Adventures of a Matkovich

Boots and Scarves A-Plenty

2011-11-17T21:46:00.000-07:00

Looky what I scored:

I pretty much fell in love with these Born Concept boots the moment I laid my eyes on them.

The spousal unit and I went shopping at the 16th Street Mall in Denver for our anniversary. I love this time of year because there are boots and scarves a-plenty! I swear, I wish I had a closet that looked like this:

I'm a sucker for boots and scarves. They're kind of my signature fashion statement. I wear a scarf almost every day from fall to spring - unless it's warmer than, say, 70 degrees. At that point, wearing a scarf in 70 degree weather seems a little ridiculous. Unless, of course, the scarf looks like this:

Scarves are so versatile.

This is one of my favorites:

Green: my favorite color. And I love it with this New York & Company trenchcoat (which I scored the day after Christmas last year for about 75% off.) What a bargain!

**Side note: The buttons were not sewn well onto the jacket. Four buttons have fallen off... Luckily for me, button-sewing is a skill I learned way back in the day. Fallen buttons do not sway me. However, I have yet to sew one button back on. So, now my jacket pocket is full of buttons. While fallen buttons do not sway me, my lack of motivation does. There. I said it.

Here's another scarf I love:

RED! (With a green jacket, of course.)

I'm passing on these girly tendencies to my daughter, who flips out at the sight of shoes and little hair things. I have a feeling I'm going to be very poor when she is a teenager. I hope the spousal unit can score another job to support her impending shopping habit.

An Ordinary Autumn Eve

2011-09-20T18:49:00.000-06:00

This:

And this:

...makes for a really nice evening.

The Challenge

2011-09-19T21:18:00.000-06:00

The beginnings of a nice quiet evening, and perhaps a new blog entry:

But, then.... bedtime fail. Snuggled with Eden for over an hour after bath and stories. I finally had to turn it over to daddy to work the snooze magic.

And now I'm too tired and unispired to write anything worth while.

I've been neglecting

2011-07-12T06:55:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's true. I've been neglecting my blog. Super busy, relative uninspired to write about things that will be completely public, and, if I'm honest, a tad bit of laziness. Mostly the latter two, though.

So why do I write now?

Well... I realized that I might have a mild case of OCD. Those of you who know me well are probably cracking up right now thinking to yourself (or possibly out loud to your computer screen or iPhone), "YOU JUST REALIZED THIS NOW???" Let me explain myself.

First of all, no... I always knew this. But I didn't realize the extent. I know I'm anal about organization and cleanliness, etc. Here's the dealio. I just might need therapy.

My spousal unit bought a house. I mean to say, WE bought a house. Another house. That's two houses. One in Oregon. One in Colorado. Two. Who knew? I was in Vegas sitting at a slot machine with my buddy Michelle from Oregon (man, I love that girl) when I got a text from the spousal unit that said, "We bought a house!"

No, I had not seen it. But, delightfully, because he knows me SO WELL, I trust him to make such decisions without me. And he exercised this freedom of choice. (By the way, he did very well. So, I really am not being sarcastic.)

In his excitement over moving out of our tiny little upper condo, he and his brother decided to pack a few things.

I came home to not the usual cramped living/dining/kitchen area scattered with toys, blankets, pillows, crumbs and crumpled up paper. No. I came home to a showroom. Most anything that could be seen with the naked eye was packed. It looked awesome.

And then I went into the master to change (because I made a mad dash from my car to the front door during a monsoon, which... if you know anything about the monsoon season in the mountains... needs absolutely no explanation whatsoever). The bedroom was spotless. And so was the bathroom.

And then it hit me. My. Stuff. Was. Touched.

My. Stuff. Was. Moved.

Some. Of. My. Stuff. Was. Packed.

Anxiety. And a lot of it.

It was then that I realized I needed help.

So I asked my spousal unit to pour me a drink.

And all is better.

YAY! We're moving! (Well... maybe. We have our inspection today. We'll see.)

2011-01-08T07:54:00.001-07:00

It has been a while since I last blogged (or "glogged," as I just typed), so I suppose it's time for an update. In all honesty, it isn't that I haven't been inspired to blog. I've just be so, so, so busy. And when I finally have the time, it's at the very end of the day when we've finally managed to get both kids in bed (and they've finally stayed) and asleep, and I need to decompress a little. As a result, the blog suffers. So sorry to my faithful readers (all ... what... 25 of you?).

I know your next question. I get it all the time. "What has you so busy?" Well, for starters, my job is crazy-go-nuts. I mean... for me, it's in a good way. Because I seriously love what I do. I know for many, that is just incomprehensible. Most people only dream of loving what they do. But, truly, I found my perfect match in my career, and by the grace of God, He spoke to me about a job about 10 months ago, and on a whim I applied, completely forgetting that I did such a thing, and then through a series of events that only God could have orchestrated, He handed me a gift practically on a silver platter. (I still haven't blogged about that whole deal. One of these days I might... It's an awesome story!) All that to say, I freakin' love where I am, what I do, and the people (waddup, 7's!) I get to interact with almost on a daily basis... Wait... yep. Pretty much on a daily basis. (See, my phone or email is constantly going off... Such is the life of an HR girl for a fire department, which, duh, is a 24-7 operation. So, if you haven't already put two and two together, this pretty much means that there is something going on at all hours of the day and night every day of the week. Lucky me, I'm often right in the middle off it. Which... kinda rocks. Just sayin'.)

I'm super excited about what this next year will bring. We've embarked on an accreditation process which is a very involved, time consuming process and will pretty much scrutinize our organization from the inside out. Since my department (HR) is new as of June 2010, there is a lot of work that needs to be done. That takes up a lot of my time. In addition, I'm starting a few new projects and programs to benefit the members of our organization, which I'm super excited about. (No sneak peak!) This, on top of my regular duties, which is the full time job. So... yeah... All that other stuff is work outside of regular work hours.

From the left: Fire Chief, Battalion Chief, and Deputy Chief

I had to share this... This is so how life at the F.D. works. After volunteer academy graduation, a few of us went out to grab a bite. Our phones and pagers are going off all the time, so, of course, everyone has to respond. Here we are, sitting at the table, all the gents are lookin' sharp in their Class A's, and ... the phones get whipped out. It was like this all through the meal. This would never be acceptable anywhere else. I've become one of them. Cracks me up.

Aristotle the Distracting SQUIRREL!

And here is my office mascot, Aristotle. My friends Jen & Michelle (Hi!) gave him to me for Christmas. He has a whole wardrobe of outfits from Uncle Sam to a Samurai warrior. He's a very wise, philosophical squirrel. And he's very distracting. SQUIRREL! The Fire Chief doesn't like his name. He tried naming him Sid, but Sid reminds me of Ice Age (Sid the Sloth), so that didn't work for me. I told him if he could come up with something better, we would consider changing his name. So far, he's got nothin'.

And then... I still have a husband, who apparently still likes me because he wants to spend time with me. Weird. And I have two beautiful babies who need their mommy. Oh, and I still have friends who would like to see me come up for air every once in a blue moon.

So, yeah. I'm busy.

Scott is still working for Ridgeview. I won't comment on that whole deal as some things are in development and I don't want to a) take away his thunder, 2) reveal too much, or c) head off any progress that is being made. But... I will say this: exciting times.

Jeffrey in Keystone

Jeffrey is such a little man. Oh, my. He is hysterical! He's still as smiley as ever. He's pretty much completely potty-trained (minus the few accidents that still occur, or his just plain stubbornness). Like the time he refused to pee on the potty, and instead peed all over the kitchen floor. This was... 2 days ago. So, I made him clean it up. Now, moms, seriously, don't get all gaspy like I'm abusing him. It wasn't intended to humiliate or anything like that. He peed on the floor, made a mess, and I asked him to be responsible and mop it up. I helped him. But it made a point. And he got it.

I cannot believe how developed Jeffrey's language is. Sometimes I forget he's only three. The things that come out of this kid's mouth. The other night I was tucking him in bed and we started singing, "Jesus Loves Me." (Ahhhh, warms my soul.) He stopped and said, "Mommy, I can't see Jesus." I said, "You can't? Why not?" He replied, "Because, he's not here." I said, "Jesus is always with you." Long pause. I asked him, "Where is Jesus?" Jeffrey got a big smile on his face, put his hand over his heart and said, "I can't see Jesus because Jesus is in my heart!" I said, "That's right!" Long pause....

Jeffrey said, "There's a bone next to Jesus."

I couldn't hold that one in. I busted up. Ya know, it makes perfect sense. If Jesus is in his heart (which he takes literally at this age), he's absolutely right that there is a bone next to Jesus.

It's just too good.

And little Miss Eden. What a doll she is! One of our Battalion Chiefs is a good friend of ours. About a month ago, Scott and I took the kids up to Keystone for the weekend to meet up with a bunch of my coworkers while they were at a conference. We had everyone over to our condo one night for some socializing. The BC was watching Eden run around all over and finally said to me, "Who's the mother? She's too cute to be yours." hahahaha That cracked me up. But he's absolutely right. I don't deserve Eden. She really is too cute for words. There isn't one single day that I don't look at her and think what a gift she is. All those issues from the start of that pregnancy are still so fresh in my mind.

Eden is a character. She is going to be quite the comedienne. She already has perfect timing. And she can keep a total poker face when she's teasing. She loves to play games with us. When she laughs, it's a full belly laugh. She giggles once in a while. She and Jeffrey are very different in that way (and pretty much all other ways). While he giggles and laughs constantly, she is very reserved. It's hysterical to watch.

What a love!

It's hard to believe she's 15 months. 15!!!! She finally has teeth. That only took over a year. She runs around the house in her little footy-pajamas (which we call her Barbaloot suit - think Dr. Seuss) and I can't believe how much she's grown. But, she's still tiny and adorable. She was huge until about 9 months. Then she started slowing down. She's still about 25 pounds. She's fits exactly into the clothes for her age (12-18 months now). Her hair is all cropped and curly, almost like we had it cut that way, but it is just naturally adorable. She has the bluest eyes and the longest eyelashes... Lucky girl. And when she looks at you with those big, blue eyes, it just melts your heart. What a blessing.

Life in Colorado is grand! We got a ton of snow just before New Year's, so we had a four day weekend to spend sledding and romping in the snow. Such fun!

Daddy & Eden about to hit the hill

Daddy & Jeffrey gaining momentum

The little hill right outside our front door

It's such a stark contrast from life in Oregon. I'm affirmed every day that this is where we were meant to be. Sunny weather. Mountains everywhere. Snow, snow, snow!

We have friends again. Community. People that engage with us. People that invite us wherever(or vice versa) just because, and it doesn't have to be planned out months in advance. We go to coffee and talk. We go for walks. Go to the gym. Go to brunch. Go out for lunch or dinner or beers.

It feels so good to be home.

Really, really good.

Christmas and Running

2010-12-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

Christmas cards.

I love sending them. I love receiving them. I don't even mind signing my name 150 times on all the corporate "seasons greetings" cards.

But why, oh why, do I procrastinate so?

I SO love Christmas. I love the music. I love the decorations. I love the food. I love the social gatherings. And now I love the location - where people are actually happy when they shop, and still smile when they stand in long lines at the cash registers. Where there is snow and crisp, clean air, and Christmas lights everywhere.

It really feels like Christmas. I've missed this.

It's hard to believe we're into the second week of December. I saw a sign the other day at a cash register that said, "17 more days 'til Christmas."

And I thought, "Holy Kris Kringle! 17 more days???" Where did this year go?

And next thing I know, I'll be 38.

The good news is, I started running again. Instead of locking myself away for 8 1/2 months to avoid gray skies and depressing rain, and gaining another 10 pounds, I'm actually motivated to get up at 4:45, make it to the gym by 5:00 (and with a massive smile on my face), and hit the treadmill, that is until we start seeing temps above 50 - then I'll hit the trails.

It's crazy to actually feel motivated again. I gotta tell ya. That feels good. It has been a long, long time since I felt that way. I think I lost it within 6 months of moving to Oregon. I'm wearing pants I haven't worn in 4 years. There's a whole section of my closet that will soon be finding a new home with Goodwill. A bazillion pairs of Ann Taylor pants and tops, some of which are hardly worn at all. Practically a whole wardrobe. I'm happy to get rid of them. And while I have a few pairs of smaller sizes, I'm actually really happy I dumped my closet a few years back. I don't want to wear old, used, out of date clothes that I once wore. I want to treat myself to new stuff. Like a little reward. Not in an arrogant way. Just in a, "Damn, it feels good to feel good again" way.

I used to love running. Especially down hill. I always loved getting so much momentum that my legs could hardly keep in front of my body. Weeeeeee!!!!!! I'd spread my arms out like I was flying - and sometimes it felt that way. A massive smile on my face, with the wind drying my teeth out so my upper lip would get stuck. Perma-smile.

Then... I gained 50 pounds over the course of 8 years. And when I tried running I discovered pain in places I didn't even know I had places.

And I cried.

But... I'm running again! Ok... not quite a full run, but I'm jogging at a nice pace. And I'm smiling, too.

Just me. And my iPod. And my breathing. And the rhythm of my steps beating the treadmill, or the trail, or the road.

That makes me happy.

Just like getting my Christmas cards in the mail before Christmas.

Another great website

2010-12-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, not a blog, but freakin' hysterical.

Jen (and all you crazies at 7's) will totally appreciate this:

www.damnyouautocorrect.com

I cannot tell you how many times the stupid autocorrect changed something.

Michelle - I actually had to add "hahahahaha" to my dictionary to keep it from changing to Haitians....

One among many, but I won't incriminate myself here. At least, not again.

Hot toddy

2010-11-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

It's cold out! **brrrrrrrr**

But I'm cuddled in a cozy robe by a fire with a hot toddy of hot chocolate with a splash or three of peppermint schnapps in my hands.

Aw, schz-yeah. Good stuff, y'all.

And there was much rejoicing.

And all God's people said....

I surrender

2010-11-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

All to Jesus I surrender;
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.

I surrender all,
I surrender all;
All to Thee, my blessed Savior,
I surrender all.

All to Jesus I surrender;
Humbly at His feet I bow,
Worldly pleasures all forsaken;
Take me, Jesus, take me now.

All to Jesus I surrender;
Make me, Savior, wholly Thine;
Let me feel the Holy Spirit,
Truly know that Thou art mine.

All to Jesus I surrender;
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power;
Let Thy blessing fall on me.

All to Jesus I surrender;
Now I feel the sacred flame.

Oh, the joy of full salvation!

Glory, glory, to His Name!

I surrender all,

I surrender all;

All to Thee, my blessed Savior,

I surrender all.

Home

2010-11-11T04:36:00.015-07:00

This time change is a bugger. My internal clock tells me to get up at 4:45ish. Fall back means closer to 4:00. Not that I mind getting up before the rest of the world, because in that respect, I actually quite enjoy it. (I'm a ridiculous morning person. It's just the way I roll.) But, I don't really have anything to do. I mean, sure, there are things to do. I could read. But I'm not crazy about reading first thing in the morning. I don't know why. Just not the time when anything will stick. I'd love to work out, but... we're in a tiny condo and, thus, there is no room for a treadmill or elliptical (sadly). My gym is 25 minutes away so I couldn't drive to the gym, work out, drive home, get myself & the kids ready, drop them off, and then get to work in time.

Oh, the dilemma. What to do at 4:00 in the morning?

The good news? It snowed. Not enough to stick to the roads or sidewalk, but the grass and trees are covered, and the early morning light is reflecting off the snow crystals making me feel all giddy. I don't know what it is about snow that I love so much. Maybe it brings me back to my childhood and all the fun we had when it snowed. Maybe it's because I love to frolic.

Maybe it's because I love sweaters and scarves, and getting bundled up nice and cozy. Maybe it's because I love little red noses from the chill of the cold air. Maybe it's because I love the puffs of hot breath that rise from our noses and mouths.

Maybe it's because at the end of the day, I know there's a cup of hot something (coffee, chocolate, soup) that will warm me from the insides. Maybe it's because I love the peacefulness and hush of fresh fallen snow. And if you listen close enough, you can actually hear the flakes hit the ground. Maybe it's because I love looking up into the sky and seeing how far I can see before the individual flakes just blend together. (It's surprisingly far.)

Or maybe it's just because it's beautiful.

Or maybe it's all of it together.

I love conversations in the snow. I love making snow angels. I love making snowmen (or women... or children...or other things). I love snowball fights. I love the crunch of the snow under my feet as I walk. There's just such a mystery about snow, like it's keeping some secret it's willing to tell if you're willing to listen.

I'm glad it's here. And I'm glad to be in a place that is guaranteed to see some, rather than just hoping this is the year we might get a day or two.

I really am blessed to be here. Every day still, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude to be just exactly where I belong, amongst people who "get" me, in a landscape that inspires and breathes life into me where before there were empty places left wondering if I'd ever find my way home.

I'm home. It feels good to be here.

Uncreative

2010-11-04T20:23:00.000-06:00

I've been writing for 30 minutes, but... just deleted everything. Instead, I think I'll watch a movie.

That's just where I'm at.

Typical Matkovich exchange

2010-11-01T23:19:00.002-06:00

This is the demented state of my marriage:
(As copied by Facebook)

Kyra Matkovich: A new sunrise, a new day, hallelujah! Finding comfort in Jesus today....
15 hours ago via Twitter
Mia White likes this.

Scott Matkovich: Who?
14 hours ago

Kyra Matkovich: Um, Jesus? Creator of the heavens and the earth? Died on a cross and rose on the third day? Savior? Friend? ... No? Nothin'? You need to get your pagan ass to church.
about an hour ago

Scott Matkovich: I am the church, how do I go to myself?
about an hour ago

Kyra Matkovich: You're a jack ass. Go to that.
35 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: I would like to go to there.
34 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Good thing. You're already there. Jack ass.
34 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: You're the one who married a donkey, what does that make you? A Jack Ass's wife. How would you spell that anyway?: Jack Asses?
33 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: Just shut it..stop typing
33 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: stop
33 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: st
33 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: OP
33 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Assi... Assies? I don't know. But you're supposedly the genius of the family.
32 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: I reject anything you say...
32 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: You are a reject.
32 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: Yeah, a group of Assies - You should teach engrish.
32 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: you're unpossible.
31 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: I am going to make you stop typing with my mind.
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Your mind is so not that powerful.
31 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: URRRRRRRRR>>>>STOPPPPP
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: seriously... stop trying.
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: you have no control over me.
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Or my mind.
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: See?
31 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: You're mind is a failure.
30 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: Way to glorify your Jesus post, honey...
30 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Jesus actually typed all of that.
29 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: WWJT?
29 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: The question is not what would Jesus type. The question is, what wouldn't Jesus type?
29 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: Just look above, I think you've answered that one...
28 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Exactly. so... shut it. (Jesus says, "Shut it.")
28 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: You suck
27 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Suck this.
27 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: You suck times a lot of things plus infinity
26 minutes ago

Scott Matkovich: plus a tiny head and gland damage.
26 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: That's the rum talking, huh? Pagan.
26 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: You hit below the... throat.... that is so not cool.
26 minutes ago

And, what do I do with this? Share it with friends who appreciate spousal abuse:

Kyra Matkovich --> Dustin Hughes: Want some entertainment? Go to my profile and scroll down to the nice conversation between Scott and I. Good times, y'all. Good times.
37 minutes ago
Tracy Hughes: I can't wait! I am just giddy with excitement.. headin' there now :)
33 minutes ago

Tracy Hughes: and once again, you don't disappoint. Well played, Kyra, well played.
29 minutes ago

Dustin Hughes: That was the most brilliant FB exchange between a husband and wife ever!! That is soooooooo Matkovich!!
28 minutes ago

Kyra Matkovich: Tru dat, my grasshoppers. Bow to your sensei. BOW TO YOUR SENSEI!!!!!
16 minutes ago

Listen... do you smell something?

2010-11-01T22:14:00.001-06:00

I bought a new shampoo this weekend. I like the way it smells.

Smell is a big deal for me. I have an incredibly sensitive olfaction. (This would explain the highly evolved gag reflex during pregnancy.... The thing of great entertainment for all who witness it.) I hate smelling anything on me. Even if I initially love it, at some point it will cause a headache and I end up doing whatever necessary to wash it off of me. So, it's really nice when I find something (shampoo, lotion, perfume, whatever) that I either can't smell on me at all (because it blends perfectly with my chemistry), or that I enjoy from the moment it's on me until... the end of the day.

This shampoo is one of those smells. I actually pull my hair over my face so I can smell it. I wouldn't do that when anyone is looking, though. And if asked, I would deny it. Cuz that's just crazy.

Side note: I've decided to grow my hair out again. Now that the babes are less interested in pulling the ever-living crap out of it, I think it's safe to let it grow again... That is, if my retarded thyroid lets me.

Funny, I don't have this problem with smells that are not attached to me. Like... a man's cologne, flowers, scented candles, bleach (yes, I like that clean, sterile smell), steaks on the grill... stuff like that.

Although there are smells that I don't care for at all. Like... cheap perfume/cologne (or too much of even the expensive stuff), asparagus pee, dead things, skunk, poop, vomit, or almost any bodily fluids or functions.

Um.. that took a different turn. Sorry about that.

I don't like the smell of dirty dogs. Why people don't wash their freakin' dogs, especially when they are indoor dogs, is beyond me. Why would you want something in your house smelling like that? On your furniture? On your lap? Ick. I hate getting all chummy with a pooch and then smelling like stank-dog. So... I wash my hands, and then, wouldn't ya know it, the damn dog wants more pets. F. Why does this happen? If the dog was clean to begin with, this would not be an issue. I hate smelly dogs. Correction. I love dogs. I just don't like their stinkiness.

I hate the smell of cat pee. Especially if someone's house smells like that. Gross. (Case in point: The House of Flowers. Scott, Brian and Shawn can elaborate.)

I'm not a fan of the smell of stale pond water. Rancid nastiness.

Or... musty clothes. Ever left wet clothes in the washer for too long? I don't like that.

Miller High Life is probably one of the most unappealing beer smells ever. It's a cross between skunk and vomit. Like skunk vomit. Yuck.

Ironically, Corona also smells like skunk, but if you squeeze a hefty lime wedge in it (which it should have anyway), it doesn't smell like that at all. And it's delicious. Bonus.

However, I do love the smell of fresh cut grass, pine trees in the mountains and burning logs in the fireplace.

I also really like the smell of my new shampoo.

UPDATE: I also love the smell of coconut. It always reminds me of the beach... And then I get whisked away in my mind to a happy, warm, sandy place where I fit into my teeny bikini with hardly any suntan lines, the warmth of the sun on my tummy, the sound of waves crashing into the shore, and a tall, dark, handsome native offering me a mai-tai in a thick Jamaican accent. Just sayin'.....

Pooder

2010-10-31T15:16:00.000-06:00

Actually, it's Poudre, but that's how you pronounce it. (Ok. I admit. I'm completely immature. It makes me laugh. Why? Because it has "poo" in it.)

Went for a morning hike in the Poudre Canyon. It was good to get a little exercise in fresh mountain air. The weather was perfect - breezy and warm. There were several others out hiking, as well, including a group of 4 with as many dogs, all who had little bells on them. (If you're a hiker, you'll know why they put bells on the dogs, but I couldn't help but think of Santa Clause....which then made me think of Buddy the Elf, which then made me think of my friend Dale, who is Buddy the Elf incarnate. Dale would have liked this hike, especially because these little dogs all had bells on them. The whole scenario made me smile. That's just how my mind works.)

I was made for wide open spaces.

** The pictures were taken with my cell phone, and don't do the landscape any justice. Still not bad, eh?

Wine trumps ice cream

2010-10-27T20:57:00.000-06:00

I was just thinking about how long it has been since I've had ice cream. It's really the only thing I have a sweet tooth for. But it has been a really long time since I've had any. I used to have a bowl at least once a week... or... more.... How sad is this? Well... probably better off. The lack of ice cream consumption is most likely at least partially to blame for shedding some Oregon flabbery. So... I guess in that respect, yea for me.

What I miss in ice cream, I'm making up for in wine. Yum. Not a bad trade.

Welp... That's all I got tonight.

A few of my favorite love story movie lines and the movies that go with them

2010-10-26T21:00:00.001-06:00

"What is it about love that makes us so stupid?"

"By the way, would telling you now that I want sex tonight be enough of a warning?"

"It's only in the mysterious equation of love that any logical reasons can be found. I'm only here tonight because of you. You are the only reason I am... you are all my reasons."

"Just admit it. You love her more."

"No. Not more, Lowenstein. Only longer."

"I love the mornings! I clap my hands every morning and say, 'This is gonna be a great day!'"

"What we do in life echoes in eternity."

"I would like a lifetime spent with an irrational and suspicious goddess, some short-tempered jealousy on the side, and a bottle of wine that tastes like you, a glass that's never empty."

"I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives."

"I am no one special. Just a common man with common thoughts. I've led a common life.

There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten,

but in one respect I've succeeded as gloriously as anyone who ever lived. I've loved another with all my heart and soul and for me that has always been enough."

"You are thinking of your little stone cottage?"

"It's on a hillside next to a beautiful vineyard. But that's not really what I'm thinking about."

"What are you thinking about?"

"You"

"Thinking about you could get me killed."

And my all-time favorite:

"I want you to faint. This is what you were meant for.

None of the fools you've ever known have kissed you like this, have they?"

Seriously? Who doesn't want to make out wtih Clark Gable? I mean.... back in the day... Cuz... he's dead. And I'm not all that interested in making out with a dead guy. Just sayin'.

Ordinary Adventures

2010-10-25T22:15:00.003-06:00

It's freakin' chilly outside. Came home to a fire in the fireplace. True story. Ahhh, cozy.

Sitting here in the dark with my glass of wine, Jason Wade on Pandora, candles lit all over...

I love wine. I have to admit I miss all the vineyards in Oregon. It was so nice to just wake up some Saturday morning and decide to go vineyard hopping and wine tasting. I could spend an entire day visiting vineyards and hardly travel 15 miles. They're just everywhere. I've heard (several times now) about the wine in Colorado. Apparently there are vineyards on the western slope, but... I have yet to travel there to check it out. That would be a treat, though. (Anyone up for a road trip?)

There were a few little flakes of snow falling this evening. And so it begins... We missed the snow, and... well... here it comes. I'm sure by March we'll be saying, "That's too much. That's too much f-ing snow." But, as it stands, I'm looking forward to it. I actually want to shovel my door step. (It is really stupid of me to have written this. I'm sure that I will now be the sole door step shoveler. Shoot.) I want to make snow angels... in front of the drive-thru window at Starbucks. (My spousal unit paid me a dollar to do this last year. I would have done it for free.) I want to chuck firmly packed snowballs right at Scott's neck. I'm not gonna lie. He's an ass. He deserves it. I'm just sayin'. Unfortunately for me, this means paybacks tenfold, which usually means a full body-slam and/or face plant into a pile of snow, with a decent chance of getting a bloody nose from either 1) the impact, b) the cold, or 3) both. But... it would totally be worth it.

I want to get up early in the morning, while the snow is still falling gently, and be the first to make tracks, hearing the crunch of the snow under the weight of my footsteps. I want to lay on my back and feel the chill of snowflakes landing on my eyelashes.

I wonder if I'll need to plug my car in here... I never knew about that until I lived in Montana.

When it's 40 below zero, there's a good chance your car won't start without it.

The unknown. I love experiencing things for the first time. Especially when those experiences take your breath away.

I love to savor every moment - drinking it all in and burning it onto the walls of my memory.

Adventures! Like... traveling to new places. I've seen some pretty amazing places, but there are so many others that I'd love to visit. And I don't mean just spending a day or two on some whirlwind vacation to 6 different countries in 14 days. I mean, spending a good two weeks or more in one location - several times a year. Or... ideally, spending an entire year (or more) traveling, immersing myself into the culture, visiting with the locals and perhaps making a friend or two in the process. Like bellying up to a pub in Ireland, gathering around a piano and signing American showtunes. (My aunt & uncle have done this... I'm so envious.) Or sitting at a tiny little wrought iron table with a bottle of wine, overlooking a beautiful hillside vineyard in Italy. Or trying on puffy sweaters with big snowflakes on it in Switzerland.

Or admiring priceless pieces of art at the Louvre in Paris. Or... sitting at the end of a long dock with my feet dangling in the Mississippi.

I don't care how close or how far, I want to see it all. Taste it all. Experience all of it. Making an ordinary day an extraordinary memory.

Every day is an adventure if you look for it. Like sitting at a Starbucks for two hours with a friend answering questions you've never been asked before. Or offering a hug to someone who just looks like they needed one. Or helping a stranger who had a flat tire at a busy intersection. Or just gazing into each other's eyes and somehow knowing exactly what the other is thinking and feeling without a word being spoken.

Life is too short to let those moments pass by. I like to keep my eyes open. I'd hate to miss something that could have been meaningful.

Update: Spousal unit just told me that if I even come close to chucking a firmly packed snowball at his neck, I'll be seeing white for the next month, followed by, "That's a good way to Piss. Me. Off."

Just for the record, I still think it would be worth it. **diabolical laughing" His empty threats do not sway me in the slightest.

Update: Spousal unit just said, "I'm really fast in the snow. I'm like a friggen magical leopard. I practically run on top of the snow."

Um... even not being a magical leopard, would you still not run on top of the snow? I mean, You wouldn't be running underneath it. I'm just sayin'.

Update: Spousal unit just said, "What's important is the magical leopard part."

My response: Which part would that be?

Colorado Sucks

2010-10-24T22:19:00.002-06:00

My friend, Twinkie, was in town this weekend. I took her up to Estes Park on Saturday to give her a glimpse of Colorado in all its autum glory. This place is beautiful.

She spent only 3 days here... and she fell in love with it. She is going to try to convince her son and his family to move here.

Colorado has that effect on people.

But don't tell anyone.We don't want to let the secret out. In fact, if anyone asks, tell them it sucks. Tell them the weather is horrible - all the time. Especially this time of year. There's no color to speak of. Grumpy people everywhere. The air smells like cow poo (which, sometimes, is the actual truth). There's nothing to do. Terrible restaurants. No place to hike or camp or hunt or fish or ski.... You're better off staying where you are and leaving Colorado for us weird people.

That's what you tell them.

And for God's sake, don't show them these pictures. They will know you're a big, fat liar.

Embracing snow

2010-10-22T23:27:00.009-06:00

There was a chill in the air today. It wasn't just the breeze, or the leaves cascading from the tree tops, dancing and fluttering on their way to the ground, or the rain that fell. There was just a hush that seemed to say autumn will soon be welcoming snow.

I love the snow. I love rising early after a heavy snow, and greeting the morning light, long before most people would ever think of leaving their cozy slumber. The world has never been so silent. Even the wind is muffled. There is just such a peacefulness and beauty.

I love bundling up under layers of cotton and down, wrapping myself in ribbons of fabric and breathing in the frosty air. When you're in such frigid temperatures, you can feel the chill run through your nose, down your throat, filling your lungs. It's so refreshing!

Everyone should make a snow angel, at least once.

And everyone should own a pair of mittens.

I love mittens! Gloves are nice, especially if using your fingers is necessary, but there is something about the mitten that just reminds me of childlike joy.

Mittens are sleeping bags for the fingers. Ever snuggled in a sleeping bag? There's such a coziness and romance in squeezing two grown adults into a one person sack. There really is no other alternative than to be entwined together. And what better way to rebuke a chilly night than to get tangled up in a mass of arms and legs, and breathy, lingering kisses.

Ahhh, beautiful, peaceful, delicate snow. I await your homecoming.

For the love of bacon

2010-10-22T19:30:00.003-06:00

If you know me even a little bit, you'd know that I have an extraordinary love for bacon. I just simply can't get enough of it. It's like my version of crack. I do all I can to avoid it for some period of time, but just like an addict, I suddenly obsess and must have, lest I die.

I am blessed to have friends that share the same bacon compulsion. My lovely Giovanna, for instance. We actually sat at Bible Study for at least 20 minutes sharing just a few of the ways we love bacon. If you had been there, it would have reminded you of the scene(s) in Forrest Gump where Bubba was telling Forrest all the ways he could make shrimp. That was us. "You can barbecue it, bake it, boil it, saute it. Dey's uh, bacon-kabobs, baconcreole, bacon gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There's pineapple bacon, lemon bacon, coconut bacon, pepper bacon, bacon soup, bacon stew, bacon salad, bacon and potatoes, bacon burger, bacon sandwich..." And, really, much more than shrimp, the list goes on. Bacon is like the color black. It goes with everything.

Even chocolate.

You laugh in disgust, but trust me on this.

For one of our Friday night BS potlucks (which was every Friday, mind you), we decided to go with a bacon theme. (Why, you ask? Because Giovanna and I, oh and of course Dale (aka Buddy the Elf) frickin' love the stuff. And our fellow BSers were ok with feeding our addiction. Enablers!) Everything we ate that night had bacon in it in some form. (See prior list.) For dessert, we had banana splits (or sundaes, depending on how the individual fixed it up.) I had my bowl of ice cream topped with bananas and a waterfall of chocolate. As I was leaving the kitchen, someone tossed a piece of bacon over my shoulder, which stuck smack-dab in the middle of my sundae. A crispy, perfectly browned piece of bacon. I just looked at it and thought, "This must not go to waste. I will eat this tasty morsel."

And I did.

And guess what? Bacon and melty dark chocolate is a delicious combination.

The other day, my friend and co-worker Jen (JENNNNNNNN!!!!!!) offered the Chief and I a taste of a bacon chocolate bar she had picked up on the East Coast when she was on vacation. Now... I'm a girl with a taste for bacon. I love the stuff.

But let me tell you, this was not good. It pretty much just tasted like super-salted chocolate with some bizarre little pieces of shredded, semi-crunchy, floaty things in it. Yuck. Seriously. Yuck. But... it got a good laugh. So, yeah. Jen, thanks for that.

Freshly cooked, crunchy bacon dipped in freshly melted dark chocolate = really good.

Manufactured, shredded bacon mixed with dark chocolate, cooled and wrapped, then shipped to various places and sitting on a shelf for who knows how long before some unsuspecting consumer purchases it for a few giggles = not good.

Giovanna often left me bacon "stuff" in my mailbox at work. I'd go to collect my daily mail, and I'd find a nicely wrapped gift offering of ... bacon dental floss, bacon air freshener, bacon breath mints.... She shared links to websites that had recipes for bacon martinis.... I love this girl. And, together, we love bacon.

My friend Catherine ("Twinkie") is in town for the weekend. She brought me a lovely gift bag filled with.... 4 pounds of bacon. (And two jars of red grapefruit segments... Yum.) Back to bacon. FOUR pounds!!! She loves me. She really loves me.

Four packages of bacon.
All for me.

Someday, maybe I'll manage my bacon addiction.

I could quit at any time.

But not today.

Daddy

2010-10-21T23:25:00.001-06:00

I went to a funeral today.

There was a fella who stood up and told a story about a dream that he had about the gal who passed. It was obvious that he was troubled - but not in a bad way.

As he spoke, it reminded me of a dream I had about my dad right before my 21st birthday. My father passed away when I was 8 years old (from esophageal cancer).

I could write all day about my dad. But... today I'm going to write about my dream.

In order for this to really make any sense, you have to know that I was very close with my dad. I was his little baby; daddy's little girl. He died far too young - at 44. There was a moment before he died when I was sitting on his lap and he was reading me the Sunday funnies. He stopped mid-comic and started to weep. I remember this like it was yesterday. Through his tears he whimpered almost breathlessly, "I don't want to die." I don't think because he was particularly afraid of death. I think he just didn't want to leave his family. He didn't want to leave me.

It wasn't until I was a teen when it really hit me. Holy shit, I don't have a dad! At a time when all my other friends would have "dates" with their dads, or their dads would take them shopping for prom dresses and shoes and take pictures of their first date. This is pretty traumatic when you're 16. I used to get so angry with my friends when they would fight with their dads. I just never understood having that kind of time. If only they knew how it could be gone in a second.

Oh, I longed to know him. I missed him so much. My favorite time of day growing up was when he would walk through the door at the end of the day, "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello!!!" I'd drop whatever I was doing, run down the hall and literally leap into his arms. I felt so safe there. He held me close, his beard tickling my neck. The world could have crumbled apart right then and there and it wouldn't have mattered to me. He was my hero.

I would have given anything for one more day with him. I still would.

I'm not sure why I dreamt this, but I'd like to think it was God's way of helping me let go. Helping me say goodbye.

I dreamt that I was back on Ridgewood Hill - the little hill outside of Corvallis, Oregon where I grew up in a house that my dad designed and built. (He was an architect.) I was actually down the hill a bit from our house, at one of my childhood friend's homes. It had this long driveway lined with a canopy of tall pine trees. I just remember turning around and seeing my dad there. He looked so happy. So healthy. So full of life. So different from the years before he died because he was so, so sick. I was thrilled to see him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, which was easier now because I was grown. He told me how beautiful I was and how proud of me he was.

He told me he didn't have much time. I didn't really understand what he meant.

We talked. We laughed. We held hands.

Then I heard the sound of a train coming. And I knew it was coming for him.

I fell to my knees. I begged him not to go. I wept and held on to his pant leg screaming, "NooOOOOO!!!!!", looking up at him from way down there and feeling like I was 8 again. He just smiled so tenderly and said it was time. He lifted me into his arms, just as the train was pulling up. He kissed me, told me he loved me, and said it would be ok. I didn't want to but I knew I had to let him go. I watched him board the train. He turned towards me, smiled again and blew me a kiss. I just sat there on my knees as I watched the train pull away, all the while he was waving and smiling at me.

I woke up sobbing. More than sobbing. I was moaning. My heart was bleeding. I cannot describe the reality of that dream. I felt him. I could smell him (Old Spice). I still felt the warmth of his embrace. I could still hear the sound of the train as it chugged away ringing in my ears.

That was the last time I saw him.

I've had dreams of him since then, but nothing like that.

I've been blessed by people who knew my dad. I love when people tell me what kind of man he was, how he was thought of as a friend, a son, a brother. I love when people look at me and say, "You look just like your father." What an honor.

And, boy, do I! I have his eyes... I have his eyebrows, even down to the way the little hairs grow. If you were to place our pictures side by side, there is no question that I came from him.

I've been told not only am I the spitting image of my dad, but I am practically the female replica. I have all of his characteristics, his stubborn willfulness. His ambition. His temper. (Among many others.)

I knew that if ever I had a son, he would carry my father's name. Jeffrey Allen. Jeffrey after his uncle (Scott's brother) and Allen after my dad.

And I always prayed that if God blessed me with a son, that he, too, would look like my dad.

God answered my prayed. He gave me a son. In fact, from the moment I learned I was pregnant, having a son was the only option in my mind. We never did discuss girls' names.

The day Jeffrey was born, I held that tiny little boy in my arms. Gazed at him... and realized Jeffrey looks nothing like my dad. I love that Jeffrey looks like his dad (that'd be Scott, if you're following along). However, I have to admit that I was disappointed that he didn't carry really any resemblance to my dad. Not even in the eyes.

Damn.

As Jeffrey started growing and developing his little personality, it dawned on me one day. He may not look a thing like my dad, but guess what? He has his personality. The same stubborn willfulness, ambition, temper....

I prayed for a son that gave me some piece of my dad. I don't know why I was so wrapped up in the physical attributes. What I got is far better.

I miss my dad. There isn't a day that passes when I don't think of him. I see him every time I look in the mirror. And I see him every time I watch my son interact with the world.

I'm grateful for that.

And I'm still grateful for that dream that gave me one last moment with my dad.

Blank

2010-10-20T21:13:00.001-06:00

Nope. I got nothin'.

2010-10-19T20:27:00.000-06:00

Ever wish you had more time?

More time in the present... More time in passing moments....

More time with people you enjoy spending your time with...

More time for honesty to happen....

More time for the words to be found...

I wish I had that.

Faded

2010-10-18T21:20:00.007-06:00

People are funny. They never cease to amaze and confuse me.

A few years back, I made (what I thought was) a good friend. We had a lot in common. We had a few laughs. People often commented about how alike we were - like sisters. Then God put it on my heart to ask her if she was interested in becoming accountability partners - basically to discuss what is happening in our lives, past and present, and help one another hold true to our faith in the way we handle life's offerings. We would meet once a month or so, and just kind of unload on each other. Sometimes we just helped each other find words for our "stuff." Sometimes we held each other to the fire. Then we would pray for each other.

At that time, I was pretty uncomfortable praying out in front of other people. I think some people can do that naturally. Others of us have to work through some self-conscious baggage before we're able to really intercede without concerning ourselves with the "perfect" words or the "perfect" prayer.

I think back on that now and kind of have to laugh. I mean, what's there to be self-conscious about? I love praying for other people. I find great joy in having God nudge me and ask me to stop and pray for someone. I've never once had someone say, "No, thank you." Most people welcome the opportunity to be prayed for.

Anyway... I digress.

This lasted a year or so. I shared things about myself that I have never shared with anyone. And I mean anyone. I shared things that maybe a small handful of others know about. The point is that I opened myself up a great deal to allow her into the deepest parts of my heart in the hopes that through it, I would grow closer to Christ. And the same for her.

I don't know what happened. I have my guesses. But... through a series of events, we sort of drifted. We're no longer friends. Not because I wouldn't want to be. I would. I still love her dearly. I was honored to know her and to share in her life's journey. I know things about her that I'm sure very few others know. I saw a very sad, broken, troubled part of her soul. (Which, come to think of it, was how we first connected. I saw a lot of sadness behind her smiles. I wrote her an email once and just spoke a few words of honesty, to which she replied, "You're a very perceptive young lady.") I tried talking to her about where we stood on a couple of occasions, but... to no avail. It was just lost. And I don't know for sure why. When I left Oregon, there was hardly a goodbye.

This makes me sad on a number of levels.

I am pretty discerning about with whom I share my deepest parts. Sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes I've chosen wisely.

It feels good to make a new friend. But it sure is disappointing when a friend (new or old) sort of fades away, especially when there is no explanation.

Honesty goes a long way with me. Some people just don't have that same ideal. Maybe they're afraid of the honesty. Maybe they're afraid of the vulnerability. Maybe it's something else altogether.

Space is a big deal with me, too. Sometimes relationships build so quickly that you just need to take a step back and evaluate where you are. I don't like being smothered, and I certainly don't want to be the one doing the smothering.

Certainly, two friends can drift apart. But I still think they owe it to one another to be honest.

I just never understand silence. I also don't understand cursory conversations where once something much more rich existed, even in the way we greeted one another.

My friends will always know where I stand.

But, hey, that's cool.

For the first time...

2010-10-18T20:20:00.000-06:00

For the first time in almost 4 years, I'm able to slip my wedding ring off without 30 minutes of twisting and tugging with hot water and super-slippy soap.

This is a far cry from almost having to cut it off when I was pregnant with Eden because I was so bulbous.

Nice to have thin fingers again... which is just a result of dropping all this Oregon flabbery that has weighed me down for eight years.

**Happy dance**

A few things I love

2010-10-17T21:11:00.004-06:00

Breakfast for dinner

Crsip, clean, white sheets

Kicking up leaves in the fall

Tender, yet passionate kisses

Conservative and stylish clothes

Bubble baths by candlelight

A great pair of cotton pajamas to lounge around in

Lingering hugs that last all morning

Carrying my babies

Polished fingers and toes

Relaxing massage (giving and receiving)

A glass of wine in the evening

A pair of shoes that make me feel sexy

Smelling good

Dancing in my living room

Gerbera daisies

Puppy kisses

Fuzzy socks

The bad place

2010-10-16T22:28:00.006-06:00

Look who's 1 year old!

Had a very successful day. Spent the morning throwing a football and watching the kids run here and there and everywhere; even ran into a dear friend, which was truly a treat. Both kids went down for a nap relatively easily, and I even took a short snooze. Ahhh, sweet sleep. Woke up with just enough time to hop in the shower, get myself, a whiny still half napping boy, and the baby ready for her birthday party.

Enjoyed some time with family and some friends and their kidlets. I always love getting all the kids together. They're so fun to watch. (I'll write more about the birthday party later.)

The spousal unit took off for the evening to hang with some guys around a fire pit, drinking who-knows-what manly drink, smoking cigars and pipes, and talking philosophy and theology. He actually asked me if this was ok. I still kind of giggle about that. I love when he has the opportunity to fellowship with his buddies. It has been years since he's had this kind of friendship so close. What kind of wife would I be if I denied him something so fundamental to the joy of his soul? I appreciate his asking. And I know why he did, considering the week we've had with our son. His being out for the evening meant my being alone with two kids, and having to do the bedtime routine solo. Very sweet of him, but.... Assuming he's out late, and the kids eventually go to sleep, it leaves me some time to truly be left in solitude. Double win.

I'm happy to report that both children went down fairly easily.

Alone at last.

This is the way I'm rolling this evening. Candles lit, Jason Wade radio on Pandora through the Bose, a bottle of Merlot, and the tapping of my fingers on a keyboard trying to keep up with my thoughts.

Not a bad way to spend an evening, let me tell you.

I was just commenting to Scott how I'm slowly turning from my extroverted ways toward a more inwardly thoughtful, introverted me. Sure, I still enjoy being around people, for the most part, primarily depending upon who those people are. But, it wears me out. It wasn't too long ago when wherever there was a party, I was in the middle of it. I loved large, rowdy groups of people. God forbid I ever found myself alone... with my thoughts. Yipes!

I can still do rowdy, and I love a good party, especially where there is lively conversation, lots of laughter, and maybe even some dancing, but I do more watching than instigating. And when it's all said and done, rather than being sad that it's over, I'm relieved.

If I'm being honest, I'd rather be alone with one or two other people, specifically trusted friends. Where silence is comfortable, and the conversation, when it does occur, isn't superficial. Where laughter is just one of many components, not the main ingredient.

I do enjoy being alone these days, now more than ever. Not just because my life in a very short period of time got turned ass over tea kettle. But also because my thoughts are actually pretty interesting. I'm amused at some of the things that I come up with when left to my own devices. Oh, if you could see inside my head... I'm actually quite delighted that most people can't see that far into me. (One or two can.... but only because they are very perceptive.)

There's another side to this, too. This season has left me really digging deep to find places in me that I've ignored, but need to pay a little attention to. Maybe past hurts that I've covered up. Maybe past struggles that I've just been able to ignore. Maybe current inner conflicts.

I've had my faith tested these last couple of years. And I mean tested, as in Satan attempting to take my hand and offer me some rather beautiful alternatives. (Of course, they aren't beautiful at all! That's his deception. It would be like taking a turd and wrapping it in a big red bow. Sure, the bow is nice. But it's still a turd. Just sayin'.) Luckily, I recognize his lies and put him in his rightful place pretty quickly. And, as a result, my faith has grown exponentially.

But the inner conflict is still there. Not only that, but because I'm being deliberate about opening doors I haven't opened in a really long time, there's some pretty ugly stuff in there that I didn't realize was still there. I'm finding myself being pulled in two directions - the old and new self. The think-of-others self versus the think-of-myself self. The it-matters-to-me self versus couldn't-give-a-crap self. The garden-is-quite-lush self versus the grass-is-greener self. The what-would-others-think self versus they-can-go-screw-themselves self. The straight-and-narrow self versus the sick-of-being-responsible self. The virtuous self versus the wicked self.

Not a pretty place to be.

But on second thought, maybe this is where character is built. I hate the struggle, but welcome the refinement. I loathe the pruning, but welcome the fruit. I despise the fire, but welcome the purification.

I'll put it out there... I admit that my reaction is to close my fists and refuse to let Jesus take that part. I'll give Him a bunch of other stuff, but not that. That is mine. I like that in the darkness, in my secrets.

Another lie.

It does not behoove us to hide our stuff from the One who holds our very breath in His hands. And because I've already declared my allegiance to Him, He is very purposeful with how He pursues me. Jesus is funny like that. He knows just what it takes to make me sit up and pay attention. The freedom He offers is captivating.

So, here I am, inviting Jesus into the ugly stuff. Opening the door to the bad place. I'm peeling my fingers open, one by one. Sure, there's a part of me that just screams wanting to be unyielding. I pray I have the strength and resolve to place it all at the foot of the cross.

Here ya go, Lord.

All's well that ends well

2010-10-15T22:30:00.024-06:00

After a long, tough, emotionally draining week (for a number of reasons), I was looking forward to today. Not just because it's Friday; the day before the weekend. But also because I had some fun things on the docket for the day.

Plus, God blessed me with some little pieces of joy.

The morning got off to a rough start. I was awakened to the sound of some obnoxious beeping, which I soon discovered was Scott's alarm on his iTouch. (I just so hate... no... passionately dislike beeping alarms.) I forgot he was meeting up with his buddies for coffee at 5:30. I laid there for a little while but considering it was so close to my alarm going off, I just decided to get up.

At 4:45.

I woke Jeffrey up at 5:50... knowing that this would likely be a challenge considering he finally whimpered himself to sleep around 9:45. And if you know anything about toddlers, you'd know that 8 hours is not enough sleep. They need closer to 12. Just sayin'. So... yeah... You can see where this is leading already.

Immediately the whining began. There are few things that grate my nerves the way that whining does.

I had to literally hold him down to brush his teeth. That was fun. He cried (really loudly) all the way to our car, which pretty much echoed in the courtyard... which I'm sure our neighbors really enjoyed before sunrise.

He whined all the way to school.

He refused to get out of the car. I pulled the baby out and started walking toward the door. Jeffrey jumped out of the car, screaming thinking I was leaving him behind. He cried all the way into school. Then, like magic, he perked up and all evidence of the little terror-toddler was gone.

Unfortunately, by this time, I was at my breaking point. Jeffrey's regular teacher was in the baby's classroom, so I used it as an opportunity to ask a few questions. She assured me that he has never had a tantrum at school and was pretty much shocked to hear that he was acting out in this way. (Lovely to hear, really... I'm SO relieved that he's so happy and compliant while in her care. However....)

We started walking towards Jeffrey's class. The center director stopped us to say hi to Jeffrey. She asked me how I was.

Now... ladies, you know how this goes. When you're sleep deprived, stressed out, emotionally drained, and sad, what happens when someone asks you how you are?

Oh yeah.... She hit the cry button. I completely lost it. Bawled my eyes out right there in her office.

So not cool.

But she felt my pain. So much so that she started tearing up. Through my tears, I explained to her what we've been dealing with these last few weeks and how it has just completely broken my heart. I can't stand seeing my babies this way. Never mind the disobedience and tantrums. It's just a symptom of a deeper problem - most likely due to the fact that I have, at best, two hours a day with him before it's bedtime. And, worse, those two hours are not really quality hours. As soon as I get home, my attention is on the baby. Jeffrey no longer has his own space and stuff. He can't tackle the baby (I protect her). He has to share with the baby. Everything is about the baby. He's kind of left on his own. It's no wonder he's acting out. Any attention is better than no attention. He's three. He doesn't have the words to express how he feels. He just knows that he needs mommy and he never has mommy's undivided attention.

And then God blessed me. Jeffrey, in his typical tender fashion, looked into my eyes and asked, "Mommy, why are you crying?" All I could muster to say was, "Honey, I'll explain it to you someday."

She was incredibly gracious and sweet. She told me how she's been there, and how it was that much worse considering her profession. She encouraged me that this will, indeed, be a passing phase, and offered to find some resources for me about raising such a willful, stubborn boy.

Eyes now red and puffy, I thanked her for her time.

And then God blessed me again. On our way into Jeffrey's classroom, he came running up behind me, his arms around my waist, following my footsteps like a little train. Once in the classroom, he wouldn't let me go. He hugged and kissed me repeatedly, until I finally said, "K... Meet me at the window!"

This is the highlight of my weekday mornings. He runs to the window and waits for me to go outside and kiss him through the glass. He smiled his big toothy smile, kissed me through the glass, and waved excitedly. Oh, how I love this kid!

I got into my car... and cried for the next 10 miles.

And then God blessed me again. The sun was just coming up, casting a beautiful purplish glow over the entire Rocky Mountain range. Oh, my goodness.... What a sight to behold! I never get tired of that view driving into work. I just longed to be closer to them... To touch them... To experience them... To listen to them...

But instead, I hit the drive thru at Starbucks and ordered a grande nonfat pumpkin spice latte. Yum.

Once at work, I fired up Pandora and found my mellow.

My coworker SHREEE! and I worked out together late morning. I had a good, healing sweat. (Oh, how I have missed taking out my frustrations in the gym!)

Rather than eat lunch, I ran to DSW and scored these little beauties:

New shoes have a healing quality about them, don't you think? And, bonus, they are closed toe and totally no open-toe shoe policy appropriate. Hell to the yeah.

Dear Fire Chief: Never mind about the no open toe shoe portion of the dress code. I'm cool with it. Cuz, seriously, look at these shoes! I mean... they don't compare to my fabulous red suede pumps with peek-a-boo toes, but... these are pretty great.

At quittin' time (aka 5 o'clock pm, mountain standard time), SHREEE! and I agreed to meet for a drink. All well and good, only I was wearing the fire department polo. (Kinda not an ok thing to be wearing a fire department patch in a bar... It's an image thing.) So, oh darn, I guess I had to go buy a new shirt really quick. Which I did. And it's cute. And SHREEE! loved it... and my new shoes.... So, yeah... I strutted some new stuff.

And I had myself a Stella, y'all!

On my 40 minute commute home, I enjoyed some great tunes and watched the sun set over the Rockies. I just wish I had been in the middle of them, rather than admiring them from afar.

I arrived to an empty house. Another score. I did a quick clean up in the bedrooms, living room and kitchen. (I hate clutter and mess! So, yeah, just another opportunity for my anal retentive fix.)

The family arrived shortly after. Gotta hand it to the spousal unit. He took one for the team. He had the kids out running around for an hour and a half. Eden was completely worn out. A big ol' bottle, some rocking and a few butt-pats and she was out.

The focus was now on Jeffrey. I have to admit, I was nervous. I just really didn't have it in me tonight to deal with another 2 hour tantrum.

He had our full, undivided attention.Wouldn't ya know it, he ate dinner without a fuss. He brushed his teeth without a fuss. He peed on the potty (like a big boy!) without a fuss. (Ok... we bribed him with gummy vitamins.) It still took until 9:30 for him to finally fall asleep, but there wasn't a fit to speak of.

It's Friday. So... what else did we do? We enjoyed a Chicago pie and some suds... as we do every Friday night. It's a tradition that just simply cannot be broken.

And my spousal unit just handed me a Long Island Iced Tea. He loves me. He really loves me. (Actually, what he said was, "If you finish this, you'll feel like a new person." He's right. And I'm not even a third through it. I love these things.)

Today didn't start well, but it ended pretty well. I'm enjoying my cocktail next to an open window with my mellow tunes rockin' on Pandora, Bose style, in the dark with only the light of a few candles and my computer screen. The spousal unit is... over there. And I am over here.

I think I'll go over there.

The God of Cake

2010-10-15T05:40:00.000-06:00

This may very well be one of the funniest blogs I've ever read. This particular post did not disappoint, especially considering the tantrums I've been dealing with this week. Maybe all he needs is cake? Hmmmmm.... I'll have to ponder that one.

Anyway, if you need a good laugh, read Hyperbole and a Half, The God of Cake. (Yes, just click on this link and it will magically take you there.)

Hysterical.

Hope

2010-10-14T22:45:00.003-06:00

My new obsession: Pandora

I've created several radio stations, but my favorite - even more than Brandi Carlile and Jack Johnson - is my Jason Wade station. I love that I just have to enter in my artist of choice and Pandora finds other similar artists... If there is ever a "sound" that is mine, it's this one. It defines my mood, and helps me to retreat into my thoughts and sort through all the craziness in my head.

Candles lit, the fresh evening chill caressing my shoulders through the open windows, a little inspiration by way of Merlot.... and the sounds of the silence that has finally fallen in my 3-year old's bedroom....

Stillness.

I got to thinking about the relationship between the way I deal with my toddler now and how his little soul develops. It sort of naturally led into thinking about the relationship I have with my mother.

Not feeling the need to rehash all of that, the thought I keep coming back to is how one day, something just clicked (thanks to a story and some great advice from my friend Catherine, who, by the way, is coming to visit me next weekend). I finally realized that she is not and never will be the mother I either want or need her to be. She just simply isn't capable. And then I thought... wow... She's just so... broken. (Aren't we all in our own way?) And then I thought, ya know... Jesus loves her regardless. She is God's child just like you and me.

When I finally got that, it just opened up a whole new meaning of hope to me. Do I think she'll ever change? Not likely. I mentioned this in a previous post, but I had to mourn the loss of my mother - in a very similar way as if she had passed. Once I mourned her loss, letting go of my idea of who she should be, I was able to see her. I mean, really see her in the same light that God sees her.

She is broken. There is no question about that. She's bitter. She's deeply sad and troubled. I don't believe for one second that she wanted to be this way. (Who would?) Life's circumstances helped form this in her. Sure, she has a choice in this, but... ya know, when someone is that broken, it almost becomes a place of comfort. It's too far out of their realm of possibility that life could be any different. Why risk reaching for something different when you've basically been taught that you're a big piece of crap your whole life?

Wanna know the Good News?

There's hope that she will one day see Jesus, who clearly has been pursuing her for several years.

Hope.

The hope that maybe someday we can be mother and daughter. The hope that she will one day experience the freedom that Christ offers so freely. The hope that maybe she'll finally feel loved and accepted, unconditionally. The hope that she'll experience joy. The hope that one day, the chains will be gone, she's been set free! Hallelujah! (Oh, Dear Lord, I pray may it be so!)

Is there any greater hope than the hope that is in Jesus? The hope of a life everlasting... The hope of living in the Kingdom - not just in Heaven in some afterlife, but here on earth.

Here.

Now.

Today.

Forever.

It matters not your circumstances, your brokenness, pain, sorrow, addictions, guilt, oppression. Christ offers hope. Hope in His promises. Hope in His Holy Word. Hope in His justice. Hope in His tenderness. Hope in His steadfastness. Hope in walking in His footsteps.

Out of hope, I believe, joy naturally follows. Praise God that I learned (and continue to learn) this lesson. Had it not been for hope, I would never have made it this far. (These last couple of years were doozies.) But in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, there was the hope that Jesus would show up. You (I) get to the point where you just live expectantly. As if Jesus just does show up... That's the Kingdom, folks. Here for the taking. A free gift.

A gift of hope.

The value of a friend

2010-10-12T21:30:00.008-06:00

Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.

John 15:13

Friends. They're few and far between.

I miss this friend:

Michelle & me out for a day of pampering
just a few days before I left Oregon.

And this friend:

Melissa & me - my best friend
from Montana

And this friend:

Heather & me - my friend of 35 years
(since I was 2 years old)

And these friends:

Our Friday Night Bible Study (aka "BS")
Dale & Susan, Dave & Karen, Wes & Mickey
Fridays just aren't the same without them.

These are just a few of the precious few who I allow into the inner-inner-me. (Others of you... far away and local... you know who you are.)

These are (some of) the people I trust with all my pieces - some whole, some tattered and broken, some healed but scarred. These are the people who know my junk, and yet still find me somewhat lovable. They don't judge. They don't condemn. They don't get angry when I disagree. They challenge and stretch me. (Proverbs 27:17: "As iron sharpens iron, So a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.") They sometimes have to strain to understand me. They encourage and support me. They laugh with me (and sometimes at me). They've shared my pain, my joy, my sorrow, my guilt, my disappointment, my excitement... They've prayed with me, and prayed for me when I didn't have the strength. They've kicked me in the pants when I was feeling sorry for myself. They've been through the trenches with me. (Proverbs 17:17: "A friend loves at all times, And a brother is born for adversity.")

They've seen me at my best.

They've seen me at my worst.

They've given me room to find my way, and allowed me to hold on to their belt loops when I've lost my way. When I've hurt them, they accepted my apology. If I ask for their feedback (and sometimes when I don't), they are honest with me (sometimes brutally so). (Proverbs 27:6: "Faithful are the wounds of a friend, But the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.") If they were angry with me, they didn't spew my secrets out of spite. (Proverbs 17:9: "He who covers a transgression seeks love, But he who repeats a matter separates friends.")

They never required me to fit a certain mold. They require nothing.

They know me.

Beautiful, beautiful friendship.

I'm sorry to say, there have been times in my life when I haven't been such a good friend. In some cases, the friendship deepened. In some cases, I was left in the dust. I probably deserved that. And there have been times when I wasn't healthy enough in my own skin to be much of a friend. Either way, I'm grateful for the journey. It's another life lesson that makes us all the more wise.

I have lost a lot of "friends" in my life - especially the last 3 or 4 years. (Maybe due to one of the reasons I mentioned above.) I've had to learn to be much more discerning with whom I share my life. One thing I can tell you is without my friends (my "Willage"), I'd be a miserable, lonely person. I need the community, the fellowship, the accountability.

I don't take friendships lightly.

I'm incredibly grateful for the friends I have. They are few and far between.

So, forgive me if I'm cautious. I just tread lightly these days.

And if I share my life with you, it's because I trust you. Please don't misuse that.

God created us to be in communion with one another - and with Him. We weren't meant to go through life alone. Luckily, there's a Friend closer than a brother. I can tell you from experience, any earthly friendship pales in comparison.

You are My friends if you do whatever I command you.

John 15:14

Music for memories

2010-10-12T21:15:00.002-06:00

Kids are finally in bed, hopefully to remain and eventually drift off to sleep. Sitting in the dark, save the glow of the computer screen and a few flickers of candlelight, a glass of Merlot, and Brandi Carlile radio on Pandora.... These are the moments I look forward to every evening. The only way this gets sweeter would be to add another glass of (better) wine and some great conversation.... and maybe a breath mint or fifteen.

So random.

Ever hear a song that takes you back to a moment in time? A place? A person?

Ever smell something that reminds you of someone - even when you're somewhere far, far away?

Ever close your eyes and just cherish a memory?

Ever look up at the night sky and wonder who else is looking at that very same star?

Ever wish you could just step out of your life for a few moments and rewind to another time just to make it last a little longer?

I love my quiet evenings (when they are, in fact, quiet). I love listening to some chill music and reminiscing. Remembering a weekend at a mountain cabin, making breakfast at 4:00 in the morning and playing cards until midnight because there was no television, radio or telephone. Remembering the smell of the air after a fresh rain. Remembering the stillness in the early morning after a good snow. Remembering the smell of my dad, the warmth and refuge of his hugs and the tickle of his beard on my face. Remembering a sunset. Remembering a sunrise. Remembering a conversation that saw both. Remembering the yearning for another just like it. Remembering a look, a smile. Remembering a comfortable silence. Remembering the excitement of a first embrace. Remembering the peacefulness of a familiar one.

Little nuggets of a life's journey.

So many wonderful snapshots that I hold close to my heart. Some are shared. Some are for me alone. Some are humorous. Some are painful. Some are both.

But they all are weaved into the tapestry of my mind and only a song, a smell, a memory-reach away.

I'm grateful for memories and for the experiences that create them.

One year ago...

2010-10-11T01:17:00.002-06:00

My big ol' belly.

One year ago, I was miserable. I was humongously large, hot, tired, and ready to give birth to my second baby. It was a Saturday, and I was doing all I could to keep my mind off of the fact that I had been having contractions for 3 weeks and dilated to 3 cm, but baby just refused to let go. I wasn't overdue... In fact, this was her actual due date, but considering my first came 3 weeks early, I was sort of expecting another early arrival.

After shopping all day at various places, including World Market, where I picked up some Marsala sauce for dinner, we finally decided to go to the evening service at church. I was determined to pray and worship this baby out of me!

I ran into a bazillion people who casually commented, "No baby, yet, huh?" Uh, no. Dang it.

It was just another worship service, saving the fact that the only thing on my mind was managing to get this baby out of me. I figured if I could go into labor during worship, that was the perfect scenario. But, alas, church service ended, and I was still without even a hint of baby's arrival.

We headed home, where I proceeded to cook up a big ol' batch of Marsala, which is a spicy Indian dish... Uh, huh... You see what's about to happen, right?

I love this shot - says so much.

Marsala consumed, Jeffrey in bed, and Scott on the opposite chair teaching his online classes, I was sprawled out on the couch, constantly changing positions due to terrible sciatica, forcing myself to stay awake because I just so wanted this baby to come. After flipping through channels, and finally landing on some show that I don't even remember, I decided that once this show was over, I was going to bed.

It was about 10:40, and I was sitting through another commercial break arguing with myself about going to bed when I felt this sudden **pop** and a rush of fluid....

This is one of my favorite pictures. Jeffrey's little personality just shines!

I knew exactly what had happened, so I jumped up (as much as a 9 month pregnant woman can) and waddled off to the bathroom. I yelled to Scott, "Um... Honey! I think my water just broke!"

There was a long pause... followed by, "Are you sure?"

Seriously? Men sometimes say the dumbest things. As if I wouldn't know this. As if my sitting in a massive puddle isn't the first clue.

I responded, "Yes, I'm sure."

Scott already had my bag in the car, the car started, and his coat on by the time I walked out of the bathroom, and was practically hyperventilating, apparently very excited about having a baby soon. Why I was so calm, I don't know, but rest assured, I was excited too.

True to Matkovich form, some hilarious things happened both on the way to the birthing center and during labor. Most of which may be way TMI. Here are some punchlines. (If you want to know the whole joke, just ask.)
1. "Just say, 'Vindaloo!'
2. "My boat doesn't lie."
3. Me: Giggling...
     Nurse (from behind door): "What's so funny?"
     Me: More giggling... pause... "VINDALOO!"
4. "Ever had a broken face?"
5. "Where's your boat?"
     "It's speeding for shore!"
6.  "Um... I need to push."
7. "Don't push!"
8.  Doc running in... "Ok, PUSH!"
9.  Scott on phone with Mamasan, "Is that Kyra crying?"
It was 3 hours and 18 minutes (just 1 hour and 18 minutes past her due date), from the moment my water broke to the moment I was holding a precious little gift in my arms. The picture-perfect birth. Hardly any pain. Just a tiny bit of discomfort for the last 45 minutes. An amazing experience. (You can read more about it under The Arrival of a Wigglebean.)

A perfectly healthy 9 pound, 3 ounce baby girl: Eden Noelle...

A day and a half later, we were home with our new darling baby, and introduced her to her big brother. He fell in love the instant he saw her, and he's been her biggest fan ever since.

Our little Eden is one year old today. She's beautiful, curious, cautious and snuggly. The first year of her life has been a whirlwind of change, but she weathered through it all like a champ.

To my dearest Eden on her first birthday:
I'm so proud of you, baby girl. May God shine His light on you, show you favor, and bless you beyond words. May your life be a reflection of His goodness and grace. Happy birthday, Wigglebean!
All my love,
Mommy

I love meat

2010-10-10T22:12:00.000-06:00

After a long, LONG... really long day of dealing with my 3-year old's sudden, dramatic personality change (I'm convinced someone stole my sweet, angelic child and replaced him with a demon), and the added bonus of a chilly rain, I just needed... something.

What I'm really craving is a vacation sans children. But since that is not a feasible option, that leaves me wanting... meat.

Look at these things. Awww, schyeah. Beautiful. Delicious. Yum.

Nothing that a thick, juicy, marbled steak can't fix, as far as I'm concerned.

If I really had my way, these would have been accompanied by mashed 'tators and a pint of Guiness. But, if you must know, these bad boys didn't even hit the stove until about 9:30 and we just didn't have it in us to do anything else... except make a tall, stiff drink after the last, tasty morsel of heavenly Angus rested comfortably in our tummies.

The perfect recipe for steak: let come to room temperature, and give a nice rub down of olive oil, salt and pepper, then sear on the stove top in a very hot pan on each side for just a couple of minutes to seal in the juiciness. Finish off in the broiler, just 3-4 minutes on either side. Finally, let rest for a good 5 minutes before cutting in so that the juices have time to redistribute. (If you cut into a freshly cooked steak, all the juices will run out on to the plate... You can't want that.)

Perfection.

Yes, I'm a bit of a food snob. But, I think everyone should be. Why eat something that is mediocre at best, or ... **shiver** worse. I enjoy eating quite a bit. It's not just the food... Although I love flavors and textures and colors and aromas... It's the experience of the meal that I love. It means something. A moment in time. A snapshot of life. A relationship. A conversation. A feeling. A celebration. A mourning. A memory. An old friendship. A new friendship. A warm greeting. A sad goodbye.

Even when it comes to my fall-back bring-to-work lunch of PB&J, it's made with only the best ingredients; organic nothing-added peanut butter, fresh fruit spread (no sugar added) and wheat uber-fibered up bread. Delicious.

I love meat. We don't eat red meat very often, probably less than once every other week. But, oh, do I crave it. Mmm, mmm, mmmMMMMMM!

I was very happy to have a big ol' plate full this evening. Hit the spot.

On tantrums

2010-10-10T16:27:00.000-06:00

Parents always hear about the "Terrible Twos." Two wasn't so bad... Had a few little fits here and there, but they were easily controlled, and a two year old is easily distracted.

But no one warned us about the Threes. I'm convinced that Three blows Two out of the water.

This is not my favorite stage. How my angel-child can go from sweet, tender and completely compliant to absolutely possessed in less than 10 seconds is unbelievable. There are times when I watch him in the throws of his fits wondering how on earth this is the same child. And I'm not talking about a little fit every once in a blue moon. I'm talking all-out, red-face, screaming from the bottom of his diaphragm, kicking, hitting, flailing, stuff-throwing, head-tossing tantrums every day, sometimes several times a day, which can last upwards of 45 minutes a piece.

To top it off, Jeffrey is stubborn and willful. If the idea doesn't originate with him, he pretty much wants nothing to do with it, just simply for the fact that he didn't come up with it on his own. Take a nap? No way. Use the potty like a big boy? Not a chance. Stop grabbing things from the baby? You're kidding, right? It just doesn't matter what the request is, if he doesn't agree with it, on flips the freak-out switch, and here we go again.

I keep telling myself this is just a stage, and this, too, shall pass.

But, when? How long, oh Lord?

If there is anything these days that drives me to my knees, it is this. How on earth do I parent this child? There is nothing more frustrating than a toddler screaming at the top of his lungs directly in my ear when I'm just trying to put his shirt on so we can play ball in the front yard, which, by the way, was his freakin' idea.

Know what else if frustrating? When I hear, "Funny, he never acts that way around me...." Really? No kidding. Wanna know something? I'm glad. Just for the record, when I hear that, I take it as a compliment. It means that I'm actually doing my job as a parent. I'd much rather have my child be a perfect angel around everyone else than the alternative. It means he has learned to be polite and do what is asked of him.

I'd like to think that I'm a good mother. I'm patient. I give my children all the room in the world to be who God created them to be. I give them room to experience the world in their own way. I spend all my waking hours that I'm not at work with them - on the floor, wrestling, chasing, reading, playing games, or whatever they want. I pray with them and for them. I assist them when they need it, but give them the opportunity to make their own mistakes - trial and error. Jeffrey likes to pour his own drinks. Fine with me! He gets the milk out by himself. I just help him get a sippy cup from the cupboard and take the top off the milk jug. The rest he does by himself. Sure, he has spilled before. But, it's just milk. It cleans up. He likes to splash around in mud puddles and run through piles of dirty leaves. That's part of the fun of growing up. I'm not the kind of mom that doesn't let their children get a speck of dirt on them. They're kids, for cripe pete. Hell, I like to splash in puddles and I'm almost 40.

But I do expect my children to be polite. They don't get a dang thing unless they ask politely, which includes a "please" followed by "may I" or "will you" and their request. I don't respond to demands. I also expect my children to listen. I ask them politely to do this or that, and I expect them to follow through. If they don't, I don't count until they do. That, I've learned, just gives them license to not listen until I get to 3 or 5 or whatever arbitrary number you've chosen for your kids. If they don't listen, I get down on their level, ask them to look at me and I explain their options. Option 1) They listen and do as I ask, and they are rewarded appropriately (often with something that they have previously requested), or Option 2) They don't listen and they face the consequences, which sometimes means having their toys taken away, or whatever. I'm not unreasonable. I know what is age-appropriate. I don't expect anything more of them.

I'm seriously at my wit's end with this stage. I'm done with being smacked in the face, kicked at, hit in the back with some flying object after I've carried my son to his room (which is where he gets to cry if he wants to) and I'm walking out to leave him be. I'm sick of the whiny voice, the constant response of "NOoooOOOOO!!!" and the screams that could shatter glass.

I've tried just holding him. I've tried time-outs. I've tried sitting him in a corner for 1 minute for each of his years. I've tried taking everything away. I've even tried spanking his little butt. None of it works. In fact, they all lead to further tantrums. I am well aware of the need for consistency. We are consistent in terms of what he is allowed to do and what is unacceptable in our home. Acceptable: jumping off furniture. I don't care. It's just furniture, and really how much damage can be done to the chair when he just stands on the cushion and jumps to the floor? Unacceptable: hitting the baby. I don't need to tell you why this is unacceptable behavior.

How on earth do parents get through this stage? It is seriously exhausting. I can't help but wonder how I'm totally screwing up his little soul or feeling like a total failure as a mother because I can't control my child. I just so look forward to the moment he finally dozes off after he has crawled out of bed for the 12th time telling us, "There's something wrong" or "I'm thirsty" or "Where's my kee-kee?"

Is it wrong that I've contemplated sending him to grandma's house permanently?

If anyone has a tried-and-true method for dealing with a willful three year old, I'm all ears.

But I swear if I hear, "He never does that with me...." one more time, I'm gonna lose it.

Nineteen Jobs

2010-10-09T00:59:00.000-06:00

Almost forgot to post my nightly edition! Good thing I'm an insomniac....

There are a couple of hilarious things that happened today at our annual Board "retreat".... (I put in quotations because it wasn't really a "retreat". It was just an all day informational regurgitation of departmental updates off campus where relatively decent coffee and some fried hors d'oeuvres were served.) Unfortunately... I can't really write about that here because I don't want to incriminate anyone, namely me. (You others know who I'm talking about! Troublemakers....)

I love my job.... Seriously, I work with some of the best people on the planet. I will say this about today, if it would have been appropriate, I may have laughed until I ~~cried~~ peed.

But, I digress.

The Fire Chief asked me (and this isn't the first time), "How many jobs have you had?" (I mean, really? He is insinuating that I haven't held a job, which is just simply not the case. Ok, yes, there was a time that I couldn't stand to be in one place longer than a few months, but I've been working since I was 13 so throw me a bone!

It got me thinking, "Gee... How many jobs have I had?" So, in an attempt to answer his question (which apparently he really wants to know the answer to since he's asked me this a few times), I am going to attempt to remember every job I've ever had. I will not include jobs that were paid via cash, like babysitting and house sitting because... there are just far too many of those.

My first job was working for a little candy/popcorn shop in Corvallis, OR called Korn n' Kandy which was located in the PayLess store (which is now Rite Aid). I was 15. (This would mark the first job that I receive an actual wage with taxes withheld. Minimum wage was something like $3.18 at the time.) All you Oregonians with whom I grew up will remember this because several of you spent countless hours hanging out with me there (as long as my boss, Eric, wasn't around). One of my primary duties (besides selling candy, chocolate, ice cream (both hard and soft serve) and other snack items) was to make fresh caramel corn from scratch. We had this huge copper kettle that was set over a gas ... I don't what you call it... It was a huge ring in which the copper kettle would set, with a flame underneath. Anyway, I had to measure all the ingredients just so (fresh butter, sugar, brown sugar, etc.) and mix it all together... and mix again... and then wait. There is a temperature at which the ingredients get this lovely, dark, bubbly color and texture, and that is when you know that it's ready. Off went the heat and in a huge amount of freshly popped plain popcorn would go. Then, the real work began. We had this big wooden paddle that we would use to mix the popcorn into the caramel. Only, you don't stir. You literally paddle like you would a canoe. It was hard work for sure! (Great shoulder exercise, by the way.) And you had to move pretty quickly because the caramel would immediately begin to set. Paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, until it became one big, sticky popcorn ball. Once that was done, we'd take the kettle and pour the contents onto a long, metal counter top, and quickly spread it out to form a single layer to cool. After about 3-4 minutes it would cool and we'd take a big metal scooper and smack the caramel corn lightly to break it into smaller chunks. Voila! Fresh caramel corn! We also made a pecan variety (kind of like homemade Moose Munch). It was so freakin' yummy. The smell was incredible. As soon as the caramel would begin to bubble, the aroma would drift into the rest of the store, which was sure to attract many customers. This was one sure-fire way to entice some business if it was slow. I worked there for about, I don't know, maybe 6-7 months.

Then I moved to Los Angeles about a month after my 16th birthday. Within about a week of settling in, I got my second job at a retail coffee shop, Universal Coffee & Tea. Now, mind you, this was 1988 - long before Starbucks and the massive coffee shop craze. The only people that came to a coffee shop were hard-core coffee lovers... and a lot of Europeans. We sold coffee and tea that was imported from all over the world, in addition to flavored coffees. Oh, how I loved the smell of that place. Sadly, within only a couple of weeks I was accustomed and could no longer smell the coffee. Here, I sold whole beans and varieties of tea, as well as all the coffee and tea paraphernalia. I also learned how to make the perfect espresso, cappuccino and latte. (This was before latte flavors, too...) I had my regular customers (mostly from places like France, Italy and Iran (for coffee) and several Asian countries for tea...). Go figure. I remember the gal that trained me. She was my first homosexual co-worker. I think she had a crush on me because she made a few insinuations, if you know what I mean. (Just for the record, I did not respond to her nudges.) I worked there for about 6 months.

Then I took a little bit of time off from working to focus on school since I was now also involved in Drill Team, in addition to school orchestra, the youth symphony (CSUN Youth Symphony - where I was 2nd chair voila), and private viola lessons. I just didn't have the time to work for a while.

Until... I got bored in the summer time, so I got my third job at a little card/gift shop called Roc's (which was basically like a Hallmark store). I worked with a couple of other girls who were seriously bad influences. After the store would close, they smoked pot in the back room and then would do all the after-hours clean up, only half the time they were too stoned to really do anything, so they would just sit in one of the corners that the security camera didn't cover and giggle while I did the work. I was just too much of a goody-two-shoes to smoke dope with them. I worked there maybe for 3 or 4 months. I eventually quit because it was interfering with my symphony schedule. (I would tell my supervisor the days I needed off due to rehearsals or concerts, but she would schedule me anyway, and then I was a no-show (obviously) which got me in trouble... yada yada yada.) I actually have some pretty funny stories about working there... One story involves those little capsules that dissolved in water and became sponge animals, but I'll save that for another time.

I got my fourth job right out of high school working for a professional photography lab called California Color Lab - which is where my aunt & uncle took their film, etc. I had an "in". I worked in customer service - basically answering phones and entering order data into their computer system. I really loved this job. I got to meet all the hoity-toity photographers in Southern California. This is also where I met my dear friend (photographer) Todd Anderson, who just happened to live a couple of blocks from me. This is how we met for the first time, and I kid you not. I had seen him several times coming in to drop off and pick up his orders. At the time he was simply a freelance photographer (before he started his own business and quickly made six figures at the ripe old age of 28. He was AWESOME!). I was sitting at my computer entering order data when he came up behind me and started breathing in and nibbling my ear. Oh my goodness! It pretty much gave me the shiver-me-timbers... and we were friends ever since. Actually, we were sort of on-again-off-again dating, but the timing was never right. So... we just stayed really good friends until he passed of melanoma in 2003. That was a devastating loss for me. I still think about Todd. I have so many great memories of him. When I moved out of California, we used to meet "half way" in Vegas. He was always the gentleman, always ready to pamper (sent me off to the spa, took me to shows, took me to great dinners), and we always had a great time together. (I could probably write a book about Todd... He was the first person who really knew me. He was a great friend, a devoted husband and father. He is sorely missed.) Anyway... back to the job. I worked for CCL for about 8 or 9 months until I just couldn't take working for my boss (the owner) any longer. His name was Tony. He was from Iran. And, oh Lord have mercy, did he have a temper! We had it out one day when he heard from one of our clients (who I'm sure was trying to be helpful, but said too much) that I had been thinking about quitting. So, he confronted me in a very hostile way. The gist is that he got all up in my face saying I heard this and that, blah blah blah. I told him (very calmly) that, yes, I was getting fed up with his temper tantrums. He said, "Well, why don't you just quit then?" I paused for a moment thinking, "Yeah... Why don't I?" So I did. I got up, got my stuff, said, "I quit," and walked out. He was out of business about 4 months later. Good thing I quit.

So then I needed another job. I was in college full time during all of this, paying for my tuition, etc. And I was at the point where I wanted the flexibility to work the hours I wanted to work.... like... hours that wouldn't interfere with my beach schedule. So I got my fifth job at The Broadway I think in the spring of 1992. (The Broadway was bought out by Robinsons-May, which I believe then got bought out by Macy's in 2005.) The Broadway was a department store - kind of more upscale like a Macy's (as opposed to Kohl's or JC Penney's). I worked in the men's department. I had a great time working here... I worked here for maybe close to a year (if I remember correctly). I worked with a guy named Tim Robinson. We used to study together at his apartment (we both were attending college at the same time). He was really cute. He was previously a Marine... I remember he used to purposefully brush up behind me (just casually "walking by") when I was with a customer to try to fluster me. It worked. Every time. (This was before Sexual Harassment policies....) So... yeah... He had nice triceps. I requested a modified schedule during finals (the week before and the week of). I was denied. So I quit. Take that, bastards!

After finals were over, I decided I should probably get another job - ya know... to pay for college. I eventually landed my sixth job working for a computer chip company in Hollywood - on the corner of Sunset and Vine as an account manager. This job definitely had potential. The owners loved me. I pretty much made bank. But... the owners were a husband and wife team and they argued constantly. Not to mention the commute was killing me. On a good day, it would take me maybe 15 minutes to get from campus to Hollywood. But... see... this was Los Angeles. Home of the traffic jam. It never took 15 minutes. It took 45. Bumper to bumper, moving inches at a time. Ugh, this sucked. So, after about a month, I quit.

I was dating a fella who was working for Wells Fargo. Another "in." So, I got my seventh job as a teller for Wells Fargo for about 6 or 7 months, when I quit just shortly before I moved back to Oregon. I was 20 years old, and a sophomore in college.

Quick recap: 7 jobs in 6 years. See? Averaging about a job each year. Not bad for just young'un.

Once back in Oregon, I applied for a few jobs, but didn't really want to work... which I believe probably showed in my interviews. I eventually got my seventh job working for an insurance company in Albany, OR. I worked in the quality control department. (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA Hilarious.) I hated this job. Agonizing detail.... I just couldn't take it. So, after maybe 3 months, I quit.

I actually accepted my eighth job working for an answering service for physicians' offices, but... that lasted a whopping 4 hours. I just knew it was not the job for me.

And then I took some time off. Life was a bit bumpy at this point in my life... So - fast forward through all of that....

Now 1995 (I think), I was living in Elko, NV (long story). Thinking back, I actually really enjoyed working retail. So, I got my ninth job working for a local clothing store (can't remember the name of it). After about a month or so, there was a gentleman walking through the store and we got to talking. He happened to be one of the managers for JC Penney (across the parking lot). We talked... he convinced me to apply. (My first experience actually getting recruited, haha.) So I applied. Got the job. I quit this little store and got my tenth job working for JC Penney assigned to where else but the men's department. (Greg Annessi was his name... We actually remained friends for quite a few years. One of my roommates and I even went for a visit a few years after I had moved away. I can totally picture him. He looked somewhat like Garth Brooks and taught me how to make the best Bloody Mary in the world - although there is no way to really know that.) I worked here only for about 2 months because I eventually moved to Billings, MT.

This is where it gets really good. I got my eleventh job working for the step-mom of the guy I was engage to at the time. (His name was Ernie Sprague. Great dancer, but he was a total A-hole of the first order. Some of you know that long, sordid story. Needless to say, we never married. Thank you, Jesus!) He came from a ranching family. (That was the best part.) Thousands of acres of land, and hundreds of head of cattle. I was asked to work on a cattle drive that the step-mom was catering for. It was one of these city-slicker vacation package things, and she was the cook. We had a huge horse trailer that had been converted into essentially a professional kitchen. Pretty cool, actually. So, I went on a 2 week cattle drive (actually 2 separate 1-week cattle drives), where we slept under the stars and got up before the freakin' cows (who, if you know anything about cows, wake up extremely early) and cooked breakfast for all the cowboys and guests. We'd cook breakfast, then clean up, pack up, drive to the next camp, unpack set up, cook, clean up, stay up until the wee hours dancing (and secretly drinking... cuz she was Mormon) and having a good time, then hitting the sack, and up again the next morning to do it all over again.

Who doesn't want to spend $1500 for a vacuum?

Well, when that was all over, it was time to find a real job. So... I got my twelfth job working for the Kirby Company. HAHAHAHAA HILARIOUS!!!!! Yes, I went to people's homes and sold vacuum cleaners. Is this not the most hysterical thing ever? Oh, my goodness. Well... apparently the owner of this franchise liked my style, so he promoted me to "Dealer Power Specialist" which is just a fancy title for what is basically doing the recruiting, hiring and sales training. (See??? I was already reaching into the HR field without even knowing it.) And that's what I did. I recruited, interviewed, hired and trained all of the new Kirby Company sales reps. And that lasted all of about 4 months.

... When I got my thirteenth job working for Billings Federal Credit Union as a teller. (I got mad money skills!) There was another teller there who didn't like me very much. She pissed me off. So I quit after only 6 months or so.

I finally decided to work for a temp agency so they could do the work for me. So, my fourteenth job was working for... a temp agency basically doing customer service and administrative functions (receptionist, data entry, etc.). I worked for a few small companies as a temp until I landed a long-term temp job working for the oil pipeline. I worked in their offices for a couple of months, until I got transferred to another (what I thought would be a) temp job for a (what I thought was a) local accounting firm.

What I soon discovered was, in all actuality, it was a temp-to-hire position for one of the Big Five (at the time) accounting firms, KPMG Peat Marwick, LLP. I was working as their receptionist (on a temporary basis) and I really didn't like it much simply because I was stuck in the front office behind a huge round desk with very little interaction (you know me)... but... I was convinced by my agent that this was an excellent job and I had my foot in the door and I really should think about accepting their job offer.

So, I did. And I landed my fifteenth job as the receptionist for KPMG Peat Marwick, LLP in Billings, MT. My boss was Carol Bergquist. (I found her on Facebook a few months back.) This was the fall of 1996. And this would be the job that propelled me out of a chaotic life and helped me get my feet back on firm ground. I am forever grateful. I worked as the receptionist for a few months until there was an opening as a Tax Secretary (preparing tax forms and basically acting as administrative support for the entire tax team). I later was promoted to "Senior" Tax Secretary (which didn't change the job responsibilities; I just got paid a lot more). It was in this job that I realized I was going nowhere fast. I was now working with a company who prided themselves on recruiting the top 1% of college accounting-major graduates. I saw the potential in them. And I knew I had potential, too. (Coincidentally, this is when I learned that I did not want to be an accountant.) So... I decided to go back to college and finish the remaining 2 1/2 years (which I completed in 18 months) of my degree in Organizational Communications. I actually had interviewed with another company who offered to pay a portion of my tuition. I accepted. And when I told one of my managers at KPMG about my plan, she went and had a conversation with one of the Partners, who then called me into his office and gave me a lovely schpeel about how valuable I am to the organization and what would it take to get me to stay? Um.... wow. That was new. A valuable employee? Wha??? So, I got bold, became my own advocate and laid it out there. I basically said that I had the goal of getting into marketing and public relations, and I planned to go back to school full time. I wasn't asking for tuition money, I just simply wanted a flexible schedule so that I could take my college classes. If they are willing to allow me to take classes and study on work time (during non-busy seasons), I would schedule my classes to try to minimize interference, such as taking classes early morning, noon hours, and evenings.

To my surprise and delight, they agreed. So, I went back to college full time. I took a class in the morning (at 7am), came to work, had a couple of classes from 11am-1pm-ish, came back to work, then had another class or two in the evenings - every day, Monday thru Friday. When all my work was done, I used the rest of my work time to study - which my employer allowed. And because they were so generous, during the busy tax season (January through April), I only took 9 credits instead of 18-20.

I "worked" 40 hours per week (meaning, I was in the office 40 hours, but sometimes I only worked 32...). I took 18 credits of class every semester (including summer), and they supported me even during my 20 hour per week internship at St. Vincent's Hospital in the Community Relations department.

I worked for KPMG for 5 1/2 years. I was totally committed and loyal to them because they were committed to seeing me grow personally and professionally. **ding ding ding** Not only that, but it was a great place to work. Carol was one of the best bosses I could have ever hoped to work with. Definitely one of the Top 3. She made the work environment so fun, and did a lot to ensure that the entire admin staff worked together cohesively and productively.

And the rest of the staff were pretty awesome too. I have so many great memories of KPMG - working into the wee hours of the morning during tax season, sitting in Jeremy's office with the lights off telling stories just to take a break from all the number-crunching and copy-making. Every year on Administrative Professional's Day (formerly known as Secretary's Day), Carol would take the entire admin team for a half day out of the office, which typically meant a nice lunch, fun picture sessions, games, prizes, cocktails.... So, so, so fun.

I learned a lot about how to lead a team and manage people from Carol and my experiences in this job. I'm not sure I ever told her that. But, Carol, if you're reading this, thank you. I cannot begin to tell you the way you touched my life. I'm deeply blessed, honored and grateful to have worked for and with you all those years.

Ok. Moving on. I graduated in December of 2001 (finally - after 6 years of hiatus) with a degree in Org Communications. My plan was to, as I mentioned before, get into public relations and/or marketing. My mother was very ill at the time (breast cancer) and... through a series of events, I ended up moving back to Oregon in March of 2002 to be closer to her. This meant, unfortunately, leaving my job at KPMG. (In all honesty, I was hoping to simply transfer with the company and work in their marketing department for the rest of my life...)

However, one of managers that I supported at KPMG was on the board of directors for the American Cancer Society. He knew of my plan to move to Oregon, so he made a few phone calls, scheduled an interview, and... I was offered a job.

My sixteenth job was Cancer Control Manager (specifically breast cancer) for the American Cancer Society in Portland, OR. This really is just another fancy name for public speaker and volunteer coordinator. I mean, seriously, people. Stop with the convoluted titles and just stick with what it really is. It was a fine job. I thoroughly enjoyed recruiting volunteers, doing all their training, working closely with them, managing their work, etc. I even recruited a few interns to work with me, as well. I didn't mind the public speaking - every October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, as you probably know since we're well into the month and being bombarded with breast cancer awareness messages as we speak. I had speaking engagements almost daily during the month of October - some small groups (5), some large groups (100+). I even brought in other speakers - breast cancer survivors, physicians, nurses, oncologists, etc. I learned a lot about breast cancer. And I learned that this job was far too emotionally taxing for me. I lost a lot friends to cancer during this time (for obvious reasons), including my friend Todd, whom I mentioned previously, on top of my having to deal with my own mother's breast cancer issues (never minding the fact that I had already lost my father and grandfather to cancer). So, yeah... I was done with that.

After about 18 months, I hooked up with a headhunting agency in Portland. I told them what I was looking for, salary, job duties, work environment, etc. And, wouldn't ya know it, I got a call. They scheduled an interview for me with a small, growing, locally-owned company who needed sort of a "catch-all" kind of person. My agent was very direct with me about what kind of opportunity this would be. Since I'm very teachable, I had my ears wide open.

I interviewed... and was offered the job. After some salary negotiations, I accepted my seventeenth job with Empire Pacific Risk Management in Lake Oswego, OR. I initially acted as executive assistant to the President, Vice President and CFO, but also started taking on marketing and public relations responsibilities. Over time, I saw a gap in their HR processes, primarily because I was supposed to have been enrolled in their benefits but the paperwork never got filed. Whoopsy. The wife of the owner usually took care of this, but... she just had their third baby (which is why I was hired - to take over her responsibilities) and was pretty much checked out at this point. After about 2 years, I decided that HR was where it was at for me. With my employer's blessing (and financial backing) I took some classes and then sat for the PHR exam - which I passed with flying colors the first time. I worked for Empire Pacific for 3 1/2 years in this crazy capacity - HR manager, communications manager, office manager, marketing, PR, etc., etc. The hours were nuts. Way too many responsibilities for one person. I had asked several times to hire an assistant, and when it was finally approved, she was absorbed by another department, with only about 2 of my responsibilities being transferred to her. I had also asked several times to just focus on HR and delegate the marketing responsibilities to another employee. Didn't happen. I was 8 months pregnant with Jeffrey, and then ... there was an incident (which I wrote about a couple of years ago, so no need to rehash that) that made me realize that we just weren't seeing eye-to-eye. I tendered my resignation, accompanied by many tears. (It was probably one of the most agonizing decisions I've ever had to make.) However, I was asked to stay on in a part time capacity to continue preparing marketing materials (all their newsletters, association ads, and so forth) while they make the transition to a new HR person. I agreed because I really did love the company and senior management. (I actually miss working with the President, Todd Hennelly. We laughed a lot. He was a lot of fun. Oh the stories I could tell! My favorite involves Todd and my spousal unit having a little too much to drink together one night at a charity event. I can't write about that story, but if you want to know, come see me. I'll never put it in writing.) At any rate, I worked part time from home for the next 4 or 5 months, and finally went our separate ways almost exactly 4 years to the day.

Meanwhile, a year prior (yes, rewind a bit), I was contacted by a friend of mine who was (and still is) working for our church who let me know that their HR person was going to be resigning due to having a baby and her desire to be a stay at home mom. So, I called to inquire and a conversation began. I interviewed... they offered me the job, but we just couldn't get through the negotiations. They couldn't pay me the salary I wanted and the job duties weren't focused, among other things. But over the course of that year, we kept the conversation going. The church was making some changes to the position, and the Executive Pastor was driving some sweeping changes to the salary structure of the entire organization. I interviewed again in December... and again in February (with Scott this time since he was now on staff there)... Finally, due to the "incident" with my current employer (at the time), I called and just let them know that I would be available. Sure enough, they came through with an acceptable job offer.

I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with Jeffrey. I began my eighteenth job as the Director of HR for Salem Alliance Church in mid-June of 2007. Three weeks later I had Jeffrey (who surprised us when he arrived 3 weeks early), and so while I was on maternity leave, I was working part time for Empire Pacific. Worked out pretty well!

No need to go into the whole how-we-left-Salem-Alliance story since that pretty much has been covered in my blog for the past 2 years. Needless to say, God uprooted us based upon some very specific prayers, almost 3 years to the day I began working for the church.

So, here I am in Colorado, working as the HR Manager for Mountain View Fire Protection District - my nineteenth job - and with God's mercy and blessing, perhaps my last.

There you have it, folks. Nineteen jobs in almost 23 years. True, that's a lot of jobs. But, really, if you look it from just the last 15 years or so, I've only had 4 jobs - all either directly in my field, or playing some part in my current career. And had it not been for certain circumstances, I could have easily kept the jobs with KPMG, Empire Pacific or the church (minus ACS - I wouldn't have stayed with that organization regardless). But... God had another plan for me. And it's just as well. So far as I can tell, my current position is by far the best fit. By now, you would expect the honeymoon to come to an end, but I can tell you I'm even more pumped now than I was when I first started. Some exciting stuff is coming up and I can't wait to dig my heels in! I freakin' love what I do - both generally speaking, but also specifically for this organization. That's much more than most people can say about their jobs. I don't take it for granted in any way. I'm truly blessed.

*One "job" I only briefly mentioned was my internship. That lasted 3 months and was unpaid, which is the reason I didn't count it. But that was 3 months of intense community relations training. Packed a big ol' punch in a short period of time!

**I forgot to mention my job with Eddie Bauer.... I worked there as a seasonal second job during the Christmas season in 1999 - just for about 4 months. It was a nice way to make extra cash to help pay for school. So... I guess that makes 20 jobs total.

I hate llamas

2010-10-07T22:30:00.000-06:00

Got a special request for blogging this evening. Apparently I don't blog enough about what a wuss I am in some areas.

Areas like... I don't know... burning buildings. I can't want that. Yes, I work for a fire department, but, see, I'm an HR manager. I'm not a fire fighter. I've never once thought about becoming a fire fighter. Ever. (Although I had thought about becoming a police officer... until I realized that I just really liked police officers. Something about the gun and night stick... But, I digress.) I just am not all that intrigued by fire, and, if I'm being perfectly honest, fire scares me. I like it nicely contained in a brick enclosure - otherwise known as a fireplace. I even don't mind if it's contained within a little wall of mud and/or rock, as in a campfire. But once it's on the loose, I don't like it. The thought of being burned alive is just far too vivid for me.

If you must know, I frighten far too easily. I always have. Yes, I was a tom-boy growing up. Yes, I beat the ever living crap out of a dude in the 5th grade (he had it coming). Yes, I like mud and dirt and grease and football and beer and cage fighting and a lot of other typical man stuff. I can be pretty tough. But with all that said, I'm a big weenie when it comes to things like scary movies, massive spiders (that have devil's horns and look like they're about to jump on your face), and the thought of someone sneaking in my window and stealing one of my kids. (Hey, it happens!)

I think this started way back when I was a kid. My sinister (yes, I stated that correctly) had (and still has) a horror movie fetish. She loves to be scared. I don't know why. She's just sick like that, and not necessarily in a good way. She used to rent (back in the day of actually renting VHS tapes) a bazillion horror movies and just sit and watch all day long. Being the little sister I was, I just wanted to hang out with her - with absolutely no regard for the consequences. (I think my mom probably tried to shield me, but she wasn't always around, and, thus, I put myself in curious predicaments.) So, I, too, would sit and watch these awful movies. To the point where I could not fall asleep at night, or if I did, I'd wake up screaming in terror. No joke.

So, here's my loving sinister... all nurturing and kind (**gag**)... who would wait for me to go to the bathroom and shut the door. I'd just be minding my own business (if you know what I mean) and open the bathroom door to find her with a freakin' nylon over her face and a massive knife in her hand. I mean, seriously? It scared the crap out of me.

Even to this day, if I watch a scary movie (which is very rare), I have to watch a comedy or something after to get my mind off of it. God forbid I have to pee during the movie! I refuse to go alone. And I don't mean a group of girls going to the bathroom together. I mean, I practically force my husband to actually sit in the bathroom with me. And, being the loving, supportive, kind and protective man he is, he always sees this as an opportunity. He'll start making noises or breathing funny, or scratching on the wall, or any other number of things just to completely freak me out. I think one time he actually made me cry. Or at least I wanted to.

Scott and I play Resident Evil (video game). While I seriously love this game, it scares the bajeebers out of me. Zombies are not right. There's this one point in the game where these zombie things walk all freaky-like at you and they're mumbling something. It sounds like they're saying, "Mummy after me." Yeah, that scares me. I actually have been known to hide my eyes in my hands... during a video game. Pathetic.

Almost any sound I can't identify makes me anxious. If it's a noise outside a window and I'm alone, forget about it. You can rest assured I'll probably be found in some corner of some closet sucking on my thumb in the fetal position.

I've always wanted to go skydiving. I hate heights. The thought of such an adventure sounds wonderful. But I know that I would probably have to be pushed out of the plane, and at that I will likely cry all the way to the ground. (And then I'll likely be found saying, "Let's do that again!")

Nothing about this is cute.

I also hate llamas. I'm not afraid of them. I just hate them. They ~~spit~~ vomit at you. I don't like that. And, yes, I have been ~~spit~~ vomited at. There is not a smell in the world that could compare. Just ask my sinister. She thinks it's hysterical. (Once again, her nurturing and kind nature rearing its ugly little head.)

So, Jen, there you have it. I've blogged about the wussy side of me. I hope you're satisfied.

A few love affairs

2010-10-06T22:42:00.000-06:00

Here are a few things I love....

I love old cars. I used to drive a '69 Mustang fastback, with a 351 Windsor (bored 30 over, with JBA headers, Holley 4 barrel carburetor and a few other minor "fixes" to make it barely street legal). I bought it when I was a freshman in college when it needed a whole lot of work. Over the course of about 3 years, I put over $10,000 into that thing. It was gorgeous. Ok... maybe not so much the body because there was still a ton of work to do there, but the rest of it was awesome. It was painted to look like a Mach 1. The rims came off of a pristine Shelby, shown just once. I did the entire interior myself (thank you very much) and had a mechanic friend of mine rebuild the engine (after I blew a freeze plug drag racing and cracked the engine block. Whoopsy daisy!). There wasn't a piece of metal that I didn't touch on that car. Everything inside and under the hood was either new or refurbed. Beautiful. I loved the way that car would rumble at idle. It would make a Harley Davidson sound like a toy. Talk about a dude-magnet. (And the fact that I could talk 'car' with other guys could cause a grown man to cry.) Oh, I loved that car. I had it for about 8 years when I finally sold it in Montana. Cars like that aren't practical when you live in places where there is a lot of snow and ice. I bawled like a baby when it drove away. (I heard it for at least 10 blocks... That sound will forever be a part of me.)

I love cold sheets on a warm evening - especially when I have freshly shaven legs. I love the softness against my skin, all slippy and cool. I can't help but slide my legs back and forth when I first climb into bed. It just feels so good!

I love watching sheep run. It is hysterical! My sister and I actually made a game of this, lovingly referred to as "Sheep Screaming." Oh, people... the boredom that ensues in a small Oregon town is just incredible. When you live in a small town, you just look for any sort of entertainment possible... and we discovered that if you scream at a herd of sheep, one will usually startle and start to run, and like the domino effect, every other sheep would turn and run, too, I'm sure not knowing why. Can you imagine this? Two late teen, maybe early twenty-something girls zooming along the back roads until they come upon a herd of unwitting sheep.... (I giggle just thinking about it.) My sister drove, and I would stick my head out of the window and scream at the top of lungs just as we passed. Sure enough, one or two would startle, and off they went. It sounds ridiculous (and it is), but... if you saw it, you'd crack up, too. It really is funny.

I love (don't gross out) the smell of dog paw-pads. I don't know why... I had a Doberman named Tara (who was pretty much the best dog on the face of the planet), and I loved the way her feet smelled. There was just something earthy about it... Kind of like the smell of horses. I love that too. Very distinct... Very memorable... Very unique... And for some reason, quite lovely.

I love to laugh. And I love making other people laugh. I just find so much amusement out of life! If you think about it, almost everything is at least a little funny. I make it a life's purpose to find the humor in almost all things. I suppose that's why I find my life so hilarious. Things just happen to me that are worthy of a belly laugh or two. My household is filled with laughter, and if you know our children, you'd know that they have definitely picked up on that. Jeffrey, from the time he was a minute old, just smiles all the time. He is such a positive bundle of joy. People are naturally attracted to him, I think because he's so smiley and giggly all the time. You can't help but laugh with him. He's already quite the comedian. And Eden is starting to learn the art of timing. The unfortunate piece to this is that often I find things amusing at the wrong times. Like... church. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to excuse myself because I thought I would implode from holding laughter in. What is it about church that brings out the funny in people? I could tell you story after story about hysterical church happenings... Suffice it to say that it's a wonder I've never been escorted out. (Although on two separate occasions, by two separate pastor-friends, I was asked after the service what on earth was so funny. Apparently, I can't hide it.) Most people take themselves far too seriously that it just stifles any enjoyment they could possibly get out of life. Lighten up, folks! It would do you well to laugh at yourself from time to time. (I do it all the time....)

I love bathroom humor. Call me immature. Call it what you will. But, honestly, poo is funny. You know it. And I know it. Most people are just too stuffy to admit it. (I almost inserted a poo picture, but... decided against it. But just know I'm totally cracking up right now.)

Those are just a few of my love affairs, randomly speaking.

Lil' Pun'kins

2010-10-05T20:55:00.000-06:00

We took the piglets to the pun'kin patch on Sunday - partly for something to do, and partly to visit with Uncle Jeff on his berfday. It's hard to believe that it's October and in just a week my babiest baby will be a year old.

Uncle Jeff is actually Jeffrey & Eden's uncle Jeff - Scott's big brother. (As opposed to my Uncle Jeff... because I don't have an Uncle Jeff. I do have an Uncle Jack, though. So I have that going for me.)

Our Jeffrey was named after Jeff. We knew long before we got married that if we ever had a son, we'd name him after Jeff. Scott has wonderful memories of Jeff being his protector and buddy growing up. Jeffrey has big shoes to fill (figuratively, because literally Jeff has small shoes...). We hope and pray that Jeffrey will be as good of a big brother to Eden as Jeff was (is) to Scott. So far, he's doing a great job.

When we found out I was pregnant with Eden, we were hoping for an October 3rd birthday. Jeffrey shared his name, and perhaps baby #2 would share his birthday. But... alas, she was born 8 days later (and only 1 hour and 14 minutes past her due date). For some reason, I have October 3rd stuck in my head, even to the point of actually marking October 3rd on all of my benefits forms. Whoops. You wouldn't think that a mother would "forget" the birth dates of her babies.

Jeffrey and Uncle Jeff are buddies. I love seeing these two together. Jeffrey has an incredible mentor in his uncle. They both make me proud.

And besides that, Jeff is stinkin' hilarious. He has one of the best laughs I've ever heard. When Scott and Jeff get together, you can expect to be entertained (even when half of what they talk about doesn't make a bit of sense). You can't help but laugh along with them.

He's crazy. And we love him.

Jeffrey loved the pun'kin patch. He was looking for the perfect pumpkins - just to sit on and pose.

I even got one with us together. This hardly ever happens. Thanks, Uncle Jeff.

Our other little bean sure wasn't happy though.

But Big Brother Jeffrey came to give her kisses and make it all better.

Which actually didn't help at all.

Sometimes it just takes Mommy's touch.

In the end, Jeffrey picked his perfect pumpkin.

Uncle Jeff got his, too (which marked the first time in history that I have ever bought someone a pumpkin for their birthday).

And we picked a wheelbarrow full.

Which was a little much for a fat man....

What's a wheelbarrow without a ride?

A pun'kin patch is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Death to the "no open-toe shoe" policy!

2010-10-04T22:33:00.000-06:00

Adidas Running Shoe - Beautiful!

I have a love affair with shoes. I always have. The irony is that I actually prefer to be barefoot (or bear toed, as my Picklebean would say). But it doesn't stop me from admiring great shoes.

I discovered Adidas running shoes. I used to be a Nike girl. But... recently, when I did the side by side bounce test, I found that Adidas just fit me a tad better. A running shoe, yes, but I also wear them for just about any type of activity. They're that great.

A couple of years ago, I purchased an uber comfy pair of Rockports. An attractive shoe it is not. Well, at least not to my tastes. But nothing beats its comfort. I can walk all day and night in those things. And thank goodness. For $120, they better wear well.

Black Boots - Fabulous!

I'm also a sucker for a great black boot. Look at these. Aren't these great? I wear my boots with skirts, jeans and slacks. I wear them to work. I wear them on weekends. It's just a great lookin' boot. Sassy. Sexy (if worn properly). Classy. Conservative.

But nothing, I tell you nothing beats my red suede pumps.

I'll tell you a little story about my red suede pumps. Our trips to Chicago aren't just for vacations. They also mark massive shopping sprees. I've never found such great clothes as I have in Chicago. For whatever reason, everything looks, feels and fits better in Chicago. I don't know why.

We found ourselves at the Water Tower - which is kind of an upscale mall. As we were meandering through one of the department stores, I discovered, to my surprise and delight, there was a colossal shoe sale. For someone who loves shoes, this is an impossible temptation to overcome. My poor husband... The things he endures for me. I soon was lost in a sea of sandals, pumps, boots, mules, slippers, you name it. Shaking his head in utter disgust at my lack of self control, my husband just walked away, pushing Jeffrey in the stroller far, far away from me - so as to shade our son from such gluttony.

THE Red Suede Pump

Minutes... perhaps hours (who really knows for sure) passed, when eventually I saw Scott's head over the top of the shoe rack, making his way through the maze of shoes back to me. When, lo and behold, a pop of color caught my eye: a gorgeous pair of red suede pumps with little peek-a-boo toes. Nuh, UH!!!! And in my size!

Oh, my beating heart.

Quickly, I tossed my tennies and slipped on these exquisite pieces of heaven, just as my husband rounded the corner towards me.

In as calm a voice as I could muster under these dire circumstances, I looked at him with big puppy eyes and said, "I don't know.... What do you think?"

His eyes shifted to my feet... and then ever-so-slowly up my legs... and ssssslllllooowwwwlllllyyyyy back to my feet. He swallowed hard. And then in his always composed way, he remarked, "Oh, yeah... You need those."

Ladies, when a man tells you, "you need those" shoes, trust me, you need those shoes.

I made my purchase. And I've been in love ever since. With those red suede pumps with the little peek-a-boo toes. (Oh, I love my husband, too. He totally earned a few points that day.)

These shoes can be worn with just about anything. They look great with jeans. They look awesome with a skirt. They look amazing with slacks. They're appropriate for a night out. And they are, in fact, appropriate for the workplace. (Although if you ever have to negotiate stairs, pay attention! Every time I make it to the top or bottom without incident, I have a private celebration in my mind because, really, that could have easily gone another way.)

There is not a day I wear these shoes that I don't get complimented. Women everywhere love them. (And why wouldn't they?) They're FAH-bulous, dah-ling!

Do you want to know a heartbreaking fact? (I've had to come to terms with this little tid-bit of information that I'm about to share with you. And, yes, I have had a few bad days over it.) My current employer has a "no open-toed shoe" policy.

**GASP**

**SHUTTER**

Say, wha?

**Hyperventilate**

**Hold breath**

**Blood curdling, classic horror movie scream**

NnnnnnnNNNNNOOOOOOOOOoooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

**Someone hand me a box of tissues and a paper bag, please.**

This, my friends, is a tragedy. A TRAGEDY, I tell you!

I would totally contest this. But... this is a conflict of interest for me. I am, after all, an HR professional. It is my job to uphold and enforce company policies. I actually get paid to do this.

But, oh dear Fire Chief, if only you knew how adorable these shoes are. You might change your mind. At the very least you could make an exception to the rule... for amazing red suede pumps with peek-a-boo toes.

I'd be thrilled to re-write the policy. Just let me know when you're ready. (Is now good for you?)

Please don't make me beg. (But I'm not above that, if necessary. Just sayin'.)

A groove and a goal

2010-10-03T22:17:00.000-06:00

Purchased a new Bose system over the weekend. After several months of a music-less home, we finally realized what we were missing.

Then we tapped into Pandora on the iTouch, and voila... An underground jazz club right in our living room. Brings us back to our Sweetbrier days, with Nate the bartender, our little corner of the club on a Thursday evening, and the stylings of Jim Beatty. Those were some sah-weet memories.

I love to listen to music. I far prefer music as a backdrop to my life than television. (We haven't had TV since we moved to CO - purposefully. We do have Netflix, so once in a while we're watching a movie or documentary, but for the most part, the TV just sits in its quiet corner and hardly says a peep.) But our home has been far too silent - save the bedtime tantrums of our 3 year old.

Ahhhhh, 'tis good. I loves me some good jazz, a cool breeze sifting in through an open window, little speckles of light from a few flickering candles, my cocktail of choice, and either a good book, the sound of my fingers pecking the keyboard, or just the hush of a fall evening after the kidlets have finally slipped off into a slumber.

It has been many, many months since there has even been a semblance of stability. I'm happy (ecstatic, really) to report that we've found our groove.

The fact that I now have any mood I desire literally at my fingertips is bonus.

Now if only my living room just happened to be 10 miles from town in the middle of 75 quiet acres, free from traffic noise and city lights, that would be perfection.

Goals, people. Gotta have a goal.

When autumn leaves start to fall

2010-10-02T21:55:00.000-06:00

I love autumn. It's by far my favorite season of the year. (Although, there really isn't a season I don't love, except one. Rainy season in Oregon. I can't want that.) I love how the sun sets a little earlier, the evenings are longer, the air is cooler.... I love the vibrant colors in the trees, and scattered all over the ground.

I love walking in the fall. I love how I can layer up, or wear shorts and be neither too hot nor too cold. I love walking hand in hand with my beloved, sometimes speaking of spiritual things; sometimes not speaking at all.

I love the sound of John Coltrane filling my home long after the babies are fast asleep, and the only light comes from the flicker of candles on the window sill and the glow of the fireplace across the room.

I love the aroma of pumpkin and apples in the air.

I love the warmth of a cool cocktail in my mouth, the rise and fall of my beloved's chest where he holds me close, and the tenderness of his breath against my skin.

I love our conversations, the honesty of his heart, the vulnerability in his voice.

I love autumn. She's romantic and seductive. She's persuasive and engaging.

And she elicits the same in me.

Percolating over a Bloody Mary

2010-10-01T23:29:00.000-06:00

I don't always give in to my cravings. But I just couldn't say no. Ever since "Bloody Mary" was uttered a week-ish ago, I've just had to have one. I think the last time I had a Bloody Mary was at least 18 months ago, if not longer. There was a time that a Bloody Mary was my drink of choice - especially on a Saturday evening when the kid (one at the time) was down, and my spousal unit and I made a date night out of an ordinary evening in, which usually consisted of either pizza or a fabulous meal, followed by a plethora of adult beverages and video games (Resident Evil, God of War, or some version of a racing game, which basically gave us license to drive under the influence, only in the privacy of our own home). Scott's drink: Scotch. My drink: Bloody Mary.

I've forgotten how much I love these things. Seriously, look at this. Isn't it lovely? Made with vodka (Three Olives - my favorite), Clamato (more than just tomato juice), with a couple of splashes of Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco, and garnished with pickled okra and jalapeno stuffed olives. So freakin' delicious.

Spicy.

Refreshing.

Crisp.

Delightful.

It's a drink with which I can sit back, relax and percolate.

Do you ever percolate?

I didn't used to like percolating - alone with my thoughts. They were too convicting. In a lot of ways they still are. The object of my affection isn't what it should be much of the time. I'd love to report that my mind is constantly on Jesus. But the truth is... it's not. More often than not, it's far from it (or Him, rather). I can't even begin to tell you the places I allow my mind to wander. I have a very vivid imagination. All too often I succumb to the power of my impulses. I wish that weren't true, but unfortunately, it is.

Maybe that's just my human nature. Maybe it's my fallen nature. I don't know.

This may sound odd, but often I focus too much on my home, my life, my husband.... It's easy to make my spouse my Lord. I look to him for my worth, my value, my esteem. It's easy to do because he builds me up. He holds me in high esteem. He makes me feel beautiful, desired, adored.... Maybe this seems backwards, but I can't love him rightly that way. I don't honor my husband by making him the center of my world. See, if I do that, eventually he'll do something that causes me to pull my adoration away from him and on to something (or someone) else. Kind of like loving love for the sake of love. How do you do this without making it another legalism? I don't want to love Jesus first because I should. I want to love Him first because not only do I want to, but I genuinely do. Believe me, I do want to. It just doesn't come naturally. It's a discipline. A practice.

In all honesty, I suck at it.

So, here I percolate. With my Bloody Mary. And Jack Johnson. And the crickets.

Sucker for red

2010-09-30T23:10:00.000-06:00

To add to yesternight's post, I forgot to mention Edgefield. I love Edgefield. It's part of the McMenamins thang, but different from the regular McMenamins bar. Edgefield holds a special place in my heart for many reasons. 1) It's quiet. B) It has a blown glass gallery - as well as an actual dude that blows glass right there in front of you. I don't know about you, but this fascinates me to no end. I wish I had a talent like that. 3) Edgefield has this cool wine tasting room that sits almost underground. It's a lovely place to belly up, chill with a glass (or five) of wine, and maybe strike up a conversation with the bartender. Not that I've ever done this (**cough cough**). Ok... yes, I have. It was right after work. My friend, Erin, and I took a little road trip across the city to hang out and we ended up in the wine tasting room. I don't remember the bartender's name, but he was cute, and I was hoping to hook Erin up with him. Good thing that didn't work out so well, because since then she has met a fine fellow by the name of Michael. Scott performed their wedding. Guess where? Not Edgefield, but another vineyard. Wine is just part of the Oregon culture.

D) Two of my favorite memories is at Edgefield. There was a large group of us one Saturday evening. I won't recall all of the details, but one of the funnier moments was when, essentially out of nowhere, I kicked Erin in the shin. There was a good reason, I'm sure of it. But I kicked her a little harder than anticipated. That was the wine talking. We made a lot of merriment that evening. (And if I remember correctly, we may have chased each other around the parking lot with the intention of jumping in puddles to splash one another. We were such crazy kids.)

Another time, Scott and I (pre-marriage perhaps...I honestly don't remember) ended up in this little shed where they serve fine spirits and everyone smokes cigars.

Want to know another secret? I like cigars. I prefer something a tad sweet, but there's something I love about a quiet, cool evening, fellowship, laughs and conversation around a fire, and everyone lightin' up a stogie.

Edgefield makes an amazing Syrah. Yum. 'Course, I am a sucker for a good red vino. What can I say?

On the subject / off the subject - I never get to bed at a reasonable hour. Life is so crazy-go-nuts right now that once the kids finally fade off, I just really enjoy the silence. I don't get much leisure time, so what I do get is precious and I do all I can to take advantage of it.

Silence.

It's wonderful.

There's something very appealing about pouring myself a cocktail or a glass of wine and just sitting in the darkness and actually taking a deep breath - with my eyes closed - enjoying what may be a fleeting moment of solitude.

I'm such an extrovert. But I've been learning that solitude is a gift. I get a lot of energy from other people, but the few moments of solitude that I do get are welcomed and refreshing. I wish I had more of that. I just long for stillness and simplicity. I remember back when I was a kid, growing up on the hill, a few miles from town where in the stillness of the night there were nothing but crickets and stars.

Total.

Silence.

Ahhhh...

Add a glass of wine and that is damn near perfection.

Care to join me?

The color red

2010-09-29T20:46:00.000-06:00

Last week, I had what was quite possibly the worst wine I've ever tasted. It was made by Red Guitar, which, if you go to their website looks (and sounds) like it might be delicious. But, in all actuality, it isn't fit to clean the inside of a toilet bowl. Sadly, it was recommended by some grizzly liquor store owner in Keystone. What's worse is it showed it got 92 points on the tasting. Yipes. And what's ever worser (is worser a word? If not, I'm going to use it anyway.), it cost almost $20. You'd think you'd get a little more than a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner for $20. **shaking head in shame**

After a long day of mingling and having to be on my A game last Thursday, I was looking forward to snuggling on the couch in front of a roaring fire (ok... maybe not roaring... really more of a dim flicker from a gas fireplace) with a glass of wine. Imagine my disappointment when past my lips slipped what I can only describe as (pardon my English) shitty, cheap, tangy nastiness. Sorry, but true. Very disappointing. (But very memorable, I will tell you this. I've had a few laughs over it, intermingled with a few tears.)

After an experience like this, one just gets a case of the shiver-me-timbers at the thought of red wine. But... after about a week of recovery, I am ready to re-engage my seasoned taste buds.

Let me tell you a little something about cheap wine. Some people have a love affair with Two-Buck Chuck (that's Charles Shaw for the layperson). In most states, this wine actually does only cost $2 a bottle. In Oregon it was $3. Listen, for that kind of price, is it a bad wine? Not really. Is it a great wine? Certainly not. But it does the job and it's a nice basic wine to have around the house. (Gotta love Trader Joe's (TJ's, as we like to call it) for introducing a decent wine with an uber-low price tag.)

Even Target carries a decent cheap wine. Bare Foot makes a great (gold medal) wine. A bottle of Merlot will run about $5. And it tastes pretty good. I mean... for the price. It's not great. But it isn't bad. It's acceptable. Much better than that crap wine I picked up in Keystone.

Now... I'm not one to complain about the price of wine. You often get what you pay for. I was spoiled living in the Pacific Northwest, and more specifically the Willamette Valley, where the landscape is littered with vineyards and wineries. If there is one thing the Pac NW does right, it's Pinot Noir (among others). We have done our share of wine tasting and winery tours. We've had our share of expensive wine. It's been a fun self-inflicted challenge to find that $100 bottle of wine for the low-low price of $18. There are plenty to choose from.

One of my favorites is Willamette Valley Vineyards. I can say with all honesty and quite a bit of enthusiasm that I have never had a bad wine from Willamette Valley. It's quite good. The vineyard and winery isn't a bad spot to hang, either.

Another winery that we're fond of is Redhawk. Their most popular wine is called Grateful Red. Kind of funny, with a great label. But... it's not my favorite. What Redhawk does really well is blend. They make an amazing Cuvee, which is a classic bordeaux blend, basically a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, and sometimes some other version of red for kicks. It's full, but light, and always does very well in the tasting room. What's a bonus about Redhawk is we are acquaintances with the owners. We've been up to their tasting room many times when it was just us and them. (We also ran into them once at The Ram in Salem, and they paid for our drinks.) Lovely people who followed their hearts and took hold of their dream to own a winery. I love stories like that.

Apparently, Colorado has a fair share of wineries, as well. I think one of these days, when the wind is right and I get a fire in my belly, I just might take a road trip to see what all the hub-bub is about.

I loves me a good glass of wine.... or two... or five.

Slap your grandma

2010-09-29T07:15:00.000-06:00

After a conversation about blogging yesterday, it dawned on me that the majority of my rants have been far too serious. Not to say that what I and my family have been going through these last 2 years isn't significant (to us). It's just that... well... you know me. (Or maybe you don't.) I just prefer to keep things light. So, in an attempt to get back to my roots, here are some random thoughts for the day.

I was driving home last night from work rockin' out to a local country station. (Side note: It has been literally years since I've listened to country music. Well, since Billings, actually. Oregon just didn't have a good country station. And if I'm being perfectly honest, I like country, but not as much as I once did. Country music these days is more pop than country. But, I digress.) Trace Adkins' song Honky Tonk Badonkadonk came on. This song is a crack up, if for no other reason than having the word "badonkadonk" in it. (I should add that word to my list of funny words. **DING** Idea! I just added the word "badonkadonk" to my funny words list.)

Wow. I need to lay off the caffeine. I apologize to all of you unsuspecting readers. If this is too much for you, feel free to move on.

ANYWAY, here are a few lyrics for your viewing pleasure:

It's so hard not to stare

At that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin' perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin' on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma
There outta be a law
Get the Sheriff on the phone
Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on
That honky tonk badonkadonk
(Aww sonn)

Um... Can someone please 'splain to me what "shut my mouth, slap your grandma" means? I mean.... first of all, why would you slap your grandma? What does she have to do with it? What did she ever do to you? And don't you think that slapping an innocent little old lady is a bit excessive?

The line "how's she even get them britches on" doesn't conjure up a good image for me. Now, I know all you visually stimulated men are probably thinking of something completely different than I am. So let me ruin this for you. I had a friend way back (who will remain nameless) who, for whatever reason, wore the tightest jeans I ever saw. And, unfortunately for both her and all others, she didn't have the booty to pull it off. Granted, if a chica has a cute little round tushy, tight jeans might accentuate the asset (**ahem**), but ... when someone is ... um... pleasantly fluffy... maybe tight jeans aren't a good idea. I know that some women are in complete denial. That is, they believe their backside is smaller than it actually is. And more than likely these are not the women who ask the dreaded question, "Do these jeans make my ass look big?" Well, no, you big dummy. Those jeans don't make your ass look big. Your ASS makes your ass look big. I'm just sayin'.

Bringing me back to my high school days, I remember laying on the bed all stretched out like a cat trying to zip up the tightest jeans ever. Seriously, I might as well have melted myself down and poured myself into the jeans mold. That's how tight we wore jeans back in the 80's. Why, I don't know. (Ok, granted, back then, I had a cute butt. In fact, it wasn't that long ago when I had a cute butt.)

Just for the record, no one should wear jeans that tight. And nowadays it’s even worse. Jeans are worn much lower, so particularly when they are tight, there’s a whole lot of ass crack showin’. People, please. No one wants to see your ass crack. No matter how cute your tushy is, ass crack is not cute when it peaks out of the top of your jeans. That’s dirty. And not in a good way.

Wanna know what is good? Bloody Mary’s. The Chief mentioned them the other day, and I’ve been having a craving ever since. Mmmmm. Yummers. When I think of Bloody Mary’s, I think of my old next door neighbor Katie. Yeah, we used to drink a little together. We went wine tasting once…. And had a certain conversation in a certain cemetery… “Um…. WOW! Look at how old this one is…..” **Awkward** That’s all I’ll say about that. (Katie – you know! Hahaha)

I was in Keystone last week for a few days for work. I packed a couple of work outfits, one of which was practically a brand new pair of slacks (Ann Taylor, if you must know). I got up, showered, got all primped for the day, put my brand new pants on, and they promptly fell off. What the??? I mean, that’s a good problem to have, right? Needless to say, apparently I’ve been losing a bit of weight without any real effort on my part. Not complaining. Just sayin’. (Now if I could manage to just accidentally drop another 35, that would be brilliant!)

People crack me up. I’ve been learning some new phrases since moving to Colorado. One is “crop dusting.” If you work in agriculture, this is probably not a new phrase for you. But… it’s not used in that context. For years, my husband has warned against walking behind the elderly when shopping because most likely at some point in the journey they will pass some gas. I was just recently told that, here, this is called “crop dusting.” Hysterical! I don’t ever want to be crop dusted.

I’m so sick of breath mints. (Sorry for that segue.)

I love cotton balls.

I love the color green.

I love starry skies, breezy evenings and silence.

I love that Scott once told me, “Well, if I know it smells like something, I have to taste it.” I beg your pardon, but does not everything smell like something? (He said this in context of lip balm, but… you know me. I must take it to places it was never meant to go.)

You know what I don’t love? I don’t love that I just found out that if I drink a caffeinated beverage within 4 hours of taking my thyroid meds, it reduces their effectiveness. F. I love my caffeinated beverages. I love them even more than I love my adult beverages.

Stupid thyroid.

You may recall years ago when I was having all those MRIs and CT scans because I was having extreme migraines daily (to the point of vomiting), and what was discovered were bulging and blown discs (C4, C5, C6, to be exact). My neurologist was pretty sure they were related, and mentioned that the bulging discs may be pressing against a nerve in my spine. Since that time, Scott has been calling me Nerve Damage. But, see… the migraines and the bulging discs, so it turns out, were not related at all. So, I petition (won’t you join me) to have my spousal unit stop calling me Nerve Damage…. And start calling me Thyroid Damage. I’m all about truth.

Last night I was missing Newton and Fidget. Newton’s big ol’ soft, poofy belly, and Fidget’s purring mew. I miss having animals. I don’t really miss cats in particular. I do miss having a dog. Dogs are great companions. They’re happy when you’re happy. They’re sad when you’re sad. They put their head on your knee as if to say, “I totally understand what you’re going through.” And for whatever reason, we believe it.

But, alas, my spousal unit is not a lover of the animals, unless they happened to be cooked rare and sitting on a plate in front of him with a little cup of au jus on the side.

I’ve been wearing the same perfume since I was in high school. It’s the only perfume that I can’t smell. That’s why I like it. That’s not because it has not smell (because, really, what would be the point if that were the case?). It’s because it blends perfectly with my chemistry. I get compliments on it all the time. (Typically, after a comment, I do the wrist sniff test, and I still can’t smell it.) Want to know a little secret? I don’t like smelling perfume on me. That’s why I have tried many times to change, but keep coming back to the same perfume. Most perfumes give me a headache. (Men’s cologne, however, is a different story. The right fragrance, and mmmm, mmmm, mmmm…. ‘Nuff said about that.)

Is it hot in here?

Anyway, I wear Tresor. I love it. And I’m out as of this morning. I must go buy more.

Welp, glad I got all that out of my system.

A Happy Place

2010-09-20T20:26:00.000-06:00

I just don't blog like I used to. Simply stated, I just don't have the time. Back to working 40+ hours per week, plus a 30-45 minute commute (one way), plus having to get both kids up, fed and ready in time to drop them off at school, and then get myself to work on time, then back home in time to play with the kids a little, get them bathed and fed, read to and tucked in bed, and maybe, just maybe, I might have a little time to say hello to the spousal unit and grab a snuggle with him, too.

**sigh**

Life is very different these days, for sure.

But, oh, so rich. I love, love, LOVE... LOVE (one more for good measure) my life. We live in a tiny little 2 bedroom, upper condo. We've never been so smooshed together as a family. Personal space is definitely violated. Our kitchen is about half what it was in our Oregon home (which is kind of a big deal for us because we love to cook and entertain). Gone (for now) are the days of massive dinner parties and Super Bowl gatherings (unless, of course, people don't mind sitting on each other's laps and "standing room only"). But, welcome are the days of sunny skies, fresh mountain air (except when the wind turns west and the wreak of Greeley blows in our open windows), long walks (and an occasional run), and the joy of the company of friends who enthusiastically accept an invitation to meet for coffee - regardless of whatever else they have going on.

I love my job, in a way that I only dreamed possible (followed by a laugh, as if that could ever happen). I feel valued. I feel welcomed. I feel like I'm a part of the future of the organization; not just a necessary nuisance that someone threw out on the table and got a few nods of acceptance when the idea popped up.

I was missing Oregon (gasp!) a couple weeks ago when I thought of fall.... I missed the misty mornings, bundling up the family and grabbing some coffee, hot chocolate and a donut as part of an early morning walk. When it was early enough, some passers by would actually say hello and not just look away real quick when we offered a "Good morning!"

Then on Saturday I woke up... to a misty morning, with low-lying fog, and I bundled up my family, grabbed some hot chocolate and headed out to meet up with some friends. It was like a fall morning in Oregon, only we weren't alone. And in the deepest parts of my heart where I had hidden myself away to protect from the many hurts and rejections I had become accustomed to, I rejoiced.

I feel like I've arrived.... Arrived in a place where I can allow others close to me, without fear of being stomped. Arrived in a place where my worship of Jesus isn't done in a "certain" way, in a "certain" place, with "certain" people.

I've arrived in my Happy Place! And I actually live here! This is reality! Not just the Happy Place that I'd retreat to in my mind when everything around me was broken to pieces.

My kids are happier. My husband is happier. I am happier.

The Big Boss even commented to me the other day, "Well, you look happy!"

And it dawned on me that... yes... I am happy!

Can I just say that it feels really good to feel happy? Not that I wasn't happy before, because I'm just typically a naturally happy person. But now I feel like I don't have to choose to be happy. I just am.

God did this. I said months ago at a very low point, "Just watch what God can do." Now I get to boast, "Look what God did!"

Plan of attack

2010-09-01T06:18:00.000-06:00

My plan of attack for this morning: make a beautiful omelette made with our fresh, local eggs stuffed with fresh spinach, tomatoes and the new monterey jack cheese that was just delivered to my doorstep Tuesday morning. (Man, I love our dairy delivery. Awesome.)

It all started out well.... I got about 75% of the way through my nummy, pack-a-nutritious punch meal when I discovered I forgot the tomatoes, which was what I was really craving.

But at least I still have my 4 shot latte - made with organic 1.5% local milk.....

This is what happens when I get very little sleep and inherit the lovely cold that my baby girl decided to share with me. Sore trote started on Monday... worsened yesterday.... And now this morning I feel like I got run over by a truck. The unfortunate piece to this is I have a TON of stuff to do at work today so I can't afford to spend any time in La-La-Land which is usually the result of lack of sleep + sick. The flip side to that (that is, the fortunate side if you're following along) is that I love my job, so I think I'll find a little paper-pile of inspiration once I walk in my door. That's my hope, anyway.

Plus, I smell fall in the air. The nights are a bit cooler. The wind is a bit chillier. The leaves rustle a bit louder. The air is a bit thinner and delightfully fresh. (Although, keep in mind I'm already at 5000+ feet altitude, so the air is always a bit thinner....) And the sunrises are more colorful and bright. This always points the way to a beautiful autumn. This will be our first fall spent in Colorado. We've been looking forward to this for three years. I'm already planning the family's wardrobe for pictures, early Saturday morning walks in the park, and my choice of daily scarves for my work days. (Little do they know my love of The Scarf - one of the best inventions in fashion.) Fall is my favorite time of year. I'm blessed to spend this season with my favorite man, my favorite little girl, my favorite little boy, in my favorite place with my favorite friends (minus a few we left behind, but are constantly encouraging to come for a visit **ahem ahem** - clearing of throat, hint hint, nudge nudge, you know who you are).

So, as I enjoy my morning cup of motivation, I have much to look forward to.

There is much to celebrate, much to be grateful for and many reasons to just rest and send a million thanks to the Creator of it all. Thank you, God, for this amazing landscape and the incredible life you've laid out for us.

Two words for "The List"

2010-08-17T06:20:00.000-06:00

Nappy.

That word is hilarious. It came to mind when we got up super early on Sunday morning to pay a visit to this donut shop called Donut Haus. This place got amazing reviews (5 stars across the board), and we were told that they make the best maple bars in the world. Well... being a realist, I wasn't completely convinced. That's an awfully big claim to make and, really, how could you really know that? But, it was motivating on a Sunday morning, so after a family snuggle in bed, we all put some pants on and headed out the door. Once in the car, I realized that Jeffrey's hair was a complete mess. I looked at him and said, "That's quite the bed head you're rockin', kiddo." And then it occurred to me that it was worse than bed head. It was nappy.

And that made us laugh. And, then, of course in true Matkovich form, it spiraled out of control.

Now that I've been writing this, I've forgotten the second word.

Dangit! This ALWAYS happens. I never remember the funny words long enough to get them written down.

Oh, well. So we have one more word for the funny word list.

Nappy.

That's funny.