Faces of Haiti

This past week our thoughts and hearts have been turned toward Haiti.

For the people.
For the ones who've been hurt.
For the ones who need hope.
For the ones who've lost children.
For the ones who've lost fathers and mothers.
And for the thousands upon thousands whose lives have been lost.

A couple years back Nate had the opportunity to go with a group of dentists and student dentists to serve the people of Haiti. It was an opportunity Nate will forever be grateful for. His heart was touched by the humble circumstances of the Haitian people.

They have so little, yet their hearts are so big.

I thought it would only be appropriate to show some pictures of the beautiful faces of Haiti, whose lives now have all been changed.

(Thanks to Nate for sharing with us his photography skills)

Validation in Crayon

The other night I was having a Mom/hormonal pregnant moment.

In my opinion, having a moment is healthy and completely acceptable, even if you want to have multiple moments several times a day...
and you drive your poor husband crazy...
and your kids are wondering who is this woman that has replaced their mom.

Totally okay.

I had filled my head with the mental dialogue of,

What's so glamorous about the life of a Mom?
Where's my praise?
Where's my validation?

(very similar to the tantrum of a 3 yr old, but in an adult body)
I walked myself into the bedroom.

Right before I was about to throw my tired body dramatically onto the bed and have myself a good pity party (and I mean a really good one) a stack of papers littered across my night stand caught my eye.

I slowly climbed up on my bed and found myself a comfortable spot. With my back propped against the headboard, I curiously reached my fingers towards the mess of papers. I scanned through mass.

There were papers that needed to be filed.
There were papers that reminded me of bills that needed to be payed.
There were papers that needed to be thrown in the garbage.

But underneath that boring stack was a pile of messy little papers in all shapes and sizes. Some were colored brightly, while others were folded with the edges unmatched.

I cautiously slid that little messy pile out ninja style, as if playing an intense game of Jenga. I looked at the papers one by one- adoring each misspelled word and soaking in the love.

And my heart smiled.

It was scribbled I love you's at its sweetest.
It was praise in the best form.
It was validation in crayon.
But more importantly, it was what I needed.

And that Mom/hormonal pregnant moment quickly melted away into a different kind of moment. A moment where I was gently reminded of how lucky I am to have 3 little yay-hoo's in my life who also happen to be my 3 biggest fans that love me unconditionally.



And I was grateful for a moment like that.

Lets Talk: Doctor vs Midwife

I don't have a doctor. Not yet.
I have every intention of finding someone to deliver my little it-ling slash tiny he/she, but I haven't found that person yet.

Part of it is a little side of rebellion that I can't have my old ob/gyn deliver the baby.
Part of it is that I don't want to take the time to find a doctor I love all over again.
And another part of it is that I can't decide if I want a midwife or a doctor.

When I'm talking midwife, I'm not talking an at home birth. I enjoy the modern conveniences of a hospital and epidural way too much. Although, I did tell my father in law that I was planning on birthing this child at home. I told him that I wanted him to hold the left leg while my father held the right, with Nate ready and waiting to catch the baby in the middle. And then my kids would be close by so we could yell to them,

"Abrie, Kaleb, Macie! Come quick, the baby is crowning! "

and the rest of my family would be there- standing around me in a large circle singing Kumbaya...

I could sense that Nate's Dad was feeling a little bit awkward after I told him my birthing plan, so then I offered that he could switch Nate with the right leg duty and he could catch the baby instead. I'm still waiting to hear what he'd like to do. I'm sure he'll probably tell me after he can make eye contact with me again.

So back to midwife vs doctor...

What's your opinion? What are the pros and the cons? Have any great ob-gyn/midwife's in the Provo area that you love?

Or would you just stick with my original at home birthing plan?

(My Father in law is praying you say no. No worries Scott, I think you're safe.)

.

The bun is in the oven...

And the poor thing doesn't even know what's coming.

It's official:
#4 will be making it's debut in July/August.

It's been 11 weeks so far and the signs are all here.
Morning (all day sickness)... CHECK.
The ever expanding waistline... CHECK.
Cravings for anything deep fried... CHECK.
Headaches... CHECK.
Extreme lack of motivation... CHECK.
A permanent couch imprint of my body... CHECK.
The "sisters" increasing in size... Double CHECK with exclamation points and a smiley face.
Waking up 5 times a night to pee only like a teaspoon... CHECK.

Nate and I are thrilled and feel greatly blessed to be able to add another little one to the family. The kids are super excited too, but still a little skeptical- especially Kaleb. We told them Christmas morning that we were going to have a baby, because you know, that's where babies come from... Santa Clause. It's kind of like an immaculate conception type of thing.

Kaleb has dibs on naming it Bono or The Edge if it's a boy (possibly even a girl).

Macie's pretty sure it's a girl and the only acceptable name for a girl is Dora.

And Abrie's just excited to have a baby, her vote is boy.

As for me I'm happy either way, but for now I shall call this unborn child my little it-ling or my tiny he/she and then I will pray that it doesn't come out resembling the white version of RuPaul.

*

Hair-gasm

Before I proceed with this post I must first let you know I tried this title out on my Dad. He didn't pass out or threaten me with disownment. All he did was roll is eyes in disgust and disapproval... and then I think I saw him smirk just a little bit or maybe it was just gas. Either way, I took it as a sign that I could use the word hair-gasm on this blog without offending too many.

Now I will continue...

Nate has a pretty good head of hair.
So good that he was voted BEST HAIR in high school.
That would be going on my resume for sure.

"I had all honors in high school,
I fed the homeless & clothed the naked,
and did I mention
I was voted BEST HAIR in high school?"

The thing about Nate's hair is that it's difficult to cut.
(My apologies to the 5 people reading this blog that have cut his hair before.)
Not only is his hair hard to cut, but he extremely particular on how it is cut-
like anal retentive particular.
(Again I apologize to those same 5 people.)

Ever since our move from Philly Nate has been struggling to find
"THE ONE".

You know,
"The one" that was birthed on this earth specifically to cut your hair.
"The one" that once you find, you vow to have that person cut your hair forever.
"The one" that knows you like the side of your hair shaved with a #1,
and the top cut just above finger length
with the sides blended kinda roundish.

I've tried to be "The one" for Nate once, but I failed miserably.

Well after a year and a half of searching Nate has finally found "The one".
And the conversation we had after he had his first haircut by "The one" was priceless.
Simply priceless.

And now for a video portrayal of our conversation. Except in this version we like to wear full spandex body suits and masks to keep our anonymity.

I guess it's a good thing I'm not the jealous type.

(Note: If you're viewing this from a feed burner, you have to click over to watch the video)

And so this is Christmas...

It took me about 11 minutes combined with
some fervent prayer and brief fasting to come up with this title.
I feel good about it so I'm just going to go with it.
(It was either that or "Oh Tannenbaum")

I'm happy to announce we survived the Christmas over here.
It was full of last minute shopping
and endless rounds of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas"
thanks to my kids who have now perfected that song in powerful decibels.

I'm happy to announce that the stockings were hung
by the fireplace this year
as opposed to other creative places.
(If you click on the link just beware of my mad rhyming skills)

I'm happy to announce that there were no casualties
with any of the manger scenes this year.
No broken Mary's or Joseph's.
No shattered wise men or shepherd's.
No missing sleeping cattle.
I did catch Macie on occasion eyeing the baby Jesus' thinking maybe,
just maybe she could hurry and collect them all and have her own
secret stash of baby Jesus'.
Sadly, all attempts of stealing the baby Jesus' were foiled.

I'm happy to announce I made my first debut
on the Christmas tree this year-- ornament style.
Yes, Abrie turned me into an ornament.
That's me, last Christmas fresh out of bed with no make-up on.
I didn't have the heart to take it down
and I don't think I have the heart to throw it away.
It just might make an appearance on our tree every year from now on.
This year when I woke up Christmas morning
I made sure to throw on some mascara and put on some blush.
I've learned my lesson.

I'm happy to announce we had a Mary & Joseph...

and a nearly perfect little angel.

I'm happy to announce that Christmas was, most definitely, a success!

and as far as announcements go, that's it for now...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!
from us, to you

Levi Spandex

I made a solemn oath the day I saw skinny jeans coming back in style. I swore that day I would never fall victim to the 80's fashion comeback known as the skinny jeans or better yet, Levi spandex. Skinny Jeans weren't meant for people like me- they're meant for people like the Jonas brothers and the Olsen twins.

After all, who needs skinny jeans
when you can just peg your pants?

Well, the other day I gave in to peer pressure.
It wasn't my fault.
It was the sales people fault.
They're smart and cunning and full of flattery.

Let me rewind...
You see in Utah (and I don't know where else) they have parties.
But not just the regular kind of parties.
It all started with parties like Pampered Chef and Mary Kay.
Then it was candle parties,which soon led to jewelery parties and spa parties.
Now it's escalated into shoe parties and jean parties.
There's even fitness parties, photography parties, and other
unmentionable types of parties.

I've been to nearly all of these kinds of parties
(except to the unmentionable types of parties,
which shall remain unmentionable because this is a family blog.)

I don't go so much for the buying,
I go more to support hostess with the most-ess.
And the food. I go for the food.
For where there is food, I shall be found also.

So I went to a shoe party looking for shoes (and food). I found a couple pairs of shoes that called my name and made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I wanted/needed to make them mine. Then the nice sales girl comes up to me and the conversation goes as follows,

Girl: "Oh, you have got to try on a pair of pants to go with those shoes!"
Me: "OK, but I'm not trying on any skinny jeans. I made an oath, you know."
The girl slips me a couple pairs of jeans.
Girl: "Now go try these on, but the rule is you HAVE to come out and show us all"
Me: "What? There's rules to shopping?"
This must be why I've never been any good at it.

I come out in jeans #1:
The girl and her friends oooo and ahhhh over how cute they are.
My self esteem goes up.

Then I try on jeans #2 (which happens to be the skinny jeans):
I hang my head in embarrassment as I walk out to show the girl.

Me: Nearly laughing, "I feel like I'm in some bad 80's movie!"
Then I proceed to do some Jane Fonda/Flash Dance moves-- arms flailing and legs running in place with the song, "She's a maniac, maniac..." playing in my head.
Me: "Now all I need are some leg warmers!"
Girl: "Oh, we've got those too!"

...silence...

The girl and her friends ooooo and ahhhh even more for the skinny jeans.
Self esteem goes up even more.
They insist that I can't live without these skinny jeans.
I reluctantly give in.
And now I am the new owner of skinny jeans (and some happy yellow shoes).

I apologize to friends and family who took the anti-skinny jean oath with me.
I'm a trader. I realize that.
I can promise you however, that I will never fall victim to the fashion tragedy called harem pants...

Now STOP. Hammer time.

Lets Talk: the wrapping debate

To wrap or not to wrap,

that is the question.

Image via BHG.com

There has been a long running debate at my house and this debate all revolves around wrapping gifts under the Christmas tree.

One of us grew up with all the gifts from Santa unwrapped and placed in glorious piles...

The other grew up with a Santa that wrapped every present perfectly even down to the last candy bar in the stocking...

So I want to know, how does Santa work at your house?
Is he pro or anti wrapping?

As for mine and Nate's debate that happens every year?
No worries. It's nothing a little marriage counseling can't handle.

Christmas Listing: Take One

Each year before Christmas I sit down with the kids.

I explain to them that Christmas is not just about receiving gifts.

It's about giving.

(preferably to their Mom & Dad)
It's about doing service.

(preferably for their Mom & Dad)

It's about showing love.

(preferably to their Mom & Dad)

(oh, and to each other would be nice)

It's about foot rubs & back massages.

(preferably for Mom)

And it's about the occasional

breakfasts in bed & sleeping in.

(again, for Mom. Nate take note).

I tell them to try to remember what's really important this time of year.

Then I throw them the toy catalogues, scissors, tape, & glue

and say, "Alright kids, it's time to make your Christmas lists to Santa!"

And they frantically tear through the pages ripping & cutting, gluing & taping.

(Santa's a visual person. He (I) needs pictures to help him out. Plus the kids love it!)

Well, this year I was running a little low on toy catalogues
so the Pottery Barn and the Land of Nod magazines had to suffice...
at least for now anyway.

I remember my lists, all scribbled out and barely legible.

I was sure Santa could read it- he's good at stuff like that.
I would lie down in my bed at night and my mind would race with all of the Christmas listing possibilities....

-A karaoke machine with the song I Saw the Sign...

(and it opened up my eyes. I saw the sign...)

-A pet Cockatiel

-A colorful assortment of neon scrunchies

-A green pair of Gerbaud jeans that would be perfect for pegging

-A set of slap bracelets (before the infamous ban)

-And a plaid blazer with just the right height of shoulder pads

Sadly Santa never followed through with this last one.
I guess there's always this year.

(Fingers crossed)

My Official Review: Drag Me to Hell

(or if you prefer Nate's censored version, Drag Me to "H")

This movie came highly recommended to me... by one person.
This person shall remain nameless.
Not because I want to protect the identity of the person,
but because I can't remember who that person is.
There's no shame in my game.
Their name would be typed in big BOLD lettering just to single them out
because I just waisted an HOUR & a HALF of my precious life...
Do you know how much contemplating of nothingness I could have accomplished in that HOUR & a HALF? Lots.

How about a highlight?

I'll set up the scene:
The lead female character is depressed from being chased by shadow demon monsters so naturally she sits down to eat a tub of chocolate ice cream... because chocolate makes everything better- even if you're being terrorized by demons.

The supportive boyfriend walks in, casually sits down next to his woman to comfort her and says, "I thought you were lactose intolerant?"

So profound.

But not as profound as the scene where the goat gets possessed and starts speaking in tongues.

No worries on waisting your time to see this one.
I already did that for you.