pacing around in the moonlight

hello. how are you? no time, no see.

the past few weeks have been gloriously busy. aaron's parents came for thanksgiving, the boys had both! sets! of! grandparents! there! two grandmas and two grandpas in the same room, emerson's mind was significantly blown.

the holiday decorating has been slow coming, as mister short stuff is in full "terrible twos" mode. no tree. (eh, more on that on another day.) so we're getting creative.

i've been working on on clearing out the basement for the past few weeks. side note: it's not wise to clear clutter out during the holidays, as you do not want to buy anything. nothing.

i've been taking bags of trash, boxes of recycling to the curb. bags and bags and bags of items for friends and family. another pile for donations. i don't want to bring anything into the house now (and i'm only about a third of the way done), bah  humbug.

while digging my way out of my basement, i stumped upon the potty.

emery has been enamored with removing the pants at. all. times.

yesterday he was so mad at me whole foods, the shoes went flying, then the socks. next, shirt. then he started tugging at the britches.

so i thought, maybe, i should clean and bring that potty up.

of course, he loves it.

but um. yeah. not using it for intended purposes. sigh.

he's all over sitting on it. but... hmm.. not taking care to use it properly.

plus, he still doesn't talk. (nor is he yet sleeping through the night.) (thanks a lot eosinophilic esophagitis, you bastard.) so beyond screaming and pointing his little finger in my face and telling me "NEEE-OOOO" he's really not communicating well.

what the hell am i talking about? he says "no" fantastically.

don't get caught alone, oh no

ohmygoodness the sugar coma is a beast the next day, is it not?

the big boys just got home from school and already demonstrating how going to bed an hour and a half later and hopped up on candy the night before equates to not the best behavior. (their poor teachers.)

and emery did his very best personality of the hulk today. because. um. sugar?

but they had a fantastic time, and there's a goodly amount of almond joys for mama that need to be hidden away.

some of the pumpkins on the porch

making goodie bags to leave out

ready to go (and the first time all were taken in the 12 years of living here!)

half-batch (i don't trust myself) of gluten-free chocolate cupcakes with vanilla buttercream

 

yeah, not done yet. surprised? (free download from  here)

 everyone ready to go

 i've resisted the urge to take down the halloween decorations just yet... one more day will do just fine.

and i'm sorely lacking in thanksgiving adornments.

the world outside is, oh, so cold

We're having this crazy heat wave, it was in the mid-80s today. Given the summer we had I really shouldn't complain, but damn.

A few weeks ago it was gloriously chilly; I love autumn weather. (Not so much the leaves, anyone wanna help come rake?)

Yesterday I was chatting with Lisa on Twitter on good uses for pumpkin, especially something savory. Hello, one of my very most favorite foods ever. I start making it when there's a chill in the air, and continue until the tulips are up.

In our house this is known as "pumpkin pasta" and I'm making it as soon as Aaron gets home from Canada. (In related news, I'm willing to start renting my children out to anyone who'd like a good shot of non-hormonal birth control.)

Recipe!

1 pound sweet italian pork sausage (sometimes I use ground dark turkey and add a goodly amount of Baron's Specialty Foods Italian Blend - I get it at Whole Foods at the meat counter and cannot find it online; it's what my local Whole Foods uses to make their sausages in-house) (if you recall, Emery is allergic to pork, gah)

olive oil, depending on if you are using pork vs turkey vs skipping meat all together

one medium onion, small diced

2 teaspoons fennel seeds, if vegetarian

4 - 6 cloves of garlic, minced

2 teaspoons dried rubbed sage

1 cup white wine (optional)

2 - 3 cups chicken or light-colored veggie stock

1 cup canned pumpkin (about two thirds of a standard can)

sprinkle of cinnamon and freshly grated nutmeg

1/2 cup half'n'half

1 pound of a tube-y pasta, cooked just under al dente (we are gluten-free, this is our favorite)

parmesan, for serving

In a large skillet, add a small bit of oil (teaspoon if cooking pork; tablespoon if cooking turkey) and cook sausage on medium heat until done; remove from pan using a slotted spoon, set aside momentarily.

Drain any excess oil out of the pan, you want a little oil to coat the bottom; saute onions on medium heat (if you are making it vegetarian, use a teaspoon or two of oil and start your onions with a sprinkle of fennel and salt - gives you the sausage flavor without having the meat!). Cook onions until translucent, add garlic and a sprinkle of pepper and cook for just a moment. Pour the cup of white wine (or stock, if not using wine) into the pan and reduce the liquid to half.

Rub sage into skillet, add pumpkin and whisk as smoothly as possible. Add two-ish cups of stock and bring to a simmer; add sausage back in and continue on a low simmer for five to ten minutes stirring occasionally but never walking too far away.

Sprinkle cinnamon and nutmeg in, turn off heat and slowly add half'n'half until the sauce looks the color of pumpkin pie. Taste for salt and pepper, toss pasta in and let sit for a few minutes before serving.

We like to have this with a big green salad, and a healthy sprinkle of parmesan on mine please.

The boys like their sausage and pasta plain, partially because they cannot have dairy and partially because they are not fans of anything sauce-y.

Unless you count ketchup as sauce-y. 

if it wasn't for bad luck, i wouldn't have no luck at all

The past week has just been downright comical around here, between a broken dryer for days-on-end (16 days, to be exact) and then once it was broken our basement flooded. Ahem.

The cause? Oh, you know. The service guy doing something he shouldn't. Then he tried to fix it by pouring a chemical down the drain. And left without saying anything to me.

Like I said, comical.

That was last week. The plumbing is fixed. The damage is not.

I decided, since nearly everything is dirty, I might as well take this opportunity to do the great seasonal laundry shuffle. I'm nearly done. After a week. I know, comical.

Now, Aaron's talking about his upcoming three trips (two to Canada) and mixing goodness-knows-what in the kitchen to make himself feel better (lettuce smoothies with water, anyone?); Griffin has some viral coughy-lung thing that could turn into bronchitis, and Emery is puking at least three times a day. Comical.

Darwin and I are trying to keep everyone at an arm's distance. We don't want any of their germy stuff. Please and thank you.

 Yeah, this has nothing to do with the post - but look at that smile!

makes you think all the world's a sunny day

Aaron arrived home this weekend - whew! - despite two delays and plane changes.

We did one of my very most favorite things, go to the pumpkin patch. It was chilly, very chilly, but bright and beautiful and happy. Just what we needed.

There was chickens and cows and pumpkin chuckin' and a hay maze and a patch perfectly died back for picking and tractors (lots and lots of pointing and grunting at tractors!).

After there was snacks and a long drive home (with a stop for gluten-free burgers and fries) and naps in the van.

And there was this. Lots and lots of this.

Drank a cup of coffee and she'd fold her laundry

Autumn finally arrived to Kansas. The furnace is on, slippers on are feet, cardigans pulled out and being worn.

Emery is enamoured with trucks, trains, airplanes, basically anything that goes. A helicopter was flying over when we arrived at the grocery store this morning. "MA!" Points, grunts. "MA!"

"Ah, yes. Do you hear and airplane? Oh, wait. That's a helicopter."

"MA!"

"Hel-eh-cop-ter"

"MA!"

"Hel-eh-cop-ter"

"MA! Ter!"

We'll consider that a win for Mister No Words.

Hopefully Aaron will get home from his trip tomorrow evening, and we can all snuggle in and have some family time together (and not contemplate raking leaves) (hopefully). Happy weekend to you!

and so peacful until...

I'm on day nine of a broken dryer (heats, but doesn't tumble; makes a horrible mouse-squeaky-death sound). We had an appointment today to get it fixed.

At first he said he unplugged it and it's fine. But then he went ahead and checked it, the belt is about the snap and idler (I pinky-promise that's what it was called) was about to go out. He picked up the parts and fixed it.

Then, of course, he discovered  part, that ties into the motor, that just idly spinning, and it's a fire hazard. Seven days to get that part in. Seven days.

Dear dryer, you are not funny. Dear warranty-holder of dryer, as you certain that's the best you could do?

I will be having a date with the laundromat soon. A date, not a double date.

(Toddlers in laundromats are no fun, I've already tried.)

Merrily, Merrily

I'm on my third - no, wait, fourth - cup of coffee.

Tomato season is about over, the boys harvested our garden. Aaron complained about the tomatillos, covered in blooms but no fruit two years in a row.

The boys are home from school, causing a ruckus with Emery. It's loud, gloriously loud. Reminding me the quiet is overrated.

And I Keep Hittin' Repeat-peat-peat-peat-peat-peat

Emery turned two a few weeks ago - two!

If Griffin is my heart, Darwin is my soul, then Emerson is my joy. All of my joy.

Likes:
Pointing, grunting, using very little words. Will sweetly call me, "Mama!" But if he needs something, I quickly become, "MMMMMAAAAAAAA!!!"

Hugging his daddy and brothers when they come home, calling both of his brothers, "Dar!"

Trucks, trains, trucks, helicopters, trucks, airplanes, trucks, automobiles, and trucks.

Chocolate chips, pretzels, rice soaked in chili, and trying to eat everything he's allergic to.

"Petting" the dog. (Where "petting" is really "licking" and ewww.)

Helping with laundry, playing with mama's straight pins. 

Sneaking out the back door.

Slamming doors.

Dislikes:

Fingers pinched in slammed doors.

Being told anything along the lines of no, hands off, and not for you.

Being asked to talk.

Naps.

Sleeping.

I really cannot being to put into words how utterly fantastic you are Emery, happy birthday my little love.

PS. Please start talking and sleeping soon.

Hell, I Still Love You, New York

Summer is over, and for the first time it's bittersweet.

Griffin and Darwin returned to school today (fifth and third grade, someone please explain to me how that happened), and my summer travel is over.

Aaron? Well, let's just say that poor boy has put in a lot of hours and flew out on an emergency trip Saturday afternoon. Sigh.

I've been home just over a week, and New York was... pretty much what I expected.

Big.

Loud.

Busy.

I didn't expend it to zap all my youthfulness and age me quickly, but when there's a song about a New York Minute, heh - they weren't kidding.

The BlogHer Conference was held at 6th and 53rd...

... and although the majority of my time was spent in the hotel at the conference, I did manage to sneak away to see Times Square at night...

... take a subway down to Ground Zero (but didn't realize we needed tickets into the memorial)...

 ... so we visited St. Paul's Chapel ....

... and took a cab to babycakes in Chinatown...

But yes, I was gluten'd by the hotel we were at, it was not awesome. Luckily I figured it out rather quickly and took necessary steps to avoid going to the ER.

It's a special type of talent to gluten someone with a bowl of fresh fruit.

My "find me gluten free" app worked fantastically, and I was kept alive by Naked Pizza...

and  Lili's 57...

New York is a bit of a dirty mistress for me: lights, glamour, excitement, but there's no way I can keep up with that crazy bitch.  

So Bless My Heart, and Bless Yours Too

I feel that parenting is a bit like gardening.

You go into with the best of intentions. You think you know what you are getting yourself into, and you dive in.

Then, after a bit, you look around and wondering what the hell you got  yourself into. Are you doing it right? Are you giving too much, too little? Surprises come up, you ask the best experts you know, you change what you are doing and hope for the very best.

Last week, while attending the BlogHer'12 Conference in NYC (more on that trip on another day), I got a call from the local children's hospital - we've been expecting Emerson's recent scope results for his eosinophilic esophagitis.

I took the call, ducking out of the iphonography session, to speak to the nurse.

His eosinophilic cells more than quintupled.

There's simply no other way to put it: I feel fucked.

He's already avoiding all the foods he's allergic to, still taking his god-awfully-expensive special formula. And the numbers took a massive jump, what the hell?

After going through all his records (in the hallway, where I barely had reception) and discussing his behaviors (still wakes up at least three times a night, screaming bloody murder plus a whole gamut of other stuff, like refusing to talk even tho he can, punk), the nurse let me go so she could talk to the doctor.

Later that evening, she called back letting me know that the doctor didn't want Emery to have any food for the next three-or-so weeks (just special formula), until we came in for an office appointment.

Hahahaha, yeah, right.

This after nearly a year of hissy fights and fights and stop chipmunking your food in your cheek and swallow and here, try this and mmmmmm, doesn't that taste good she wants us to cold-turkey him off food?

Again. Fucked.

Tomorrow I need to call them back, because this whole don't feed the child anything business simply isn't working - his face is breaking out, he's screaming, miserable, and constantly signing for "more chocolate chips."

This whole parenting thing isn't easy. Neither is gardening, really.

But sometimes you get to step back, take a look and realize: you're doing best job you can - and look! Everything is blooming.

You Light Up My World Like Nobody Else

Someone around here turned eight.

He is tenderhearted and awesome. Outgoing and shy. Brave and cautious. And promises to live with me forever.

I'm a lucky girl.

As We Sit Alone I Know Someday We Must Go

I believe that people do what they think is best... love the best they can.

I didn't have a spectacular relationship with my grandma. She didn't tech me to sew. Or cook, or garden. We didn't take nature walks, didn't play dress up. At most, she'd hand me a discarded pile of used copy paper and a tin box of blunt crayons.

She did share her secret stash of chocolate chip ice milk, still perfectly squared in a specially-designed tupperwear ice cream container.

And she did have the priest re-bless me every time I stepped foot in her Catholic Church.

My grandma passed away last week, and we buried her on Tuesday. It's been a roller coast of emotions: happy she lived a long life able to watch her nine children and 21 grandchildren grow; heartbroken that she (and I) lost my mom at such a very young age (I was four, my mom 28); sad to be reminded, in pictures, of what an awesome person my grandfather was.

And I'm... mourning. Mourning what was, what could have been; how it all could have played out so drastically different. And I'm not dumb, I know looking at me was painful - oh, so painful - for her, to see her daughter in me and not have her around. No parent should ever experience the loss of a child.

Maybe. How I've hung so many of my life experiences and broken relationships on that little wishful word.

Despite how much I wish everything could have been different, I'm grateful for the time I got to spend with my grandma in this short, short lifetime.

There Are Certain Things That Should Be Left

It's taken half a year, but I'm finally released. 

Released from doctors, surgeries, procedures, lab tests, emergency room visits. Sadly, these are all the memories I have this year. When did my irises bloom? I haven't a thought, but I've met a lot of excellent nurses who can put an IV in my armpit like no one's business.

The surgery to correct my sphincter of oddi in March fixed me enough so that I could eat, but not enough to be out of constant pain. The doctors explained it was my pancreas (that they should have, but were unable to, put a stint in during the procedure) and thought we should wait until September to revisit it. Aaron insisted they handle it immediately, and thank goodness.

In late May I had another procedure, supposedly 30 minutes to put a small stint in my pancreatic duct, which turned into a four hour surgery to reroute and correct pancreas divisum that was so severe, the doctors seriously doubt the scar tissue on my pancreas will ever heal.

So. There you go. If there's a 25% chance of something happening, it won't. But if there's a less than 1% chance, I'm your gal. 

Except for lottery tickets. RIDDLE ME THAT.

 So now, we're done. The stint had to be removed (because I wasn't in the 95% of people that just have the damn thing fall out naturally) and we're over two weeks out. I can start an exercise routine (I've been pushing the stroller around the block the past few evenings - my legs and shoulders hurt), I can go be out in the world and not worry about crazy stabbing kill me now pains (unless I'm gluten'd), and I can just go be.

Which is fucking fantastic.

So now I'm watering plants and children. Enjoying the sunshine. Trying to figure out what the hell happened to my garden. Not lying in bed all day.

I really can't describe how fucking fantastic it all is.

She Loves A Lot of Things

Griffin's school play is tonight, and he's all out of sorts because I didn't get him a white shirt and black suspenders. One would tend to think that a white shirt and black suspenders wouldn't be so difficult to attain, but after a month of looking I simply refuse to pay full retail for a white shirt and black suspenders for a one-day, two-run school performance and never be used again.

I told him he can make do with a shirt from the closet and thrifted suspenders. It will be fine. Really, it will.

He wasn't so convinced.

The first performance was during the school day, and he was all smiles at pick-up. 

"Mama, my suspenders are snazzy."

Yeah, You Buckle with the Weight of the Words

At this point in my life, I should be able to recognize that my own manic behavior is a sign something is going to happen... but, no. That is a lesson I have not yet learned.

I certainly hope I learn it soon.

Yes, it has been awhile. No, it wasn't intentional. But I'm tongue-tied and twisted. I feel it needs to be said, but I don't know how to say it.

After I stayed up late, manically trying to write my last post, I went to bed. Two hours later I was up, Aaron called 911 and the medics who came to our home thought I was having a heart attack.

Nothing says welcome to thirty-five like medics telling you are you having a heart attack (even if you don't believe them).

Five days later I was discharged from the hospital with a diagnosis of an acute pancreatitis with elevated liver enzymes. No explanations why this happened - in fact, every reason why this could have happened was ruled out for me: I don't drink (especially since having my gallbladder removed), I don't smoke; my cholesterol and triglycerides were on the low-end of normal. The hospital did every scan possible to try and find a rogue gallstone blocking something - nothing (but I was told that I "won the award" for holding my breath the longest and best in the CAT scan). I was discharged to "resume my normal life" and "cross your fingers it doesn't happen again."

Two days later I was at urgent care with a fever a chills, more tests ran. I was put on a liquid diet.

Three nights later I experienced another "attack" but since I knew what it was, I took a pain pill and went to the doctor the next morning. More tests were ran.

The next day I was told to "urgently" see the GI that was over my care while I was in the hospital. I got an appointment to see her the next day.

She looked at my hospital tests and all the test ran since my discharged. She had an idea of what was wrong: I had sphincter of oddi dysfunction.

We had never heard of it. Only two doctors in Kansas City work with patients with this, and the wait lists are months long. And more tests have to be ran to rule out other diagnoses.

To get from there to here was a long road. Many test. Many ER visits. Nineteen days of a liquid diet followed by 25 days of a clear liquid diet. Threats of hospital admission or an in-home health aid to administer IV bags. Thanks to friends on Twitter and Facebook, my wait was cut shorter to get in to the specialist, but over 40 days of being on an exclusive liquid diet messes with your brain, with your organs. Yes, I lost 40 pounds in less than a month. No, I would not recommend it.

The sphincter of oddi is a tiny, one millimeter in diameter sphincter and muscle. When you eat, the food travels from your stomach to the digestive tract. The sphincter of oddi opens and allows the digestive enzymes from your liver and pancreas (and gallbladder, if you still have yours) to travel to your digestive tract and the enzymes help digest your food.

For a person with sphincter of oddi dysfunction, the sphincter does not open. Instead, it closes tightly and spasms which signals to the liver, pancreas, and gallbladder to release the enzymes - typcially into other organs and your blood stream.

When we finally got to my surgery day, they were unable to complete everything that needs to be done (which likely means more surgeries - yes, plural - this year); when they did a pressurized test of my sphincter of oddi, they said they would cut it open if it registered a pressure over 40.

Mine registered a pressure of 170.

The surgeon told my husband, "No wonder she couldn't eat."

Yeah.

So, no I'm not 100%. And that's ok. I'm slowly getting there. I can eat breakfast. And a decent lunch. And sometimes a snack. But no, my pancreas and liver are "still mad" and we're still figuring things out.

Aaron took four weeks off of work using FMLA leave to take care of me and run the household. This will be able to cover any additional hospital visits (goodness, I hope not) and potential surgeries for the rest of the year.

Life doesn't stop, even when it feels like you are 20 feet under water and struggling to survive.

Griffin turned ten...


Darwin continues to be Darwin...


Emerson continues to grow and has hit full-fledged "toddlermonster"...


I swear, that's the stink-eye of a teenager right there.

And spring has come to Kansas...


... even if it means I'm tempted to get a chain saw and destroy every last blooming oak tree in the city.

I've missed this space. As much as I don't want it to medical diary, it is what it is.

And it will be what it will be.

I'm hoping to find the happiness along the way.

This Ain't No Foolin' Around (+ a Gluten-Free Birthday Cake Recipe)

Monday was my birthday.

Which means I did what any reasonable person did: I fantasized about cake for months.

Full disclosure: if I weren't gluten-free, I probably would have ordered a fancy-smancy cake for myself from some fancy-smancy bakery. But, heh, as good as Kansas City is with the gluten-free, it's not that good.

Good thing I like to bake.

(Oh yeah, me. Not Aaron. You heard that right.)

Criteria for a only-girl-in-the-house's birthday cake: it must be pink; and multiple layers; and good.


Aaron got home from his business trip late Sunday night (lucky man), and then home after 8pm on my birthday (not-so-lucky-man) (I will not discuss the projectile vomiting Emerson did around 7pm, after I gave him the tiniest smidge of buttercream frosting) (oops), so cake was served late.

Gluten-free Vanilla Birthday Cake with Vanilla-Cherry & Chocolate Buttercreams

Vanilla Cake

1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups sugar
4 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 cup whole milk
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
2 1/2 teaspoons xantham gum
3 tablespoons corn starch
2 3/4 cups gluten-free flour mix*

Preheat the oven to 350; butter and line two 9 inch circle cake pans (or if you have a smaller size, whatever) with parchment paper.

In a stand mixer (or large bowl), cream butter and sugar until fluffy, scrape down the sides. Add the eggs one-by-one, vanilla, and milk: once you add the milk it will look like cottage cheese and this is totally fine, don't worry. (Welcome to gluten-free baking!)

Scrape down the sides, and sprinkle in the salt, baking powder, xantham gum, and corn starch; scrape down the sides again (dude, I know). In small batches, sprinkle in the gluten-free flour until fully incorporated. Stop the mixer, scrape down the sides, and incorporate any remaining bits by hand. Divide the batter between the two cake pans and bake 20 - 25 minutes, or until slightly golden and a toothpick comes out clean. Cool completely.

*I prefer to use King Arthur's All Purpose Gluten-free Flour mix (and I only wish I could be paid for saying such a thing)

Cherry-Vanilla Buttercream
(I made a 3/4 batch for this cake, a full batch would have made for a prettier cake)

1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 to 8 cups powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup half & half or heavy cream
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 tablespoon (or more!) of maraschino cherry syrup

In a large bowl (preferably of a standing mixer), beat butter until light and fluffy, two or three minutes. Scrape the bowl, add one cup of powdered sugar and salt, and mix. Add vanilla and cherry syrup to half & half or cream, and slowly add to butter/sugar mixture. It will look awful, it's okay. Trust me.

On low, slowly add 1/4 cup scoops of powdered sugar; add more sugar and mix until desired consistency. If the frosting looks watery, add more sugar. Transfer to another bowl, if you are making the chocolate buttercream afterwards.

Note: If you want it pink without the cherry, do it how you like it! But if you are adding syrup be sure to use at least half & half or heavy cream, not milk, because milk + syrup = too much water, not enough fat. (I found the cherry syrup in the local grocery with - of all things - maple syrups.)


Chocolate Buttercream
(I made a half-batch of this for my birthday cake)

1 pound semisweet chocolate chips, melted and cooled (I use Ghiradelli brand)
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup hot water
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter at room temperature
2 to 3 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Whisk together cocoa powder and hot water, set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, beat butter and one cup powdered sugar until light and fluffy. Add vanilla, salt and cocoa-water mixture. Slowly add melted chocolate chips.

Slowly add more powdered sugar until it's at a consistency and sweetness you like. You can also put the mixture in the fridge and beat occasionally.

If you beat the mixture a little, you will have a dark, dense, rich chocolate frosting (like in photos). If you over beat you will have a light, fluffy, whipped chocolate mixture. Make it how you like it.

You ready for cake? Let's finish!


Split the two 9-inch cakes in two width-wise, to end up with four cakes. Put the top of one cake upside-down on your platter, surround with strips of parchment paper (unless you like the frosting-everywhere look; in which case, go on with your bad self!).

Put some cherry-vanilla buttercream in a frosting bag (or do what I did, put some in a plastic bag and snip a corner off), and outline the outside of the cake with the pink frosting (this prevents chocolate buttercream from seeping out the sides). Spread chocolate frosting in the center. Place the other half of the cake on top of the frostings, smush down. Repeat the layers, then frost the outside in the cherry-vanilla buttercream.

Then have your children decorate with sprinkles.

Then you go have yourself some birthday cake too.

(Both Griffin and Aaron have birthdays in February and they are already plotting what they want.)
(Hold me.)

Like a Boss

I always get a little slap happy (confession: a lot slap happy) when Aaron works his crazy-ass schedule and, especially, when he travels.

We're on day nine of a not-yet-time-determined trip.

Which explains why I sing this all day (alert: not safe for work, not safe to play around the kids - but you can get by with the first 30 seconds to get the gist) .

make breakfast LIKE A BOSS

feed the dog LIKE A BOSS

do the laundry LIKE A BOSS

send emails LIKE A BOSS

scrape the van LIKE A BOSS

drop off kids LIKE A BOSS

do some shoppin' LIKE A BOSS

forget apples LIKE A BOSS

make some coffee LIKE A BOSS

update files LIKE A BOSS

sort spreadsheets LIKE A BOSS

make a sippy LIKE A BOSS

change a diaper LIKE A BOSS

wash my hands LIKE A BOSS

go up the stairs LIKE A BOSS

trip on the last step LIKE A BOSS

See? I can go on and on.

edit photos LIKE A BOSS

answer the phone LIKE A BOSS

build a fort LIKE A BOSS


wash peppers LIKE A BOSS

slice peppers LIKE A BOSS

eat pepper slices LIKE A BOSS

Oy. See? Out. of. my. damn. mind.

publish this post LIKE A BOSS

To the End, Always the End

Sitting at the table, with pieces of broken gluten-free pretzels...


"Mine, mine, mine. Ky-wee. Mine. Ky-wee."

There's no question where Kylie the not-really-a-puppy-but-we-still-call-her-a-puppy's weight gain is coming from.

(We won't discuss where my weight gain is coming from.)

(Cookies.)

It Sounds Like a Whisper

Happy new year to you.

I keep flipping between excited and nervous for a new year. I feel it in my bones, this year will be different (and hey, maybe in part that will mean conquering some of the hoarding tendencies in this house) (I sure do hope so).

We have a lot of changing already happening, none within our control. It's becoming a strap-on-your-shoes-and-do-some-ass-kicking moment. I feel like I kick enough ass as it is, thanks, but apparently more needs to be tackled. So tackle it I (and we) will.

But in the between, I'm looking to the light, to the hope for happiness and ultimately the best outcome for my family. To three smiling little faces who wrestle and scream and run in the house, who chase the dog and tickle each other and join me in my crazy kitchen dance parties.


It's an adventure, this crazy little life.