You know those events on the calendar, the events that you count down to, the kind that get you through the CRAZY that is all around you, just knowing that each day you survive, means one day closer.  One less day to countdown.

We just had one of those events.
Five concerts in five days.

Four Supertones shows.

 A no kids allowed road trip.
(Dave & Jess instagrammed driving south on the 5.  We immediately copied as we drove north. So awesomely dorky.)

One Mumford & Sons show.

One epic weekend.  Spent with dear friends.  The generous hospitality of strangers.  Dinner with Katy.  Ministry.  The celebration of a year of hard work in the studio.  Successfully brainwashing Jason and Jessica to become Mumford fans.  Mwahahahahahaha.

I am deeply, truly, so very sad that it is over.
It was just what our hearts needed.

No words could properly describe how much fun it was.

How magical the Hollywood Bowl is.  Or how perfect the Mumford show was.
Or how amazing our seats were.
Good food.  Hipsters.  Strange opening bands.
Twinkle lights.
What more could anyone need?

Or how much we are thankful for friends who get, love, dream, pray, encourage, and laugh with us.

So thankful.
Now if I could just find a way to make the 400 miles between our two houses disappear...

I burn myself all the time.
Oven.
Iron.
Hot glue gun.
Flat iron.
Curling iron.

All the time.  I am a dangerous baker/ crafter/ hair tamer.

A little A.D.D., a little clumsiness, a little to much multitasking (I am horrible at multitasking.)
It's so bad.  Mostly though its those little annoying burns.  Nothing major.  I can think of only a few times where they have been major.
The kind of major that makes you stand by the sink with your hand in a bowl of cool water for hours.  The kind that you can't even fathom taking you hand out of that bowl of cool water for a second to go to the bathroom, or eat, or sleep, or anything.

The kind that I just got last week when I grabbed a cookie sheet, fresh out of the oven, with my whole bare hand.  The same cookie sheet that I just took out of the oven with a potholder, not one minute before.  (I hate when I am lazy and store things in the oven instead of putting them away.  I especially hate it now, because that offending cookie sheet was stealthily preheating, while I was stirring, and looked all cold and innocent when it was sitting all lava like on the counter.)

The kind that tethered me to the sink while my children ran loose and needed things.  Like food, naps and diaper changes.  The kind that made me want to throw up.  The kind that I knew would keep me from sleeping, or doing anything buy whining and crying about how much pain I was in.

I was desperate.  I couldn't even imagine taking my hand out of the bowl of water to go to the pharmacy or the doctor.  The thought of having to leave the house, much less buckle carseats and touch the steering wheel was too much.  I had to make do with what was in the house.
Not much was in the house.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember reading someplace how the Lansinoh HPA Lanolin is good for cuts, scrapes, and burns.
I had a little tube of it leftover from the hospital when I had Shane.
(Thank you hospital sample.  Thank you.)

I found it, slathered my hand with it, covered it with a sock, took Advil, curled up on the couch, still wanting to throw up or cry, and waited to see if it would work.

It did.  Beyond.  Within an hour the pain was manageable.  By the morning, what should have been a hand covered in angry blisters, was only a little angry.  It still hurts, but nothing like it should.

Thank you little sheep for your magical lanolin.  You now have a permanent place in our first aid kit.  I'm sure I will be seeing it again soon.

I'm working on not swooping in to fix things.
To control things.
To stress about things.

It's really hard.  But it's sort of freeing.

Freeing is awesome.

For every person that loves their front loading washing machine, there is one person that hates the guts out of their front loading washing machine.
We are no closer to having a clue what to buy.  The dinosaur washing machine lives to see another day.  Or week.  Or month.

Carpet is horrible.  Everything that is not carpet is awesome.
We are still getting carpet.

This is how I feel each month when attempting the photo challenge.  But I am too stubborn to quit.
The cuteness factor in Lucy's squirrel obsession/ drawing skillz has multiplied fifty billion times since the queen of embroidery Crystal, forever stitched it in a hoop.
SERIOUSLY.  Can you handle the cute?
How many dozen of your little one's drawings do you want to send her way?
Now each scribble from my girls has to go through the Little Bit Funky Hoop Test before landing in the recycle bin.

If by chance you try a hat on your baby "just for fun" while going to Target for milk, you will completely ditch all of your family's wardrobe plans for Easter, while buying MUCH MORE than milk at Target.  Dang you gingham hat.

A.  I just ditched the Disqus commenting system.  Totally thought that I loved it, but then I totally turned on it.  I was leaving replies, feeling all super organized and communicative, but... the replies that I left apparently go straight into space.  LAME.
Plus it doesn't even work on certain browsers.  DOUBLE LAME.
So here is the deal, there are now threaded replies in the Blogger comment form.  Yay.  Sort of.  If you ask a question, that is where I will leave a unicorny reply.  Thing is, I guess The MAN Google considers it spam to send the reply back to the email address it came from.  That means, that you will never know if I answered, or was just lame and lazy, unless you come back and check.  That is a hardcore rich person problem that I cannot fix.

B.  We are looking into a new washing machine.  Got one you love?  Hate?  Front loader?  I need real people details.  Not the dude at the store.  A mom who has gobs of kids who wear gobs of clothes.  Help a mama out.  Ours is 14 years old and it had a very, very, very good life.  BUT IT NEEDS TO GO.

C.  The previous owner of our house had dogs.  Big dogs.  They had freedoms.  Big indoor freedoms.  You can imagine what our carpet looks like.  I clean it, the marks they left reappear.  Clean, reappear, clean, reappear.  Over and over and over and I am OVER it.  So...  we are researching new carpet too.   I need advice from someone with gobs of kids who throws gobs of parties.  Not the dude that didn't even exist at the Lowe's flooring department, while I waited for 37 minutes yesterday.

D.  Can you tell that we just got our tax refund?

Thank you in advance for your info...

I've been irritated lately. Exasperated even.
Tiring of the seemingly endless containing of stuff.
Shoes everywhere.  Toys everywhere.  Crayons everywhere.  Fabric everywhere.  Laundry everywhere.
Everything everywhere.

We have so much more than we need.  So much.
While we live without debt, it doesn't mean that the rising cost of EVERYTHING isn't little by little encroaching upon our budget.

If I am mad at all the STUFF, I should be mad at the one buying all the stuff.
Which just happens to be me...

Ruh roh.

So I decided to give myself a little challenge.  To see what our house and our bank account would look like after one month of not bringing in anything new, or spending any money on non-necessities.

No treats from the dollar section.
No books for the Kindle.
No gadgets for the kitchen.
No more long and lean tanks or cardis from Target.
No craft supplies.
No clothes for any of the kids.

Just food, medicine, diapers and gifts.

Let me just say, it was way harder than I ever imagined it would be.
Going to Target. Not fun.
Finishing my last book on the Kindle.  Not fun.
Being tortured by the pre-sale of the Flea Market Fancy re-print.  Not fun.
Deleting every single Groupon/ Groop Dealz/ Very Jane/ Pick Your Plum/ Zulily/ BabySteals email without even opening them.  Not fun.

But a week or so into the not-fun-ness of the challenge, it became sort of fun.  A mental reframing to appreciate what we already have.  To play with toys that have been forgotten.  To wear clothes that seemed new again.

To realize that we have more than we could ever need.

It was good.  So worth it.  I dare you to try it.

But the trick is to not make a running list of what you want and need and then go crazy once the month is over.  That part is really hard.  That would negate all the hard work of the month.

*For full disclosure, I totally cheated one time.  I am powerless against a good pair of stripey leggings.  Rainbow stripey leggings.  $5 rainbow stripey leggings.  I mean, really, those are a total necessity, right?  Right up there with diapers....

It so does.
Not taking over the world stuff, but little things.  Snuck into naptimes, squeezed in during quiet early mornings.

Laundry.
Too many batches of toffee crack on crack.

A car seat tent to keep the sunshine and tiny ugly germs off of the little man.
(Contemplated using his sister's.  That got shut down.)

Made something fun for Lil Blue Boo's What would YOU make? Here is a sneaky peek.

Arrived at to church (early) with all four kids.  BOOM!
Reading.  Pinning.  Instagramming.
School supply shopping.
Surf camp.  (Without the surfing or camping part.)

But mostly I am sitting on the couch with a happy hungry baby.
Life is pretty rad.

My days are spent on the couch, taking care of a cute little guy and trying not to go crazy.
I am not good at sitting still.  Especially when I am beginning to feel sort of human again.
Sure doesn't help that there is NOTHING on tv during summer.

But I know that as soon as I get up and try to tackle a project, I will pay for it greatly.
So I sit.
Good thing that I have a little friend to keep me company.

Need a laugh?
Paul F. Tompkins is your guy.
We fought Carmageddon to see him and this bit about new dads never disappoints.
I posted it when Janey was born and it seems equally applicable today.

Best line?


Why are so many people trying to assassinate your baby?

Enjoy.

Jokes.com
Paul F. Tompkins - New Dads
comedians.comedycentral.com
Jokes Joke of the Day Funny Jokes

I love me some iced coffee.
Love.
When I saw The Pioneer Woman's ode to the precious, I knew it had to be my new best friend.  My new way to finally end my current (really expensive) VIA love affair.

Plus, it would mean the two minutes that I normally spend making it each morning would be reduced to zero.  Imagine what I could do with those extra two minutes a day?

Two minutes of peace.
Two minutes before I have to brush the tangles out of my wimpy scalped daughter.
Two minutes to read a paragraph in a magazine.

Life changing, I say.  Life changing.

 I don't consider myself a coffee snob.
I really don't.  But on my recent kid filled, solo road trip I NEEDED coffee.  Like keep from crashing on the freeway needed.  The girls wanted breakfast... so I decided to pull a two-fer.  They get food, I get power to drive another few hours.  But I have been burned before by McCafe.  Burned badly.  I have tried it three times. Three times it has ended up in the trash.  But people like it... like really, really like it...

Why don't I???  How badly can they mess up ice, coffee and milk?
No sweeteners.  No weirdness.  Just three ingredients.
Three ingredients gone so very, very wrong.
So wrong, that the one sip of wrongness kept me alert for the hour it took to get to the nearest Starbucks drive-thru.  The one that gets me.  That knows that I like my coffee like I like my men.  A drummer with green-blue eyes named Jason.

McCafe got dumped in the bushes at Starbucks.
All was right with the world again.
We didn't crash on the freeway.  I didn't throw up on the side of the road.

But back to the real story....
P Dub and her gallons of iced happiness.
Then I made it again.  A half batch, mind you.
(But this time I used my favey Starbucks Pike Place Roast.  Maybe I'm a snob after all...)
Because it was good.
But this time I was more patient, rested and careful.
It is now safely tucked in half gallon mason jars.
Spout-less mason jars.
Happily greeting me each morning.
As I take the two minutes to reflect on how dramatic I sometimes make my life.

Thank you Pioneer Woman.
No thank you cheapy Target dispenser.
Although, my scrubbed and cleaned fridge has never looked better...

I spent a little time organizing my iTunes collection and one big thing stood out.
It is nearly void of girl singers...
Weird.
But then I thought about it, scrolled through it and realized one thing, I like bands.  Not singers.  I prefer music written and performed by the people in the band.
Most people that write music and play instruments are guys.
(Mind you if it is up to us, all of our girls will play some sort of instrument.  Because girls that play instruments are THE COOLEST GIRLS.)
Not to say that if I was a runner (hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha) that a Britney song or two wouldn't have a place on my workout playlist...
But for me if I am cooking, driving, sewing, or folding laundry, a band is always accompanying me.  With a dude singing.
That's me.
Want to mock me and my musical taste?
Or my dorky sense of humor?

Enjoy....

This is my life.
This is happiness.

What else can I do but laugh when this little life of mine is just plain crazy?  Laugh and then blog about it, of course.

Come with me on a little journey to the local mall.

Scene:  I had been painting and cleaning all day.  Two of the girls have been sick and grumpy and needed to get out of the house, get over of their bad moods.  An impromptu trip to the mall food court/ playplace was in order.
Off we went.
Dinner commenced without incident.  Mongolian BBQ for the grown ups.  McDonald's for the littles.
Fun fact: I have convinced my kids that I am allergic to McDonald's. They believe me.  When we are out together they never even ask for it.  Brilliant.  Scheming and lying?  Yes, but brilliant, none the less.  They only get to eat it when there is another edible option for me, i.e. the food court.  Or, when their much too nice grandparents cave in and take them.

But back to the story, I found out that not only was there a brand new H&M, but it was an H&M WITH KIDS STUFF, YO!!!!!!!
That is happy news in these here parts, especially considering that I haven't been to the mall in so long that I didn't even know one was coming, much less already open.  I don't know who was more excited, me to go to H&M, or the girls to go to the playplace.

Jason hung back to get a cookie from Paradise Bakery.  You see, I am halfway through a self imposed 40 day sugar fast.  Considering the fact that I haven't murdered anyone yet, it is going very well.  But to sit alongside someone eating a delightful cookie, would for sure send me over the edge.

The big girls were walking and I was pushing (not-so) Bald Baby in the stroller, towards the elevator and off to the happy lands of a new store and indoor slides.

Suddenly, a guy blocked our path.
He looked at the three girls and I and exclaimed:  "Three girls!!!!!!!  Poor you!!!!!!"
(Which by the way, MAKES ME CRAZY.  That is a whole rant in itself.)

It took me a second to figure out that he was the guy working at the curling iron/ flat iron kiosk and was hunting for some prey excited to share his wonderful products.

Why is it always some skeevy dude that works there?  I'm fairly certain that he doesn't use a curling iron, nor do I trust a guy that uses a flat iron.

He looked me up and down.
In my sugar free, messy bun, no makeup, paint under my fingernails, glory.
With three impatient kids in tow.

Skeevy Dude:  You don't always look like this do you?  (Lots of big hand motions pointing out my various issues.)
Me:  (Silent.  Staring.)
Skeevy Dude:  Like, maybe sometimes do you something with your hair?  Maybe style it?  Do you have a flat iron?
Me:  Yes. (Gritting teeth.)
Skeevy Dude:  Come over here.  My flat iron is so much superior to yours.  It will make it easy for you to actually care how you look.
Me:  No.  (Peer over his shoulder.  See the elevator nearby open.  Fetch my children.  Scurry away.)
End Scene.

That my friends, is a surefire way to not sell anything to anyone.

Although, I totally need a new flat iron, and I heard that those are amazing....  But for now I will never know.

Today's shopping list of supplies for my booth at

The Queen Bee Market


Lots of wood
Furring strips
Sandpaper
Cement mix
Five cans of spray paint.  Turquoise, obvs.
Shelf pins
Shelves
Eye hooks
Pom pom fringe
Five pounds of coffee
Curling iron
Falsies Mascara
Double sided tape
Green tea

Never underestimate the power of your words.
With each one that you form,
you are making the choice to




It is said that it takes ten kindly spoken words to counteract every negative one.
But if you ask me, it takes 100.  Or a 1,000.
Hurtful, hateful words somehow seem to carry so much more weight.  They have the fortuitous ability to stick around.  To fester.  Sadly, they are often the ones that we remember most vividly.


How are you going to wield your power today?

Speak love.
Encourage.

Think.

{Or, lesson learned.  When taking pictures with a dark background, pay attention to what your subject is wearing.  Unless of course, you think that bodyless babies are cute.  Well, she is pretty cute, but you get the point.}

***
Headband is from Amy.
Africa shirt is from Meg.

My answer?
Yes.  It most certainly can.

School picture day.
Why, oh why, has it not changed since I was in school?
The hideous electric blue background?
The weird posing?
The forced smiles?


But why do I feel like if I don't buy them, than I am missing out on some great, important childhood milestone?

Tell me that I am not the only one.

Thankfully, I am not in that "Mom, I need 276 wallet pictures to pass out to my friends" stage.  I'm still in the "I am going to buy the smallest package possible to keep the grandparents happy" stage.

To make matters worse, picture day is always on PE day.  Which means there is some crazy hair going on.

Crazy.

Can anyone say "I'm so thankful for re-takes?"

This year I decided to mess with tradition and sit them down for a thirty second school picture day sesh.
I am pretty sure that I already like these better than the "I'm a photographer that just got here in a time machine from 1986" pictures that I'll get in a few weeks.

We will see.

In case you have a few minutes/ hours to kill, there is always so much mockery to be had at Bad Yearbook Photos.  I am thinking that I could submit a few (all) of my own.  It was tough being a child of the 1980's.  The ugliest decade in all of history.  All of it.
I also love Rage Against the Minivan's take on picture day for her kids.
While you are there I dare you to read this.  Dare you.