I'm in Love~I'm in Love~I'm in Love...

C'mon! You can hear the song, can'tcha?!

Remember the boring old drab yucky bedroom I showed you, like, last week or something? And remember the treasure I sort of started telling you about, like, last week or something? And remember how I insisted my husband give me a bedroom makeover for my birthday after reading this post from The Nester??

Remember?!

Well, I'm in love with my bedroom. For like the first time. EVER!!!
And sometime in the next few days (or so) I am going to reveal it to you! (I just have a few more dozen yards of fabric [or so] to purchase before it's close enough to being done to show you all!)

SO, stay tuned!!!

(Oh, and just to let you in on a little bit of the secret - I chose the bed set that you all recommended!!! Yay! Internet support ROCKS!)

Will You Cry

There are times when life flies by me so expressly it feels like I'm on the Monorail at Disney. Sometimes I allow it to fly by like this because stopping to smell the roses actually causes a piercing of my heart so strong and so severe that it strips my breath from my chest. Stopping causes me to realize that one day - too soon from now - this jaunty smile, where the corners turn up in just that way, will be affixed upon a grown man staring lovingly into the eyes of his beautiful bride instead of at his zealous mama bent on snapping Easter morning pictures.


And one day, this serious young man (with those amazing freckles)



will no longer desire to wear these cartoon underoos.



When T was little little I would lay down with him nightly to recap the adventures of that day. We would praise God for the glorious blessings and look forward to the following day with great anticipation. We reminisce even today about those moments together just a few short years ago.


One day, I hope to look back on my life with tears because I miss the times we once spent - not look back with tears because I missed the times we didn't spend.

I think it's time to climb back up the steps of that bunkbed.


Care to join me in unwrapping your Tuesday?

Marathon Man

I interrupt my story of bargain shopping to bring you this story:

The Story of a Marathon Runner

We returned from Nashville this afternoon (thus the reason for no posts lately). I hadn't made it clear to yah'll here on the blawg (notice my newly enhanced southern drahwel?) that JT and I were puttin' a few miles under our feet here in the last few days. Specifically, we took on about 15 pounds of water apiece last Sunday whilst running 13.1 miles in the pouring rain in our own fair city. We both set new personal records for our half marathon pace, though I'd hoped for just a little better numbers on my part. I knew six days later I'd have my chance to improve my time - since I'd be running another 13.1 miles on the streets of Nashville (one year after our first half, documented here).

(here in StL, cold and wet after a decent 13.1)

Yesterday in Nashville, I ran my second half marathon in six days. I recovered fairly well through the week from muscle aches, purple toes, and blisters. I went into the race feeling strong. I passed my pace team - twice. But about miles 6-8 I began to realize it was getting hot. Very hot. And it wasn't just me. It was Nashville. In the end, I only shaved 10 minutes off last year's time. And I'm OK with that. (There's always next year, right?)

(here in Nashville pre-race with my in-laws; my MIL's kajillionth half - she's a pro! My FIL's first @59!)

Now, here's the real story of the day! My husband is now a marathon runner. In case you didn't know, a marathon is 26.2 miles. Twenty-six point two miles. Of running. On streets. And JT ran it. He finished. And at the end of the race, the temperature in Nashville was 90 degrees. (about 30 degrees hotter than a decent running temp!)


I had the distinct privilege of watching marathoners cross the finish line for my first time yesterday. Men and women who made a decision to do something few of us ever will do to and with our bodies. They set a goal and went about accomplishing that task. One. Step. At. A. Time. I saw broken spirits. Within sight of the resolution of their efforts. I saw triumph. I saw mothers and fathers lift their babies across the fence holding spectators back and proceed to carry those little miracles across the finish line with them. I saw a woman fall on the concrete at my feet from intense, excruciating cramps in her toes. Other marathoners stopped to aid her in pushing her feet forcefully toward her nose to counteract the cramping. I saw a man lift his two sons over the fence to accompany him to the finish. Before he could manage another step, he vomited. His young son patted Daddy on the back, took his hand and helped him up to finish his race. Another, aided by the cheers of the crowd, began running only to stop again, walking to the finish. Finishing as strong as he could summon. In the heat. Searing, burning heat.

And, just as we were beginning to worry. Starting to fear that the heat had grown too strong, too much to bear. Just as the concern began to overcome us and force us to run along the sidelines to find him, to catch a glimpse of a green jersey. Right then, my mother-in-law and I saw him. We saw JT with a determined look. A strong stride. A man who had on that day become a marathon runner. Round the corner. Eye his family. Renew his strength. And cross the line. Tears ran down my face from relief. From happiness. From pride.

My marathon man.

(He looks good, doesn't he?!)

Treasure Hunting

Saturday morning, J took the older three kids on a hike with his Boy Scout den while I planned to go grocery shopping with Sasha. I can't describe in nice words how much disdain I have for grocery shopping with the masses at noon on Saturday, so if I must go, I go early.

So early Saturday morning, I buckled Sash into her carseat in "Daddy's car!" and headed to the store. Soon, we came across a sign that read: Moving Sale. I thought about it about half a second, then I turned the car from its WalMart destination to its new direction - a sale! As we pulled up, I quickly realized the sale was in someone's house. I snatched Sasha from her carseat, took a deep breath, and said, "There's a first for everything!" and into the house we traipsed.

Moments later, we left empty handed.

I've frequented garage sales in the past. Particularly when our income was significantly less than it is today. We were new parents. Of twins. Single income. Garage sales seemed to be the right equation for finding decent, cheap baby clothes. I once happened upon the Mother Load of baby mania at a sale in West County. I live in South County. (It's totally a St. Louis thing. Where'd you go to high school? {also a St. Louis thing. I am not from St. Louis. Just so you know.} Back to my story...)

I'd never been inside someone's house for a sale before. But recently, many of my favorite bloggers have shared stories of fabulous finds at such unseemly locations as Good Will. Garage Sales. I actually took the kids to Good Will several weeks ago. They had a blast! It's not the place I would have thought. It was fun! I don't recommend taking anyone into the bathroom there, but the shopping was fun! And I bought one of my white dishes for my succulents there for a measly $3! So, when I saw the next sign on Saturday that said: SALE! we turned the car around again and tried once more to find unknown treasures. This time, we hit the mother load of estate sales!

Stay tuned tomorrow for more on this, apparently, lengthy story!

Ha-YAH & Peepamzees

I made cookies tonite while J played golf with the kids. As I returned to the kitchen just now to clean up after the kids were all in bed - asleep, the house absolutely quiet, I thought, "What will they remember?" What will my kids remember about me? Will they remember Mom in the kitchen making cookies? Will they remember anything from these days? My oldest are only 7, after all.


And then I thought about this morning. And taking Meiners to the zoo. Sometimes that boy just gets so ... Cantankerous? Mischievous? I don't know. But I think what it comes down to is attention. That's all he wants.


My friend and I often lament that we did so much more with 'the older kids' when they were this age (4 and almost 2) - taking them to the Museum of Transportation, to the zoo, here, there...And now that the older ones are off to school and these little guys remain at home, for some reason, it just isn't as ... what? Fun? Exciting? Something - to take the younger kids to those same places. I mean, it isn't HARD to do. It just doesn't get done. Like playing with them on the floor. I used to play with the twins on the floor half the day. Now there's laundry to do and dog hair to vacuum and ... and what?


So today I took Meiners and Sasha to the zoo. And I bought my little man a chimpanzee toy. He took it straight away over to the primate exhibit and proceeded to give me the memory of a lifetime. The baby orangatan came right up to the window and clapped. At Meiners. And his little toy. And the baby begged Meiners to give him the chimp toy through the window. And he climbed the window and he laid on the floor --- all based on where Meiners placed the toy. And the orangatan baby clapped again. And kissed the window and made faces at Meiners. And a crowd gathered. And Meiners just grinned. The whole time, playing with this little primate baby and his chimpanzee toy. And I'd left my camera at home. But Meiners left with an extra bit of pep in his step. He listened a little better. All day.


I love that we went to the zoo. To see the 'peepamzees.'


Oh. And the boys have taught Sasha - 22 months old, barely able to speak - to do Karate.

Ha-YAH! (if only I could figure out how to post video...)

Today

Today I am several days behind in posting. I have race day pictures to share, funny kid stories, and even a little tale of disappointment. And yet, I have none of these stories in print for you. Perhaps, as I look ahead to another race just days away, I will use my time wisely and use the 'post later' option?

Nah.

Instead, I'll spend just a few minutes telling you that we did not get 'the house.' I have to admit to just you and me that I am disappointed. Very disappointed. And when I think on it with more than a glimmer of grey power, I think I might cry. But, really, it's not even worth the salt. To move or not to move into the house was placed solidly into God's hands from the very beginning. And this was Him saying, "No." Not realtors or banks or the world. It was Him.

Really, I'm OK with that. I shared with my Bible study group last week that, since having Pookie (and Meiners), I've truly realized that life is full of suffering. If we just look around, we can see it everywhere. Not just miles away or on TV, but right next door and in our own lives. Things have been going very well for our family for a while now. I admitted that I've sort of been 'waiting' - waiting for the other shoe to drop. A wonderful mentor sitting next to me said, "Perhaps it already is. Perhaps you've been through or are going through something bigger than you even realize. But you handle it as if it were small because you've learned to lean on God." Well, that hit me. Because there have been issues that I've dealt with and have been dealing with and He's been helping, guiding, and even removing them. Even this, even whether to move or to stay - he's been helping, guiding, and removing that issue, too. So, I'm disappointed. But it's just an opportunity - for another new beginning. A new beginning every day, here in this house. With this sinner. With this believer.

So, I live here. And I continue to be blessed to make this my home. For now, at least.

Thanks God, for another one!

I Say

I say: Isn't this little guy cute? He's my nephew. I call him 'Roo.

I say: Sun is Good. The rain and the clouds have disappeared - at least for today. And that, to me, is a very good thing.

I say: I am arguably living the best days of my life right now. When before or again in my life will I have the luxury of staying home of an afternoon while the baby naps and the other kids are at school? This is my time. I can do what I want. Be lazy. Be productive. Relax. Stress. I can eat lunch in. I can eat lunch out. I can watch TV. I can run four miles. I can nap. I can clean. It's all about me for a few hours each day. Here's to actually doing something great with this time in my life.

I say: You all put me in a quandry over the bedroom makeover. 75% of my respondents said they like the other comforter from the one I (and my two real life friends) like the best. I mean, I already have a comforter that looks like choice A, so it would be no $$ out of my pocket, ya know? (Except for the oddly not-matching dust ruffle in the photo, which would cost about the amount of the new - complete - bed set to make, plus the particular chocolate/cream homespun plaid that I am looking for, specifically, doesn't exist in the city of St. Louis...I know, after traveling to countless fabric and craft stores throughout our area...)

I say: Scrap the whole Choice A and Choice B concepts and shoot straight for Choice C - which is "Something Else Entirely." Back to square one: Boring Master Bedroom:

I say: Now what do I do? I've begun painting my bed as seen in Choice A. Oops. Guess I'll be forced to do Something now! (Or just keep hiding it under the comforter, like me with my head in the sand.)

I say: Isn't this a gorgeous home? It resembles the one we're trying to buy. And still waiting to hear about. We increased our offer on Monday. We have up to two weeks left to hear from the mortgage company holding the title of the house whether our offer was accepted, or if another offer came in higher than ours. There are pros and cons both ways, so I'm just sitting around (sometimes literally, it's afternoon, after all) waiting for the sign to fall from the sky (and hit me on the head?) to let me know what we'll be doing in the future.

I say: Maybe that's my problem lately. I'm just waiting around. Waiting to see what's going to happen next. Waiting to start all the projects floating around in my head. Waiting.

I say: My head hurts. And I think I need a nap.

LQQk @ what I'm doing...

Taking care of this little sick darlin' ... who's apparently feeling better today...

(doesn't she look like one of those old ladies shoppin' @ The WalMart's??

No offense, Ma.)

Baking these little darlin's...although I used other words for them, since they took f.o.r.e.v.e.r. And none of the kids liked them. At all. (If you look at the recipe, do yourself a favor and just whip up some Jello pudding - lemon, or whatever kid-friendly choice they might like...But do use the apple corer to remove the centers! Easy peasy with that little tip!)

Anyway, that's what I've been up to. Well, that and this: Trying to decide how to make over my bedroom with $200 (or, preferably less). What do you think?

A:

Or B:

Challenging

Photographing four year-olds is challenging. Well, at least photographing my four year-old is! He's sporting a new haircut - the shortest his hair has been since he was knee high to a grasshopper.

Meiners is a bit of a ... a wave rider. He goes with the flow. He does things his own way. Skater cuts have always suited him just fine. Not just his personality, but those ears and that high forhead dictated such style.

But, recently, he's made a little friend in preschool. And his friend is bald. Meiners decided he, too, wanted to be bald. I denied the request. But, I did allow the skater look to be altered. After-all, you're only four once. And, eventually, Mom has to relinquish control and let the kid make up his own mind (as if I have a choice with this kid...)

So, in an effort to unveil his new look, I decided to capitalize on the good lighting coming through yonder window. And Meiners informed me I had permission to photograph his foot.

"Look, Mom. I can hold this thing on my nose."

OK, maybe a kissy face.

Perhaps a tickle would, you know, tickle a smile out of him?

Evidently, the papparazzo got to be too much for him, though.

Here's the best I could do.


And don't even get me started on photographing a one year-old...

That's Capitalism, Baby

My dear 7 year-old daughter received a little civics lesson this afternoon while waiting in the car. It went something like this:

Me: Let's say you make your bed every day, set the table, and feed the dogs. Meanwhile, both your brothers sit on their butts playing the Wii. Would you like me to pay them the same allowance as I pay you?

Pooks: No.

Welcome to capitalism, Sweetie.