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

When Mom's not home...

Everyone on the Potty Train! Choo Choo!

The Neff Parents are proud, and overly joyed, to announce that their wild thing is officially on the Potty Train!  Choo Choo!

I'm so proud of her.  There's a lot in the old-lady-at-Walmart-in-the-diaper-section saying: "Just wait until their ready.  They practically train themselves."

Amen creepy-slipper-lady.  Amen.

At least her robe was tied shut.

And good job Kembry.  Really.  I mean, we're already spoiled enough that she is so...how the Brett says, "Enchanting."  (Seriously, he said that.  Cute huh?)  But she really did just train herself.  She was ready.  She knew what to do.  And she DID IT!  And is still DOING IT! 

All the mothers out there can feel my joy literally seeping out of the computer as they read this.  It feels a bit like an electrical shock, but the good kind.  There's a good kind?

Kelly Out (of diapers!  yes!)

Planned Obsolesence: The Fight Continues

So here's an update with my ongoing battle to fight "stuff".

IT'S HARD!

Update finished.

Just kidding.  But really, this has been a very, VERY, difficult fight for me.  I had no idea how much I loved and worshiped STUFF.  Especially now with the Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Holiday's coming into play.  I love decorations, candy, little bowls for candy, little decorative plates for the bowls that hold the candy...the list goes on.

And goards.  Is that how you spell that?  Sure, why not.  What is it with goards that makes me want to just...buy 'em all up and put them on my table, so that I'll just have to take them off everyday for dinner, and then find storage place for them at the end of the year...really, they're a pain.  BUT I WANT FIFTY.  Any therapists out there looking for a lost cause?  Ya found one!

And Christmas ornaments.  What's the deal with wanting four million different, shiny, pretty, sparkly ornaments?  I must have them!  Alas, though, I will not give in so easily to STUFF.

I've even been struggling with grocery shopping.  Do I really need this item?  What if we don't end up eating it in time (yogurt, milk, cheese, etc) and then I just have to throw it away?  What a waste!  This battle with STUFF has really made me step back and consciously watch what I'm doing.

All in all, I've saved a butt-load of money and storage space.  Not to mention helped my posterity (hopefully).

Oh, and a really NEAT update: our recycling bin has reached it's limits every week.  Our garbage can for the last three weeks has had...hold it...wait for it....ONE BAG of garbage.  I had no idea how much you can actually recycle. 

I'm really greatful I stumbled onto that video.  Thanks to Kaci, Brad Call's wife, whose really funny and keeps a fun blog.  I hope it's changed me for good.

Kelly Out

Friendship

"Friendship needs no studied phrases

Polished face, nor whining whiles

Friendship deals no lavish praises

Friendship dons no surface smiles

Friendship follows natures diction

Shuns the bandishments of art

Boldly serves truth from fiction

Speaks the language of the heart

Friendship favors no condition

Scorns a narrow-minded creed

Lovingly fulfills its mission

Be it word, or be it deed

Friendship cheers the faint and weary

Makes the timid spirid brave

Warns the eary, lights the dreary

Smooths the passage to the grave

Friendship, pure, unselfish friendship

All through lifes allotted span

Nurtures, strengthens, widens, lengthens

Mans relationship with man."

I don't know who wrote this, but I've had it memorized since I was twelve.  I know I've found a good friend when peices of this poem come to mind as I just sit and visit with them.  So, thanks friend, for sitting and listening to my grumpy grumblings when I know you have so much more on your plate without me.  Thank you.

Kelly Out

P.S.  I also love the one that goes, "A good friend will stop you when you're about to go off on someone.  A best friend will walk beside you, giggling 'Someone's gonna get it!'"

But why?

Here's the thing: "Do as I say, not as I do" isn't gonna cut it with the Neff brood.  "But why?" will be on my sons eternal records, under the heading "Ways in which I tortured my mother".  Also on that list, I'm forseeing, girls.  But let's not cross any questionable bridges until we're forced at gun point. 

"But why?" is a question that will, without a doubt, follow me to my grave. 

The first place I go whenever I'm struggling internally with external signs of insanity due to motherhood: prayer. 

First step: beg for mercy.  Please, please make him stop.  I don't know.  I DON'T KNOW THE ANSWER, Lord.  I just don't know.

Second place I go whenever I'm struggling internally with external signs of insanity due to motherhood: prayer. 

I take it back!  I take it back, please stop testing me now!

Finally, I go limp.  Acceptance sets in.  Reality clicks.  I let the Spirit take over, and all seems to fall into place.  I begin to realize that when my son asks, "Why is the sun by the moon today?" that he doesn't want to know about the orbit of the earth, that we're on a tilted axis, and that his mother has NO IDEA what any of this means.  And I gratefully realize that I only have to give him the simple answer: "It changes every night."

Judges?  YES!  The answer is accepted, and a new string of questions is presented.  The kid needs to go into the CIA and torture.  I mean, if the CIA did that kinda stuff.  Which of course they DON'T!  Right...

And the Spirit reminds me, daily, hourly, minute by minute, every second, that he learns just like me.  Just like the rest of us.  Line upon line, precept upon precept.

Kelly Out

A Strange Decision

I've always kept a written journal. 

The year I worked in the Family History Department at the Church Office Building, I really felt  an awe and a love for written experience.   I got to handle century old journal pages, histories, birth records, death records, etc., and it was a wonderful experience.  I really felt connected to the hands that carved those letters. 

But I hate writing.

My hand cramps, I go too slow for my own thoughts, I mispell and have to cross out, it gets sloppy.  Sometimes I cry and it smears the page.  Sometimes I completely skip words, and it's not like I can backspace or insert the word I missed.  And I'm pretty sure the people who read it will wonder if it was a 7 year old writing, my handwriting is that bad.

But all of this I think is what will possibly make it that much more special for my posterity to read. 

Then again I've really enjoyed keeping an electronic journal.  Like, REALLY liked it.  I don't have time, or the urge, to do both anymore. 

I'm torn.  What do you do?  Do you hand write, type, or both?  Or none of the above.  Do you beam thoughts into the sky where a gigantic database stores all your experiences.  That would be cool. 

Anywho, I really appreciate the suggestions. 

Kelly Torn
I mean Out

The Goose is getting fat. Yum.

Since Christmas is only like...what...70ish some odd days away, I'm beginning my ritual of excitment.  I don't care who judges me (Breeeeetttt).  So today I'm settling down on the couch with a heating pad and four of my favorite Christmas movies.  Starting with "Santa Clause: THE Movie", oldie but goldie, followed by "Scrooged" (Bill Murray was old THEN, is he still alive NOW?) then "The Family Man" and to finish off a wonderful Get-Set-Christmas-Here-I-Come marathon, "Mixed Nuts".  Possibly the greatest, most hilarious Christmas movie made to date. 

And then in about 60-ish some odd days, I'll start the Christmas shopping =)

Kelly Out