You Know it Feels Good to be Alive

photo credit: Scott Cook

The Midwest has been having a week with all this crazy-ass weather. Joplin, Missouri is three hours south of us and our heart breaks for that city, while we're incredibly grateful all our friends there were physically unharmed.

Tornado sirens went off in the Kansas City area on Wednesday. Aaron and his coworkers stood in the bathrooms, in the middle of the building, for an hour. Darwin, who was at school, went to the basement music room and watched two episodes of Reading Rainbow.

Griffin, who was home sick, Emerson, the dog and I went to our basement for over an hour.


At the beginning I ran up and down the stairs preparing while the boys sat. First run, bottled water, two cans of Emery's special formula, two clean sippy cups. Second run, shoes for me and Griffin, laptop (haven't updated the hard-drive in a long time, too many precious photo files to lose), cameras, battery packs, flashlights, dog leash. Third run, canned & boxed goods, can opener, prescription medicines.

Yes, I was a Girl Scout. Why do you ask?

After I was done with the running I closed the door. I keep a radio in my sewing area, blared it loud. Shifted furniture around in the basement so I could close a door in case there was flying glass. Pulled out a rag rug to sit on and watched Griffin freak the fuck out and puke for over half an hour, poor kid. He got that nervous tummy from his mama.

There were reports of a tornado touch-down less than two miles from our home but it turned out to be a false report. Local areas were hit, but nothing super-close to us.

And Buddha bless texting and the internet. Seriously, we were able to tell family and friends over a thousand miles away that yes, we are in the basement, yes we are all safe. So very grateful for that technology.

More storms are headed to the Kansas City area this weekend, high hopes of just rain and no funnel action. But water, formula and sippys are still in the basement - just in case.

Kill the Lights and Shut the DJ Down

Here you go, a little happy for your weekend: some of our favorite songs.

Which you have activate yourself, YOU'RE WELCOME. Blogs that auto-play music. That shit needs to stop. Please. Think before you auto-play stuff... you don't wanna lose readers 'cause someone's reading blogs at work and YOUR MUSIC BLOWS THEIR COVER, amirite? I am right.

Hap-hap-happy weekend to you!

You the One to Please

Took Emery to the doctor yesterday for his nine-month well-baby check (dude, he's been out for as long as he was in, weird).

Weight - 7th percentile
Height - 12th percentile
Head Circumference - 70th percentile

Baby got some smarty-smart brain up in there, yo.

We discussed a lot of things (including this horrible head cold we are all battling), even a medical issue we've been in deep, deep denial about. The doctor was convinced things would get better, but she's starting to agree that it's much more serious than previously thought.

Unfortunately, there's no known medical help we can do, which makes it all that much more serious. Yes, some people have been known to live with the condition for a long time, but typically their life is cut short.

Y'all, Emerson is a zombie.

It explains a lot, if you really think about it:

lack of sleep (the better to liquify my brains)

the odd undertone of braaaaiiinnnnnssss when he cries - bbbbBBBBbbrraaaAAAAIIIIiiiiIINNNNNSSSssssssss

his forcefulness to try to shove a spoon in my ear (you know, to eat the brains)

his inability to heal his skin ('cause, you know, HE'S A ZOMBIE and zombies are like dead and stuff and aren't known for their healthy-glow) (unless they are full of brrraaaaiiinnnnsss)


Other going-ons ('cause like I said, DENIAL ABOUT MAH ZOMBIE BAYBEE), Darwin has mastered the monkey bars:


but with MUCH trepidation. And both boys finished up spring soccer...


... which means we can focus on other things, like canning. And preserving my bbbrraaaiiinnnnssss.

And He's Watching His Reflection

My Succotash Wish

We need some normal around here.

I don't know what normal is but damn it, I want it.

The past few weeks have been marred with the mastitis (which, at this level is challenging the stupid fucking foot for ridiculousness) making its comeback, trip to the hospital, meeting with a breast surgeon, meeting with an infectious disease doctor, more antibiotics and talks of hospital stays.

To which I say, ohmyhell.

I'm much better now, but in deep, deep denial of "needing" to go back to the breast surgeon and "get somethin' on the books." I feel fine now, really. Okay, I feel better. But better is awesome and I don't wanna go to the hospital.

Now I'm figuring out how life is with three kids (heh, instead of "two kids and a nursing babe") (although, I'm still somewhat in denial that I have three kids) (Emerson is an excellent accessory, he fits nicely on the hip - baby jewelry, I like to think of him), a healthy mama and a daddy who is about to go on his first big business trip since I got sick-slash-weened.


Oh boy.