Poking my Feet

There are a lot of things that I tend to think define me, but when held up to scrutiny, I realize that I am no such thing. For instance-brave. Brave used to be my thing when I was little. I didn't cry when I got shots, I ran through fields with no shoes, I climbed high up in trees, dove off high dives, and I was the one who cleaned up the dead mouse my sister's once found under our bed.

See. You probably read through those and thought, "um, that isn't necessarily what I would call brave." But in my mind, at the time, I totally thought I was brave.

I had my fears, too, and thinking about what I actually use to fear is more interesting to me than the things I thought made me brave. While I had the normal fears- someone breaking into the house, dying of cancer, losing a parent, the story with the babysitter and the caller ("go check the children")- I also had a bunch of just plain weird fears, that demonstrate the lengths of my imagination.

For instance, when I was little I watched an Alien show, where aliens were popping out of people's stomachs and all that good stuff. The resulting ramification of my violating the MPAA's rating recommendations is that I had a fear of the bathtub drain after this. Yeah, I know that doesn't make any sense, but I wouldn't keep my feet by it when I was in the bathtub for the off chance that an alien might pop up out of it. I kept this fear for years. Darn aliens.

The next fear I had wasn't necessarily something that I thought of constantly or worried much about. But occasionally when I would think about it I would work myself up. It's one I have mentioned in my blog before. I never wore shoes outside during the summer time growing up. Somehow I got the notion in my mind, that what if there was a little world of people who live underneath us- our ground is their ceiling? And what if they are after us and are trying to poke our feet with needles? This incredibly sane reasoning would make me hop around on my tippy toes- you know, just in case.

And lastly, sometimes I got to wondering if I was the only real person and that everyone surrounding me was really robots. Seriously, had this thought a couple of times.

Today, I still have some of the same fears- someone breaking in the house, dying of cancer, losing a parent, the story with the babysitter and the caller ("go check the children")- but I have replaced all the irrational ones with the all too real ones of my children being harmed in any way. I guess I shouldn't say I have replaced all the irrational ones. I have gained some new ones as I have grown up- like the fear of calling people on the phone. I still have a little crazy in me.

9 days

A couple of nights ago, Cody asked me what I think about as I fall asleep. And while in the past I could have answered that I dream up stories that involve cowboys and Indians, recently my twilight thoughts have been more of the non-fiction type. I have been thinking about my life and my story. I am about to turn 30 in 9 days and as I reflect on how fast the last 30 years have flown by, all the people I have met, the places I have been, and who I have become, I just can't help but be struck by how much fun it has all been. I have thoroughly enjoyed every stage of my life, and I always tend to enjoy each stage more than the last. I am excited for my 30s. It will be the decade where my kids really grow up (and can finally play board games, like Balderdash, Pictionary, and Cranium with me), where Cody and I will see even more of the world (that's a guarantee since we are in the Navy), and maybe, just maybe, I will stop sounding like such an idiot when I leave messages on phones (actually, I am not holding my breath for that one). It will be a little sad to say goodbye to my 20s, because they have been my favorite decade so far, littered with so many good things, fun things, and great people. But like I said, every stage has been better than the last.

So even though I feel a might silly about it, I want to jaunt down some of those random memories I have been thinking about, mostly for my sake. I love the role of memory-keeper that my blog has become for me (and one day for my kids), so you'll just have to bear with me as I write a little bit about the story of my life.

After all, that is the subtitle of my blog.



And just because my mom didn't think the picture of Luke's bum was adequate, I have included a picture of his face.

Forgot to mention. . .

Luke decided to become a full-time walker during Christmas break. He wobbles around with big smiles all day long. He's terribly cute.

Christmas 2010

Our first Christmas in Alabama was one of my favorites. Claire is at that age where she is so curious about all the details of Santa. We fielded about a million questions from her about the ins and outs of Santa's operations. Morgan was just excited for Christmas because she was just so sure she was going to get the one things she had been asking Santa for months- a Woody doll. Luke was so excited, he slept in until 10 o'clock on Christmas morning (awesome).

On Christmas Eve, we the big traditional dinner with some friends of ours, read the nativity, and sent the kiddos off to bed. Christmas morning, the girls found their presents from santa in their stockings and the presents under the tree. They were delighted. Morgan and Woody became best of friends and he hasn't left her side since. Claire received Jesse, who also became best buds, and Luke received Buzz, but he just doesn't know that they are going to be best friends yet. It was so much fun.

{isn't that knot hair awesome? Yeah, we deal with that EVERY morning!!!}

And just for a very, very special gift, because Santa knew how hard I had been dreaming of a White Christmas (plus I watched White Christmas three times), it started snowing on Christmas morning- here in Alabama, where it doesn't snow often and it hasn't snowed in my town on Christmas for the 100 years they have been keeping record. It made me so happy.

{Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow!}

We had a really lovely Christmas break just relaxing and hanging out around the house. Most days we all stayed in jammies the whole day.

{Morgan's two buddies- Woody, and Knuffle Bunny}

PS: I made the best batch of cinnamon rolls I have ever made on Christmas and I am not even going to pretend not to be conceited about it. Still thinking about them two weeks later.

{So good}

Have a. . .

The Key to Success

A successful night of gingerbread house making.

The key to success is to buy the kits where the house is already put together and all you have to do is add frosting and the candies provided. Oh, and to not be OCD if the girls put the candy on all crooked.


This particular kit was purchased before I had Luke, so the whole time we were putting it together, I kept telling the girls not to eat the candy, because it was old, old, and old and would upset their tummies. Yet, I still caught Claire eating the candy. Even threat of severe pain wasn't enough to deter her from eating candy (I don't know why, but I just thought about Michelle, here).

You may recognize Morgan's outfit as her Halloween costume. But they are actually pajamas, that she still thinks is a costume and she loves that she can wear them to bed. And during the day. They are her favorite things to wear. Best six bucks I have spent in a long time. She even insists on not turning on the bathroom light when she has to go potty, so that she can see her skeleton glow in the dark. Now that is dedication.


We had a lovely time. And we owe it all to pre-assembled gingerbread houses.

Thanksgiving

If you haven't already caught on, we live in Alabama, far, far away from our family and people who say "pecan" the same way that we do. Due to this distance, we are forced to spend family holidays, such as Thanksgiving, all by our lonesome, in a place where egg custard is commonly considered a dessert. Though we miss our family something fierce, we really do have a good time with our own little family and whatever other friends that happen to also be marooned from their families.

This year we hosted Thanksgiving at our house with another family. Just some background info here: In the past when I have had to prepare Thanksgiving dinner, I have always made ham instead of turkey. Because A.) it's more yummier than turkey, B.) It is a whole lot easier to prepare than turkey, and C.) it is a whole lot harder to mess up than turkey. Cody and I are in agreement on this matter. However, we realize that when we invite another family to celebrate Thanksgiving, they might be severely disappointed to find out we won't be serving Turkey. So I was forced to make a turkey this year. First time ever. With no one to show me how.

I was really nervous about messing it up, and I read a lot of articles on the internet, talked to friends, sisters, my mom, getting all the advice I could and on Thursday morning I felt prepared. Until I pulled the bird out of the fridge and realized for the first time, I have issues with the fact that it looked like an animal. I am currently in the stage of whenever I see a baby animal it somehow reminds me of Luke. So seeing this turkey with its body parts flapping all around made me sad. I almost started to cry. That was unexpected, but Cody and I managed to laugh off how lame I was being, until I realized just how gross the whole sensation of cleaning out the inside of the bird was. I was just plain grossed out. But I handled it like I do everything that is serious- I laughed inappropriately.

After a few emergency phone calls to my mom and sister, the turkey turned out fine, as well as the rest of the dinner. We stuffed ourselves, had a good visit with our friends, and sent them on their way, feeling like we made it through our first turkey experience okay, though somewhat traumatized.

The next morning, I woke up with the bridge of my nose and corner of my right eye grotesquely swollen and infected. I looked pretty awesome, kind of like the blue monkey people on Avatar. You see, what had happened was almost overnight a cyst sprung up in the corner of my eyelid, almost in the exact same spot I had one several years ago. And thought the swelling has gone down, the cyst is still sticking out there, just so lovely. Our Christmas card will only include pictures of my kids this year, while I wait for my appointment with a plastic surgeon. Awesome.

Speaking of cysts and surgeries, remember the witch picture of Claire from Halloween and the cyst that randomly formed on her eyebrow? She had the surgery about a month ago to remove it and she now only has a little scar in her eyebrow. We recently got her lab results on what it actually was, and surprisingly, it was a tumor. A benign, cystic tumor which, I am told, is nothing to be worried about.



There you go. Probably more info than you could possible ever want to know, but I was getting a little tired of just posting pictures.