For Auntie Shells

Michelle requested some pictures of Morgan, but since I don't want Claire to grow up with a complex, I will include some pictures of her, too. I tried to take some of Morgan smiling, because she has a beautiful smile, but sometimes, she is too elusive.

(so pretty)

( Morgan's scowl)

(You can almost see the smile)

(I can't help it, I think she is so cute)

Claire is my big girl , all graduated from preschool today (and in which I bawled like a baby as I picked her up and said goodbye to her teachers. Embarrassing, I know).

I love my girls.

Any Better Than That

Last week I said goodbye to a good friend, the first of many good friends that I am going to have to say goodbye to in the next three weeks. And they are a great group of friends. So much of what I have loved about living here are the people I have met and who I have forced to be my friends. We are quite the diverse group. One, a former granola wanna-be who actually tried to make. . .get? form?. . what do you call the process of obtaining dread locks? One, who was voted best dressed in high school. One, who once threw all her ex-boyfriends stuff off the balcony. One, who, simply because she thought it looked good, tasted a bar of soap. One, who toted around her American Doll whilst wearing her matching AG dress. One, who claimed for a period of several months in college that she was from Boston, when really she was from exotic Idaho Falls. One, who once worked at Abercrombie and Fitch because she is a size 0. One, who worked at McD's, and ate a hot fudge sundae and a cheeseburger everyday. . . and was much bigger than a size 0. One, who was Utah's Junior Miss. And one, who set fire to an elementary school when she was little (no, I made that up, though I do know someone who did that). I will miss my friends deeply; I will mostly miss the laughter (especially about the eating of the soap).

(Crepe night, our last night together before Jana left. Please ignore my giraffe-esque neck, my not-done hair, and my crappy outfit. It was just one of those days, so back off! But the crepes were delighful.)

I have two more Sundays in our ward. I can't really fathom what it is going to be like to not go there anymore and see the familiar faces, the families and their unassigned-assigned seating. I am still trying to get use to the feeling of primary not being constantly in my thoughts. I served in primary the entire time I have been here and I have loved it. I will miss the primary kids, who like to say whatever rolls across their tongue at any time, to the chagrin of their parents, but much to my delight.

Our house. It is small, it smells like your grandma's house, has a random toilet in the basement, and it doesn't believe in the value of closet space, but it has been our first house. Though Cody may not agree completely with me, I have loved it for all that it has been. I know the house pretty well. I know how to do a dance on the floor upstairs so as to not wake up Morgan by avoiding on the creaky parts. I know I can hear my kids in any part of the house at any time of the day. I know that I can also hear the neighbors cursing in the street at four in the morning (it's happened occasionally). I know where Claire pooped on the carpet right before Morgan was born (I never blogged about it because it was too traumatic!) I know where the best places to hide are when we play turkey hide-n-go seek. I know how peaceful our yard is during a summer evening. I know I will miss our house. It has been a place of many firsts for us and holds memories that I will always look back on with happiness. And having said that, I am SOOO excited to sell it!



In the movie, McLintock, John Wayne, a wealthy cattle baron, is explaining to his daughter why he isn't going to leave her much of what he owns. It pretty much sums up the way I feel about our home, and life here in PA, minus the cow spread:

What I'm going to give you is a 500 cow spread on the Upper Green River. Now that may not seem like much, but it's more than we had, your mother and I. Some folks are gonna say I'm doin' all this so I can sit up in the hereafter and look down on a park named after me, or that I was disappointed in you - didn't want you to get all that money. But the real reason, Becky, is because I love you, and I want you and some young man to have what I had, because all the gold in the United States Treasury and all the harp music in heaven can't equal what happens between a man and a woman with all that growin' together. I can't explain it any better than that.

We may not have had a lot of worldly wealth, and we may not have had a garage (or dishwasher, or air conditioning) , but we have had so much more together here, as a family.

And it only makes us that much more excited to move into a home that actually has air conditioning (I am almost shedding a tear at that thought).

What My Mother Doesn't Know

With a title like that you would think I have some juicy confession, but no. I am way to boring for anything like that. What my mother doesn't know is that she has started an epidemic over here in our little corner of PA. A birdie sling epidemic.

I am quite sure when she sent me the purse pattern, she had no idea that it would spread, multiply and and replenish the earth so fast. It has been just over six weeks since I stitched the last little button on my bag, and today I can count eleven birdie slings made since then, and three more under construction, and several more in the planning stages. We are talking epidemic proportions!

I am thinking Amy Butler (the designer of the bag) should send my mom some commission, for helping spread the birdie sling infection!

Here are just five of the slings. It is really fun for me to see the different fabrics and colors that everyone is coming up with. It really is the best kind of epidemic to have!

For funsies, let take a running total of these girl's sling production:
Me, I have made two, one as a gift
Elise, has made three, with two more cut out (she is slightly crazy)
Gina, has made two, and someone who saw her bag is paying her $75 to make one for them,
Melanie, has made one and is making another
Amy, to my knowledge, this is her only one (so far)
and several other s not pictured have made and are making some.

I'd Like a Pink Parasol

It must be spring since it has been about a month since I posted. Busy month. Lotsa happening. Let's just take it one thing at a time.

There are few things that I can actually rate as the best or worst of all time, without doubt, hesitation, or the feeling that I am being overly dramatic. Claire's fifth birthday is one of those times. In her five short years, with five loud birthday celebrations, this birthday was the worst birthday she has had. No competition. No question.

For starters, it was only our small family in attendance. That in and of itself isn't bad, but she has always had friends come to her birthday parties, so all through our simple celebration she kept saying, "I don't like this party. Where are all the kids?"

We decided not to have a kid party this year because we were out of town up until the day before her birthday, which was actually on Easter Sunday, but we, being goodly parents, lied and told her her birthday wasn't until Monday because we weren't ready for it on Sunday. I feel no shame. So Monday, at four o'clock, I finally went to buy Claire some birthday presents. At 5:30 I put her cake in the oven and ate dinner. At 6:00, whilst the cake was a coolin', we get a call from our realtor asking if we could show our house in an hour (panic). So we hurriedly and harriedly cleaned our house and got the heck outta there, leaving the cake unfrosted, and the presents unwrapped. We went to get some ice cream, got creeped out by the ice-cream guy, came home at 8:00 and smeared a slab of frosting on a corner of the cake, put candles on, and Cody wrapped the gifts like he was a blind man with an aversion to tree-huggers.


And it turned out just fine (lame-o, but fine). After eating cake and opening presents, she finally admitted that she was five, and I could tell she had a good time. But still, worst birthday in her short little life.

(she asked for an umbrella for her b-day)

(an easter pic of our happy little girl)

We love her so much and never get tired of her silly imagination, we do get somewhat tired of her excessive drama (I don't know where she gets it), and her feet are starting to look like grown up feet (that makes me kinda sad). I am mostly struck by how fast she is growing into a little girl. Lovely.

Dabbling

For my birthday, my mom sent me a pretty bird sling purse pattern, as well as all the material to make it. It was a perfect gift- it let me use my creative side, trying and learning something new, and it is really cute and useful.

I have had people stop me at the grocery store and Rite-Aid, to compliment my bag. This may be a common occurrence with you guys, but I am not much of a purse person, and am always carrying around something blah. But not anymore. And it has set my blood bubbling for more bags; I want more! Thanks, mom!

Friday Night Treat

This recipe is on the back of the Reese's peanut butter chip package, and it is a little slice of heaven. Not really a slice, since its a cookie, so I will say a heaping teaspoonful of heaven. I took them to my friend who was in the hospital after having her fourth little girl (rock on!) and she later texted me that they were the best cookies she had ever tasted. These cookies are good, but it probably helped that she had been eating hospital food for two straight days. Try them. You'll thank Reese's.

Heavy Lead Apron

This is kinda a weird post. It's kinda a ranting and raving kinda post, that uses the psuedo-word 'kinda' multiple times in it's opening paragraph. The rant is about me, in case you are worried I was going to rant about you, or skinny jeans. I need to lay this out on the table, because it has been bothering me for a long time (so have skinny jeans, but I promise this post isn't about that).

Judgmental people are annoying.

I am judgmental.

I tend to have way to many opinions that really don't need to be shared, but that I let slip out anyways, and cast my heavy lead apron (you know, like at the dentist office; I love the way those feel) of judgment over anyone who happens to be standing near me.

The problem with being judgmental is
A.) I don't know everything. (shocking, I know)
B.) Some things that I thought I knew the what-what about come back to bite me in the butt (like how I use to view moms that had screaming kids in the grocery store; i take that one back, way back).
C.) It is okay for people to view things different than me. If you want to get engaged after a week of knowing a guy- fine. That's your choice. You don't need me spouting my opinion off because it's none of my business.
D.) Listening to people be judgmental hurts everyone involved. Even if you aren't the one they are being judgmental about, you start to think of the things that this person probably judges you about when you aren't around.

This is how I think; this is what keeps weighing on my mind. Why can't I shut my mouth and be more respectful? So narrow-minded, so snotty. I don't want to be this way. There isn't much greater torture to me than knowing I have hurt some one's feelings. I have already made one teary-eyed phone call begging for forgiveness this year, I don't want to have to do that anymore. It must stop. Because I really don't like judgmental people.