The Proof!

It’s a little bedroom, bigger than mine, but one of the smaller rooms that they’ve had. But is it too small for five kids? Thanks to, nope. It’s just the right size.

I haven’t put up their curtains, yet, but I plan to use the same ones we’ve been using for awhile. And I’m ordering canvases so their walls can feature their own artwork. When it’s all finished and cute, I’ll post again.

Here’s the bed. It’s a twin over full bunk. But there is also room to slide another full mattress right underneath. So, now, it’s a twin over full over full. I think I’m a genius (and Lula thinks so, too).

The bedding is also from Wal-Mart, but we would never be able to find it in our small town store. That’s what makes Wal-Mart’s free site-to-store shipping so awesome. Big city bargains delivered straight to our mountain Wal-Mart! Can’t beat that!

The closet is still unfinished. I really hate sliding closet doors, so I’m thinking about redoing the whole inside with shelves and rods. Maybe something like this. Or a bunch of these. But I really like this, which would leave room for shelves on each end. If you’ve redone a closet, please let me see. When I look here, all I see is wasted space. Which, of course, we can’t have!

But that’s what we have, for now. A very clean and workable bedroom–with just enough stuff and plenty of room for all.

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One for the Books

“Is so and so still alive?” they usually ask while watching any non-animated t.v. show or movie. We watch a lot of The Andy Griffith Show and Leave it to Beaver, so it’s a usually a valid question. But when she asked, “Is Rob Petrie still alive?” I had to laugh (cause, really, we’ve covered all of this before).

“Umm, Rob Petrie is not a real person, remember?”

“What?!” like I had blown her mind.

“Rob Petrie is not a real person,” I repeated. “What’s the name of the show?”

The Dick Van Dyke Show.”

“Yeah, and Dick Van Dyke is a real person. He’s pretending to be Robert Petrie on t.v. And he also pretends to be Bert in Mary Poppins. That’s called acting, remember?”

“Oh yeah. And is Dick Van Dyke married to Laura Petrie?”

“Uh, no. Her name is Mary Tyler Moore…she is pretending to be Laura Petrie. But, no, Dick Van Dyke is not married to Mary Tyler Moore.”

“Oh my gosh! He isn’t?! Then how did they have Richie?!”

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Pair of Sixes

Somehow, although I’m still not sure how, Lil Prince and Bay Bit woke up on Saturday morning as six year olds. I made a large pile of french toast while Cuddle Bug and Tiny Dancer rustled and whispered from their bedroom. Then, we all sat down to eat.

Yes, they’re wearing winter pjs. Yes, it’s already getting pretty darn cold at night.

After breakfast, I’d planned to take the six year olds down to our town’s little resale shop to pick out some toys and games. These kiddos love to shop, so I knew they’d appreciate that even more than they would unwrapping a present. And, they did (mostly, they just like the time out alone). But I had to delay our plans a bit. First, their older sisters paraded out of their room with about a dozen of their own prized possessions wrapped in a little pink tissue paper and a lot of toilet paper. Eyes brightened with each rip of paper; and, for a good twenty minutes, little voices ooed and aawed in excited, “Oh my goodness! You shouldn’t have”s.

Have I mentioned that I love my kids?

In case I haven’t, I do. I really, really do.

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A Story About a Dog

Once upon a time, there was a man. This man loved all living things. If you hit it with your car, he’d scrape it off the road and nurse it back to health. Or, at least he’d try to. So, when this man was shown a puppy and promised, “You take it, or I’m taking it to the pound.” This big-hearted man was powerless against the warning. He had himself a puppy.

But then he asked his [estranged] wife if she could help find a home for the puppy. She responded, “I don’t want a puppy,” but she didn’t mean it. He replied, “I’m not asking you to take her!” but he didn’t mean it, either.

Let this story serve as a warning against ever opening your door, even for one day, to a puppy. Because in case you didn’t already know, puppies are magical…

…which is my only explanation for why I now have two.

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If you’ve started reading my book, you’ve probably noticed the startling lack of parenthesis. OK, no you haven’t. The lack of dashes? Commas?? Ummm…nope. Fine, I admit it, I like punctuation. I like it a lot. Except exclamation points, I have to force myself to use those. Well, not on Facebook. When on Facebook, I wink and exclaim like a mad woman.

Like a mad woman, I tell you!!!!!   ; )

The reason my book is not drowning in parenthesis is because El was one of the first to read it. She kinda set me straight with the whole, “This is a book, not a blog,” line. And alright, she didn’t really say that. I was inferring the parenthesis.

But y’all know I love ’em, parenthesis (saying what I really mean inside of what could have been a shrouded yet punchy sentence). I just didn’t realize how much I loved them.

I’m also pretty crazy about italics.

This week, though, I had a very eye opening experience while brushing my teeth (meaning I couldn’t answer, I could only nod).

“Hey Mom,” Bay Bit sneaked up behind me.

“UH! Uh-uh,” I mumbled through foam.

“How many days until our date?”

“Hhee,” I held up three fingers.

“Oh, OK,” she smiled. “I thought it was two days (cause yesterday you said it was three days). Remember when we went last time and I got macaroni (well, we said we wanted a steak but then we decided it was too expensive so I got macaroni) and it was really good?

I nodded.

“Well, I liked the macaroni (even though we really wanted steak), but next time I want something different (but I know we can’t have the steak). Are we going to go to the same place (I liked that place but you said we might not go there next time)? It’s OK if we go somewhere else (I know it’s really fun to just go out without the other kids, I was just wondering), are we? Also, are we going to have pancakes for breakfast (cause Lil Prince says he wants pancakes, but I like oatmeal, and Tiny Dancer wants cereal)?

I spit. And I smiled.

Like mother, like daughter (I guess).

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Now Today Feels Like Monday

Whoa, yesterday was fun. That is, until the snow cone–cotton candy–parade candy meltdowns kicked in. Whoa, that was not fun. Thankfully, though, fun is what happened in public. I don’t mind walking through sugar-hell on the occasional holiday, as long as the embarrassment is contained within my own home. Ha.

The 4th of July always makes me smile. Papa Bear and I were officially engaged on the 4th–although the fireworks were a little brighter on a roof-top in downtown Denver than they are in small-town northern New Mexico. A small town 4th of July is just the way we do things, now. And a cake-walk, bouncy house and games with your friends and neighbors is hard to beat.

 (They wouldn’t let me scrub their faces last night!)

 (This is downtown, now.)

 Immediately after the parade (which Baby Bear and I missed due to the aforementioned meltdowns), we had the most amazing thirty minutes of drenching rain. It was wonderful, and also proof that God likes fireworks!


We watched the fireworks from our front yard, but I wasn’t organized enough to grab chairs! Oh well, this works well, too.

Then we went inside and had cake…because I’m crazy. But everyone slept very well last night!

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Hair, and Hair Related Problems

Last week, I decided we were in desperate need of some new family pictures. So, I asked a friend if she’d mind meeting us early Sunday morning to get some shots by the river before church. And, like good friends do, she agreed.

I realize that to call any portion of the following three days’ happening “disastrous” might sound melodramatic. I realize that. Now, let me tell you about the disastrous things that then happened. Ha.

First, Bay Bit cut her hair…again. And by “cut” I mean “to the scalp,” and right on the top of her forehead! If you’ve been around here for awhile, you know that this is not the first time I’ve been forced to get very creative with Bay Bit’s hair. After I threw a hissy fit and tried, once again, to explain to her that while a good trim does (seem to) make hair grow faster, obliterating ones hair is not the fast track to Rapunzelhood, I began to asses and fix. I spent the following half hour trying to work up some layers and side-swept bangs that, if fixed right, would cover the crime. And when I finished, I sighed, “OK, that will work well for pictures. But pleasedon’teverdothatagain!”

A day later (because I was going crazy, remember??), I sent them to my mom’s for the day. Henceforth, my mother shall me known as “The Butcher,” because she spotted the damaged area on her granddaughter’s head and decided she had a grandmotherly obligation to further fix the problem. And she must have been happy with her efforts (better known as pixie bangs), because she brought my daughter home without so much as a downtrodden look of remorse! This led to my second hissy fit.

[I love you, Mom! It’s just that I have no other stories to tell. Ha.]

I calmed down when I realized that pixie bangs can also be side-swept, and I proceeded to gather outfits for the following morning’s shoot. To the last microscopic detail, the next fifteen hours went like clockwork…

Baths, hairdry, sleep…curl, spray, dress. We were off to church with time to spare (and looking pretty adorable, too)! What I couldn’t have been expected to plan for, however, were the 50 mph winds that nearly blew my door off its hinges when we arrived.

We decided to wait until later in the day, so I squirmed when a sweet teenager played with Cuddle Bug’s hair during worship and completely destroyed her curls. The wind still howled loudly after church, so we waited until after lunch…and then after dinner. Meanwhile, the kids became increasingly disheveled and I internalized my hissy fit trifecta.

Needless to say, no pictures were taken in the making of this post. However, we did arrive early to church!

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