I’m glad I found that kinda guy ❤✨❤✨
11 years ago
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
that's what she said
I know I will be judged, but I've come to terms with it. I just can't help it. I think 'thats what she said' jokes are hilarious. I never say them, but when somebody else does, I can't help but laugh. They're just so funny!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Red Ribbon Week
Every once in a while a moment comes along that takes you back in time. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. Sometimes it takes you back to an event that completely defined part of who you are. Recently, I had one of those moments. I've been meaning to write about it before now, but I haven't really had the chance.
A couple of weeks ago schools across the nation celebrated Red Ribbon Week. Not an overly significant week to most people. As I sat in the classroom with the students I work with, it caused an inward struggle of feelings from long ago to arise. Completely unexpected and caught totally off guard, I couldn't begin to grasp the effects this had on me. I sat in the back of the class almost numb.
I'm 25 years old. Drugs aren't a new concept to me. Nor is alcohol. And when offered, don't worry. I know to "Just say NO." That was drilled into my head in third grade when the D.A.R.E. program came to my school for Red Ribbon Week. That's what your supposed to walk away with after Red Ribbon Week, right? To just say NO.
I walked away with a lot more that week. I never talked about it, and it wasn't until this last Red Ribbon Week that I realized fully how much it effected me. At my school, they talked about how drugs and alcohol were bad. That wasn't new information to me. Even in third grade, I knew that. But I hadn't realized just what 'bad' meant. Nor did I have a clear definition of what drugs were. I just knew bad people used drugs. End of thought. On the first day of that ever so memorable week, I remember our teacher vaguely describing what drugs were so we could recognize them. Though I thought I was grown up and mature back then, I can't believe it was deemed appropriate to describe and show pictures of drugs to eight year olds. I guess that's just what our world had come to.. even back then. Slowly the pictures and words sank into the pit of my soul. It was all familiar. Too familiar. Every day when I went home from school I encountered the exact same substances that were being shown in the classroom. I suddenly understood what the little mirrors and razor blades were for. I remember feeling sick to my stomach because the white powder on the mirror was a drug. Worse than all of that- I knew my mom liked it. Before this day, I had never given those objects much thought. They were just there. I went home brokenhearted and somewhat in shock.
The following day- or perhaps the day after that, they talked more in depth about the people who would do such sad and horrible things like drugs. They told us those people were sick and needed help. They said they were bad and sometimes made very bad choices. They told us if they didn't get help, they would get more sick and hurt themselves. After that day, I was determined to help my mom. She needed it. Didn't she? I spent the entire day after school thinking about how I would help her and how I would tell somebody that she needed help. I looked at my my and I was genuinely sad for her. I wondered if she knew how bad her drugs were.
Those thoughts were abruptly broken to pieces the following day. The school had police officers come talk to us about D.A.R.E. I don't really remember what they said, but one of my first thoughts were about the black shirts they were giving away. Big red letters boldly proclaiming a stand against drugs. I liked the thought, but it terrified me to think about what would happen if I had shown up at home with one. What sort of conflict would that cause? Would it make my mom or her friends mad? Would their anger get mixed up with one of those 'bad decisions' that the drugs cause? I knew I couldn't have one of those shirts.
On the verge of tears I sat cross legged on the blacktop as we watched a police officer and his trained German shepherd demonstrate how they find drugs when the bad people hide them. At eight years old, I was forced to wrestle with the enormous weight of processing everything I was dealing with. Towards the end of the demonstration I was horrified when the police officer proudly showed us kids how the dog can attack a person by charging them, jumping up and biting their forearm, wrestling them to the ground. That was it. Decision made. I couldn't tell a soul that my mom was 'sick' or 'bad'.
In my little mind; Drugs were bad. People who did drugs were bad. It made them sick. They need help. Helping them means making them get attacked by a big dog.
Night after night, day after day, my head and heart were overwhelmed with all of this. It literally made me physically sick and depressed as I tried to figure it all out. I didn't understand how telling a teacher, who would tell the cops, who would bring their dogs to bite my mom- could possibly help her. It just didn't make sense. If I didn't tell anyone, she would get more sick. If I did tell them, hell would reign down. I loved my mom and I didn't know what to do. Either choice seemed horrible.
Just a few weeks after I became aware of all those things, police showed up and arrested my mom. Child Protective Services came and took me, my sister, and my brother away. I clearly recall standing in our front yard as neighbors and police and many other strangers swarmed my home. Across the street sat my mom in a police car. Handcuffed, and alone. I remember crying because I was scared. More than fear, I felt regret. I felt so sad for her that she was so sick. I wondered how my mom, who loved me, could be so bad. I wondered how people knew she was bad. I never told anyone. Standing there, looking her in the eyes from across the street, I still couldn't decide if I should have told someone sooner. Maybe she wouldn't be so sad if I said something when I found out. Maybe she would have. Maybe my teachers noticed me crying and knew. Maybe it was my fault she was locked in the car crying. That day I lost everything but my brother and sister. Although, a week after that we lost my sister when we got split up into different foster homes.
This year, Red Ribbon Week brought it all back and made me very aware of the scars I carry with me. It made me re-think all those same thoughts, irrational as they were. More than that; it gave me a new perspective on the fragile, sensitive little hearts children can't help but wear on their sleeve.
A couple of weeks ago schools across the nation celebrated Red Ribbon Week. Not an overly significant week to most people. As I sat in the classroom with the students I work with, it caused an inward struggle of feelings from long ago to arise. Completely unexpected and caught totally off guard, I couldn't begin to grasp the effects this had on me. I sat in the back of the class almost numb.
I'm 25 years old. Drugs aren't a new concept to me. Nor is alcohol. And when offered, don't worry. I know to "Just say NO." That was drilled into my head in third grade when the D.A.R.E. program came to my school for Red Ribbon Week. That's what your supposed to walk away with after Red Ribbon Week, right? To just say NO.
I walked away with a lot more that week. I never talked about it, and it wasn't until this last Red Ribbon Week that I realized fully how much it effected me. At my school, they talked about how drugs and alcohol were bad. That wasn't new information to me. Even in third grade, I knew that. But I hadn't realized just what 'bad' meant. Nor did I have a clear definition of what drugs were. I just knew bad people used drugs. End of thought. On the first day of that ever so memorable week, I remember our teacher vaguely describing what drugs were so we could recognize them. Though I thought I was grown up and mature back then, I can't believe it was deemed appropriate to describe and show pictures of drugs to eight year olds. I guess that's just what our world had come to.. even back then. Slowly the pictures and words sank into the pit of my soul. It was all familiar. Too familiar. Every day when I went home from school I encountered the exact same substances that were being shown in the classroom. I suddenly understood what the little mirrors and razor blades were for. I remember feeling sick to my stomach because the white powder on the mirror was a drug. Worse than all of that- I knew my mom liked it. Before this day, I had never given those objects much thought. They were just there. I went home brokenhearted and somewhat in shock.
The following day- or perhaps the day after that, they talked more in depth about the people who would do such sad and horrible things like drugs. They told us those people were sick and needed help. They said they were bad and sometimes made very bad choices. They told us if they didn't get help, they would get more sick and hurt themselves. After that day, I was determined to help my mom. She needed it. Didn't she? I spent the entire day after school thinking about how I would help her and how I would tell somebody that she needed help. I looked at my my and I was genuinely sad for her. I wondered if she knew how bad her drugs were.
Those thoughts were abruptly broken to pieces the following day. The school had police officers come talk to us about D.A.R.E. I don't really remember what they said, but one of my first thoughts were about the black shirts they were giving away. Big red letters boldly proclaiming a stand against drugs. I liked the thought, but it terrified me to think about what would happen if I had shown up at home with one. What sort of conflict would that cause? Would it make my mom or her friends mad? Would their anger get mixed up with one of those 'bad decisions' that the drugs cause? I knew I couldn't have one of those shirts.
On the verge of tears I sat cross legged on the blacktop as we watched a police officer and his trained German shepherd demonstrate how they find drugs when the bad people hide them. At eight years old, I was forced to wrestle with the enormous weight of processing everything I was dealing with. Towards the end of the demonstration I was horrified when the police officer proudly showed us kids how the dog can attack a person by charging them, jumping up and biting their forearm, wrestling them to the ground. That was it. Decision made. I couldn't tell a soul that my mom was 'sick' or 'bad'.
In my little mind; Drugs were bad. People who did drugs were bad. It made them sick. They need help. Helping them means making them get attacked by a big dog.
Night after night, day after day, my head and heart were overwhelmed with all of this. It literally made me physically sick and depressed as I tried to figure it all out. I didn't understand how telling a teacher, who would tell the cops, who would bring their dogs to bite my mom- could possibly help her. It just didn't make sense. If I didn't tell anyone, she would get more sick. If I did tell them, hell would reign down. I loved my mom and I didn't know what to do. Either choice seemed horrible.
Just a few weeks after I became aware of all those things, police showed up and arrested my mom. Child Protective Services came and took me, my sister, and my brother away. I clearly recall standing in our front yard as neighbors and police and many other strangers swarmed my home. Across the street sat my mom in a police car. Handcuffed, and alone. I remember crying because I was scared. More than fear, I felt regret. I felt so sad for her that she was so sick. I wondered how my mom, who loved me, could be so bad. I wondered how people knew she was bad. I never told anyone. Standing there, looking her in the eyes from across the street, I still couldn't decide if I should have told someone sooner. Maybe she wouldn't be so sad if I said something when I found out. Maybe she would have. Maybe my teachers noticed me crying and knew. Maybe it was my fault she was locked in the car crying. That day I lost everything but my brother and sister. Although, a week after that we lost my sister when we got split up into different foster homes.
This year, Red Ribbon Week brought it all back and made me very aware of the scars I carry with me. It made me re-think all those same thoughts, irrational as they were. More than that; it gave me a new perspective on the fragile, sensitive little hearts children can't help but wear on their sleeve.
Friday, October 24, 2008
...
some people make me so mad i feel sick to my stomach. i'm not so possitive that hitting them wouldn't cure their hypocrisy. i'd like to think i'm bigger than that, so i'll never really know for sure.
..j.o.y..
i miss my babies. that's it. not in a depressing sort of way. more in a 'what if' kind of way. what if they'd lived? what if i didn't have to miss them?
despite it all, i am at peace with it. i knew God would get me to the place from which i could look back on the last few years and not regret a thing. from where i sit, i'd say this is the place. i don't fully understand God's plan and reason. i don't think i'll know this side of heaven why He allowed our babies to be conceived and lost. but i do believe He is sovereign. there is one thing i know well, and i know it will full confidence; if our babies lived- any of them- we wouldn't have been able to give a home to jade. she is so precious and wonderful. and while she in no way replaces the little lives that we lost, she brings us a new kind of joy. a healing joy.
even though my heart still, and forever will ache for my little ones, i know i am blessed beyond measure.
despite it all, i am at peace with it. i knew God would get me to the place from which i could look back on the last few years and not regret a thing. from where i sit, i'd say this is the place. i don't fully understand God's plan and reason. i don't think i'll know this side of heaven why He allowed our babies to be conceived and lost. but i do believe He is sovereign. there is one thing i know well, and i know it will full confidence; if our babies lived- any of them- we wouldn't have been able to give a home to jade. she is so precious and wonderful. and while she in no way replaces the little lives that we lost, she brings us a new kind of joy. a healing joy.
even though my heart still, and forever will ache for my little ones, i know i am blessed beyond measure.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
tagged
I was recently- wait, scratch that. What a lie. It wasn't recently. Start again- I was 'tagged' over a week ago by my dear friend (see blogs I read: the velvet cloud) and told I needed to post seven random things about myself. Originally, I wasn't going to it, but here I am with laundry to be done, and a rare opportunity for a greatly needed nap. What better thing to do than post seven completely random things about myself? Here we go.
1. I always, ALWAYS, always put my right shoe on first.
2. I honestly and very literally cannot eat a sandwich or hamburger unless it's cut in half. I just can't do it.
3. I think Christmas trees are stupid.
4. If addiction is genetic, I'm screwed. Although, what a great excuse (crutch) for my current coffee addiction.
5. I can't chew gum. It hurts my jaw.
6. Anatomy and physiology fascinate me more than anything else in life.
7. I can think of at least 5 things off the top of my head that I would change about my physical appearance if given the opportunity.
1. I always, ALWAYS, always put my right shoe on first.
2. I honestly and very literally cannot eat a sandwich or hamburger unless it's cut in half. I just can't do it.
3. I think Christmas trees are stupid.
4. If addiction is genetic, I'm screwed. Although, what a great excuse (crutch) for my current coffee addiction.
5. I can't chew gum. It hurts my jaw.
6. Anatomy and physiology fascinate me more than anything else in life.
7. I can think of at least 5 things off the top of my head that I would change about my physical appearance if given the opportunity.
Monday, October 13, 2008
this and that
My Beaner's mugs got here today. I ♥ them.
We're already a quarter way through the school year. Wow, it's gone by fast!
My hubby brought me roses and they're currently making my dining room table gorgeous.
I made a really cute Fall-ish centerpiece with the pumpkins Jade picked out from the pumpkin patch yesterday.
We just bought some adorable things for Jade to wear in the lovely cold weather.
The cold I have is kicking my butt. I want to cry.
It's 10:15pm and I'm just now finishing work.
I'm worried that we won't ever have more than one child.
In the process of switching my wardrobe form summer to winter, I've completely destroyed my bedroom and laundry room.
I miss my family and I hate that it will be so long before I see them again.
Friday, October 10, 2008
i need a big stick
A couple of days ago I was reading through some news articles online and I came across one that really blew me away. It actually made me mad. No, this has nothing to do with politics. Although, those news articles more often than not make me mad as well. This was about a lesbian couple in PA who were suing their sperm donor for child support. Yes, you read that right. Let’s break this down, shall we?
First- it's not a great idea to get me started on the whole lesbian thing. I think it's disgusting. And instead of saying anything more and running the sure fire risk of hurting all the feelings belonging to you ladies who like other ladies, I'll leave it at that. It's disgusting.
Second- the very fact that it's not even possible for them to have a child together (under any circumstances) should be red flag enough that their choice making skills may be sub-par. Sure, there are always exceptions to the laws of life, but generally speaking; sperm meets egg: baby is made. Never once did anybody throw two eggs together and create life. Hello? So, fine. These two women want to have a baby. So they use sperm donation. Side note- how do they decide who's going to carry the pregnancy? In heterosexual relationships, that decision is made. No question about it. So, when given the choice, what does that conversation look like? Just an interesting thought.
Third- they find a guy whose sperm they want to use. Via insemination, one of them becomes pregnant. They have the baby, and things seem fine. They decide they want another one. They use the same guy’s sperm so the kids are related. That, too, seems fine. Until they decide they don't want to be each other’s life partners anymore. (Sad pouty face) They had filed for legal partnership or whatever you call it, so they are both equally responsible for the children. After the split, we'll say Lady A has custody. Lady B pays child support.
Fourth- Lady B decides it's just too much of a financial burden to pay all that money towards the lives of the children she decided should be brought into the world. Her novel idea? Go after the sperm donor! You know, the nice guy who made all their dreams come true- the guy who gave them they one thing they couldn't give each other- children.
Never in American history has it ever been legally demanded that three adults be financially responsible for a child. It's always been two. Mom and dad, mom and mom, dad and dad, aunt and uncle, grandma and grandpa- whatever. So the odds of their winning the case would seem unlikely. Not to mention the fact that the guy was just the donor! Now, once again, what are the odds of them winning the case? To me, it seems like a no brainer. Of course they shouldn’t win. Duh. They have to be stupid to even try something like that with hopes of winning. Ahh, but wait-
They won the case and the poor donor has to pay $1200 a month.
This makes me want to go sock them in the face. Or at least go to the gym and build up my upper body and hit them from behind with a stick.
First- it's not a great idea to get me started on the whole lesbian thing. I think it's disgusting. And instead of saying anything more and running the sure fire risk of hurting all the feelings belonging to you ladies who like other ladies, I'll leave it at that. It's disgusting.
Second- the very fact that it's not even possible for them to have a child together (under any circumstances) should be red flag enough that their choice making skills may be sub-par. Sure, there are always exceptions to the laws of life, but generally speaking; sperm meets egg: baby is made. Never once did anybody throw two eggs together and create life. Hello? So, fine. These two women want to have a baby. So they use sperm donation. Side note- how do they decide who's going to carry the pregnancy? In heterosexual relationships, that decision is made. No question about it. So, when given the choice, what does that conversation look like? Just an interesting thought.
Third- they find a guy whose sperm they want to use. Via insemination, one of them becomes pregnant. They have the baby, and things seem fine. They decide they want another one. They use the same guy’s sperm so the kids are related. That, too, seems fine. Until they decide they don't want to be each other’s life partners anymore. (Sad pouty face) They had filed for legal partnership or whatever you call it, so they are both equally responsible for the children. After the split, we'll say Lady A has custody. Lady B pays child support.
Fourth- Lady B decides it's just too much of a financial burden to pay all that money towards the lives of the children she decided should be brought into the world. Her novel idea? Go after the sperm donor! You know, the nice guy who made all their dreams come true- the guy who gave them they one thing they couldn't give each other- children.
Never in American history has it ever been legally demanded that three adults be financially responsible for a child. It's always been two. Mom and dad, mom and mom, dad and dad, aunt and uncle, grandma and grandpa- whatever. So the odds of their winning the case would seem unlikely. Not to mention the fact that the guy was just the donor! Now, once again, what are the odds of them winning the case? To me, it seems like a no brainer. Of course they shouldn’t win. Duh. They have to be stupid to even try something like that with hopes of winning. Ahh, but wait-
They won the case and the poor donor has to pay $1200 a month.
This makes me want to go sock them in the face. Or at least go to the gym and build up my upper body and hit them from behind with a stick.
Monday, October 6, 2008
cait-bo-bait
This is my sister, Caitlyn. She's graduating from basic training in the Army in just a couple of days. I'm so proud of her. I'm not sure where she's off to next for her AIT, but I'm sure she'll do great.
I love you Cait!
I love you Cait!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
i'm not racist. i'm amused.
Some may say I have a bad sense of humor. I'm not going to debate that because I can't change what I think is funny. If you're offended by this post (or any others, for that matter) you'll have to get over it. Or, as a novel idea, stop reading my blog. Now I've got you intrigued, right?
Back in 2005 Hubby and I took a trip to Michigan to visit my mom. While there we came across this wonderful coffee shop. We ventured into the shop a number of times during our week there. I'd be completely lying if I told you it was because the coffee was good. It was marginally drinkable. I'd also be lying if I told you we went there out of convenience, as if it was the closest coffee place to my mom's house. We passed a few Starbucks on the way. It would also take a lie for me to tell you that their customer service was the selling factor. People were rude in this particular little coffee venue. It was called Beaner's Gourmet Coffee. Ah, now you see why I was amused enough to go back time after time.
While I paid due respect to the cleverness of the name in relation to coffee beans, I couldn't leave with the belief that they had no concept of the derogatory term that hung outside their shop. Where I come from, beaners is a no-no to say to someone. Unless of course you wanted to get punched by the big Hispanic dude who's path you next cross. Understandably so, being white and thus being called cracker wasn't always great. Although, as pasty as I am, I can't blame anybody for calling me that. Praise Jesus for sunless tanning lotion.
Anyhow, I went online to buy more Beaner's travel mugs but they're no longer being called Beaner's. Hmmm... I can't at all understand why. Now they're called Biggby Coffee. How blah is that? Luckily for me, I found one last style of 'Beaner's Signature Design' mugs and I bought three. Just in case those disappear.
twice made. twice spilled.
Friday morning I made coffee. It got spilled. I made another one during lunch. It got spilled. By 3pm, I had a horrible headache. Maybe I should drink less coffee so I'm not so addicted? Ha, that's a funny joke. Oh, and for the record, I wasn't responsible for spilling either. I wasn't a fan of small children that day.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
big dog
Even though I havent' had time to blog, I have something I want to blog about. But that will have to wait because today is October 1st. Not a day very significant to most of you, I realize. Today marks 6 months exactly since we met, fell in love with, and brought home Jade. Six months exactly. It has gone by so fast!
So, in honor of today, I will recap a conversation that happened yesterday:
While outside the general store, Jade and I ran into Edward Lilley (affectionately known as Pal), Calen Plouffe, and David Hartmann. They were all talking to Jade, and just as I have taught her, she was acting shy. (she's learning the rules of hard to get at an early age.) After a few minutes she began to come out of her shell and be her normal silly self.
"What's your name?" the boys asked.
With a shrug of her little shoulders, "Big Dog."
"Your name is Big Dog?"
"Yeah."
First she named herself Lorelei (yeah, she really did) and now she's wanting to be called Big Dog. I'm not so sure about this one.
So, in honor of today, I will recap a conversation that happened yesterday:
While outside the general store, Jade and I ran into Edward Lilley (affectionately known as Pal), Calen Plouffe, and David Hartmann. They were all talking to Jade, and just as I have taught her, she was acting shy. (she's learning the rules of hard to get at an early age.) After a few minutes she began to come out of her shell and be her normal silly self.
"What's your name?" the boys asked.
With a shrug of her little shoulders, "Big Dog."
"Your name is Big Dog?"
"Yeah."
First she named herself Lorelei (yeah, she really did) and now she's wanting to be called Big Dog. I'm not so sure about this one.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
okay, okay, okay..
I know the majority of my last blogs have all been pretty boring and all about Jade. Not that she's boring. You know what I mean. I miss actually writing about things. I think picture blogs are not me at all. I have all sorts of things to blog about, and yet instead I just post pictures. Granted, they're basically the cutest things ever, but nonetheless, boring. I think I just feel like I finally have some freedom to post about Jade. For several months I was so unsure of whether or not we would get to keep her. I didn't want to seem presumptuous, nor did I want to offend those of you who were hoping we wouldn't get to keep her. I couldn't blame you. But now that it seems more for sure, I just have to share with the world how amazing she is.
I'll write about something interesting soon. Well, it will be interesting to me anyway. You might not find it worth your time. But at least it will be words on a the page. Maybe I'll tell all about another giant lie I told. Those are always funny.
I'll write about something interesting soon. Well, it will be interesting to me anyway. You might not find it worth your time. But at least it will be words on a the page. Maybe I'll tell all about another giant lie I told. Those are always funny.
cuteness
poor little thing was trying to find the deer after they ran off into the woods. she tried to follow them and actually got a little frustrated that i didn't let her. instead she stood there asking,"deer go? Where is it?"
her favorite thing
she loves reading books with him more than anyone else in the world. as soon as he comes home from work, that's what she wants to do. over and over and over. book after book after book. it's the sweetest thing ever and ever and ever.
foo-ta ball
or 'football' if you're not pronouncing it with three syllables like Jade does. Jade loves playing football with her daddy. When he and her uncle John were out playing catch, she wanted to join. "Foo-ta ball please." she would say. She can actually catch and throw pretty well for a one year old. Maybe it's all the USC games she watches. They actually hold her attention for a while. It's so fun to see her excited about something she can hardly do. she's so funny.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
what can i say?
I can't help that she's so stinking cute. Every Friday she goes and plays at Jake Begines' house. And for two days she kept saying, "Dancing Jakey's house." Turns out, she didn't want to dance at Jake's. She wanted to wear her tutu over there. She calls it her 'dancing'. She really dresses to impress the boys.
This picture was ust too precious... We had been gone all weekend visiting Haley, Lala and Papa. It was such an amazing weekend! The entire trip home Jade was pretty grumpy, but as soon as she recognized that we were home, she was all smiles. Completely exhausted, she went to her room, grabbed Moose and climbed up in the chair with her passie waiting for bed time. I'm not sure if she was so much excited about being home as she was to see Moose. To each his own I guess.
This picture was ust too precious... We had been gone all weekend visiting Haley, Lala and Papa. It was such an amazing weekend! The entire trip home Jade was pretty grumpy, but as soon as she recognized that we were home, she was all smiles. Completely exhausted, she went to her room, grabbed Moose and climbed up in the chair with her passie waiting for bed time. I'm not sure if she was so much excited about being home as she was to see Moose. To each his own I guess.
Monday, September 22, 2008
redness
You've been asking for pictures of my kitchen since I painted it, so here they are! You've got a before picture, and an after picture. The paint wasn't dry yet so you'll see the tape is still up in the second picture. I need to do my window treatments next. I looked for material that I want to use, but I didn't find anything too amazing. I'll just have to keep looking.
The wood in the kitchen is pretty beat up and ugly, and I had originally thought about painting it because that was the only way it would look decent. But after painting the red, I feel like they look better. Perhaps I'll just condition them a bit and see how it goes from there.
If you have any suggestions, let me know. :) I'm all ears.
Enjoy.
the before shot. the kitchen was so drab and boring
it's getting there. i really like the red. thanks John and Alex!!Sunday, September 7, 2008
it was love
I want these for my living room. But they're out of stock in the size that I need. Well, no, they have one set left, and I need two. The closest thing I could find is ridiculously expensive... So now I don't know what I'm going to do. I saw them, fell in love, and now everything else would be settling. This sucks.
my little weirdo
Ever notice how when asked about marriage, women commonly complain about having to pick up their husband's dirty socks? It's like some sort of universal word association or something. Marriage - dirty socks. I remember hearing that all the time when I was getting ready to get married. And then even after the vows were said, I heard it more. Many of my married friends of mine would talk (complain) about it.
I never knew if 'picking up dirty socks' was literal, or just a metaphor for saying the whole marriage idea sucks as a whole. Regardless of how many quizzical glances I gave them, I was never clued in. However it was intended, I knew for sure it wasn't a good thing. So as not to rub in their face that I couldn't empathize with them, I remained quiet. You see, I married someone who picks up his own dirty socks.. both literally and metaphorically speaking.
After 4 1/2 years of marriage things have changed. I constantly find myself gathering up Husband's socks from the floor and putting them where they belong. I find them in the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the living room. Everywhere. Everyday.
You'd think I would be mad at Husband, but I can't be. He's no more to blame for this than the homeless guy on the corner of Blackstone and Shaw. Instead, all blame is rightfully placed on the little person. She has figured out where Husband keeps his socks and she frequently gets into them. Her socks are too small to get on by herself, mine are kept too high for her to reach, but Husband's are just right.
Here is a visual example of what I mean. Also note, she was fully clothed with hair done just moments before this was taken. She has a style all her own. Her favorite beanie, pink bloomer things from a skirt, and socks. The little weirdo.
She was showing her muscles for the camera.
I never knew if 'picking up dirty socks' was literal, or just a metaphor for saying the whole marriage idea sucks as a whole. Regardless of how many quizzical glances I gave them, I was never clued in. However it was intended, I knew for sure it wasn't a good thing. So as not to rub in their face that I couldn't empathize with them, I remained quiet. You see, I married someone who picks up his own dirty socks.. both literally and metaphorically speaking.
After 4 1/2 years of marriage things have changed. I constantly find myself gathering up Husband's socks from the floor and putting them where they belong. I find them in the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the living room. Everywhere. Everyday.
You'd think I would be mad at Husband, but I can't be. He's no more to blame for this than the homeless guy on the corner of Blackstone and Shaw. Instead, all blame is rightfully placed on the little person. She has figured out where Husband keeps his socks and she frequently gets into them. Her socks are too small to get on by herself, mine are kept too high for her to reach, but Husband's are just right.
Here is a visual example of what I mean. Also note, she was fully clothed with hair done just moments before this was taken. She has a style all her own. Her favorite beanie, pink bloomer things from a skirt, and socks. The little weirdo.
She was showing her muscles for the camera.Wednesday, September 3, 2008
well, that's new
Despite my last post, Jade has suddenly become enthralled with the camera. She knows how to pose. I swear I didn't teach her. I was putting on my make-up the other morning and Jade goes, "mommy, look. look." And I turn around to see that she had taken off her pants and put on Christopher's socks. .. and hat. I laugh and tell her she's silly and she says, "cheese please!" pointing to my camera sitting on my dresser. So of course I took pictures!!
I told her to make a silly face, and this is what she came up with...
look down... look down.. look down....
Getting Jade to look at the camera has been a challenge. This is the best I could get. I think she watches too much FRIENDS. Chandler has rubed off on her.
and they're off!
Today we are sending in our first batch of paper work to adopt Jade. The process is going to be really long, but at least this is a good first step. Once the adoption worker receives them, he's going to set up our phone interviews. I would be a little nervous, but he really likes us. It's been so rad to see God provide people on Jade's case that really are excited about her bring with us. The social workers hold so much power in cases like this. The fact that they are on our side and fully supportive is awesome.
Please be praying that the paper work gets there quickly, and that it all makes sense. Explaining MY family in a series of multiple choice questions is a ridiculously impossible task. haha
Thanks for your prayers!
Please be praying that the paper work gets there quickly, and that it all makes sense. Explaining MY family in a series of multiple choice questions is a ridiculously impossible task. haha
Thanks for your prayers!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
don't make me threaten you
This afternoon Jade said three very powerful words. Immediately, most of you thought of the words, 'i love you'. But that would hardly be worth writing about since she says it all of the time. Arguably more to Christopher than to me... little snot. What Jade said today was this, " Get out here!" She said all three words with such clarity and command that it shocked me. The setting behind why she said it is hilarious.
She has been really into potty training lately. All on her own. Today during lunch she said she needed to go, so I grab her from her highchair and whisked her to the bathroom. Sure enough, she went. So I gave her some of her "bear bears" (teddy grahams). A little while later she went again and asked for candy this time. I of course gave her a little piece. Not long after she finished her little piece of sweetly sour candy, she asked for another one. Surely, I'm no dummy.
I explained that she can only have candy when she goes potty like a big girl. Almost immediately, she asks to go again. Not wanting to squelch her enthusiasm about the whole thing, yet knowing she's only wanting more candy and probably doesn't have to really go, I quickly take her and set her down. She waits quietly for a few moments and then looks down. "Where is it?" she asks me. I told her she had to make it come out.
She looks down with a furrowed brow and loudly declares, "Get out here!"
Then she fell in. Silly girl.
She has been really into potty training lately. All on her own. Today during lunch she said she needed to go, so I grab her from her highchair and whisked her to the bathroom. Sure enough, she went. So I gave her some of her "bear bears" (teddy grahams). A little while later she went again and asked for candy this time. I of course gave her a little piece. Not long after she finished her little piece of sweetly sour candy, she asked for another one. Surely, I'm no dummy.
I explained that she can only have candy when she goes potty like a big girl. Almost immediately, she asks to go again. Not wanting to squelch her enthusiasm about the whole thing, yet knowing she's only wanting more candy and probably doesn't have to really go, I quickly take her and set her down. She waits quietly for a few moments and then looks down. "Where is it?" she asks me. I told her she had to make it come out.
She looks down with a furrowed brow and loudly declares, "Get out here!"
Then she fell in. Silly girl.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
time isn't as great at they say
I miss my dad. That's basically all. They say that time heals, but lets be honest- that's a load of crap. All time does is allow you more opportunity to desperately learn how to cope with the grief. I'll never stop missing him, and the ache will never go away. I hate that he died. No amount of patting my back and saying, "just give it time.." is going to change that. I didn't cut my finger... my dad died. Note the difference.
I feel the same way about my five babies ♥. I think I just hate death and loss. I sometimes envy those who have never lost anyone close. Until a few years ago, I just thought everyone lost at least someone. But I've actually met people who have never had to miss someone the way that I do. It's strange to me because in my life, I've lost a lot. -to the point that it almost feels normal. So strange.
I don't want sympathy. I just wanted to vent. I hate that I didn't get to say good bye. Sometimes I think that's the most unfair part of all.
Monday, August 25, 2008
she must know I am fond of the silliness
Jade and I were on our own tonight for dinner, bath, and bed time. She quickly turned my easy meal of spaghetti into a phenomenal mess. As you can see, she seems quite proud of herself. I thought a big bubble bath would be fun before heading to bed. She usually doesn't like bubbles at all, but I'm glad I gave them another shot. As the water was draining from the tub she looked down at the white foam and said, "bye-bye bubbles." with a big grin. She has such a joyful, silly personality.
I'm amazed. A face this messy and her eyes are what stand out. Go figure.
I think this is quite possibly my favorite picture ever. She's so funny
Jade insisted the turtle say "cheese" for the camera.
unlucky ten minutes
This morning in a matter of ten minutes, I got to my sitter's house to realize she's not home, my Suzuki overheated, and on the way to find someone else to watch Jade, I spilled coffee on my white pants. I then arrived to work one minute late... which coffee on my paints... hopefully the second half of the day goes better.
Friday, August 22, 2008
niceness can't possibly pay off every time, right?
One time when I was at summer camp, I told a lie. Although, you might consider it many, many, many lies. I'm not sure. Each and every lie tied together nicely to make one big, fat, horrible, yet convincingly funny lie.
Here's the story. My friend Gina and I met this girl name Kris on the first day of camp. And for some reason, Gina and I thought it would be funny to tell the girl that I was mentally handicapped. For the sake of saving a little dignity, lets say it was Gina's idea and I just fell victim to peer pressure. Besides, what harm could it do? It's just one meal, right? The camp was really big and we didn't plan to see Kris again since she was with a different group.
We were eating our first meal and she sat with us. By the end of dinner, we had fed her an entire story about how bad off I was. I rambled on and on and on with my very convincing speech impediment about my 'special school' and my 'special teacher, Miss Gregory'. I pulled the name out of thin air, then began assembling a fictitious character that I would end up 'crying' for each and every day. Out of her big, big heart she offered to pour me more lemonade. Sweet, right? And that's just the beginning.
Because Kris felt so badly for me; that I was at camp away from my family and my ever so beloved Miss Gregory, she made a point to follow me around the ENTIRE week. Gina and I were not expecting her to ditch her group and hang with us. Oh, but she did. What were we to do? That's right... keep lying! All week long she did my crafts, she tied my shoes, she cut my food, she styled my hair, she helped me walk up all the big hills, she helped me swim... the list goes on and on. All the while Kris thinks my friend Gina is the very responsible camper who was put in charge of my well-being while at camp. If only she knew that my sensational unkempt look of mismatched clothes and ratty hair was all attributed to Gina's handiwork.
With all the intricate details that went into the ever growing lie, the one thing that still gets me is the fact that very few people knew what we were up to. Not even the kids in our group knew that we were completely taking advantage of poor little Kris. We were careful to play our cards just right.
Finally, the last day of camp came and we were all busy packing and cleaning our cabins. I was left alone in my cabin while everyone else was taking their luggage out to the buses. In comes Kris. She was supposed to be on the other side of camp packing HER stuff. What was she doing in my cabin?
Game Face. She had come to say goodbye. She was very sweet and encouraging as she told me how glad she was to have met me, and how she will never forget me. (which, by the way, I'm sure ended up being the exact truth.) A twinge of guilt crept in just as I was saying goodbye, again, with slurred and struggled speech.
Sitting on the floor, I listened to Kris walk toward the door behind me. With perfect clarity I say, "Wait." Kris turned around. "I'm not really retarded."
"You're not?" her mouth agape.
"Nope."
"Oh. Okay..."
And out she slowly walked with a look of shock and wonder on her face. That was the last I saw of Kris.
Did I mention this was church camp?
Here's the story. My friend Gina and I met this girl name Kris on the first day of camp. And for some reason, Gina and I thought it would be funny to tell the girl that I was mentally handicapped. For the sake of saving a little dignity, lets say it was Gina's idea and I just fell victim to peer pressure. Besides, what harm could it do? It's just one meal, right? The camp was really big and we didn't plan to see Kris again since she was with a different group.
We were eating our first meal and she sat with us. By the end of dinner, we had fed her an entire story about how bad off I was. I rambled on and on and on with my very convincing speech impediment about my 'special school' and my 'special teacher, Miss Gregory'. I pulled the name out of thin air, then began assembling a fictitious character that I would end up 'crying' for each and every day. Out of her big, big heart she offered to pour me more lemonade. Sweet, right? And that's just the beginning.
Because Kris felt so badly for me; that I was at camp away from my family and my ever so beloved Miss Gregory, she made a point to follow me around the ENTIRE week. Gina and I were not expecting her to ditch her group and hang with us. Oh, but she did. What were we to do? That's right... keep lying! All week long she did my crafts, she tied my shoes, she cut my food, she styled my hair, she helped me walk up all the big hills, she helped me swim... the list goes on and on. All the while Kris thinks my friend Gina is the very responsible camper who was put in charge of my well-being while at camp. If only she knew that my sensational unkempt look of mismatched clothes and ratty hair was all attributed to Gina's handiwork.
With all the intricate details that went into the ever growing lie, the one thing that still gets me is the fact that very few people knew what we were up to. Not even the kids in our group knew that we were completely taking advantage of poor little Kris. We were careful to play our cards just right.
Finally, the last day of camp came and we were all busy packing and cleaning our cabins. I was left alone in my cabin while everyone else was taking their luggage out to the buses. In comes Kris. She was supposed to be on the other side of camp packing HER stuff. What was she doing in my cabin?
Game Face. She had come to say goodbye. She was very sweet and encouraging as she told me how glad she was to have met me, and how she will never forget me. (which, by the way, I'm sure ended up being the exact truth.) A twinge of guilt crept in just as I was saying goodbye, again, with slurred and struggled speech.
Sitting on the floor, I listened to Kris walk toward the door behind me. With perfect clarity I say, "Wait." Kris turned around. "I'm not really retarded."
"You're not?" her mouth agape.
"Nope."
"Oh. Okay..."
And out she slowly walked with a look of shock and wonder on her face. That was the last I saw of Kris.
Did I mention this was church camp?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
A lot of people always ask why I don't blog very much about whats going on with Jade and our hope of adopting her. I have wanted to, but I've been a little afraid. I guess I just wanted to see how things played out before I wrote anything. Just in case we had to give her up. With recent court hearings, it seems as though we will get to be her forever family!
Some of you already are aware, but I thought I would share the news with everyone else. We received our first batch of adoption paperwork in the mail last week. What's so exciting about paperwork? It means that we finally get to start the process of actually adopting Jade. We are finally heading down the path of permanency!
Bringing Jade home was amazing. And even though it was just short of five months ago, it seems like she's been ours forever. To be honest, I don't think my heart could handle it if she didn't get to be ours forever. Knowing that decisions have been made and Lord willing, we get to keep her- I'm amazed. We feel so blessed to have her. She is such an amazing littler girl and she has healed our hearts so much in the last few months. She is our world and we are so excited to see what God has in store for our little family.
Please be praying as we start the tedious process of adoption. A lot of work has to be done and there are many, many, many steps to take before anything can be finalized. Keep not only us, but her social workers as well, in your prayers over the next several months.
This is Jade when we first picked her up. April 1, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
a few of the cute one
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