Phoenix

As I sit in the Phoenix airport and watch the pure color of a clear sky fade slowly to dusky, robins egg blue, I want spring more than anything.  Winter was here, I'm sure, but it's been gone for awhile now.  The small velvety red mounds (I'm sorry Phoenix, I mean mountains) have no snowy tips.  Barren of the verdant colors I'm used to at home, they're still beautiful.  They look so warm, so soft.

It's a balmy 72 degrees here.  I can sit by the entry way to the plane and not shrink back from icy chills.  Instead, I partake the lavish warmth, the sweet smells that, at home, would mean the coming of summer.  Of green parks and sprinklers, trampolines and sunburns. 

If it wasn't for the fact that 72 degrees is the typical mid-February temperature, I could live here.  But I know what comes next, and it ain't pretty.  So, even though I sort of wish I was staying in this warmer climate, that I could plop myself on a rock next to a paranoid lizard with darty eyes and soak up some sun, I'm heading to more familiar weather. 

Alright Chicago, bring it on.

Kelly Out

Had to Share

Yesterday the monkeys and I went to the Living Planet Aquarium.  It was pretty neat and creepy.  Neat, because we got to see the jelly fish light up in pretty colors.  Neat because we got to see little Sheldons, I mean seahorses.  Neat because the electric eel was hunting.  Or angry.  Or both.  Either way, he was very electric.

Creepy because the Octopus kept following Kembry.  He kept a beedy little eye on her the entire time.  I don't blame you Mr. (Mrs?) Octopus.  I don't blame you one bit.

Creepy because the sting-rays liked the way Cohen tasted.  Three at a time they would swim up to him, wrap their velvety-gelatinous fins around his arms, and stay as long as their slippery little bodies could hold them.

Creepy because the sting-rays did this for a good half hour, before I finally pryed (pried?) Cohen away from their sick obsession.

Creepy, because workers were coming to watch my sons arm getting molested.  Large groups of people stood off at a fair distance, oohing and ahhing.  A few mothers had the same, weirded-out look on their face that I did.  It was very weird.

Anyway, definitely something I want to do again.  As soon as I can wash the fish smell off his arms (it's in my mind.  His arms don't smell fishy.  But their behavior was fishy...hyuckhyuck).

Kelly Out

(OOh!OOh!  I got a new book for my voyage across the vast middle-west.  "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthurs Court."  Aside from all his travel writings, I've read all of Mark Twains books.  All but this.  I'm syoooo hyappy (to bed read in "Robin Hood: Men In Tights" form).)

What the...

Every morning I wake up and spend two hours in an allergenic hiatus.  This baffles me.  I don't have allergies!

And we're not talking the dainty little "ha-choo".  I'm talkin' copious amount of snot (sorry).  I'm talkin' watery eyes that have my son asking me why I'm crying.  I'm talkin' sneezing until it's no longer fun. I'm talkin' nasal drainage that has Drain-O wanting to study me. 

And then, as soon as it comes, POOF, it's gone.  I cannot figure it out...

Acceptance

Alt Title: Our Continuing Battle with Stuff

One of the hardest parts about eliminating stuff from our lives is getting rid of things that somehow, months and months later (to be read in "Goonies" style) I find that I really could've used some of that stuff.  Alas, the DI is kindly storing it until some unfortunate soul comes along to claim our discarded stuff.

One of these things, and please don't laugh, was an unused shower cap.  I bought this shower cap, ladies and gentlemen, with the pure intent to use it.  I am a bath taker.  I love baths, but I loathe getting my hair wet when I just washed it and it's all straight and not frizzy...clearly this is at odds with my love of baths.

So, I bought the shower cap, thinking, "Yes!  I will wear this when I bathe.  I will not get my hair wet, and the world of hair and bath can come together peacefully."

I lost it like forty seconds after I walked in the door.  I'm not even kidding.  So years later, when I was de-stuffing, I found it and asked myself the two questions I had assigned to the tedious task: "Have I thought about this item in the last year?  Have I used this item in the last month?"  And because I could honestly answer "no" to both, it went, amidst many sighs and groans that were also assigned to the tedious task.

And now, dang it, I'll be off to the store to buy another one.  The cycle of stuff continues.  I am ashamed.

ON THE PLUS SIZE, erm, I mean side, the other day Brett and I were threatening the kids with throwing away their toys if they didn't help clean their room.  Kembry didn't, soooooo, I did throw away some of her toys.  NOW WAIT!  I only threw away the crappy McDonalds trinkets, half eaten teddy bears, barbies missing limbs (1) etc. etc.  So, stuff in that department is slowly dwindling.  Of course, not as fast as it's accumulating.  I think their toys breed.  I look at some of these toys and think, "I don't know where you got this.  I don't remember ever seeing this.  What the heck is this?!" 

Kelly Out

ChIcAgo

Woot!

Someone said that they heard I was going to Chicago with Brett while he's there on business, and that this didn't sound like any fun.  This person doesn't have kids.  Nuff said.

I'm sooooo looking forward to taking a day to be completely lazy (just like at home!).  I'm going to sit by the pool, sit in the hot tub (quick! while I still can!) and possibly meander to the gym.  Maybe.  Who knows?  Who cares!  Ha!

No one will be asking me why the letter J is called that.  How am I supposed to answer that?

We're also taking a 5 hour trek to that historical and beautiful Nauvoo.  I get to go to the Nauvoo Temple.  This has me all sorts of excited. 

I'm not going to scream "Time-out!" even once.  I won't I won't I won't.

Here are some other things I'm going to do, without children...

• Eat out for every meal.  No cooking.  No dishes.  No clean up.  And, thanks to CVS, half the bill.
• Walk around downtown Chicago and do some much needed window shopping.  My eyes are way out of shape and my "want" list is much too short for safety.
• Go to a Medievil Knights War.  Eat meat with my fingers.  Yes!
• Stay up late.
• Watch t.v.
• Read, read, read.  Mark Twain, you're callin' my name ol' man.
• Write?  Meh, I guess it depends if there will be internet available to distract me.
• Sleep in.
• Snuggle.  A lot.

And the list goes on.  Friday cannot come soon enough!!!

Kelly Out

Come Back, Jack, Come Back

I've lost my funny.  I'm missing my humor.  If you see it, please tell it to high-tale itself back to my frontal-lobe.

Even monkey's and apes have a sense of humor.  "If you have any poo, fling it now."

I'm not depressed.  But my mind is so preoccupied with not laugh-inducing thoughts.  Finish the basement.  Get new carpet.  Completely re-decorate (or in my case, DECORATE) my bedroom.  Shave my legs. All these things are essential, mandatory, before I bring a third Neffite into the world.  And I only have 202 days to do it all!  It'll take that long to just shave!

Or could it be that I have completely entrenched myself, yet again, into the war-ravaged south.  Gone With The Wind is not the endorphin producing book you would think...

Things I have found tickling my insensitive funny bone lately, though:

• My cat, Harley, sneezing.  Why is a cat sneezing so funny?  I don't kow, but it is!
• One cannibal walks into the room and asks the other cannibal, "I'm starving, is there any food left?"  The other cannibal says, "Nope, everybody's eaten."
• Kembry talking back to Brett.  This shouldn't bring me as much joy as it does, but I can't argue with results.  Especially when I'm a semi-permenent visitor to "Hormone-ville".
• The Zebra joke.  The ol' stand-by.  I won't share it here, it's too long, but it still makes me split a round-ligament.

Have a happy, laughy, daffy day!

Kelly Out

(And my title reference to the Titantic...seriously?  What's wrong with my brain?  Why would I think of that in conjunction with humor?  Okay, I do find that part a little funny...I'm sick.)

*

*I may get to go to Chicago with Brett for his second week there on business.  I'm trying really hard not to get my hopes up.  We need to organize babysitters and housesitters and catsitters and micesitters...the cats said they're going on vacation if we are.

*I haven't been on vacation since October '08.  Two nights of bliss in Logan.  No kids.  No cleaning.  No Mt. Olympus size laundry piles.  Ahhh, sweet.

*Who is Kim Kardashian? 

*I don't have any kids today.  They're at a Valentines Day party at their old daycare.  I should be cleaning, doing Mt. Olympus size laundry piles, but I'm blogging instead. 

*Isn't the whole point of being pregnant that you don't have to have pre-menstrual symptoms?  No, I refuse to accept it.  I don't care what the book says, PMS and cramping should NOT be involved.  Period.  No pun intended.

*How do you sell stocks?  I mean, I guess if the babies on the t.v. can do it, I can, right? 

*Is a 9:45 a.m. nap allowable?  I'm going to say yes, and sign off!

Kelly Out

Feelin' It Now

I haven't been sick since Sunday.  As in, I've been feeling FABULOUS since Sunday.  When you're pregnant, this ain't a good thing.  So, even though I wasn't too stressed out, I was a little worried something might be wrong.

Even when I told my doctor today, he got this look like, "Oh dear." 

Then he put that cold gel on my belly, found my bladder, and three seconds later Brett and I were staring at the newest member of our family, wiggling and squirming all over it's tiny universe, happy as a little embryo can be.  Very exciting.  Very, very exciting. 

And it hit me then like it did with Cohen and Kembry.  I already love this little alien as if I've known it my whole life.  I can't wait to meet it!!  (Quite a ways away...sigh.  But it goes by so fast!)

Kelly Out of Tears
(After Dear John last night, and our ultrasound today, my eyes are raw!)

Kiddie Blips Worth A Post

Kembry: Will you marry me Cohen?
Cohen: No!
Kembry: But I'm a princess and-
Cohen: No!  I don't know who I'm gonna marry.  And you're my sister!


Cohen has this little ring I had when I was little.  I don't even know where he found it.  Anyway, yesterday Brett grabbed it from the car and said, "Cohen, here's your ring of power!" in a fun, mystic voice.

Cohen glared at him, snatched the ring, and said, "It's not a ring of power.  It's a ring of love."


Cohen has these Batman sunglasses that are really cool, I wish I had some.  He wears them everywhere, even church.  On Saturday, I was laying on Kembry and calling her my squishy pillow.  Cohen, facing away from me, turned just his head, lowered his sunglasses so I could see his eyes, flashed his dimples and said, "Do you want me to be your blanket?"

I think I peed a little from laughing so hard.  Just keepin' it real.


Sister Andrews had the CTR's make these really cute little "My Family" pictures, with one peice of chocolate for each family member.  The second we get home, Cohen unwraps them all and hands them out to each of us.  He's such a good sharer!  If it was me, I would've eaten them all myself!!


What can I say about Kembry?  She just twirls and sings.  She can ignore us better than any teenager.  Time-out has no effect on her (it's one of her many super-powers) and she can beat up her older brother.  Another super-power: the pouty-lip, teary-eyed, angel-face whenever she's in trouble.  I hate this face.  It's my kryptonite, and she knows it.

Inconclusive

I have this wonderful Aunt who has the audacity to believe in me.  January first she sends me a very kind e-mail with an attatched New Years Resolution (for me, keep in mind.)  It was to write a book.  I owed her an outline by January 31st.

Needless to say, what with my awesome ability of flakiness, mixed with the shock of pregnancy and the joys of morning sickness, I didn't get it to her.

The sick thing, reader, is that I have an outline.  I have several chapters fully written.  I even have a draft all made out in my e-mail. I have character development, plot lines, scene and sequel layouts the likes of which would put any story-boarder to shame.  I mean, it's beautiful.  And yet...and yet...

I coudln't quite put my finger on my procrastination.  Couldn't quite understand why, now that I have someone who believes in me, is encouraging me, loves me unfailingly (we're family, it's law) I shrink into my shell and cease to exist. 

Today I think I figured it out.  I normally write while I drive.  Um, please put down the phone before you call the police.  What I'm saying is I think about what I'd like to write.  Fiction flows through my brain so flawlessly while I drive, if I drove to New York I would have an entire book written; in my head.  So, as I was driving, I was writing.  I got home, opened up the ol' laptop, said a little prayer to help me remember (thanks placenta brain) and began typing away furiously.  I stopped, laughing at myself.  What is my problem?  Why don't I just buck up and send her a draft? 

People often tell me, "You should write a book."  Close friends, random aquaintances, family members, this guy I live with.  It's usually followed by something like, "I mean, Stephenie Meyers did it, you could too."  I don't really know what that means.  I don't know the woman.  I'm assuming these people are refering to the fact that the Twilight series is not sensational as far as writing goes.  But it has a beautiful plot, a lasting love story, and interesting characters.  Throw in some vampire love makin', you got yourself a hit Hollywood movie!

But I've discovered that I enjoy writing too much to make it a "thing".  The Irish in  me rebels at the thought of having to work doing what I love.  It's nonsense, but it's true.  The female in me, however, would love to give birth to my hard work.  Would love to see a completed novel, even if Auntie and I were the only ones to read it.  The mother in me would feel proud to leave my children with whatever pathetic creation my mind conjured up.

I have a great blogger friend who wrote a book.  She failed and failed and failed at getting it published.  She finally just decided to put it on the internet.  It's not about being published, she's saying.  It's about sharing what I've made.  She has a point.

I dunno. I'm babbling now. Are there any head-shrinkers out there? Any closet-writers like myself that struggle with overwhelming feelings of inadequacy?

Kelly Lost

Missing Him Already

Brett's gonig to Chicago for two weeks next Monday. 

I'm trying not to imagine firey plane crashes, terrorist attacks in downtown Chicago, mono-rail explosions, but I can't help it.

We'll blame it on the hormones, although I didn't have this puppy in me last time he left, and it was a nightmarish disaster.

I'm planning on no sleep and loooong days followed by nights where I actually have to take care of the kids and make dinner.  Darn it.

But more importantly I'm just going to miss the wrinkly old man (he's pushin' 30, ya know).  And I'm going to worry about him.  After all, eating out for every meal, having a king size bed all to oneself, driving luxury sedans, and visiting exotic cities is never good for the health.  (Yes, Chicago is an exotic city to some of us.)

So just a pre-pre warning: don't visit the blog for a few weeks.  It's gonna be nothin' but a boo-hoo pity party.  I miss Brett and he's not even gone!!  Haha!

Kelly Out