think this picture (or the new haircut) makes me look more figure-ly. I have always felt wide in the front and slim on the sides. Child bearing hips I guess.

Da da da DA daaaaa... I'm lovin' it!

%$&#@!!!

2011-06-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

Kole has started to pitch fits. It came straight out of left field. (Where does that saying originate?) One day, he is sweet little Koley. Angelic, charismatic, easy going. Next day, I'm asking myself who the heck are you?! Now, for those of you who know Kolester- he doesn't cry. Like ever. Occasionally when he gets really tired he'll cry for a nap. But most of the time he just watches the breeze blow by. He'll point and wave and observe. Best baby. Unless....
Unless he happens to be carrying an object. Most likely an object he shouldn't be holding. Like today he was holding a lint roller. I don't know where he got it- I just looked down and he had a lint roller. So, after shining up my Mother Badge, I bent down to take it from him. But those chubby hands were not letting go.
"Come on, Koley. You can't play with this."
His eyebrows furrow and his knuckles turn white.
I try reasoning with the laddy but he's only 10 months old. Reasoning is... pointless.
So! I take it. I overpower the cub and take the lint roller. In the past, this would have been no big thing he would have scurried off to find a paperclip to stick in alight socket or so scissors to crawl with. But, today, it was different. I took the lint roller and the sky came a-tumblin' down. He screamed. His body shook. He fisted his hands and yelled. Angry tears leaked out of his eyes. He wasn't crying- he was just pissed off. I think he was yelling at me. I know my laughing didn't help. I was just so surprised. He had never made these sounds before.
Later, I had closed the baby gate and Kole didn't like that either. It wasn't anywhere near the fit we had with the lint roller, but I think he was swearing at me. In his own way.

He Thinks I'm Funny

2011-06-06T11:13:00.000-07:00

Ken has laughed really hard at some things I have done recently and I just don't get what's so funny about them.

1. I called the radio station and requested a song. When I told Ken he was up in ka-hoots! Like he had never heard of such a ridiculous thing before. I told him people did it all the time and he didn't really believe me. What is so funny about that? In case you are wondering I requested Rihanna's "Breaking Dishes" and the radio station said they didn't have it. I told them they should get it. And they told me it doesn't work that way. I was confused. What way? We went back and forth for awhile. I wasn't my nicest. And I didn't get to hear my song.
2. It's been hotter lately. Finally. Like high 70s, maybe? We were taking a walk with Kole and I said "It's a scorcher out here!" Again- Ken was in hysterics. He thought "scorcher" was so funny. What is so funny about that? It really was hot out. I thought the day should definitely be classified as "scorcher." I don't know.

It's another scorcher out today and Koley is sleeping. So I am going out on the deck to read. Bon Soir!

Kohlrabi

2011-06-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

Kohlrabi is a German Turnip.

It's also a nickname for my favorite son, Kole Robert. Get it? Eh? Eh? Clever, huh?
Lil' Kohlrabi has adopted 4 really interesting quirks as of late.

1. He likes fat strangers as opposed to skinny strangers. I know that is weight discrimination. But if you are a chubbo Koley will smile and giggle and flirt with you. If you are a Slim Jim he will turn away and give you the Kole Cold Shoulder. Brutal I know. Now, don't use this to judge your weight if you think you are borderline. Kole smiling does not mean you are fat. 9 times out of 10 he's friendlier with chubby people. Maybe he feels like they understand where he is coming from.
2. He is constantly looking for dogs. He tries to say dog. It sounds like "Dawd." But he'll be pointing to a dog when he says it. Smart as a whip. If you say dog Kole will spin his head around so fast looking for mentioned canine. And he won't give up until a dog is produced. So, if you don't see a dog- don't say you do. It's unsettling to my very determined little dog-lover.
3. He likes doors to be closed. I think this is from his dad. Both are very private people. We go into a room and Kole will crawl over and close the door and then get a book to read (or edit) and a truck to hold. He likes doors closed but cupboards, drawers, closets, and wardrobes open! He makes his rounds. Makes sure everything he wants open is open and everything he wants closed is closed. What a mind on this kid.
4. He is relatively unticklish. Except for his ribs. And you have to bite them to get a laugh. You can't tickle with your hands. If you use your hands and that high pitched "tickytickytickyticky!" he'll stare at you. Blankly. And make you feel like an nincompoop. But if you put your teeth on that exact same area laughter will ring through the hills. And he'll beg for more. For like an hour. So make sure you have blocked off some time.

Trailers for Sale or Rent

2011-06-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night I did I bike ride with the Young Women. Since I have the Chubby Cubby I thought I better skip it. I mean, I'm good, but I don't think I could carry him AND ride a bike. He's like 30 pounds. But as the hour drew nearer I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to go! So I called my friend, Karlene, and she let me borrow her trailer for the kiddy AND her bike. I have my own two-wheeled machine of madness... (a little over the top there) but hers was already hooked up and what not.
Most awkward part was probably trying to ride off their front lawn. With her and her hubby and a couple of her kids watching me. I was laughing... which made it harder to pedal.... and there was the grass... and then 50 or so pounds I was lugging. I turned around and told them they didn't have to watch but they assured me it was entertaining. Thanks, guys.
Okay. Kiddy trailer is AMAZING! Kole loved it. Hands up and squealing the whole hour and a half. I'm serious HANDS UP! It was adorable. And when we would stop- wait. Let me rephrase: When the Young Women would stop so I could catch up, catch my breath, and catch a break Kole would burst into laughter. That hearty belly laugh I love so much. He truly was King of the Road.
Let me tell you. I am waaaay past out of shape. I have no muscle at all. When I stepped off the bike my legs crumpled. Kole laughed. I held onto the bike for support. And hills! Aye! Hills were a killer. But it was kinda fun to stand up on the bike going up hill... you know... and feel twelve again.
My sisters and I used to put on performances on our bikes. We'd weave a figure eight, ride with no hands, stand on our seats, and get mad if mom looked away for one second.
I was the only one sweating on our casual bike ride and I thought I would need a respirator and the lower 55% of my body was burning. It made me want a trailer soooo bad. Because sweating makes me feel sporty and all that heavy breathing really enhanced the smell of all the blooming trees and it was a good burning and I know that if I get one then I will also have sexy legs like this:

Yeah. I think a summer of pulling a bike trailer and a can of spray on tanner ought to do it.

Is It Just Me?

2011-06-01T23:16:00.000-07:00

I watched the new (like a year ago)Princess and the Frog movie. Two things. One- this movie furthers my theory that you can like NAY fall in love with anyone if you spend enough time with them. Examples? Fine! Beauty and the Beast, Shrek, Princess and the Frog, Tangled, Aladdin, and those are just the cartoons. I think every romantic comedy is based on this recipe. Which would never work in real life. Or at least didn't work in my real life.
Two-
Was I the only one who caught this? I mean COME ON! It's uncanny!

Time

2011-05-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

Does being a mom go in cycles?
Pregnancy was Spring. I was vibrant and fresh and glowing and warm. My confidence grew with my waistline.

When the baby came I was spinning in circles so fast. Who am I? Who is he? What am I supposed to do? What just happened? How do I answer that question? I don't like that idea. I don't want to hurt any one's feelings. Does Ken still love me? Do I still love him? Does the baby know who I am? Will he ever? Why won't he smile? Why won't he look at me? He looks at everyone else. Am I scary? Am I hurting him? He doesn't look anything like me. He doesn't feel like my baby. It was a rainy season.

Then summer. Koley smiled. He giggled. He nuzzled into my shoulder. He'd reach for me. He splashed in his tub. His tub got promoted to the kitchen sink. He'd sleep all night. He'd sleep all day if I let him. He babbled. He held his head up. He would roll from one side to the other. He smiled. He ate Baby Mum Mums. His life was warm and so was mine. Every day was new and vivid.

Last night I decided to nurse The Kolebear to sleep. I haven't done that since the first weeks of his life. I just needed to feel close to him. I needed him. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't he need me? He can do so much on his own. Get his own toys. Pull down his own books. Turn the pages. Crawl. Climb. Stand. Make himself laugh. Say a few words. Ken has missed things. I have missed Ken. I've heard people say that I'm a single mom. I've never felt that way. Kole is becoming so independent.

...Autumn.

12 Year Old Patty

2011-05-30T11:09:00.000-07:00

My mom always encouraged us to write in our journals as often as we could but especially on Sundays.
I was going through old journals this weekend and cer-acking up.

November 4, 96 (I was 12. I'm typing it as it was written.)
Happy Holidays! Yes, the holiday season has begun. No real snow yet but I can tells it's on the way. Me and Mark are still together. Although two boys at school like me and want to ask me out I will just have to say
1. I am taken
2. I'm not allowed
3. Only Mormons
I have a lot of people to get Christmas stuff for I have to start saving money! I will get back to Christmas in one minute but first VOTEING DAY is tommorrow. And if Bill Clinton wins I will surely commit suicide. 1st- He might have murdered someone. TWO- He has had MANY affairs. Is tha the kind of guy we want running our country? I THINK NOT! Bob Dole rocks the world. VOTE DOLE! Now back to Christmas. I would like to list everyone I would want to get Christmas things for and write what it is I would like to purchase and an average of what to spend on he or she. This may take a few days. First NICOLE my best friend. I want to get her a card and I don't know but an average of like $5-10.00. MISSY card and a necklace. (5.00) AMBER card and earrings. That's all for today. Love, PATTY

Okay- some things I thought were funny:
1. I'm "still together" with Mark (which meant we saw each other at church and maybe sat next to each other) but couldn't be with either of the two boys who liked me at school. Who are un-named making me think.... they didn't exist.
2. I used "Only Mormons" as an excuse. Had the blinders on there. One of my favorite boyfriends was non-LDS. And German.
3. I spelled voting and tomorrow wrong. And I was TWELVE! Shame on you 12-year-old Patty. Shame on you.
4. According to me, Bill Clinton murdered someone.
5. I was suicidal. (No I wasn't. Not even close.) I think we could replace suicidal with dramatic.
6. I was 6 years away from being able to vote but campaigning (to my journal) to vote for Bob Dole.
7. I gave up on that Christmas list thing pretty quickly. It was getting a bit repetitive I guess.

That's me. In the middle. Circa 12 years old.

Face on a Milk Carton

2011-05-28T15:38:00.000-07:00

I've worn glasses since third grade. I got this really ~~old-lady~~ trendy pair. They were big and round and plastic. They had a light blue and lavender water-colory mosaic thing going on. Really brought out.... the fact that I had bad eyes. Me and my dad went to LensCrafters and they gave me my eye exam and I was so excited to see! So in the exam room the doctor gave me a pair not for looks just to make sure it was the right prescription. Then I went to pick out my frames. I kept trying them on and thought something was wrong. I kept asking for them to bring me different glasses. More and more and more. We were there for a long time and dad finally asked what was wrong with all these glasses. "I can't see out of any of them!" I had NO idea that the frames were just frames with fake glass. Yeah. Then I felt sheepish and maybe that's why I picked the granny frames I picked. I also was really excited to wear them to school and show my teacher Ms. Sable. And you know what? She wasn't there that day! A substitute was there. I was completely deflated. And when Ms. Sable did finally get back to school she didn't even notice the first day. I was so upset. I wrote in my journal about it. I should try to find that.
Man, it would be hard to teach elementary. When your student depend on you so much for validation. Whoa.
ANYWAY-Some time in the last 20 years glasses became really cool. People who don't even need glasses wear them as an accessory. I'm happy about this because the optical industry finally caught on that there are people under the age of 75 who need glasses and who don't want the same set as their grandma.
Last spring I got new glasses. (Not the first time since third grade by the way.) They were called "Red Coin." I loved that name. They were square and small and red with a silver stripe on the sides. Not punk red. Not too attention grabbing but very mature metallic red. (Normally I don't think mature and metallic can go in the same sentence... but here it works.) They were up-town. Like those stilettos that are black with a red sole you can only see when she is walking. Yeah. Like that. You think she's business- but...wait... yeah, she's hot. They were dignified with a little danger. You know I was trying to send the statement that I quietly live on the edge.
To the story.
I forgot my glasses in Salt Lake. I guess I was so busy pretending to be a world traveler I forgot to give the hotel room the once over. I left my whole makeup bag. It had my glasses, contact case, and all my makeup and my Extra Strength Excedrin. I love that Excedrin. It's not an addiction- it's the only thing that can stave off the Koley pains I get. That's replaceable. Makeup is replaceable too- but it's gonna cost like $50. I have enough practice with makeup that I can wear it without looking like I am wearing it. But- I still NEED to wear it or I think I look like a troll. If it was mid summer and I was all tanned up. This would be no big deal. You don't need makeup when you are sun kissed. I look so... tired. And pale. And like I should put some makeup on! I called the hotel. And asked if a "cosmetic bag" was left in room 518. (Slipped right back into mysterious traveler mode there.) They were going to check and call me back.
Ken goes down every week so in my head I was thinking- I'll have everything back on Tuesday. I can get through this weekend. But, um, no. If they DO have my bag- Ken will pick it up on Tuesday. I will get it on Friday.
And I really hope they have it because I don't think I'll be able to convince Ken to buy me another pair of designer glasses that our insurance doesn't cover. I played the tumor card once- I don't think it will work again.
I'll have to introduce myself to the $20 and Under Glasses wall at Walmart.

Labels Hurt

2011-05-27T21:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Trying something a little new here:
Want to win ad space on The Bloggess? Link up your best post at lovelinks on free fringes like I did!

Because Mini Goals Make Me Feel Better

2011-05-25T10:34:00.000-07:00

I had to add 22 more things to my list. Got some inspirations SLASH copied some ideas from The Thumber. Her bucket list is incredible. I am normally anti-bucket list because so many are so generic. Go skydiving, climb a mountain, smell a rose blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. But The Thumber's Bucket List? Very detailed and thought out and is going to involve some mighty hefty airfares. Love that.
I still refuse to make my own bucket list.
I have a little under 80 days for my 26 Before 27. 79 to be exact. I think this is the jolt my life battery needed. I may have overshot here a bit. But failures are fun to post about too. So, please bring the envelope....

Thank you.

And the list is:

~~Dye my own hair~~
Knit a scarf
Decorate a cake
Go swing dancing with Ken
Golf 18 holes
Retry the foods I don’t like (tomatoes are done...yuck. Mushrooms are done..pretty good!)
Hike the Menan Butte
Introduce myself to one new person a week
Watch “Casablanca," “Citizen Kane,” and ~~"An Affair to Remember"~~
Get 27 blog followers
Start a Gratitude Journal
~~Complete a DIY project~~
Go to the Hogle Zoo
Do one act of service per week
Cook all weekend meals for Ken (this oughtta be funny)
Finish “Gone Away Lake” (This is the only book I have started and not finished. I started it in 3rd grade. It's still haunting me! Gotta track it down)
Plant a tree
Write a letter to the president (heck. I'll even mail it.)
~~Play piano solo~~
Read 5 (more) books
Begin aggressive treatment for the Graves and The Tumor
Run the Firecracker 5k (...eeeks. I already wish I didn't put this one down.)
Switch to homemade bread
Start my own savings account
Gift a magazine subscription (I love getting a magazine every month. I want someone else to feel that happy..... but whom?)
Get my idea patented (And no I am not telling you what my great idea is. You'll just steal it.)

Another Check Mark Please!

2011-05-24T09:38:00.000-07:00

So DIY is really in vogue right now. I think my generation is creative and resourceful and proud of who they are. I haven't jumped on the DIY wagon (or the coupon wagon or the hair bow wagon or the bead wagon). It's a pretty fancy and full wagon. There's not a lot of room for under qualified beginners. I've secretly tried my hand at a couple of my own little projects and they have turned to disasters. So I am a BIY person. Buy It Yourself. My sister, Julia, on the other hand. Whoa. She's got it down. She can do like 8 projects a week for close to no cash and have a house that looks like a amazing. Sigh. Jealous. It looks like she's a BIY but she's a DIY. Sigh. Again. Jealous. Again.

Now, I'm no pro. I'm just getting started. But I did my own little project over the weekend.

It's a FUZZY VELVET POSTER! I love these. You can never go out of the lines.

These yellow and green fish were my favorite. I really took some time and tested some palettes before I colored them. I think the time and thought put into them is evident.

I think this can go on my check list for 26 Before 27. A DIY project. Voila! Done.

Tête-à-Tête

2011-05-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

I'm good at a lot of things. Like a lot a lot. Reading fast, making egg salad sandwiches, using my turn signals. You know, I'm a grade "A" citizen.
With all my accomplishments stacking up there is an area of my life in which I am... lacking.

Conversation.
I'm a pro at listening and encouraging (or criticizing others on a personal level OBVIOUSLY). I'm funny. I'm smart. I'm educated. I've traveled. I read the news and I'm up to date on all my current events both locally and globally. I marinate for hours in celebrity gossip and pop culture. I've been living with the weather since my earthly debut. I'm not a sport extremist but I can certainly hold my coffee. I should be a specialist. I should be able to write a how-to article.
My small talk is cheese cake. Smooth and sweet (sometimes fruity) and goes down easy. But after that...
I panic.
When the small talk takes that slippery slope into Talking Township it's all downhill. (That's a bit redundant.) I can't converse. Discussion is simply not in my repertoire.
Let's take tonight. I had a dinner party at my neighbor's house. I've lived here for 5 years. I know these people. I've seen them cut their grass, shovel their snow, go to and return from vacations, get the mail in their robes. Can you see how connected I am with them? We've partied before. It was the same old deck of cards- same characters. This should have been effortless.
But it wasn't.
I choked.
I was even set up for the perfect spike and ended up face down on the gym floor.
Someone might ask: "Does Kole sleep all night?" Simple. Easy. Perfect segway for me to open up and go on and on and on. What do I say? "Yes." Not even "Yes, he does." I can't get out three words. All I say is "yes." I smile and then there is immeasurable silence. I don't elaborate on his other habits, his age, my favorite things about him, things I have learned, questions about their children or lives. Just yes. Then another set up "So, Patty, how is the house-selling coming?" And I say, "It's coming." *crickets* Hopeful smiling at me, they nod as they wait for more details and slowly the smiles begin the fade and the nods slow down and the person looks away wishing there will be someone there to save them. I am the one who needs saving. The person walks away. I'm not offended. It's not the first time I've been shunned for my condition.
I think of what I could have said. "We've had some interest." That's not bad. I'll say that. It's a step up. So, the next victim comes along/I approach someone else eager to try my line. After we exchange hellos I knew it was coming. I was all ready. I was repeating the line over and over in my head. My knees were clanking. My smile was anxious. "So," they begin. This is it. This is it! "How's the house-selling going?" And I said... nothing for about 5 seconds...I felt the heat in my cheeks. What was I gonna say?What was I gonna say? What was the question? "Patty?" "Oh, yeah, the house, is really nice and interesting."
I did not use my lame line.
I did not even answer the question.
This happens to me over and over.
I suffocate in social situations.
After the small talk- I should just go home.

Let It Go

2011-05-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

I have an incredibly ambitious, honest, loving, husband who does things that drive me nutso. I think we all have a man like this in our life. Kenner is stupendous and can be stupendously OCD.

SIDENOTE: Sometimes I think people use OCD as a code that really means obnoxious and annoying. Like "I'm OCD about that." No- you're just a pain in the arse about that.

This weekend Kenny-Bear was loading the dishwasher (depositing into the emotional bank account. Bravo, husband, bravo.) When Ken loads the dishwasher he likes to examine what I already put in. I had put in a plate that I made Tiffany Nachos on. Did I rinse the plate? No. Do I ever rinse the plates? No. Ken put on his dad hat and tie and laid this little sermon on me.
"Honey. You really have to rinse these dishes. We don't want all that gunk clogging up the dishwasher, do we? Come on. I've told you about this over and over. Just rinse them. It's not hard and then I don't have to keep reminding you."

Um... yeah. My skin was crawling. My jaw clenched. And in my head I yelled, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I waited like 30 seconds. Cool off, Patty, cool off. Ken was just staring at me with his eyebrows up-you know, waiting for a response- which makes me even more mad. Then, I had an epiphany.

"Let it Go."

So, I did.
The fact is that we all live with people who do things that bother us. I don't rinse the dishes. And I walk through the house with my shoes on. And I go to the bathroom twice before I go to bed. Ken HATES these little quirks.
And he does things that drive me nuts. He'll cook something in the microwave for like a minute 45. Then when there's 12 seconds left he just opens the door and takes his food out. He doesn't clear the 12 seconds off! So, when I look at the microwave to see what time it is- I just see a blinking 12. AAAAAA-nnoying.
Yeah-talk about little things right? Little itty bitty teeny weeny minuscule things that bugs the white right off my skin.
I didn't learn to rinse the dishes from my lecture... sorry Kenmo... you're going to have to give me another talking to.... I learned that: The people we live with do things that bother us... whether it be

not clearing the microwave
not rinsing off dishes
always getting the mail first
keeping shoes on
leaving clothes in the washer
dumping their fur from their electric razor in the nice clean sink
leaving hair clots in the tub drain
tucking socks under the couch
never replacing the toilet paper (leaving one stranded)

But every time these diminutive habits flare up just Let It Go. It's not that hard to push "clear" on the microwave. And the dishwasher will most likely wash that cheese off. What's more important? To let the person you share your life with know that they do things that makes your blood curdle OR to let them know that they are loved and irreplaceable and you think they are perfect just the way they are. With or without that GD microwave blinking a 12.

My Tail Is Not Between My Legs

2011-05-11T08:45:00.000-07:00

My newest favoritest blog is "And then she was blah blah blah." I was reading back through the archives and came across this post that says the thing I have been trying to come up with for a week. So all credits and applause to Ru. I hope I'm not getting too stalker-ish.

I hate:

1. The belief that because I tell the truth, I am necessarily admirable.

This is based on false logic. The truth is good, as is the search for truth. But your opinion is not the truth.

But I'm sharing my honest opinion! you say. I'm being real when most people are just being phoneys!

The fact that you are being genuine may be admirable. But if you are a genuine ass, don't be surprised when people treat you as such.

2. The belief that because I shared my honest opinion, I cannot be criticized.

Look, you shared your opinion. Now you have to be prepared to back it up. The fact that I dislike or disagree with your opinion does not make me a bigot or infringe on your First Amendment rights. (Because as much as I wish otherwise, I am not a government agent. I digress.)

If you are going to enter the marketplace of ideas, you don't get run right back inside your fortress of solitude as soon as you've shouted your opinion in my face, without giving me time to respond.

3. The belief that all criticism is hateful.

Look. I may have unnecessarily thick skin when it comes to this final issue. I wrote for a certain unnamed college newspaper back in the day, and I remember every nasty thing anyone ever said about my writing/my opinion/me. I was called stupid, bigoted, lame, hypocritical, prejudiced, biased, dishonest, and someone even implied I was into BDSM. (Don't google that if you don't know what it means.)

Did it hurt my feelings? Sometimes. But it made me very aware of the line between criticizing a subject, and criticizing a person.

Calling my ideas stupid is not hateful. Calling me stupid is. Only if I actually am stupid will I fail to see the distinction here.

I don't even think I need to put a closer on here.

See you tomorrow folks.

Being Maternal

2011-05-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

Life is remarkable. Yes? Yes.

Last year on Mother’s Day I was gestating a miracle baby.

I always feel funny when people call Kole a miracle baby. Sure he came against all medical odds after we were told to try not to think about it. Or dwell on it.

Or hope for it.

But even in my saddest hours- I was happy with Ken as my family.

Then our family grew.

Well I grew first- by about 70 pounds. I knew that it had never happened before and my doctor assured me it wouldn’t….but I was certain I would be the first pregnant woman to explode.

My skin hurt from being so tight. And was it ever shiny! And itchy.

Kole came one day late.

Like his Grandpa Poulsen. (as we tease.)

Delivering a baby earned me my Stripes.

After that- I was lost.

Confused.

Afraid.

I felt empty.

Besieged.

Out of it.

Wasn’t this supposed to come more naturally? I am a woman. A strong, capable, nurturing woman. Why can’t I do this? I needed to call my mom.

She came.

And rescued.

And saved the message I left on her machine crying.

She came every day at 11 o’clock for 2 weeks.

I watched my mom (when I was awake).

Studied her to pick up tips.

That’s how you hold him.

This will make him burp.

Support him.

Just hold him.

It’s okay- he can’t smile yet.

You’ve got it.

Then she turned him over to me.

I didn’t feel that “overwhelming love” every mother in the world told me about.

As soon as you hold your baby you will feel an overwhelming love.

Wasn’t there for me.

Every time I held my baby I cried.

I cried when I changed his diaper.

I cried when I got peed on.

I cried when I bathed him.

I cried when I nursed him.

I cried when I read to him.

I cried when I cuddled him.

I cried.

I felt like he didn’t want me for his mother.

I wasn’t a mother anyway.

My mom was a mother.

Not me.

I couldn’t do anything right.

He wouldn’t even look at me.

Weeks passed- I learned.

Learned to turn down the hot water on his bath.

Learned to cover that pee pee before it would shoot me.

Learned crying is okay.... for both of us.

Learned to say no.

Learned to stand up for myself and my babying techniques.

(even though I wasn’t sure about them myself)

Learned to love my family as the three of us…. Not the two of us.

I promised myself that the day I felt like a mom- I would write it down.

Journal what happened.

Record the remarkable change or epiphany or transformation.

I have no recollection of the day.

But it happened.

Koley is mine all mine.

He’s the happiest boy on Planet Earth.

He is tender hearted and a goof ball.

We love and understand one another.

There is a mutual respect between me and my cub.

I think we speak through telepathy.

I feel whole.

Satisfied.

Accomplished.

Strong.

Full of love.

I feel like a mom.

I am one.