This morning started out badly.

A text from Southwest alerting me that my flight was cancelled.  Not delayed, but poof, no longer in existence.  A quick flurry of panic, tears, and texts later, a new flight was booked, to a different city, at a different time.  Then, I horribly burned my wrist with my broiling hot curling iron, and ordered a bathing suit from Walmart.  Yes. Walmart.

All before eight am.

So I headed out to Target to get some more magic remedy for the now very angry blister on my wrist.  And candy.  Because Target doesn't sell jalapeƱo Cheetos anymore, dumb jerks. And some other stuff that I randomly threw in the cart in my weird emotional state.

Currently I am writing on a plane en route to celebrate my current favorite baby girl fetus, with friends I love and live to freaking far away, taking a break from reading Bittersweet, because I just did my make up in the airport bathroom and I don't want to land looking like a jacked up raccoon.  I can't wear mascara and read anything lately, or listen to Hillsong United's Zion.  I can't.  I am a sobbing my face off, emo mess with the both of them.

But yesterday I saw Lauren Conrad, so whatever.  You know just sitting in front of us at the beach with all her friends.  All American and happy, drinking out of an adorable mason jar, so festive in red white and blue.  The very Lauren Conrad who is the only reason I ever even walk into a Kohl's.  The designer of my most worn top, inventor of my pretty much daily braid hairstyle, the girl who's hair and makeup is my most favorite.  So as I sat there, all fan girl, thinking of some way to talk to her without being even more dorky than my normal super dorky self, I notice little miss sunshine, the most social of all butterflies, Janey, standing smack in the middle of Lauren's group of friends.  Little JJ, with her wild, salty curls, talking to a beautiful girl with impossibly long, bright red hair.  Without hearing what she was asking her I immediately knew.
"Are you Ariel?"  was her query.
The precious redhead bent down, touched JJ's hair and told her "no, but I am friends with Ariel."
JJ's face lit up, and she scampered back to report her findings.  
She went back a half dozen more times to ask her things about Flounder, Ursula, and such, and each time not-Ariel indulged my little blondie's interrogation.
I wasn't brave enough to talk to Lauren, but I did thank not-Ariel for being so kind.  I also totally And not-Ariel's swimsuit?  Bought it. From Walmart. (Not-Ariel had the anchor one.  I bought black polka dots.)
 {Shane, stand here and let me pretend to take a picture of you, when actually I am going to text it to Drew because LAUREN CONRAD IS IN THE FEDORA ON THE LEFT!!!}


{What?  No, I'm not stalker.  I am just taking pictures of my baby, see, he's in the frame of one of them.  That totally counts.}

Oh, and took some stealthy paparazzi pics.  With Shane as a ruse, of course.
Thank you Lauren Conrad for having such nice friends.  JJ will always remember this year's 4th of July as the one in which she met Ariel's friend.

I will remember it because of this:
I might have cried a little.
Because, I mean look.
How could I not?

Funny thing, I am actually wearing another Lauren Conrad top as I write and there is this pretty button on the back that keeps getting trapped in my hair, messing up the curls that I destroyed my wrist getting, and giving me crazy tangles.  That is what I could have told her.  Because I am sure that there is nothing one would like better when enjoying a holiday at the beach with their friends, than a random customer complaining about button placement....  But really, the button is awful.  She would totally feel my pain, being her hair is always lovely, and she would not like a button getting in the way.


Next time Lauren.  Next time.




Currently obsessed with silhouette photos.
Counting down the minutes until naptime so we can sneak in a few episodes of Arrested Development.
While eating homemade chocolate chip cookies that were a grand baby shower favor.
Wishing that I made extra salted caramel cupcakes, because I forgot how evil good those are.
Thankful that it is a long weekend.  Needing some sunshine and sleeping in and bbq.
Surprisingly at peace with the chaos that should be our life as our church/ school/ everything/ is in flux.
Still in disbelief how much I miss everyone who came to Camp Mom*tog.
Wearing my favorite grey (or gray?) dress AGAIN because Jen Hatmaker is messing up my life.
Thinking I should totally wash my hair because ewwwww.  But this spray is my new best friend and I am obsessed.
Freaking out that my Halley girl turned nine. NINE.  Like almost a teenager nine.
Working on a new linky deal because my Instagram feed does not line up with my REAL reality.
Counting down the days until school is out slash freaking out that all of them will be in my grill ALL DAY every day.
Looking forward to redeeming my Mother's Day gift of one night at a hotel with no other humans talking to, or needing things from me.
Wishing I could see Fast Six again.  And again.
Feeling that it is time for another Favorite Things Party.
Wishing I had a jar of this salsa.  A big jar.
The end.


So.  I am a girl mom trying to learn how to be a boy mom.
I have no idea what I am doing.  
I don't know if Shane (a.k.a. THE BEAST) acts the way he acts because he is a boy, or because he is Shane.
What I do know is I have no idea what I am doing.
What I do know is there is a giant hole in the children's toy market and I want it filled.
Meet Pink Baby (part of Fisher Price's Little Mommy line.)
My kids are very creative with naming their dolls.
The one with blue pajamas?  It's Blue Baby.
The other one with pink pajamas?  She's Other Pink Baby.
Anyway, Pink, Blue, and Other Pink babies are so lovely, perfectly sized, perfectly washable, perfectly totable, perfectly cuddly.  Perfectly cozy.

Know what I want?  
Fisher Price to make baby superheroes.
Yes.  Just like Pink, Blue, and Other Pink.  
But instead of pajamas, costumes.
Instead of little beanies, masks.
Instead of pacifiers and bottles, weapons and shields.
I don't think that I am the only one who wants these to exist.  Nor do I think it is a just a boy mom request.  I know quite the number of super hero loving girls.  Three happen to live in my house.

It shouldn't be that complicated either.  Fisher Price already has licensing deals with DC Comics.  Case in point, the Little People Super Friends that are always within reach of this little beast.

Given I am more a Marvel Comics girl, I wish that a baby Wolverine would somehow exist.  I don't want to get too greedy and I suppose I can settle for Batman.

Know anyone at Fisher Price?  BEG THEM.  Please.  I will be first in line.


(Spoiler alert... if you haven't watched the season three finale of Downton Abbey, stop what you are doing and run along to it.  I watched it on my phone in the mountains with buffering and spotty 3G reception.  What is your excuse?  If you don't watch Downton Abbey, well, I don't really know what to say except that you should.  Or you shouldn't. Because it will break your heart and mess up your mascara.  Moving on.)


Dan Stevens, I have a bone to pick with you.  I do not approve of you deciding to end your contract.  Matthew Crawley does not approve of you ending your contract.  Most certainly, the Dowager Countess DOES NOT approve of you ending your contract.

You wanted freedom to pursue other acting jobs.  REALLY????  Because your character on Downton Abbey was brilliantly written with feeling and depth and had so very much room to grow.  Couldn't you pursue other jobs during the hiatus? Or was nine episode season just too grueling?  NINE EPISODE SEASON!!!!!

(Can we have a side conversation about how the season is WAY TOO SHORT????  I mean really.  TOO SHORT.)

Or was it you didn't want to be typecast?  REALLY???? Remember the richness, and depth of your character?  You could really go anywhere with that so called "typecasting".  Romance?  Comedy?  Drama?  Action?  Yes, yes, yes, and yes.  Because as Matthew Crawley you displayed all of those facets with depth and richness.

We have a family motto Mr. Stevens.  It is simply this:
PUT SOME DIRT ON IT.

Don't want to do something you committed to?
PUT SOME DIRT ON IT.
Don't want to show up somewhere you committed to being?
PUT SOME DIRT ON IT.
Don't want to finish a job you committed to finishing?
PUT SOME DIRT ON IT.

Keep your committments.  Show up for people.  Even when you don't want to.  Even when it is hard.  Even if it isn't what you thought or hoped it would be.  Even when you think there is something better out there (chances are THERE ISN'T.)

Quitting is for quitters.

Endurance is for awesome people.


Sticking it out isn't always easy, but there are far greater rewards in the end.

Now you will always be the guy who quit Downton Abbey.
Lets see how that works out for you.

You were all that was good in Lady Mary.  You made me like her.  I fear what your leaving will do.  I hate that I have to wait nearly a year to find out.

Goodbye Matthew Crawley.  Downton will not be the same without you and your blue eyes.  Nor will you be the same without Downton.


This is what I will remember when I look back on Valentine's Day 2013.
Missing teeth.

 The ever present squirrel dress.

 Little miss sunshine.

DRAMA.
(I mean if Valentine's Day makes you cry, he understands.  You have no idea how much he understands.)

So much love for these extraordinarily different four.
xoxo

(Please oh, please check out Wendy's jenky Valentines.  Favorite.)


Ohmygoodness.  What a full few days.  Too full to forget.  Too full to properly take photos.  Just full enough to remember....
Where to begin?  Indulge me as I make a giant, random, stream of consciousness list.  Because that is how my brain works.
Thought I had a faker, sent her to school.  (She wasn't faking.)  My biggest girl was Martha Washington for grandparent's day chapel.  I painted my nails for the first time in a decade (not joking.)  Colored my own roots (bad idea.)  Spent too much at the gas station.  Got asked at said gas station if I was pregnant.  (I am NOT.)  Can we all sign some sort of pact to NEVER EVER EVER ask anyone that?  Even if they are doing Lamaze breathing as they walk into the labor & delivery floor of the local hospital.  I mean COME ON.  Picked Jessica up at the airport (happy).  Went to Pedro's.  Got my hair blown out.  Went shopping while my wallet stayed home.  Ate crepes.  Discovered Aleve-D.  (SO LEGIT.)  Ate garlic bread with the Choose Joy speakers.  Garlic bread that was detected by my sensitive to smells husband as soon as I walked in the front door.  Made tissue tassels (hot mess.)  Stayed up too late.  Woke up too early.  Fought a nasty cold (it is winning.)  Listened to this song over and over.  Sobbing.  Made final preparations for my Choose Joy talk.  Prayed.  Had the most heartbreakingly beautiful day at Choose Joy (more on that later).  Ate Coca Cola cake.  Ate spicy Chinese food in a effort to burn the germs out of my body.  Ate my favorite cupcake with some rad friends.  Laughed until I cried.  Stayed up too late again.  Watched Duck Dynasty (favorite show right now.)  Went to church.  Sang with a scratchy voice.  Ate a good burger.  Took Jessica to the airport (so sad.)  Celebrated my favorite five year old.  Lost my voice.  Sent myself to bed at 4pm.  Watched October Baby (cried.)  Watched Downton Abbey (Bates!).  Chatted with no voice with one of my favorite couples.  Thanked baby Jesus for Nyquil.  Ran a few ugly miles trying to sweat the germs out.  Tried a honey face mask.  And some other stuff that my cold medicine fuzzy brain can't remember.

So that is a bit more than ten on ten.
I'm okay with that.