On Laundry...

In our house, Isaac does almost all of the laundry. This is, primarily, because I am really good about putting laundry in the washer, but terrible about remembering to put it in the dryer and even worse about putting it away. This drives my dear husband up a wall. So, he just takes care of it. I try to help out and do what I can, but laundry is my nemisis and I just can't bring myself to do more than the bare minimum. Clean underwear? Good to go...everything else is just a nice added bonus.

But. Isaac is gone. For a while this time;  9 months at least. And, I can't just not wash my clothes for 9 months. So, when he left, I had a little self-motivating talk. "Erin," I said to myself. "You are a grown woman. You have been doing (and hating) your own laundry since you were ten. This means you have 20+ years of experience cleaning your own damn {sometimes I swear at myself. It's more motivational than one might think} clothes. Get your crap together and do the damn laundry. And, for the love of all that is holy and good PUT IT AWAY." And, I've tried. I really, really have. But. I just can't seem to stay on top of it. The clothes are everywhere. My bed, the chair, the floor. Everywhere. And everytime I look at those stupid piles of clothes I wish Isaac was home to just take care of it like he always does. But. He's not. And he won't be. And then, I hate the stupid laundry even more than usual; for existing and  for constantly taunting me, for reminding me that he's not home and that he won't be home anytime soon. And I know I just have to get over it and do it. But. Sometimes it just really, really sucks.

A Funny for A Friday

Photo Credit: No Hope for the Human Race

Levi and the

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

(If I had any artistic ability whatsoever, this would be accompanied by delightful illustrations that really capture the drama and tragedy of it all. But, I don't. So there aren't. Use your imagination.)

Levi's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day began when he woke up on the wrong side of the Pack-N-Play. He did not want to get out of bed, but he did not want to stay in bed either. So, since he couldn't decide what to do, he cried.

When Levi's mom got him out of bed, he yelled "NO, NO, NO, NO" the whole time he was getting a new diaper and getting dressed. But he didn't really know what he was mad about. Because he didn't know what he was so upset about, he just fussed about everything.

After playing (and fussing) for a bit, it was time for Levi to eat breakfast. "Here's your granola bar and milk!" said Levi's mom.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO" he yelled, throwing his granola bar off the plate.

"We don't yell and we don't throw food, Levi" said Levi's mom, somewhat exasperated

"noooooooooooooooooooooo" he said, just a little bit quieter. Mom wouldn't give him something else and Levi decided he was hungry enough to eat, even though he didn't want a granola bar. So, he ate his breakfast and drank his milk. This made him feel a little better. But not much.

Soon, Levi got to watch his favorite show, Sesame Street, but was very, very angry when Mom turned off the TV after it was over.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he yelled again, brandishing the remote control towards the television.

"Levi, we don't yell.", said Levi's mom. Again.

Levi began a little chant, "No, no, NO, no, NOOOOOOOOOO. No, no NO, no NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" . Over and over again Levi chanted until his mom said, "Levi, that's enough. Let's play with Playdoh."

Levi did not want to play with Playdoh, but he did want to throw the containers and cutters around. So he did. The noise that throwing things made seemed to make Levi feel a little better. Then, his mom's office phone rang and she hurried back to the office to answer it (even though she wasn't, technically, supposed to be "at work" yet.). She figured Levi would keep throwing things while she was on the phone. She was wrong.

While she was gone, Levi decided to climb up on the extra tall kitchen chair to try to get the Halloween candy off the counter. Levi loved candy. Maybe candy would make him happy. Levi's mom hadn't been in the office for very long when CRASH!

Levi fell down onto the hard, kitchen floor. It hurt. A lot. And was very scary. Levi began to cry. A lot.

Levi's mom heard the crash and came running. She found Levi lying on the floor, crying and yelling. She was very worried that Levi had hurt himself badly; the kitchen chair was about as high as the counter! That's a long way to fall! Levi and his mom sat on the couch for a long time while Mom checked that nothing was obviously broken and that his head was okay. Levi cried and cried.

Levi had just calmed down a little when Levi's dad came home! But, Dad couldn't stay very long; he'd just come home to pick up his lunch, but when he saw Levi was sad, he helped Mom check Levi over and then left again. Levi didn't want his dad to leave, so he started crying again. And crying and crying. This was shaping up to be a very bad day.

Levi's mom had just calmed Levi down when his Dad came through the door! Again! Dad's flying teacher told him to come home and make sure Levi was really okay, so he did! Levi was so happy. And also, very sleepy from all the crying. Levi let Daddy rock him to sleep and then Levi's dad laid him in his bed for a nap. Maybe after a nap, he would feel better.

But, he didn't sleep very well during his nap and woke up even grumpier than before! Levi's mom, somewhat desperately, asked, "Levi, would you like to go to the playground"? This seemed like a good idea. Maybe this would help him to be happy. So, off they went.

But it was terribly windy at the playground and Levi hated wind. So, he didn't want to play much. Levi's mom tried to help him have fun by showing him how to play with his cars on the wall by the swings. Looking at the swings gave Levi an idea. He would put his car on the swing and give it a push, like Mom did for him! This sounded like great fun.

SMACK! Unfortunately, this was not great fun. Before Mom could stop the swing, it hit Levi on the nose! Levi and Mom hurried home to make sure Levi's nose wasn't hurt too badly. Mom and Dad looked it over and they decided it looked okay, just a little bruised. Since Levi was okay, Levi and Dad went outside to play for a bit, while Mom made pizza (one of Levi's favorites) for dinner. But, then Dad had to leave to go back to work. It had been a long time since Dad and Levi had time to play outside together and now Dad had to leave! This was really and truly a terrible, horrible, no good, VERY BAD day.

Levi was very sad for a while after Dad had to leave, even though Mom tried to cheer him up by playing with the soccer ball outside. Luckily, it didn't take long for the pizza to cook and soon Grumpy Levi came back inside to eat. Levi loved to eat pizza and Mom even let him watch Curious George while he ate!  Finally, Levi was happy again.

He (and his Mom!) hoped that nothing would happen between dinner and bedtime to ruin it.

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

At the end of the first phase of flight school, each class goes through a process called "selection". At selection each pilot in the class chooses the helicopter model s/he will fly for the rest of their career. A list of each available airframe is given to the class and then, one by one ( in order of class rank), each person chooses from the list. If the helicopter you want to fly is not on the list at all or all the available  helicopters for that model are claimed before it's your turn then you are out of luck- you have to choose something else. As you can imagine, it can become very stressful and very competitive as everyone tries to earn a spot at the top of the class so they have a better chance of getting the helicopter they want. I share this with you because today was Intrepid Spouseman's selection day and it is important to understand that this is a BIG DEAL. Everything for the past year (well, 2 years really) has been leading up to this day and this one day determines the path of the rest of an aviator's career. A very BIG DEAL indeed. 


For the past 2 years as we have been slowly working our way to and through flightschool, Intrepid Spouseman has wanted to "get" a Chinook helicopter on selection day. The only problem is that most classes only have 1 Chinook available and many classes don't have any. Most classes have several( at least) students who want the Chinook and Isaac's class was no different. As you may have guessed,  these facts did not put the odds in Intrepid Spouseman's favor. Nevertheless, we've hoped and prayed and Intrepid Spouseman has worked like crazy. He studied more than you can imagine. He and I spent hours reviewing materials and then he spent hours reviewing again with friends in his class. He prepared for check rides like every single one was the most important day of his career (and they kind of were)and we finally made it to today. Selection Day. I think I may have been more nervous than Intrepid Spouseman. I knew he'd worked like crazy. I knew he'd done very, very well. But still I wondered of it would be enough. I kind of hoped that the Chinook wouldn't even be available. If it wasn't available, there wasn't any way for someone else to choose it. I just didn't want Intrepid Spouseman to have worked so hard, for so long, only to have the one thing he wanted taken away from him. Oh me of little faith. 


I sent  Intrepid Spouseman out the door and prayed. And prayed and prayed and prayed. Right up until the moment he called to share the news. Of course, instead of telling me what he had selected, he asked me where I wanted to live next. He began to list the various posts available to him now that he had selected an airframe. I kept asking him to please stop naming posts long enough to tell me what he had chosen. "I got the CH-47F" he said. A Chinook. He'd finished at the top of his class and was able to select the only available Chinook. Despite the terrible odds, he'd done it. 


I've always known, but now there is concrete evidence: Intrepid Spouseman is, indeed, made of awesome. :-) Way to go, Spouseman. I am so incredibly proud of you! 

Sneaky, Sneaky

Today, Levi had a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. I cut up his sandwich and put it on his little plate for him and walked back into the kitchen to finish the "grown up" dinner preparations. Several minutes later, young Levi brought me his empty plate and proclaimed "DONE!". I am trying to get Levi to eat at regular meal times instead of snacking all day (this is not going well) and so, I was effusive in my praise. "Great job eating your dinner, Levi!", I said. "Thank you for bringing me your plate! What a good helper you are!" I exclaimed. "Maybe we are making progress after all! " I thought. He happily went back to playing and I continued my dinner preparations. Not 5 minutes later, I realized that Levi still had my measuring cups (he really likes to play with them) so I went looking for him and them. I found them. And, a little something I was not expecting. Observe:

Little man had put his sandwich into the measuring cups. Very neatly, I might add. Clearly, we have not made as much progress as I thought. When Isaac arrived and we sat down to finish eating together, we again tried to get Levi to actually eat his sandwich. Again, he proclaimed he was "DONE!" I should have suspected something was up because later, while cleaning up the living room, I found this:

Why, yes,  that is a piece of peanut butter sandwich shoved into the star hole of his shape box. I am not sure if he was hiding it, saving it for later or just wanted to see if it would fit in the hole. In any case, he most certainly didn't eat it. Sigh...

A little advice...

 Dear Friends, Family and Random Internet People;

If ever you decide to use your air pop popcorn popper, only to discover that the little protective hood has gone missing (probably during your epic cross-country move), do not decide that it "will be fine". It will not be fine. You will find yourself frantically trying to corral renegade popcorn into a bowl. The popcorn will not want to be corraled. As you attempt the impossible, a renegade, scalding hot kernal of unpopped popcorn will fly through the air and directly down the gaping top of your peasant blouse, where it will become logged between your bra and very sensitive parts of your body. You will then screech loudly and give up trying to corral the popped popcorn and will instead begin a rather tragic dance routine as you try desperately to remove said scalding hot un-popped kernal of popcorn from your clothes. Whilst you are performing your audition for "So You Think You Can Dance: Popcorn Edition", the popper will continue to pop the popcorn. But you will not be there to corral it. The popcorn will, in fact, hit the ceiling and walls and floor and, yes, even you. And then, you will finally get the popcorn out of your bra. It will have left blisters. Painful blisters. In unmentionable places. You will be sad. Just don't do it. Don't. Do. It.

With regret,

Erin

I am a menace...

Hello Internet Friends and Strangers! We survived our time with Intrepid Spouseman away and he returned(despite my best efforts to run him over with our car...more on that later) safe and sound. Levi is in heaven, now that his best friend in the whole world is back, but none too pleased when Isaac leaves for work in the mornings. At least he's only gone for a few hours and when he comes home Levi is just beside himself with glee. It makes me happy. However, all of this happiness nearly did not happen since I nearly squished Levi's best friend in the entire world in a parking lot on post. In my defense, it was 100% an accident. That, however, is my only defense and Intrepid Spouseman is alive and well only by a small miracle (that miracle being that I slammed on the brakes before squishing him). You, dear internet friends and strangers, are probably wondering what on earth I was doing in a parking lot near enough to I.S. to nearly squish him,  if I.S. was supposed to be away at survival training. An excellent question. I shall explain.

I was driving down the road towards the gas station on post. This road happens to go right by the cafeteria which is used occassionally by those in training. As I drove past, I saw two big busses, of the sort used to shuttle various training classes hither and yon,  parked in the parking lot and realized that the only people who would be at the cafeteria in big busses at that point would be Intrepid Spouseman's class. I about had a heart attack and then drove around the block six times trying to decide what to do. Since they were inside I knew they'd have to come out eventually and I really, really wanted to see I.S.  BUT. I didn't want him to see me. He was still  in training and I didn't want to distract him. On about lap number 4, I decided to be stealthy. After 2 more laps, I had a fool-proof plan. Sort of. I parked in the parking lot behind a large, puffy shrub. I know, I'm so brilliant. What could possibly go wrong with such an intricate and well-thought out plan? We waited in the car, Levi and I, and soon enough they all came out and there he was!  I was feeling quite proud of myself and my amazing undercover skills. Quite pleased with myself, indeed. Right up until I realized that Spouseman was going to walk right in front of the car and see us. I kind of panicked and pulled out, intending to turn to the right to drive out of the parking lot away from the guys coming out of the cafeteria. Only, I wasn't really thinking clearly and I turned left-directly in front of him. Much slamming of breaks. Much screeching. Near-heart attack. Of course he saw me (which was exactly what I didn't want) and I panicked again. My brilliant solution? I kept driving (DON'T JUDGE.). But, I was so totally freaked out that I wasn't watching closely and nearly ran over a second group of guys in Spouseman's class. More slamming of breaks. More screeching. More heart-attacks. They'd survived ridiculously difficult training and I nearly took out a half-dozen of them in one fell swoop in the stupid cafeteria parking lot shortly before they were meant to go home. Clearly, I was not meant to be a spy. Or an undercover cop. Or anything else that requires me to be even marginally stealthy. By the time I made it out of the parking lot (without killing or maiming anyone) I was so completely out of it that I drove straight home. I'd been home about 20 minutes when realized I never did make it to the gas station.

Despite this brush with death, he finished the training, made it home and all is well! Yay for us!

Tuesday Thoughts

Subtitle: The Disjointed Ramblings of a Situational Single Parent

At the end of this unbelievably long day which started at 6am and is just now winding down, I am filled with many thoughts and so, because I am too exhausted to put the sheets on my bed so that I can actually go to sleep, I am sitting on my rear-end typing a basically pointless, kind of whiny blog post until I can muster the energy to move more than my fingers and get myself to bed already. Doesn't that introduction just suck you in and leave you breathless with anticipation for the literary genius which must be forthcoming? Well, read on friends and strangers, read on. Don't blame me if you are disappointed, though.

The last 2 days have been challenging. Intrepid Spouseman is off learning new and exciting ways to stay alive in the increasingly hostile world at large (despite what you may think, that was typed without even a hint of sarcasm. He really is off learning myriad and sundry survival techniques. That's why it's called survival training.). While he will  be gone for a mere 21 days, I am finding his absence to be slightly more challenging than when he left for almost 5 months to play GI Joe. In addition to the fact that this time we do not get to communicate with Intrepid Spouseman at all while he is away, Little Levi is much more mobile and demanding of my attention and he is obviously missing his very best friend in the whole world. You see, most days, Levi wakes up and immediately visits with Isaac in the bathroom while Isaac gets ready for work. Then, they play during lunch time. And again after dinner and again after his bath until bedtime. Well, today little Levi toddled over to the bathroom door as usual and, finding it closed, proceeded to bang and yell.  As you can imagine, when this failed to produce "DA!!!!!!!!!!" poor Levi was not happy. Not happy at all (neither was I, for that matter.Sad face.). Repeat this scenario several times during the day (waking from naps and peering expectantly around corners for DA!, running to the door at the sound of a car etc...) and you have the perfect recipe for a sad and confused little toddler. Poor little Bug. It seems that my normally good natured baby is handling his distress by becoming fussy, clingy and demanding. Which does not surprise me, but does make it very difficult to get my work done. And done it must get because I have major, immoveable deadlines this week. Because of work issues (at both the full time day job and the part-time adjunct job) and Levi issues today, I often felt as though everything was just inches away from complete disaster. Hence, the exhaustion. But we made it work, Little Levi and I. We worked a little, played a little, napped a little (well, those under the age of 2 napped), rinsed and repeated until everything got done. We took a break to have dinner with a  friend (whose husband is also away being trained in the intricacies of survival. Thanks for rescuing my carrots and celery, A! ) and tomorrow I'm packing for a mini-vacation to visit another friend (I am so excited. Seriously. I have been looking forward to this for months! Months, I say!). All is well, even if all is a little chaotic. We are tired, but we survived. Isaac says everyone who finishes SERE should get a tee-shirt that says "I Survived SERE" (haha! Surviving survival training! Hmm...Now that I think about it, that might be a joke that is only funny to military people...or maybe only to me...wouldn't be the first time.). and I'm beginning to think that  spouses and children should get them too. We'll see how the next few weeks go, but for now I'm off to cross another day off the calendar before I go to bed. Only 19 days to go.

I apologize in advance for the extremely rant-y nature of this post

I have a lot to say these days, but very little motivation to actually, well, say any of it. Mostly I compose extremely rant-y blog posts in my head, take a deep breath and then move on with my life. But today, since the Spouse is still at work, Little Man is happily playing with an empty container of oats (What? You don't give your kid trash to play with? What's wrong with you?) and a wooden spoon (Ditto above but with kitchen implements) and the laundry is (mostly) done, I thought "What the heck? Let's rant in public for a bit, shall we" and so, we shall.


Rant #1: I am just so unendingly tired of people talking about the NBA "labor" dispute. Does anyone, anywhere care even the slightest little bit that a whole bunch of multi-millionaires are not getting their "fair" share from a bunch of multi-billionaires? No? Then let's move on, news media. There are starving children in Africa. Heck, there are starving children in Iowa. Let the poor little rich kids handle their playground dispute in private. MOVE ON.


Rant #2: I love the People of the South. Really, I do. I love that they are friendly and funny and, mostly, not scary. But, BUT, can I just say that I do not love it when People of the South touch Levi? I have to bite lips and sit on hands to stop myself from swatting people. Seriously. I get that he's pretty much the most adorable little person ever. I know that he's extremely social and will chat with you in his little baby voice and reach out his little hand as if to invite touching but PLEASE, dear People of the South, do not share your germs with my baby. I may have to make a little shirt that says "NO TOUCHY" and only let him out of the house when he wears it.


Rant #3: The ice cream currently sold by several major manufacturers is no longer ice cream, but is instead a mysterious concotion they are calling "Frozen Dairy Dessert". I am just so disappointed. I recognize that the reason for the name change is because their "ice cream", in reality, contains little or no cream and how sad is that? I say that it is indicative of pretty much everything that's wrong with industrialized food production in this country. That's right people. The lack of cream in our ice cream is merely a symptom of a larger problem and you can just take that to the park and protest it. Furthermore, I'd just like to go on record and say that I'd happily pay more to have some cream in my ice cream. I'm pretty sure most people would. I look forward to pumpkin pie ice cream all year but now that I've made this unfortunate discovery, I can't bring myself to purchase and consume Pumpkin Frozen Dairy Dessert. There are, I know, several brands of ice cream that are actually ice cream and/or I could, theoretically, make my own but 1. None of the true ice creams have a pumpkin flavor and 2. I am super lazy. Sad panda. (side note: in the grand scheme of things-like starving children in Iowa-I realize that this is a small problem, but this is my party and I'll rant if I want to)


Rant #4: Could some please explain to me the laws of the universe that have dictated that no matter how carefully I set the timer and no matter how watchful I am over them, I inevitably burn at least 1 tray of cookies each and everytime I bake cookies? There has to be some sort of rule that I am breaking or some sort of universal vendetta against my cookie making. Perhaps both? Help me out here, surely this is not just me? Is there some sort of support group? Remedial cookie baking education? Something?


Rant #5: I would like to find the person who decided landscaping with rocks was a good idea and beat him (of course it was a him) with a few rocks of my own. This past weekend, in a haze of joy at having my "own" yard (which is really not mine at all, but is instead owned by a rather large and mysterious government contractor and which is technically shared between myself and the residents of the other half of the twin home in which I currently reside but which I call my "own" because, really, typing out what it actually is everytime is time consuming and disheartening), I purchased, with the intent to plant, many bulbs. Many, many bulbs. There were tulips and irises and fresias OH MY!
I thought (silly me) that this would be a simple process-clear pine needle mulch (ick), dig holes, plant bulbs, water and trust the fates of the universe. But, alas. This plan hit a snafu when, upon moving the pine needle mulch, it was discovered that some idiot, erm, person, had previously filled the entire flower bed with decorative rock. Let me reiterate: someone, somewhere had filled a flower bed with ROCKS. Then, someone else decided it would be a good idea to completely cover those rocks with PINE NEEDLES. I'll just let you mull that one over for a bit.........................................................................................................
Anyway. After sitting about the house sighing deeply and morosely lamenting my fate, the intrepid husband devised a plan whereby the rocks would be moved and the bulbs planted. This plan involved the husband moving buckets full of rocks to the backyard flowerbeds, which are so overrun with rocks (EVIL DECORATIVE ROCKS) and weeds that even I don't want to try and do anything with them, while I scraped the rocks out of the dirt so as to fill his buckets and loudly cursed the person who thought rocks and gardens were a good match. Eventually, most of the rocks were gone, all the bulbs were planted and Levi had only eaten a little dirt. But STILL. Rocks. Pine Needles. For the love.


And that is all. Carry on.

Now We Are 1...

 Presents!

Cake!

I've been meaning to post pictures for the past week, but better late than never!  We had a great little family party with cake and presents and lots of playing with new toys. Yay for birthdays!



An Unfortunate Milestone

Levi. He is very nearly 1 whole year old (insert lamentation about how quickly time passes here...). To this point we have celebrated all the usual milestones: smiling, first teeth, eating solid foods, cruising about etc...So far, we've welcomed each and every development (and let's be honest, every single near-development) with excitment and more than a little praise (You very nearly pulled yourself up all by yourself! GREAT JOB!). However, today we had a milestone that I wasn't too keen to celebrate.  See, Levi likes to chew on stuff. Pretty much anything will do and usually this isn't a big deal but sometimes, he'll chomp down on something he really, really shouldn't chew on. Today, it was the electrical cord for a lamp. So, I went over there and pulled him away saying, as usual, "No, no, no". Usually, when I stop him from doing something he wants to do he'll protest, loudly even, but then move on to do something else. Today however, he yelled (as he usually does), looked right at my face then leaned over and bit me. Hard.
It was 100% clear that 1. He was really annoyed and 2. He chose to express his annoyance by biting. Not. Cool.  Alas, I think we have hit another milestone: Acting out. On purpose. With intention. and I am none too pleased about this development. Hopefully, he gets over this need to express annoyance by biting pretty darn quick, because yelling I can handle. Crying, no problem. Physical violence, however, is a 1 way ticket to eternal timeout...and he's too young to be grounded for life.

What's Missing?!

NO MORE HELMET!!!!!!!!!!!

(Seriously, is this not the cutest picture you have ever seen? I die.)

No more helmet means that today we begin the, rather unfortunate, process of learning that bumping our head HURTS! We have already bumped into 2 walls, the piano and a door but we are learning!



Blah, Blah, Blah

So, Levi. He is starting to talk for reals. Not like this time, but actually using his little mouth to make sounds that have meaning.

His favorites? "Mama" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO".

See, you have to say "no" like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" when you are almost one. I am not sure why.

Also, we never say "Mama" around here. We say "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" until someone (could be me. could be Isaac. Levi's not too fussy usually) takes care of whatever problem prompted the MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA! in the first place.

Problem is, since we only have 2 words so far, whomever is responding to the call of MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA! frequently guesses Tiny Man's needs incorrectly. And then we hear:

 "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMMA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It is awesome to be scolded by an almost 1 year old. Awesome, I tell you.

Epic Fail

When we left Utah to come to the great state of Alabama, we left behind a great many people. One such person was Bailee the Wonder Colorist (sidenote: there are a lot of people named Bailee in Utah. A lot. And they all spell their names differently. Once, I had a student who spelled her name BayLeah. The first time I read her name I thought it said "BayLeaf" and I almost asked, outloud, why her parents named her after an herb. Luckily, I caught myself, but everytime I talked to her after that I had to consiously remind myself that her name was BayLeah not "BayLeaf". True story.) and, having now gone approximately an eternity without coloring my hair and, having been told by no less than EVERY member of my immediate family that when I do not color my hair I look like a 50 year old grandmother (apparently this was all said "out of love". Whatever.) and, having been repeatedly assured by my myriad and sundry sisters who also look like 50 year old grandmothers if they don't color their hair that coloring ones hair by ones self is "So easy!" and, because I have not yet had a chance to find a replacement for Bailee the Wonder Colorist, I decided to take the plunge and attempt to color my hair my very ownself. "12 year olds at slumber parties do this all the time!" I thought. "What could go wrong with a product that goes so far as to proclaim itself "Nice" and "Easy"?", I thought. "If your mother and sisters can do this, so can you!" I thought. "You have a master's degree! How hard can this be?!" I thought.  I should have ignored all those thoughts and listened to the very quiet, nagging voice in the back of my mind which said "There is a reason you are not a cosmotologist YOU IDIOT!"

You see, I managed to dye a great many things; the bathroom counter, 2 towels, the toilet seat, one of our bath mats, my left arm, both ears, the back of my neck, the bottom of my right foot, every single one of my fingernails, my hairbrush, my shampoo bottle, the shower curtain, 2 barretts and the door to the bathroom but did not,as luck would have it, successfully manage to dye the one thing I was actually interested in turning a "dark auburn": my gray hair.  I followed the directions exactly. I even timed the shaking of the bottle because the little instruction sheet said "shake for at least 20 seconds." So, I timed myself shaking for 30 seconds. Which is, as anyone knows, at least 20 seconds. I set a little kitchen timer for 10 minutes  I "started at the roots" and saturated my hair "all the way to the ends". I rinsed until the water ran clear. I conditioned with the little tube of conditioner. I now have brown hair with, in addition to the grey streaks, orangish brown streaks. It is not an improvement. Not to mention the fact that the roots of my hair are at least 2 shades different than the rest of my hair. EPIC FAIL.
Clearly, hair coloring needs to join espionage and brain surgery on my list of tasks best left to the professionals. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make an appointment to have someone much more talented than I fix my hair.

My Favorite Room

So. I have this post I've been working on, complete with a million pictures of the house, the baby and our Alabama adventures. It's taking me a while to get it all done, so in the meantime I thought I'd share a picture of my favorite room in our new little house.
Are you ready?
Here it is:

Yes, it is true. My favorite "room" is not a room at all, but the closet in our office. I love it. So. Much. In every place we've lived previous to this little house, my sewing stuff has been migratory, moving where ever it would fit and then moving again to be "out of the way" when we needed the space it occupied for something else. I have longed for a permanent place to keep my sewing machine and all my many sewing books, tools and other things. When we started to organize our things, it became apparent that this little closet wasn't needed for actual storage and so I commandeered it and it became my sewing room. I have all my books, my patterns, my tools and projects IN ONE PLACE. The only things that don't fit in this tiny little closet are my giant bins of fabric, but they are just outside the door in the hall closet. It is AWESOME.

On one wall, I can hang my rulers. Observe:

On the other, I have an organizer for my bobbins, little tools of various kinds and scissors ( I have a lot of scissors):

The little lamp down at the bottom of that picture is sitting on a little table upon which also sits various things I am using for my current project. A little table. With a lamp. That doesn't have to move every time I need to use the dining room table. AWESOME, I tell you.

Sometimes, I come into the office just to look at the little closet and all my things neatly stowed away in their permanent home. Because it is so awesome.

And that is all for this Tuesday.

I Stand Corrected

So. As anyone who knows me knows I don't often admit that I am wrong (this is largely due to how rarely I actually am wrong, but that is beside the point). However, I have recently come to the conclusion that I was wrong about one very important issue and I am now admitting this fact. Publicly. Well, as publicly as my little blog which is read by approximately 10 people, can be considered "public". Anyway. I was wrong and I can admit it.

You see, almost 2 years ago Isaac got this brilliant idea that he was going to be a Warrant Officer Aviator. Brilliant, except for the little detail that becoming a Warrant Officer Aviator would require him and us to live in Alabama for an extended period of time. This little detail made me feel more than a little bit queasy. I have lived in many places in my life and have managed to never, ever spend a significant amount of time in the "Deep South". Since discovering that I would likely have to spend almost 2 years living in the "Deep South", I have loudly, frequently and with great passion decried the weather, the culture, the people, the politics, the craziness etc... and, well, I was wrong. About almost everything.

Yes, it is incredibly hot and humid here. But, it is also beautiful, with amazing, huge trees and plants and flowers and lakes and the ocean just an hour away. It's lovely. Aside from one unfortunate encounter with a snake and a squirrel (shudder) I've spent a great deal of time in absolute awe at how pretty everything is here.

Yes, there are some very interesting people here. But, I have never met people who are, as a whole, more kind, considerate and loving. I am not, as a general rule, a "people person" and yet I cannot help but chat and visit with people wherever we go. This is, of course, partly due to Levi being adorable and the world's biggest flirt, but people are also just genuinely friendly. I'm learning to adapt. I have been asked with absolute sincerity, more times than I can count(by complete strangers no less), if Levi is okay and, often, if there is anything they can do to help. Some days, this happens more than once. Almost always our short conversations about Levi and his helmet end with promises to pray for us. Sincere promises.

Yes, the ward is tiny. But, they have welcomed us like no where else I have ever been.We, quite literally, had a dinner invitation for every night of our first week here. When people at church found out we were still waiting for our furniture to arrive, several families offered to loan us furniture they were using (like the couch from their living room-"Take it! We're never home! It just sits there!") just so we'd have the things we needed. I took Levi to his first 'play group' just 3 days after arriving here because the women at Church wouldn't take "no" for an answer when they invited us to join them ("You have no furniture! You must be so bored! Levi needs friends! You must come. I'll be over at 10:30 and we can go together!" And she was. And we did). It was a little overwhelming, but also kind of amazing that complete strangers would take such an interest in our well being.


For nearly all of the past 2 years I have felt quite certain that living here would mean gritting my teeth and "enduring to the end". But, I was wrong.  I've lived a lot of places, and very few have felt like  "home". Our tiny house, on a tiny Army post, without family or friends nearby, in Alabama of all places, feels like home. I was wrong and I am glad I was.

Operation: Birthday Surprise!

Mission Accomplished!

We (Levi and I) flew into Alabama last night so we could surprise Isaac today. It was a great day and we loved getting to spend the day with him. Just 2 more days and we'll all be in the same house again!

Happy Birthday Isaac!

P.S. Remember that Friends episode where they all go the Bahamas? And Monica's hair explodes? Yeah. That's why there are no pictures of me. We're going to need to invest in some industrial strength gel. Or, go the Monica route and embrace the cornrow...



Join the Movement!

So. A while back, when I lived in Hades Phoenix, I realized that my committment to jeans as the only acceptable "bottom" (except at church and other dressy occassions) was going to get me killed. See, it's a million degrees in Hades Phoenix and jeans are not known for being hot-weather attire. I was melting. Slowly, but surely, I was going to die of heat stroke if I didn't do something drastic. Problem is, I have a deep, abiding and immoveable loathing for shorts and capri pants. Like, I cannot even describe to you how much I hate them. The fire of a thousand suns doesn't even come close to describing my loathing. Clearly, I had a dilemma. Around this very same time I randomly happened across a post from a person much more fashionable and (clearly) intelligent than I advocating the return of the "casual skirt". This, I thought, was a movement I could get behind. Skirts are not hideous like shorts and capri pants (disclaimer: I know many people who wear shorts and capri pants and do not look hideous. I am not one of them. I have pictures to prove this. I will not be sharing.) Skirts are significantly cooler than jeans. Skirts can easily be made at home (remember my aversion to shopping? It extends to all clothing types, including skirts). I was going to JOIN THE MOVEMENT.

I bought fabric.

I bought patterns.

I got pregnant.

Annnnnnnnndddddddddddddd, all I wanted to do was lay around on my couch moaning about how tired I was and how much I hated Hades Phoenix and how hot it was ALL. THE. TIME. My motivation to sew was quickly replaced by a much stronger desire to eat ice cream. So. The skirts were never made.

Fast forward about 18 months. Baby is here. It is now getting hot in Utah (nothing like Hades Phoenix, but hot enough to question my return to the jean.). I'm about to move to Alabama. It was 98 degrees in Alabama today. I was sweating just thinking about that. And, in what has to be kismet, my sister has ALSO decided to join the casual skirt movement and has been sewing up a storm, making impossibly cute skirts (with pockets!). So, when she offered to take the fabric I had previously purchased and make a skirt for me, I did the happy dance! Happy DANCE! Step one in my grand plan to neither melt nor ever purchase shorts EVER AGAIN is underway.

THEN-imagine my jubliation when a store which shall not be named just down the street from me started selling knee length skirts for reasonable prices. Next to the bananas! NO TRIPS TO THE MALL, people. NO TRIPS TO THE MALL. It's like the universe was smiling on my decision to join the casual skirt movement. So, I actually purchased a skirt (with pockets!) and love it. I am on a roll, internet people!


Today, skirts! Tomorrow, THE WORLD.

Shameless Contest Entry Post

Click me! http://ohhappyday.com/2011/06/goes-to-paris/

Enter to win a trip to Paris for 2!

Gratuitous picture of adorable baby!

 (Unrelated to the contest,but provides some sense of purpose to this otherwise pointless post)

He really likes strawberries. A lot.

Well Hello!

Hello Internet-
How are you? I'm good, mostly. It's been kind of a crazy couple of months, but overall I'd rate them a 6 on a scale of 1-10. What have we been up to? Well, I'm glad you asked, Internet, because we've been all sorts of busy around here. Quick rundown-
1. I've been rocking the "single working mom" thing. No, seriously. I should write a book. Can you feel the sarcasm, even through the vast nothingness of space, Internet? I sure hope so. In truth there have been days (I will not disclose how many) when I have lain (layed? laid?) in my bed at night and the only thought I had the energy to muster was "When was the last time I brushed my teeth?" For serious. For the record: parenting is at least a 2 person job. I totally understand the full-time nanny/mother's helper situation obscenely rich people have going on. If I am ever obscenely rich, I'm totally investigating that. 2 extra hands around all.the.time?! YES, PLEASE!
2. Despite the fact that many days are lived in a rather hazy state of half-wakefulness (I'm pretty sure I just made up that word and I LIKE IT), I am enjoying spending my time with the Cutest Little Human Ever. I'd post a picture to prove he's the Cutest Little Human Ever, but I don't want anyone to come steal him. Because of his cuteness and all.
3. My brother-in-law married pretty much the cutest girl ever and the CLHE and I got to spend time with them and the rest of the extended family for the wedding and the weekend. Super fun! We missed the Husband, but he was busy being GI Joe so, what can you do?
4. We (the CLHE and I) got to spend a grand total of, wait for it...20 hours (non consecutively, of course) with the Husband! It was fantastic until the whole getting on different planes and flying in different directions part of the visit. That part sucked rocks. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
5. While spending our 20 hours with the Husband, the CLHE and I also got to spend more time with my in-laws, who are made of awesome. That part of the visit did not suck rocks.
6. Work, while tiring (and sometimes tiresome) is not all that terrible these days and I am grateful that I have a job that allows me to be both a full-time employee and a full-time mom. Which means I have 2 full time jobs and a part time job. Which means I pretty much don't remember what sleeping is. But, neither does the Husband, who only has 1 full time job but whose days frequently end at 11pm and begin at 4:30am. (I'll take my jobs any day, thankyouverymuch. At least when I do sleep, it's in a bed and not a cot or on the ground.), So even though we are 1900 miles apart at the present, we have that in common.
7. We are approximately 2/3rds of the way through our time living in separate states! I only have 6 more weeks of single-parenthood (this time, at least). So, YAY!

Ermm...I think that pretty much covers it!

Lots of love, Internet!
-Me