Since I can't type, I'll regurgitate

The Good Wife's Guide


'55*Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

'09*Dinner is left over macaroni and cheese from lunch, which has probably been thrown on the floor by the kids by now. If you want something more, you'll have to cook it yourself, I'm going to the gym.

'55*Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

'09*I've just been with two sticky, screaming, hyper children all day. 15 minutes to rest would be like an oasis in the middle of the salt flats. Not to mention the only bows around here go in the baby's hair, and she's probably thrown them in the toilet by now.

'55*Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

'09*Give me a bottle of congac and we'll talk.


'55*Clear away clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

'09*He's lucky to make it through the door at the end of the day. If the kids are on bored, then maybe there wont be a giant train track built right in front of the front door when he comes home.  As for the "main part of the house"...yeah, our house is small enough that its ALL the main part of the house.

A new entry on the list of things that break my bones

I hit my hand on the piano.  I had a fight with the piano.  I didn't drop the piano on my hand.  How did I break a bone in my hand, if I didn't drop the piano on it?  Was I angry and punch the piano?  Impossible, I would have broken a bone near my knuckles if that was the case.  But alas, the bone I broke is closer to my wrist.  Well then how, you ask? 

Warning people: this story is very anti-climactic. 
I wouldn't blame you if you didn't bother to read on. 

But you've already read this far, why not find out so that we can all sleep at night.  Have I mentioned that I haven't been sleeping?  That's a great story, however unrelated with the current subject, and will not be discussed in this post.  We arrived home after an otherwise usual evening.  I'm sure that Cohen yelled up ahead to Brett and I on the porch about how he needs to open the door as if this somehow defines his level of independence which is the most important thing in his life right now.  He's very independent.  Cohen walks in the door, and I follow him.  The room is black and the light switch doesn't work because it is connected to a ceiling fan which does, in fact have a light attached, but the light is turned off and controlled by a ceiling fan control which is very convenient because you can control the light and the ceiling fan from the confort of the couch.  Said remote control is missing batteries, and is nowhere to be found.  Sucked into the Neff household vortex.  Those of you who are Neffs will know what I mean. 

In the dark living room where there are no nearby light switches I enter and pass the piano, and somehow swing my hand (with Super Hero Force) into the arm of the piano which I now know is very sharp, and can be used to break hand bones.  It is now on the list with the toilet, my own inside of my knee, and etcetera, etcetera. 

I know you were hoping for more, but since my hand is broken, Brett has to write this post, and you are stuck with what he wrote.  This is not my fault.  Anyways, you may want to take a hietas if you are addicted to this website for around four to six weeks while I regain function of one of my typing hands.  This means you Tanya, since you're the only one who reads it...

Brett (on behalf of Kelly) Out

P.S.  Here is the whole, unabridged list of things that have broken my bones - in chronological order:
A rollerskate (my wrist)
The collapsing space between a foot and a butt (every single bone in my foot - I know, right? I don't even know how it's possible, and I was there)
An ice skating rink (see a pattern yet? - my collar bone)
A curb (my ankle)
A toilet (my foot again)
A piano (my hand)

Kelly VS The Piano

Piano: 1
Kelly: 1 fractured hand

Needless to say I won't be blogging for awhile. 

Talk at you all soon I hope!

Kelly OUT!

P.S. Anyone interested in a traitorous piano?

10 Year Anniversary

In a few weeks, I will have been a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for ten years.

What is it with making the double digits that causes nastalgia?

I dunno, but I do know I'm just as excited about this as I was to actually turn 10!  Remember the big ONE-OH?  Oh man, it was epic.

Sometimes I'm very talkative about becoming a member of the Church.  Sometimes I'm all about talking about the difficulties of conversion, loss of friends, side-ways glances from family members...you know, the usual stuff when you do anything different.

Other times, I'm really quiet about it, and would rather no one know.  Sometimes I'm a little embarassed I don't know more than I do.  It's at times like these I have to remind myself that my husband has been a member for 21 years - twice as long and then some - and that the one thing I love most about the Church is the opportunity for eternal progression.

So, happy anniversary to me.  It's been the greatest ten years of my short life.  I'm so grateful for Elder Nemmeth and Elder Loarca, and for the Staten Family, who were wonderful examples of member missionaries.

I lost a few friends, and it was sad.  My family didn't understand, and that was hard.  I felt alone a lot, but that's what trials are all about.  In the end (well, I guess the beginning), I found an amazing husband, was married in the Salt Lake Temple, and currently serve happily, if not well, as a Relief Society teacher. 

I could write all night about the reasons I became a member, about how the Gospel answered many of my questions, but in the end it was the strong feelings I felt when I saw a picture of a boy kneeling in a grove.  I didn't know who the boy was, but I started crying.  Elder Nemmeth asked me kindly, "Do you know why you're crying?"  I could only shake my head.  "That's the Spirit testifying to you that Joseph was a prophet of God."  I didn't even know the boys' name was Joseph, but I knew what Elder Nemmeth said was true.  There was no doubt in my heart, and hasn't been since, about that truth. 

Thanks for reading,

Kelly Out

What is wrong with me?!

Glutton: a person with a remarkably great desire or capacity for something. (scary movies)
Punishment: severe handling or treatment. (scary movies)

I. Am. A. Glutton. For. Punishment.

Wednesday I went to a very scary movie, and walked out swearing up and down, left and right, on every head that came out of me, on heads I had married, on heads that are buried six feet under, that I would never, EVER, EVER, go to another scary movie again.

Tonight, I went to a scary movie.

Someone put me out of my misery.

Kelly Out 

I don't wanna get outta bed, Ma

Most days I try real hard to do something fun and interesting with my little wards.  Like taking a trip around the world in a hot air balloon, dancing with Prince Eric himself, and teaching them to fly or transform...you know, the usual educational stuff.

But on days that I'm functioning with little-to-no-sleep, like today, I have a hard time thinking past "couch".

And so today, I'm so grateful for my little wards, feeling in simpatico with their mama.  Bless their lazy little hearts.

On an entirely seperate note...would you look at this hair?  This boy has a vice on my heart.  Woa betide the poor woman who takes away my baby.

Kelly Out

And off to bed

Not really, I have to be awake and make sure Kembry doesn't stab herself...again. 

My North is off

Four years ago I did away with the alarm clock.  I had a new baby, afterall, and I had accepted at conception that my time would now revolve and center completely around him.

Nothing has changed.

And so this morning, without my literal biological alarm clock going off, I don't know what to do with myself.  My two children are still sleeping, and I am wide awake (I should hope so, it's 9 AM) and I...I...don't know what to do with myself.

Several options have popped into my head.  Should I eat breakfast?  Without them?  That's just weird.  I could watch the news...turns out I'm sort of partial to "Sid the Science Kid".  I could clean something...nah.  Should I check on them?  Are they still breathing?  Don't they hear the birds chirping, the cats meowing (with quite a hint of a whine in it), don't they hear their dad in the kitchen making a terrible racket? 

I love being a mom.  Every once in awhile I get these strange, backwards glimpses of life before gestation, and it's unsettling.  Like I missed that first step on the stairs. 

So wake up already!  Sheesh.  You're freaking me out!

Kelly Out

Over the hump yet?

The beginning of October, I had a 100+ fever for eight days.  As fun as that sounds, it really, really wasn't.

Last week, Kembry sliced her finger open.  A day and a half later, she tore off her bandage.  A day later, she tore off her SECOND bandage. 

Sigh.

Gruff.

Cohen has been practicing for months for his Primary Program.  I have been gathering tissues for month, preparing for MY first Primary Program.  The night before the program, Cohen threw up all over his comforter, then his sheets, then his CLEAN sheets, then his SECOND PAIR OF CLEAN SHEETS (please keep in mind, Brett washed them all in the middle of the night, being prepared.  He's amazing!)

The next morning, I asked him if he wanted to try to make it to the program.  He said, "I don't feel good," then threw up again. 

Sigh.

Sniff.

But I think...I think...I think it's all over now.  I feel okay.  Brett's not sick.  Knives are tucked away from Kembry, she's no longer bleeding, and Cohen is back to his wild, non-vomiting self. 

I can't complain.  I'm thinking a lot about a cousin whose in the hospital, about the selfless act that put her there, and about the positive attitude she has.  There are such worse things than sliced fingers, vomit-covered blankets and sheets, and missing first primary programs.  Though I can't say there are many things worse than the swine flu. 

Kelly Out

P-Dub in High Def

Now, my daughter nearly slicing off one of her digits is big news.  In fact, you should scroll down and read all about her painful love affair with knives and feel bad for me (or for her and the apparent lack of parental supervision).  So we'll get back to this glowing little angel of death in a moment.

BUT!  But, I am 197 ways excited about my amazing night tonight.  Chip-N-Dales were booked, so I scurried on down to my favorite Pioneer Woman's book signing.  Seeing as how she provides step-by-step directions for 4 out of the 6 meals in our household, I thought I'd like to meet her.

And guess what?  I did!

I met her, and Missy!  Pesky Tim's wife! 

But you know what was even cooler than all this (how cool, Kelly?  Ice cold.)

I got to see some old friends, and meet some new friends, and talk all around with people who love food as much as me (but do a much better job of concealing it!)

I met Suzie, just about the sweetest girl.  I saw Jen W., the sister of one of my bestest friends in the good ol' days!  I saw old HS friends, and stood in line for a good 4 hours, and it was ALL worth it.

When I came home, everyone was asleep, there were 50 or so DVD's on the floor, two empty boxes of diapers (last years Christmas gift to the kids) and 347 toys scattered here and there.  I think Brett secretly hates me.  Shh..he doesn't know I know. 

And for those of you who still haven't hopped on the Pioneer Woman Band Wagon, despite all my chittering and chattering, GET ON THE FREAKING WAGON.  You'll never look back.

Kelly...off to bed

P.S. Jen:  I missed you tonight.  I hope you're feeling better.  I've got your book, signed and all.  I hope you love it as much as I do!!

P.P.S.  My best friends baby had surgery today =(  I feel incredibly insensitive posting about my amazing night, knowing she couldn't be with me, because her baby needed her (I needed her too, but I guess he's more important.  Whatever.)  Tanya, I missed you!

My daughter and a knife: a tragic love story

My inbox is breathing a little deeper this evening.  I've emptied it of more than four months worth of content.  It helped that I finally wised up and cancelled all "Facebook Updates".  What a curse!

New Years Resolution: check e-mail box once a day, not once a month.

Now on to the bulk of the post, "My daughter and a knife, a tragic love story"

Kembry, 3, is (was) madly obsessed with knives.  I was thinking machete for Christmas, but now perhaps that's not such a good idea, as she has promised me, her dad, our doctor, all of her grandparents, and random people at McDonalds, that she will never, EVER play with knives again.

The girl has been humbled.  Her love relinquished.  No George Wickam for my little Georgiana. 

Around 7 a.m. Kembry got it into her little stubborn mind that she wanted, nay, needed some candy.  So, being the resourceful little scamp that she is, she grabbed her trusty slicer (a very sharp kitchen knife) and proceeded to take on the candy wrapper.  I'd say the wrapper won.

She sliced the tip of her left index finger.  Brett, having trained me to remain calm in any and all bloody circumstances, rinsed her finger, and bandaged her up.  A few minutes later, mommy enters, and has to re-bandage.  She's already bled through.  Well, it's 8 a.m. now, and we're dancing around taking her to the doctors or just letting it heal.  Calm as I was, I went with the doctors.

And a good thing too.  He pulled the band-aid off, pulled her finger, and out came not only blood, but fatty tissue.  Kembry went pale and limp, and I nearly wisked her away to the emergency room, demanding morphine for her, and possibly a drip for me as well.

Our doctor, being trained in such matters, left to gather the stitching tools and material, when he had a second thought.  So, instead of poking her right into her fresh, fatty tissue wound, and injecting her with stinging, pain-numbing medicine, he butterfly wrapped two of her fingers together, and sent me on my way.

Now I have a 3 year old, terrified of knives (thank heavens) who is supposed to keep two of her left fingers bandaged for 10 days.

Pray for me.
Pray for me now.
This will call for a miracle of epic proportions.

Kelly Out