Boo!

Cutest. Mouse. Ever.

We call this the "Inside-Out Cheerleader", or, "Will the Real Slim Kembry Please Stand Up?"

Happy Halloween World Wide Web Buddies!

Life in the Slammer

This flu has turned into the nastiest sore throat this side of the larynx.  I couldn't swallow pooh, if I wanted to, which I don't, but if I did, I couldn't.

Onto other news...

I had my classroom-party-initiation on Thursday in Cohen's Kindergarten class.  It was sticky, to say the least.

And, when we were filling up the kids bags with copious and dangerous amounts of candy, all the other parents favored their child, while I, like the dope I am, spread them out evenly and fairly.  Cohen went home with only TWO Kit-Kats.  How can I live on only TWO Kit-Kats I ask you?  Not well.  Not well at all.

Kembry is...evil, let's move on.

Chloe is a patient baby.  When she wakes up screaming for the milk-bag in the middle of the night, she stops as soon as I turn on the light, and sits quietly until I get everything prepared, including turning on the t.v. full blast to give my husband a taste of my medicine.  If I'm up, so will you be.

But then the little snot latches and just sits there, looking at me, as if to say, "That's right, I'm taking my time, and there ain't nuttin' you can do about it, neither."  Her Kembryesque style is coming along nicely.

So there's an update. I would blog more, but they only let me out every two hours for ten minutes to feed the baby, and then I'm back in the slammer, cooking, cleaning, wiping butts and kicking them at the same time.

Kelly Out

P.S. Cohen has caught whatever it is that's taken up home in my throat.  On Halloween.  I'm the worst mom EVER.  Time to dope him up and send him out to fetch me some candy.

An Observation

Yesterday we went to my step-moms office so she could show off her grandbabies.  She's the bestestest grandma in the entire world...after mine, of course.

Anyway, (Hey, Kim, I found myself saying "Anyhoodle" yesterday!)  ANYWAY...there was a garden in the middle of the building beneath a huge window in the ceiling.  It was really beautiful, all tropical, with plants I've never seen, and would love to grow in my yard.  Psht, yeah right.  Thanks Utah alkaline soil...

Man, I get off the point easily these days...

So I asked Brett, "Are these real?  They're so beautiful, so unique!"

"Sure they're real, look," he said, gently pinching a long leaf in his hands and pointing to a brown spot.

That's how I knew they were real.

They were all so beautiful, and they were real, living there inside a building in Utah.

I told Brett, "They should put brown spots like that on fake plants, so they look more real."

That's when it hit me.

To make something look more real, give it imperfections.  How wonderful!

Note: I am so real.  Haha.

Kelly Out

Umm...

Overheard at 6 a.m. while Brett was comforting Chloe:

"Chloe, ugh, you have a milk mustache.  And beard.  You're a milk beatnik!" 

To me, this morning, concerning the lack of milk issue.

Brett:  You people drink milk like fish.
Me: Fish don't like milk, silly.
Brett:  Of course they do, that's why there's no milk in the ocean.  Duh.

I love my husband.

Kelly Out

You Could Be The BIG Winner

My fortune to the person who can get Chloe to stop crying and go to sleep.  Which is what she really wants to do.

Which is what I really want her to do.

Kelly Out

P.S.  My fortune contains $6.32, a button, a half unrolled bobbin and...a french fry?  Euw, how long has that been there?  And why is it in my wallet?

P.P.S.  HAHA!  I did it!  She sleeps!  Now give me that french fry...

"You should blog about that..."

Men.

They don't get us.

They don't get it.

They don't get that when my eye starts to twitch because the kids are letting the demons out for the evening, well, it's not funny.

It's not funny when my son pokes my daughter with his fork because she pinched him and then screamed in his face for no apparent reason and shattered every window in the kitchen.

It's not funny.

So when my husband looks at my twitching eye, smiles, and says, "You should blog about that," well, I sorta want to poke him with a fork and then pinch him.

Kelly Out

No Hyperbole

I have the flu.

And I hope that if anyone ever tries to rape, murder, or otherwise harm me, I hope I have the flu when they do it.  And I hope they get all my nasty flu germs all over their wicked little hands.

Because there is no punishment worse than this flu.

Kill me.

Kill me now.

Kelly Dead

Small Accomplishments

How do you measure accomplishments?

By how "un"insane they help keep you.  "Don't you mean how sane they keep you, Kelly?

No, I don't.  Shut up.

Some small accomplishments I made today:

I remembered what day it was.

And because I remembered what day it was, I remembered to go to Cohen's school to be a room mom.

And because I did that, I had to walk to his school, then back, then back to his school to pick him up, then home again.  I'm counting that as my exercise for the year.

Because I exercised this year, I took the rest of the afternoon off.

I "straightened" the living room.  That's more like a HUGE accomplishment, regardless.

I took a nap.  I took a 3 hour nap.  I slept for 3 hours straight.  I slept.

Hence, I'm blogging.

And because I'm blogging, Brett is cooking dinner.

And because he's cooking dinner, and not me, the kids will probably eat.

Because I can't cook.

Because I accomplished a lot today.

Because I remembered what day it was.

Love,

Kelly

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

"Cohen, pick up your blanket and put it in the laundry room please."

"What blanket?" he asks.

"That blanket, right there," I say, pointing to the blue mass covering most of my kitchen floor.

"Where?" he asks, getting upset.

"Cohen, seriously, right there." 

"Oooooh."  He picks it up, stares at me blankly.

"Now take it to the laundry room," I say patiently. 

"Where?"

"The laundry room."

"The one downstairs?" 

Ugh, because we have more than one.

Now, a conversation with Kembry:

"Kembry, go downstairs into the laundry room, into your hamper, and get your shoes."

 (Please don't ask why her shoes were there in the first place.)

Two minutes later, she has her shoes, on her feet.

Why can't boys be more like girls?  I mean really. 

Kelly Out

Time: A Thing of the Past?

Some people argue that time does not exist.

Scientist.  Theologists.  The guy whose about to miss his deadline.  My husband.

But it has to exist, because someone keeps stealing mine.

Here are a few of those thief's today:

• Cat throw up.  Thank you Harley.
• Dishes Dishes Dishes.  We're eating off the floor tonight, the food will end up there anyway.
• Laundry.  It breeds.  Cloning is possible, because my clothes do it in the washer, and then multiply exponentially in the dryer.  Maytag has come a long way.
• Chloe.  I love her to death, but she literally sucks the time and life-milk out of me.  Every hour.  This would explain why she has more chins than the Chinese phone book.  BAHAHAHAHA.  Oh, my favorite joke.

If you see any of these offenders today, please apprehend.  Feel free to keep them.  And fold them.

Kelly Out

I Want a Raise

Kembry: Sick
Cohen: Sick
Chloe: Hates to sleep
Mommy: Asking for a raise

Daddy: Going to work.  Lucky son of a...

Kelly Out

Priorities

For the past seven weeks I have been behind on my domestic duties.

But I don't get paid, so I really shouldn't care!

Regardless, I've been behind, and it's been gnawing on my sense of well-being.  It's hard to get anything done when I have to stop and nurse every hour, and during that brief twenty minutes (please hear the sarcasm) my darling Kembry manages to destroy any progress I've made.  She's got a talent, that one.

And so I started getting a little resentful.  Lack of sleep and sore nipples can do that to a person.  I started resenting my obligations, my daughter, and even Chloe.  The ironic thing is that I resented my obligations because I so much just wanted to sit and hold my baby and play with Kembry, and I resented the two of them because they were keeping me from getting my work done.

The mind of a woman is a scaaaary place, my friends.

Needless to say, this issue and guilt have been a major part of my prayers lately.  Please let me be able to accomplish something today.  Please let me get a chance to hold and coddle my baby.  Please help me be a better mother to Cohen and Kembry.

And last night Brett answered my prayers.  No, he didn't scrub the house from top to bottom while I cooed and cawed over Chloe (dang!)  But he said something that made the dim light bulb hovering over my head glow like the evening star.

Essentially he said there are priorities in life.  There are so many important things that you have to prioritize.  And he said, "Chloe is our number one priority."  (Note that he said OUR number one priority, not your number one priority.  I love that man.)

He asked me, "When you're an old woman, are you going to look back and think, 'I wish I would've done more dishes!' or will you say, 'I wish I held my babies more.  I wish I had played with my children more.'"

Well that's about the easiest way to prioritize I've ever heard of.  This morning, with a pile of dishes waiting for me since Saturday, laundry that needs to be put away, and a piano that needs dusting, I sat and held my baby and read my scriptures.  I felt zero guilt, zero anxiety, zero stress.  It was the perhaps one of the most peaceful mornings I've had in a long time.  

And while I know I'll have to eventually put Chloe down and stop playing with Kembry to do the dishes, my day has already been a successful one.

Kelly Out