I DID IT!

Last year I actually made a 2015 New Year Resolution.
And then even more surprisingly, as of this morning, it is now safe to officially say: I DID IT!
I went to 515am Bodypump and Bootcamp for the entirety of 2015.

I wish I'd thought to do a formal "before" photo back in January. It honestly just didn't occur to me. I knew that I would stick with it. I knew that it would be transformative. I just didn't think to take a before pic. Here's the best I've got:

December 2014

I was in pretty good shape this time last year. I was going to BodyPump twice a week and lifting a "normal" amount of weight for a female. At least I'm just guessing that was what an average female is lifting in Bodypump based on the fact that I was lifting around what every other female in my class was lifting.

Then for NY15 I resolved to not miss a work out. I was already going to 515am m/w BodyPump regularly and showing up for Friday bootcamp every once in a while so my resolution was to go to m/w BodyPump and Friday 515am Bootcamp. Every week. The only legitimate excuses were migraine or being out of town.

And then... I did it. I went. And I went. And I went. I missed a few summer bootcamps while I was on vacation (but sadly, not too many. note to self: go on vacation more). I missed a few classes along the way due to migraines (but thankfully only like one or two!). But overall... I didn't miss. I'm always there. I've practically worn a hole in the floor from the door to "my" spot. I've become a fixture in those classes. People I don't know know my name. The instructor sometimes talks to me during the class (like, in her microphone). When I do miss, people notice and asks where I was.

Weird, right?

But it's not weird anymore... it's now my normal. Which is weird.

So, one full year of working out. What's changed? Well, I'm a heck of a lot stronger. The resolution was simply to show up. But I found that I started focusing on getting stronger and competing against myself. I didn't want to just show up and then end 2015 where I started. I wanted to keep moving up in my weights. Bodypump is all about high reps for lean muscles rather than bulking up. So for instance we might do like 100 reps of different bicep curls. I think I've almost tripled my bicep weights from what I was lifting a year ago. Now when I look around I'm lifting what most of the men in the room are lifting. Meanwhile, bootcamp has driven me in such a way that my doctors are thrilled when they read my blood pressure numbers on their charts. People assume that I've lost weight. Interestingly, I haven't. I'm a Weight Watchers Lifetime Member so I know that I have lost exactly three pounds. I think I've dropped two pant sizes though. Can I just say "weird" again? Physically, I've just become a person who works out regularly, intensely, for an hour three times a week. And it feels great.

It's also been good for me emotionally. I like to say "it's cheaper than therapy!" even though it isn't since therapy would be free on our insurance. So... yeahhh... it is good for me though. There's something great about going to the gym three times a week where only two people know anything about me. I just sweat and work hard and make weird faces and talk to myself in the mirror (usually something to the tune of "oh just do it!" when I'm about to drop a heavy weight). It feels good to set small goals (like add a weight or run faster) and then accomplish them.

This morning right after my last workout of the year I asked Chris to take my picture (nothing like looking worse in your "after" photos, right?). I was pretty tempted to just upload a picture of Chris with his big bushy beard as my after photo. Ha! But I can't find one so I guess I'll just show you what I've been working on.

2015: the year of exercising.
Now I need something to keep me motivated for 2016. Uh oh... any ideas?

This Morning

This morning I can't help but wonder how many Americans who are angry, scared, prejudiced against Muslims have ever actually really known anyone who is Muslim.

This morning I am worn out from yesterday... a day that began full of promise and list item check-offing. A day that crashed into a migraine with aura (the worst scariest kind), a sore upper back (the spot on my body where I used to repeatedly pull the same muscle and thus was freaked out that I might pull it again and be unable to move for days), and a sick Nils. Luckily, migraines with aura (though I lose my vision due to the aura and they hit fast and hard) don't tend to last very long (a few hours) so I was out of bed by the evening and able to help Chris when he found that Nils had thrown up in his bed and merely scooted over and gone back to sleep. So, with sore head and sore back I slept on Nils' floor and awoke periodically with him to "shush" him back into slumber.

This morning I keep thinking about Sarah Condon's latest for Mockingbird: Of Lice and Life and the Relief of Naming the Mother in the Room. Yes, yes, that resonates around here.

This morning I am relieved to have an email from the church where I have been the guest speaker as of late, telling me that people have been talking about the topic and anyone who has missed one has been worried about what they missed. Whew. I put so much work into teaching and it's hard to tell if people care or not. It's nice to know when they care.

This morning I'm thinking about the things that I can do while staying home all day with poor Nils. Laundry of course... because there is always freaking laundry. Perhaps I should pack for the wedding. Thanks to Kelly, grandmothers expect kids' hand print ornaments every year so I better get those rolling. I shouldn't complain because they are awesome and I'm happy to have them as well... but dang, Kel, you couldn't have chosen easier hand print ornaments to make each year than sewing them?! Those are a labor of love far above and beyond any pot of caramel corn.

This morning kids are watching Thomas the Tank Engine and I'm just thinking about how someday they'll be old enough to watch 30 Rock and they'll be like, "what is this crap? This is so weird! What year is this from?... and wait... I know that voice... is that guy the narrator from Thomas?!" and I'll just say, "Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!"

Mary Has Chosen the Better Part

Currently reading: still in the depths of Benjamin Franklin. As it turns out if you just read a paragraph here and there when you steal a minute or two to read... then it takes forever to read a book. Better than not reading though.
Number of cups of coffee gulped down this morning: wouldn't you like to know? Hmph. Yeah, like I'd admit that number. You'd probably send that info straight to my neurologist. I don't need that kind of blackmail information hanging out there.
Number of various to-do and check-offs and grocery lists and what-nots stacked up in the kitchen: too many.


I'm not the person who gets caught up in the Christmas consumerism. Oh Heaven's no. Have you met me? No, no, no. I am guilty of the same thing Martha is in Luke (10:38-42). Martha, as it turns out, is "distracted by her many tasks" (Luke 10:40).

In the Greek it actually says that she was distracted by her ministry.

So, what have I been distracted by this Advent season? Well, I'm teaching an adult forum on Luke. I spent a million hours stuck at our stove while I labored over caramel corn for librarians and teachers and various other people for whom we give thanks (side note: thanks a lot Houston December humidity for ruining so much of that). We brought cookies to the employees at the Goodwill near our house. We've got a huge thing of chocolate bark peppermint candy that needs to be packaged and given away. Gatorade and candy packets are waiting for the recycling truck guys to pass by so that I can run out with a cheering Nils on my hip. A hundred packets of Martha Stewart's hot cocoa we're made for the church Christmas party. I'm in charge of the craft for Nils' Christmas party so instead of being a "normal" mom and just buying some sort of kit I wanted to use things we already had on hand and created a bunch of snowmen for them to glue together. Of course. Logical. And all family gifts have been carefully created or selected, wrapped, and put away. Well, almost all.

Yes, Martha, I too have been distracted by my ministry. That's the kicker about Advent, isn't it? Even if you're doing good things, they can still be insanely distracting. And the problem for me is that I love it. I love all of those things. As my sister always reminds me, we all have the same amount of time and just choose how we spend it. I, for one, don't watch tv. And ever since my Facebook epiphany I don't waste much time online either. Thus, I have "plenty of time" (or do I?) for all of this other stuff.

Isn't it interesting that Luke notes that Martha was distracted BY her ministry and not FROM it?

My goal was to be finished with the lists after this weekend (which for us meant when I went to bed on Saturday). It didn't happen. Instead I turned into Martha, burned my arm, and stood crying over a pot of hot caramel. Had Jesus been sitting in the living room I would have stormed in and demanded that he send someone into the kitchen to help me. Man, I hope that batch of caramel corn doesn't turn out Like Water for Chocolate!

The funny (sad?) thing is that if I were caught up in the Christmas consumerism, that would be an easier habit to break. I think it's much harder to keep oneself from getting too distracted by ministry. Saying "I'm not going to spend $500 on electronics for our kids this year!" is much easier than saying, "We aren't going to give presents to our garbage truck drivers anymore" (because, duh, of course we are. They are the people we are more thankful for than almost anyone!).

So, what's the solution?

I don't know actually. Starting preparations earlier? Maybe. Typing up a list of things I do every single year so that I at least know what I'm in for next year? Maybe. Setting aside times for sitting like Mary? Yes. For sure. And, well, maybe giving up some of the ministry actually. Perhaps I don't have to do everything. Maybe the teachers don't care if we give homemade caramel corn or just pick up a bunch of Starbucks gift cards. Hell, maybe they'd prefer the gift cards.

But that's the problem. I don't want to give gift cards. I LIKE doing it all. I like handmade gifts. I like the thought and effort it takes. I like that my children see the work and love (and yes, sometimes tears) that goes into giving around here.

You know what would have lessened the stress this year? Had I not gotten rid of all my winter clothes last summer. I mean, in my defense, they were all way too big (woo!) but it is pretty damn anxiety-producing that we're leaving town for a wedding on Thursday morning and I LITERALLY don't have clothes to bring for all of the events.

WHY AM I BLOGGING WHEN I SHOULD BE BUYING SOME CLOTHES?

At least Advent is supposed a time of active expectation. Christmas is the time for joyful contemplation and celebration of incarnation. Maybe I'll just slow down for Christmas.

And maybe next year I'll do a better job at Advent.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree!

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, why must you provoke our poor Carolena so?

As it turns out, after several years now, I think we should go ahead and say with certainty that C is allergic to Christmas trees. Not allergic like sneezing and sniffling. Not allergic like a huge rash all over her body. Allergic like she is a little kid who can't keep herself from touching the tree (allll of the freaking time - like every time she walks by) and then breaks out in welps. Hives. Red splotchy itchy-looking allergies of swollen spots that she scratches at but refuses to admit hurt.

*sigh*

Poor Carolena. If only we could keep her out of the dang tree! It is very telling that she is my child that every year she breaks out primarily on her face and arms as though she has literally been snuggling in and hugging our tree.

She refuses to let me put Benedryl cream on her and instead sticks her nose in the air and says calmly in a snooty and dignified voice, "my body will take care of my body."

So I sneak it on her when she's sleeping.

This year we've finally realized "duh, this happens every year" and resolved ourselves to purchasing a fake tree.

And with that I announce the first resolution of 2016: No whining or ill-will toward or negativity about our fake tree! Not a word! Not a look! Nothing. Nadda. I will be fully excited and engaged. Because our poor sweet Carolena loooovvvvess Christmas trees. And, as it appears, cannot stay out of them. So we need to put a fake one out for her so that she can fully participate. Next year will be my first year of my entire life with a fake tree and I am determined to have a 100% good attitude about it. Because how could I do anything else for that awesome little spotty Carolena? And why did it take us this long to figure it out?

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, you are beautiful and you smell fabulous and we love you. Especially our cats who have consumed more water from your stand than you have. Thanks for a fabulous last year... at least until C is old enough to stop snuggling with the tree... which will be what like... 35? 37? 78 more years?

I Don't Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas

For pretty much every year of my adult life the adults in my family have struggled with what to do for one another when it comes to Christmas. The basic conversation revolves around whether or not to give gifts to one another and what exactly that should entail.

Perhaps I should sum up better than that: none of us needs anything. None of us (Kelly and Jimmers sometimes excluded) wants anything. And yet... all of us enjoy giving to one another. Christmas morning is kind of a bust with nothing to open (this is theory as it has never been proven. Honestly, I wouldn't mind just drinking coffee and eating julekake one year and seeing how it goes. I have a feeling it would still be Christmas. And man, if the coffee was unlimited... what a Christmas it would be! *gasp* OR next year everyone gets one gift: roller-skates! And then we take to the streets!).

So, this year we made up a new approach: no one is allowed to buy anything anything for any adults in extended family. Everyone is giving gifts to everyone, but all gifts must be something you already have in your house or made from supplies you have on hand.

The idea was one originally come up with as a way to encourage grandparents to pass along attic treasures that could be used/loved/displayed rather than sitting in boxes. But something wonderfully unexpected has happened: I've discovered a new level of generosity is involved in this type of giving.

Because there isn't anything of mine in our house that I don't want.

Yes, really. I get rid of anything I don't want. Pretty much the minute I don't want it. Which is why I have no winter clothes this year as last summer I got rid of them all. Genius.

So, that means I will have to be generous. And it's exciting! I can't reveal what I'm giving anyone as they all check my blog (or saaay they do...) and to be honest I'm not entirely sure what everyone will get, BUT I have to give generously as I have nothing to give from my home that I don't want. I won't be bringing a box of cast-off crapola to dump on someone else. I will be hand-selecting things that I see as treasures from my own home in hopes that someone else will see their value and treasure them as well. *wow* This is an unexpected result of something I thought would just be a fun zany new Christmas experience.

hmmm... I wonder how Trent is going to feel when I give him one of our cats...

"Bye-Bye Crib"

Carolena, July 2011

Carolena, December 2011

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

"Bye-Bye, Crib! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Daddy! Bed!"

Nils, December 2015

So far, it seems to me, if I fully enjoy and appreciate and pay attention during each phase of life, then with the passing into the next I do not feel sadness. We took down the crib yesterday for the last time and I feel nothing but joy and happiness for our little Nils. Our nursery furniture was a generous gift from Chris' brother's family. It was the crib that held our niece and nephew. I remember picking it up from them while they apologized for Isabel's bite marks along its edges. I loved the bite marks. I loved them the entire time our crib was in use. It was a tangible reminder of the children this crib has held - cousins bonded together.

The crib is in the garage now. Nils has been politely (and sometimes not so politely) asking for a bed for some time now. I finally realized he is ready. He's known for a while that he is ready. I just took a little convincing. I was worried that he would be up all hours of the night prowling around his room. I'm sure nights like that will come, but his first night (last night) went exceedingly well. He was indeed ready.

Carolena, being the fabulous big sister she has proven herself to be time and time again, got in on the excitement and insisted that Nils borrow some of her sheets and comforter until he gets his own. I think, perhaps, this was best for Nils - better even than having gotten his own things right off the bat. The two kids bounced off the walls in excitement over the new bed, Nils' eyes lit in pride as he exclaimed over and over, "Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you!!" and as soon as Chris got home Nils (ran for a tortilla chip and then) yelled, "Thank you bed Daddy!"

How could I be sad over putting the crib into the garage? It was time.

Soon, we'll pick up the dresser from my parents' house. We'll get the rest of Nils' room into "big boy" shape. And when that happens, the nursery furniture will find a new home- a home ready to welcome a new baby, hopefully a new baby who will ease in the pain of new teeth by putting more bite marks along its edges.

A Twilight Zone Christmas

If Carolena is the second to wake up, we like to get snuggled up together in my favorite chair (yes, I'm an old man and have "my arm chair") and gaze at our Christmas tree. One morning Carolena pointed out a particular ornament that my brother-in-law painted for me a few years ago. It is one of the very best gifts I've ever received and depicts Chris in clericals, me in a Donna Reid-esk red dress, and a small pink bundle in my arms.

"I like that ornament of you and Daddy" Carolena said and then she pointed to the one Bryan made last year in which our family has two kids standing with Chris and me, "and I like the one with me and Nils in it too."

"Look again at the first one" I told her, "I'm holding something. What do you think I could be holding?"

Without getting up to look at the ornament she guessed, "Meeko?" (her stuffed animal raccoon)

"Nope. I'm holding a baby in a pink blanket"I replied, "Who might have been a baby in a pink blanket that I held at Christmas time?"

She thought a moment and then in a very firm voice replied in all childhood sincerity: "Aunt Kelly."

If You Give Casey a Nativity Scene

If you give a mouse a cookie, she'll want a glass of milk.

People always check out nativity scenes.

And then people always look back up from mine and glare at me in shock. "Why is baby Jesus already in your manger?! It isn't Christmas yet!" and sometimes they even go so far as to start shuffling magi farther "east."

It happens every year. Every. Single. Year.
Evidently this is something akin to being a Grinch before his heart expands a bit. *gasp* Baby Jesus in the manger from the get-go! The horror!
And I don't know what I usually say, but it isn't this:

If baby Jesus isn't in the manger and the wisemen wait until Epiphany to get there... THEN...

Then why are Mary and Joseph there? Shouldn't they be traveling?

And if I remove Mary and Joseph too, then we've just got a nativity with shepherds milling about.
BUT WAIT!

If I'm planning to put wisemen in the nativity then there shouldn't even be any shepherds. Because if I have magi tucked away to make their grand entrance for Epiphany then we're going with Matthew's version of the nativity so it's a no-go on shepherds. And, actually, if that's the case, and I have a Matthean nativity scene then it isn't a manger scene at all! Matthew says magi visit the "house" (2:11). Hmmm... so if I'm going with wisemen then we ditch the entire manger gig all together. BUT...

But if I'm sticking with a Lucan nativity then we'll go with a manger scene... and instead toss the magi and bright star. BUT THEN the shepherds don't arrive until AFTER Jesus' birth so now we just have an empty barn. Except that people didn't have barns like we think of barns, they kept animals in little caves in the hillside so I've got to find a big rock and carve that out instead. SOOOOO...

So if baby Jesus isn't in the manger, and the wisemen are waiting until Epiphany, THEN why are Mary and Joseph not also on the road? Why are there shepherds milling about the manger scene? Who is making an appearance, shepherds or magi?! Should this all be taking place in a house or a small hill-side cave? AND WHY DOES MY NATIVITY HAVE A ZEBRA AND A GIRAFFE IN IT?!?!?!?!?!



gasp for air. gasp for air.
breathe.
breathe.

*evidently* I can't go for the "accuracy" of the timing of baby Jesus and the magi.

So, yeah, when you come to my house on December 6th, baby Jesus and all the gang (shepherds, magi, zebra, and giraffe) are all there in the very American Gothic style barn... just exactly as it happened so very long ago.

And if you ask me why baby Jesus isn't hidden away to be placed in the manger on December 25, I'll probably just laugh, and tell you that while I really don't care at all what other people do with their nativity scenes, mine just have to stay complete, because... to put it simply... I really overthink things.

Christmas Vacation

Our cats, Snot and Snot, are drinking all of our tree water. I thought that our tree was just taking up an enormous amount of water, but they've now become incredibly bold about it and just sit drinking the water like it's their own personal Evian bottle.

Someone has also been "nosing through the trash" and it's impossible to throw anything away in this house without C walking by, screeching that it's insanely valuable, and pulling it back out. Oh yes, I forgot that we needed to keep that Happy Meal box until the end of time rather than send it out for recycling.

Clark put up Christmas lights this year. Fewer than some of our neighbors but more than others and certainly much more than we've done in the past.

Aunt Bethany lives here too. I wish I could use pointer fingers to show where she is but... I have to use thumbs I suppose. Knitting, wearing crazy hats, hearing funny squeaky sounds... but there is something in the damn attic again!

What if the thing in the attic has put on an old funky hat and is teary-eyed and watching old Christmas videos?! Oh geeze.

Clark's been working on our toilet because "shitters full" - not really - somethings weird though as it keeps making a random flushing noise. Thank God I have a husband who fixes things.

Last year Cousin Eddie gave me the gift that kept on giving the whole year (a book of the month club that she made) and I opened the last one yesterday. It's actually the gift that will continue to keep on giving next year as well since I still have plenty of books to read.

Just kidding, Kelly. You're not Cousin Eddie. If I'm Aunt Bethany then of course you're Uncle Louis. hahaha!!! Oh HOLY MACKEREL - you're Uncle Louis.

Onward and Upward... Errr... Downward?

When it comes to my children, people are always telling me to "keep 'em little" because you know, "they are the best at that age."

I find this to be more than mildly disturbing.

Not that I don't think my children are fabulous... but because of what these kind of statements inherently say about the future: "Older kids suck" or perhaps "Life: It's all down-hill from here."

I don't believe that to be the case. In fact, I believe, if parents do their jobs right (which mine evidently did) older children are a blast. They come to your house with their own families and drink all of your wine and lie around on your couch while you care for the screaming grandkids...

oh wait.

*ahem*

I digress...

All this was merely to say that we are now a non-highchair family!
Forward ever forward. Onward and upward. All that jazz. Although... it was a HIGHchair so maybe we are technically onward and downward? Hmmm...

A while ago Nils decided he was ready for the booster seat (we have a window seat in our kitchen so he graduated to sitting in a booster at the table) and the awesome wooden highchair Chris' parents found for us when I was pregnant with C moved to the garage. Well, Nils isn't looking back... so we aren't either. And thus, as of yesterday when someone in need of a high chair picked it up from our house, we are now officially out of the highchair phase of life.

Just like that.

And despite the many recommendations of older people in the grocery store that I should somehow find a way to freeze time and force my sweet Nils to stay in a highchair forever, I am in fact not sad about it at all. Not in the least. I'm joyful that he is proud to be out of the highchair and in the booster. I'm happy that he is moving forward and would never purposely do anything to hold him back. I love that little guy with all of my heart and want nothing but the best for him. Why then would I try to force him to stay a baby forever? I'm thankful that Nils is growing and thriving.

So, red highchair, goodbye. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. Goodnight. Thanks for holding my babies. The littlest has announced that he is a highchair baby no longer and we know that another family is now thrilled to have you. 

And now we shall see what glorious things this next phase will bring... like not having to clean a highchair any longer (not that I did that very often anyway). And yeah, while we're at it I got rid of all of those little teeny tiny baby spoons too. Onward. Forward. Upward. Here we go!

Pause

Someone recently asked me if I like living in Katy.

And...

Well...

I hesitated before answering "yes."

BLARGH. I feel so guilty! I feel like my poor suburbia home was standing right there behind me about to say "hi!" and then overheard and turned away shedding a single tear (not that I would ever personify a city or anything). I feel like Olaf should have popped up next to me to jab a pointed stick arm in my face and screamed "you hesitated!"

Because... I hesitated. It was the briefest of pauses. But it was there. Yep, there it was. It was one of those just long-enough-to-notice pauses before my saying "yeah!" And I feel insanely guilty about it. I LOVE living in Katy. And yet, I hesitated.

I'm sure that the other person (Marriott, a classmate I hadn't seen in years) took it to be a statement on how I feel about my current hometown. It wasn't that at all. It was actually a pause to wonder how my "yes" would reflect upon me.

Ugh! Oh no! That might make me feel even worse. Oh, poor Katy suburbia, why must I continue to deny you?

But, the thing is, when we lived in DC (Alexandria to be exact - hellllooo Americana Quaintsville!) it was easy to proclaim our love for the area in which we lived. We fit there. It was diverse. It had seasons, real seasons for Pete's sake! We spent weekends at Smithsonian museums or trips exploring the east coast. People ask(ed) me how I like(d) living there and I shout(ed) "LOV(ED) IT!" before the question even leaves their lips.

And then we moved to Austin. And we lived in Austin proper. It was funky and eclectic. We went hiking and exploring and enjoyed life in another fabulously unique and diverse city. And once again, I fit in there and proclaiming my love for my city felt just fine. I was totally okay with saying I loved it there because of what that said about me.

I'm not someone who cares a whole lot about what other people think of me. But the thing with that is this: I do care that other people not misunderstand me. It bothers me when people assume things about me that aren't true. If they don't like the truth about me then that's fine... but when people think things about me that aren't true (even if they like it or agree) ugghh that gets under my skin.

So what does it tell the other person when I now announce that I love living in Houston burbs? I'm only living 80something miles from where we grew up. Do they then assume that I am a Texas cliche through and through? okay... I just typed out a list of what I think that looks like... and then deleted it so as to not offend the masses. If you haven't lived outside of Texas... we don't always look that great from outside our state. I'm an expert as I've lived in a whopping two other states one of which for a few months (that was snark in case you didn't catch it).

*sigh*

So, yeah, I paused.

Had we still lived in either of those other places I would have felt perfectly comfortable telling this old classmate that I loved living there. Because that fits in line with who I see myself to be. This girl doesn't know me at all. We haven't seen or talked to one another in about fifteen years. So, telling her that I love Katy was going to be one small slice of identity. Who is Casey now? Someone that lives and loves suburbia Tejas.

Is that me?

When we moved to Katy I met like one person my age who didn't wear sweatpants with a word across the buttocks and have big bleached out hair and bedazzled everything (and thankfully she quickly befriended me, hi Katie!). To be honest I was a little shell shocked by all of the... well... not Austin or DCness of the place.

And then we began to get settled in. We started meeting people at church and school. I got involved with the Y. I met people in our neighborhood. I became one of the regulars at our grocery store. We added another nugget to our household. And we found that Katy fits pretty damn well. We love everyone we've met here... including the previously prejudged-by-Casey-bedazzled. We've made friends (great friends!) and a life for ourselves. It's a life that is... well, it screams in fact... SUBURBIA!

We love Katy for its people. We love its small town feel and proximity to "tha big bayou city" (also said in a weird made up cajun country accent). Our church in Katy (which you clergy fams know has a big impact on life) is my favorite church of any church I've ever attended (which would be a total of six churches plus this one). We love love love the life we have here in Katy.

Evidently, as I learned about myself last week, Katy (the suburb) is like some strange ugly crush that I'm trying to keep secret. I didn't realize that about myself.

But here's the other thing it made me realize: anyone could love living in a diverse interesting exciting place. What does loving Katy say about me? Maybe it doesn't scream that I love guns. Maybe it doesn't say that I hate people of other race or religions. Perhaps it doesn't tell people that I prefer trash to recycling. Maybe it doesn't tell people any of those things... because I am none of those things. Perhaps it just says that I bloom where I'm planted. Hopefully, it tells people that I am willing to embrace where I am. Hopefully the next time I'm asked I won't pause before answering. I'll believe that saying "yes!" tells them that I see the good in any place and love meeting new people and sinking my roots deep into whatever soil we happen to be in.

And, hell, let's face it: evidently I'm suburbia. Did you see the list? {I love my church, my kids' preschool, my grocery store, and the ymca?} shit. I might as well sell the Prius for a minivan covered in stick figures right now. I guess I AM a stay-home-mom wearing reindeer pajama pants writing a blog for no one at 5 in the morning while I drink coffee and listen to whatever critter has now taken up residence in our attic. Hmph. The attic critter is probably wearing pjs, drinking coffee, and writing a more interesting blog than me. Well, just as long as its not smoking anything up there. Although... smoking a pipe with an attic critter miiiigghhttt make life in suburbia more interesting...

Wait... I'm a suburban "pastor's wife, mother, and housewife" - why didn't I realize that?!?!

Man, one stupid pause and my whole image of my interesting eclectic self is shot. Totally shot. Damn it Marriott! I blame her.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Thanksgiving

Last night Chris came home to two smiling children. They were bathed and in their pajamas and fresh-faced and sparkling. Those two sweet crumpets sat quietly together reading a book while I handed Chris a drink and politely told him that dinner was ready and that I just needed a minute more to finish my own book. It was bliss.

Oh wait. Nope.

Chris could hear the screaming when the garage door was still rising. Mine? Carolena's? Nils'? Who knows? All I know is that you don't speak to your viking mother like that if you don't want to see her fly into a fit of rage. I think my own mother's Brooklyn accent came out.

And yet, when Chris said something about our "rough day" I had to admit that, despite a few low-lows, it really wasn't bad. We got the house cleaned up and worked on a surprise for someone we love. We went on a first-ever-in-the-kids'-lifetime-trip through a big machine car wash which was a huge hit. We had a blast "hootin and hollarin" and as soon as we drove out Nils started chanting "again! again! bunny! bunny!" ("Bunny" is how he says "funny" which is insanely adorable, especially considering the number of things he finds "bunny!").

Last night once the children were in bed and the fireplace was lit and all was quiet and calm, I looked at Chris and marveled. This is the dream. Eleven years ago we were engaged and our families were gathering together for Thanksgiving. We were full of love and hope... hope that one day we would be right here. Right here with kids and a home full of love and laughter and yes, sometimes yelling and tears. A home full of real life. And it's wonderful. And I'm thankful.

Yes, it's messy and loud (mostly due to me and the minis). It's up and down and all around. But it's the dream we dreampt and keep dreaming. Someday we'll be really old (and tattooed) and wrinkled together. Chris will still be talking and talking and talking. Kids will be grown. I'll be... drinking coffee. And we'll continue to give thanks. We'll marvel at our old and shrunken hands and inspect one another's wrinkled brows and smile. We'll look around us then too and say, ""Look! This! It's the dream! Thank God thank God thank God!"

Dance Fever

Carolena never naps.
Never.
Hardly ever.
Okay, so when Carolena naps you know something is amiss.
"Something" to the tune of "get the thermometer."
Maybe no naps is a first Svendsen girl thing?
So yesterday when both children were sleeping at 3pm I should have known. I should have known that meant my Wednesday "study day" would be gone. I should have realized that both kids would be home from school today. I should have studied. I should have cleaned the kitchen. I should have studied! I should have ironed. I should have studied!! I should have thought to use that time wisely, very wisely.
I didn't.
Or did I?
I did THIS.
Luckily I could teach the Good Samaritan, Mary/Martha, and Prodigal Son in my sleep (famous last words) and hey, there's always Friday and Saturday to review! So studying is overrated.

Hmmm... I wonder how Sunday's crowd would feel about practicing the Charleston instead...

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

My stand mixer is broken. THE mixer from my viking grandfather's kitchen. THE mixer that made the julekake for our family every year, including the year I actually got to participate in the day-long kneading and rising and baking event! *sigh* Of course it broke right at the cusp of the busiest mixing season. Luckily, Chris is pretty handy and is (in theory, if he remembers, *cough*cough*) researching and ordering parts.

Nils is home from school with a virus running rampant through his class. He isn't contagious (remember last week's mystery fever?) but he is now home with a mom who was planning to use those school hours to study. Soooo... that's interesting.

I had a check up with my neurologist and came home with good news and bad. Which do you want first? The bad. I've been hesitant to post this news lest it be on the internet and thus become "real news" (ha!) as it turns out... drum roll for bad news please... as of now I am a tea total-er. It has been confirmed. Moment of silence for the death of casey's mint juleps please.

Okay, okay, so it isn't THAT bad. But kind of. For now, I'm completely off alcohol. Geeze, have two kids, finish with pregnancy, and have to stop drinking... how's that for some luck? We established that alcohol is indeed now a trigger for me and he said that it is up to me to determine which alcohols (if any) I can drink. If I choose I can go back to the whole "determining a trigger" diary-keeping and see what happens through trial and error. Given the drinks I've had in the last few months and their next day terrible ill-effects, drinking any alcohol sounds awful and for now I'm going to come to grips with the fact that it's a trigger and stick with S. Pellegrino. All that is to say, I've already been doing my "determine a trigger" work and so far all alcohol gets the axe. That's the bad news. Please don't do the whole thing where you grill me on this looking for a solution, "have you tried champagne? bourbon? white wine?" Yes. This isn't a sudden rash decision. This has been established with a doctor over a long time. Don't try to solve this. You'll just stress me out and stress is another big trigger for my migraines. Soooo... just feel bad for me (or don't) and pass me some gatorade, because...

The good news is that I asked him about how I keep getting dizzy when I work out (another thing I have probably conveniently "forgotten" to mention) which I assumed was a side affect of my drug. He said that there is a chance that my dizziness when exercising is due to my anti-migraine med, but that looking at my blood-pressure he thinks it is more likely I need to (in his words) "start drinking Gatorade." He thinks I have just gotten my blood pressure down so low that his guess is that I'm getting dizzy 45 minutes into my workouts because I need more electrolytes. So there you have it. No more juleps. More Riptide Rush. That's the good news. In theory Gatorade will fix that problem and I'll be back doing mountain climbers in bootcamp any day now. Plus, I have great blood pressure. So, hooray for that.

That's the good and the bad. Hmmm... the ugly? Well, it's "migraine season." Stupid weather. Pick a temperature!

Well, it's almost 9am and I'm in pajamas while Aunt Panasonic and Daniel Tiger are babysitting. THAT's also the ugly. Perhaps I should get dressed and go to the grocery store. I'm bad (or "good" I think) about letting the cupboard get pretty bare. So a trip to the store is a must today. At the very least apparently we need Gatorade.

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

no.
No.
NO.
NOO!
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

VIP: Nora(h) Smith

So remember when Kelly assigned me the task of naming people who have been largely influential in making me who I am today (obvious choices not included)?

I've got another one for you: Nora Smith. Hm... or does she spell her name with an "h"? I could get up and go get a yearbook from allll the way over there on the bookshelf... but... nah.

Nora(h) Smith was my religion teacher my sophomore year of high school. Yes, I said religion teacher. No, you aren't losing your mind. I went to catholic school. Roman Catholic that is, not catholic as in church universal.

But I digress.

Let's talk about Nora(h). I don't think Nora(h) actually liked me all that much. My friend Theresa and I were constantly getting in trouble in her class for things neither of us were guilty of doing. We would stare at one another dumbfounded and protest claiming our innocence while Nora(h) shut it down and instructed us to talk to her after class. To this day Theresa and I maintain that at some point Mrs. Smith got it into her head that T and I were the Regina Georges of the class and was confused as to which females in the room were actually riling up the masses. It was weird.

Again, I digress.

Here is what was truly awesome (and totally weird) about Nora(h): she owned (and probably still owns) like four outfits. She would wear the same four dresses and one or two pairs of shoes on rotation every single day. All year long. Every. Single. Day. All. Year. Long. I'm pretty sure it was four because I remember it wasn't enough to get through the whole week.

And she was really open about it. Wearing the same few dresses isn't a private thing. "I don't need more than this" she would say. I really looked up to her in that. Man, I wish I could get to that point. I am clearly much harder on clothes or buy much crappier quality though.

Still, I really don't own a lot of clothes. Well, "a lot" is relative I suppose. Let's see... all of my shoes fit into a single-row closet hanging thing. So that's what? Like 10-15 pairs or so. And all of my hanging clothes fit on a single bar in the closet. All of my folded clothes fit into the dresser with room to spare. I'm not down to a rotation of four dresses, but man, that's gospel. Take two pieces of clothes, Christ told the apostles: a tunic and a coat (Mark 6:8-9). Don't store up treasures on earth and stuff your dresser full of clothes you don't need... (Matthew 6:19-21). I'm working on it. I'm working on it. My desire to constantly rid my life of possessions is part being raised Treasure House, part Nora(h) Smith, and largely Casey self-imposed strict Gospel interpretation on possessions.

Why? Hmm... why, indeed. Well, for me, because I think American consumerism is a sickness. I don't think we possess our possessions. They possess us. I don't want to own anything I wouldn't be able to walk away from. I believe in tithing and in order to give generously I need to not spend spend spend on myself. If all that I have belongs to God and it is a question of how much I keep for myself... then I want to keep very little. I don't want to own a lot of clothes and spend a lot of money (relative term again) on myself when that's money I can (should) give to the Church. And what about the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31)? Ugh, I don't want to be "that guy" who has a closet full of clothes and shoes and *shit* while Lazarus lies at my gates naked.

But... didn't I just say I want some new boots? crap.

Someday that will be me. Four dresses. That's the goal. Thank you, Nora(h) for proving it can be done.

Thursday Morning Ramblings

Nils slept in until 8. That was the first clue that something was amiss.

He awoke flushed and with a low grade fever and spent the morning curled up on his napmat watching cartoons. He then threw up all over his napmat (which we are now about to learn whether or not it's washing machine safe) and is napping.

I went to bed at 7 last night with a migraine (a dull gnat-like-annoying one) that has lasted for a few days. I woke up at 7something with it still lingering. This is terribly annoying to me as I've taken my meds, but at the same time I'm very thankful that I'm up and at em and just have a dull ache and not a full-blown-unable to talk thing going on. And actually... it is starting to abate. Thank God.

Oh my gosh, Nils is sick. Poor little Nils.

And also, as I am guilty as anyone of my life revolving around me, I cannot cannot CANNOT get sick. I'm teaching as a guest speaker at a church in Houston on Sunday. My poor hands are going to start bleeding soon from being washed so much. I smell like vomit. Perhaps I should go change.

Oh, motherhood.

Thankfully Carolena is in a great mood today.

In other news: Carolena's teacher conference took place yesterday. It was so fabulous that we surprised her with a pizza and a movie dinner last night as a celebration. That kid. Her teacher had a glowing report about a kid who is thriving. It made me so proud. She spoke so highly of C's kindness to all of the kids and said the phrase "self-starter" a few times. She talked about how much Carolena loves to learn and how she is just an awesome kid. I was one proud mama. Sometimes its hard to see those things when you're the mom and thus the one getting screamed at in the midst of tantrums and insanity and getting the brunt of all of the tiredness. It was nice to hear that the teacher sees a kid who loves to learn and who is kind to all of her classmates and helpful in the classroom. It was rewarding to hear her teacher say she sees Carolena as a kid who will "rise to the occasion and thrive wherever she is." Yes, pizza party night indeed.

Umm... back to Nils. When C was his age her favorite song was "smah-smah!" and we were commanded to listened to Disney's Small World on repeat.

Nils' favorite song that he wants to hear on repeat and be sung to sleep with? "Holly! Holly!" as in... Weezer's Buddy Holly. Yep. I just tucked in a feverish little sweetheart by rocking him in my arms and cooing "ooh eee ohh I look just like Buddy Holly... uh oh and you're Mary Tyler Moore..." and when I got to the end of the lyrics I know he smiled and said "again! again!" *sigh* What a guy.

"I don't care what they say about us anyway. I don't care bout that."

Egg-cellent

I eat egg salad sandwiches (or just plan egg salad) nearly everyday. Yesterday morning as I waited for the toast to burn pop up from the toaster, I cut up some egg and tossed mayo and a pickle into the bowl. What a weird combo. And I thought to myself, "who was the first person to think that these three ingredients would be delicious together?"

She must have been pregnant.

Surely at some point in the past some pregnant woman put eggs, a pickle, and a blob of mayo into a bowl and started chopping and mixing. Then, when a nosy neighbor popped by and asked "watcha eating?" Preggo genius popped the last bite into her mouth and replied, "umm... salad." She tossed the evidence in the sink and thus egg salad was born.

Thank you fictional woman I just invented. You are awesome.

Man-Man

It is currently 545 am. I have been awake with a little guy named Nils for about an hour now.

Some might blame the time change. To them I say, "malarkey." I don't get all of the time change whiners. Do you go to bed and wake up at the exact same time every single day? If the answer to that is "yes" then alright, you may complain. Everyone else, get over it. If you or your children ever go to bed late/early or wake up late/early, then your arguments about the one hour difference on one night of the year are nonsensical. All of us are now dumber for having listened to you.

See, mean blogging. I just can't help it.

Instead of bitching about time change nonsense I'll tell it like it is: Nils woke up early (as per the usual) and for some insane reason instead of leaving him in his crib to quietly play (as per the usual), I let him come out and sit by me. So now I'm drinking coffee and writing and listening to Barney music and a happy little guy yell, "Man-Man!" each time he finds Spiderman in a Look & Find book. Oh, and did I mention he's dancing to Barney?

He just looked at me, smiled, yelled "Mommy!" and I got a big hug and kiss on the face.

I wonder if I'm going to have a cold now. I hope not... Perhaps more coffee will stave off the cold.

I let Nils get up ridiculously early. I probably won't do it again anytime soon, but right now, for this morning, it's pretty great.

Thankful

I'm having a hard time blogging. Not because I don't have a million drafts that I could post, but because they are all pretty mean. Eh, Slytherin.

So, instead, I shall be thankful.

26 things I am thankful for today:

Aardvarks because... two a's in a row. Of course.

Bees. We eat a lot of honey. Although, do you ever feel sorry for the bees? Aren't they looking around all of the time like, "I know I left that honey somewhere."

Carolena. Duh. She's something isn't she? That girl. Tonight after dinner I was cleaning the kitchen and she came skipping in and announced she wanted to help. She then dried pots and put them away and wiped the table and all that jazz. It was heavenly.

Donuts. No, that's a lie. I don't like donuts. Plus, I'm pretty sure they are the worst off all junk food. So perhaps I'm thankful for the fact that I don't like donuts. Never have. Not even as a kid. Except when I was pregnant with Nils, and then I loved them.

Eggs. Damn, our family eats a ton of eggs. We could win a contest. Hm... we should look into that.

Family. All of em. Especially Chris because he is my favorite.

Geese. Specifically the origami ones in my kitchen. It's interesting to me that I have had origami geese (okay, technically cranes) hanging in my kitchen for almost a year - one of them has a picture of Nils with an elf hat taped to it riding on the crane. And no one, not one person has ever asked about it. Evidently people just take it in stride that a photo of our son in an elf hat riding a crane/goose in the middle of our kitchen is normal for us.

Hunter. Where is that guy? I miss him. My broski. I need to call him.

Imagination. No comment. Get your own.

Jogging backwards. Sometimes we run backwards in bootcamp and I find it disturbingly fun... like the part that's disturbing is how much fun I think it is to run backwards.

Kelly. Red rover red rover let Kelly come over. And we'll go to the mall and find some new boots for me. Preferably with a tag that says, "narrow calf" because evidently that's a problem.

Learning. I love to learn. And I love learning whatever I am interested in at that moment. Thanks to nonfiction writers and access to google I feel like the whole world is at my fingertips.

Megan. Have I mentioned her? She's one of my bestest. I miss her too. Turns out her taking a summer-long vacation across the country and then having a newborn cuts down on the amount of time I get to spend talking her face off.

Nils. Man, oh man, I love that little guy. He is talking more and more everyday. He's reached the point where he seems to pick up new words and phrases everyday. He loves to chase the cats (poor cats) and say "come on, come on" while gesturing to me. He loves trucks and Ninja Turtles and Batman. And trains. And trucks. Did I mention trains? Or trucks?

Oranges. And they smell like Christmas too.

Pickles. Ever since I was pregnant with Nils and started eating entire jars of pickles I've drank pickle juice. Still. Not frequently. But enough. Weird.

Quiet. Oh, need I say more?

Reese's cake. Carolena and I made this cake for Chris' birthday and it was awesome. And also kind of disgusting in its too-muchness. Ugh. It was awesome. And horrible. Make it. Love it. Throw away what's left. Don't keep leftovers of this bad boy.

Scented pinecones. While we're on the topic of Chris' birthday. Oh my gosh! The kids made him scented pinecones and it was a fabulous treat! They went on a nature walk to collect them and c had fun making them while Nils was napping. We're doing that again for sure. And now that we've done it once and they turned out great I think I'll let Nils participate in the scenting part as well. Mmmm gooooddd smeellllsss.

Tent camping. As in, when the hell are we going to get to go camping again?!

Umbrellas. How could you not be thankful for umbrellas?! And underwear. And unicorns.

Voles. Seriously. They're cute.

Weight lifting. I might have an addiction to BodyPump.

Xylophones. Obviously it was between xylophones and x-rays and I've thankfully had more experience with the former than the latter. I went to private school so that's what music looked like. Xylophones, ukuleles, and harpsichords (pardon me, Kelly has informed me it was not a "lap harpsichord" but an "autoharp" details details). Of course.

You. It's nice to have someone read my blog. Thanks Mom.

Zoo. Because, #1 the zoo. And #2 are there other words that start with z? Kidding. I'm just really ready for another zoo trip. We haven't been since the summer. Hm... what's on our to-do list for tomorrow? Maybe I could make it happen.

For all of these things and more, I give thanks.

Nailed It

The proofs for the kids' school pictures came home and they were really cute.
Adorable.
Fabulous.
And so I promptly whipped out the checkbook, filled out the forms, and forgot about it.

Except that I couldn't "fuhgeddaboudit."

Because it was a freaking lot of money. For pictures.

So we hemmed and hawed and decided that really we live in the digital age for Pete's sake. We probably don't need to spend a bunch of money on photos in a time when, as I so elequently put it, "I could grab our camera and just take some great pictures in the backyard." So we tore up the check and then I cut up the form using the proofs for a top secret project. The next morning the kids and I had breakfast on the deck. I grabbed the camera to start "saving money in the digital age."

I think it went pretty well...

Feel free to hire me for all of your photography needs. I am available for weddings, graduations, birthdays, and bar mitzvahs.

Wah!

I barely got to see Kelly last summer. Somehow between kids going to swim lessons and vbs and families going on vacation, we were never home at the same time. And then along came fall, and kids went back to school... on opposite days of the week! So, I've seen my sister like five times (or less) in the last six months. Five is stretching it.

Noooooooo!!!!! I'm having withdrawl.

Some of you are like, "uh. who cares? My sister lives half-way across the globe."
And to you I say, "Phooey. Getting to see my sister is one of the reasons I don't live half-way across the globe."

Keeellllllllyyyyyyyyy 
(Read that like I'm saying it in slow motion and reaching my whole arm out depressingly at the cold harsh computer screen. Also, for effect, imagine my computer is an Apple IIe. Oh, why isn't it?! From now on you can always imagine that it is).

My life is better when I see my sister regularly. I grew up practically sharing a room with her as we shared one wall and a door that was usually open or being slammed shut in slow-motion across carpet and then later creaked open for one of us to peep through and sheepishly apologize. In retrospect it would have been cool (and by cool I mean she would have driven me INSANE) if we'd had a prohibition door.

Oh Dear Lord, I take it back. She would have been sliding that little door open at all hours of the night, waking me up just to say, "hey, what are you doing?" Argh! It's making me insane just to think of it!

In college my mom would warn us against hanging out too much lest we not make any friends. To which we claimed, "who needs friends?" and quickly developed our own language and drove backwards through the Taco Bell drive-through. Who needs friends indeed? I need Kellllyyyy!

Where are you?! Pearland? The Land of Pears?
The Land of Pears and Loose Women more like it. That's what we call it in these here parts.
Okay, we don't call it that. But we do now. Official decree Katy suburbanites: the suburb of Pearland shall henceforth be known as "The Land of Pears and Loose Women" because that is hilarious and I have declared it so.

Dear Kelly, Call me every five minutes. Come over. No, I'll come there. We'll meet in the middle. First we'll make snow angels for two hours, then we'll go ice skating, then we'll eat a whole roll of Tollhouse cookie dough as fast as we can, and then we'll snuggle.

Somebody bring me my sister!

Classic Casey

"I attended a monster truck rally once," I announced at dinner tonight. "Yep, my little brother reallllly wanted to go, so my dad took me and Hunter. I thought it was cool for about five minutes and then ended up miserable and throwing up in a trashcan."
Classic.

"I'm having a Halloween party tomorrow," I said to Kelly on Friday. "I don't have a costume. The problem is this: I told everyone I would wear a costume, I refuse to buy anything, I have an insanely limited wardrobe, annndd it can't be too terribly weird because I invited a few people I don't know."
"Don't you have some diaper boxes?" she replied. "Robot?!"
Duh. She's a genius.
And then I spent the rest of the afternoon creating the most normal costume ever if you are having a party and invited people you don't know.

Classic.

I fell asleep in Carolena's bed tonight while mid-sentence telling a bedtime story about how my dad used to fall asleep in my bed tucking me in. I over-committed myself to bringing baked goods to school this semester and have already gotten my reminder email about the next thing. Halloween decor came down today because we're done with that and onto getting excited about thankfulness. Who has any more time to spend on "creepy" and "candy"? Boooorrring. But the bat tree is staying. I love that thing. It's 8pm and my 7-730pm nap just didn't do the trick so I'm ready to hit the hay.
Classic.

See ya in St. Looey, suckers.
Damn. I haven't finished our St. Louis vacation scrapbook yet. From May.
Classic.

Parading

"It's costume parade day!" I said.

 "Go put on a costume!" I said.

"I don't care which one! Whatever makes you feel fabulous and confident!" I said.

And thus, the skeleton ballerina in witch socks was born.

The Wonderful Adventures of Nils and Other Assorted Things

I found Nils wearing one of Carolena's hats. I thought he looked so cute that I snapped a picture. I have tried like 800 times to upload the photos here, and it just isn't happening. The computer goes haywire (haywire? who says that?!) every damn time. Perhaps it is a message from Future Nils who has some kind of 2030 computer device that is blocking my ability to upload them. Considering the story behind the photos is that I found him wearing a big pink straw hat and took a picture and he insisted that I take about twenty-seven more, yeah, I would say Future Nils is happy they aren't getting posted. He heard the "click" of the camera, turned, posed and said, "Again! Cheeeese!" so I took another one and then smiled and got up to walk away.
And he screamed, "Again! Again! Cheeeeeese!!!"
So I laughed, he struck a pose, I took another photo, and got up to walk away.
And he screamed, "Again! Cheeeese!!!"
This went on for quite sometime eventually ending in a tantrum and fifty million photos of Nils in various pageant poses. And I do mean pageant poses.
What are they teaching this kid at school?

Aw, speaking of Nils at school... poor Nils pet an asp yesterday at school. Does that just break your heart or what? That sweet little guy. He saw one of those fuzzy little devils walking by and reached out his pointer finger to pet it. That just breaks my heart in both that my poor Nils was hurt and in its sad innocent cuteness. Evidently in addition to the pain of an asp, his feelings were pretty hurt as well. He told Carolena and me all about it when we picked him up that afternoon. Oh, sweet Nils.
If you've never been stung by an asp before, then chances are you are reading this from somewhere north of the land of anoles, asps, and humid Halloweens. Asps are venomous caterpillars. Yes, really. And you only purposely touch one of those dudes once. They're like crazy mini-porcupines (Casey science, not real science) who have quills instead of fuzz (Casey science) so when you touch them the venomous fuzz gets stuck in your skin and someone has to get it out (real science). Yikes!

Yeah, Future Nils is definitely using some sort of fancy technology to ensure Present Day Casey can't post embarrassing photos. Look, that cute pumpkin one uploaded in a cinch.

Blog updates: 
Reading: I finished Into the Wild (which turned out to be almost too fast of a read) and started The First American: The Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin which is going to be fabulous. The prologue was so good that I read the whole thing aloud to Chris. I then settled in to start reading chapter one and promptly fell asleep (it was 920... waaay past my bedtime).

Caffeine: I remembered the big container of 1/2 caff and this morning drank plenty of coffee but far less caffeine... so that's good... except that I had four scoops and now I'm about to get up and go make some REAL coffee. Hmph. That didn't work. 
Also, I've been thinking about how I have memories of my grandfather Clyde's (aka "Pop") coffee mug burned into my brain. The fact that all of my memories of Pop involve him with a brown coffee mug (which I wish I now owned) with the dredges of a cup of coffee in it, combined with my father's, sister's, and brother's, and my coffee... ummm shall we say "habits" (aka horrible life controlling addiction) is making me think there is something coffee related in the gene pool. Perhaps that's where the Rush name came from in the first place? I'm beginning to think someone overly caffeinated just got dubbed "Rush" somewhere back in our family history when humans were doling out last names. 
*Also, for those of you who think I'm just obsessing... you've just forgotten that I looovvvee coffee and my neurologist doesn't think unlimited pots is a good thing. So there is a legitimate medical reason for the obsession. Otherwise I would cease to drink water unless it had dripped through beans. And also I like to obsess about things. That's also in the gene pool *cough*jimmers*cough* AND also it's my blog so I do what I want. Start your own blog and talk about boring non-coffee related things. 

Hey, speaking of obsession and non-coffee related things, anyone want to talk about polar exploration?!

Tarantula holes in the front yard count: numerous. 
Number of tarantulas I'm excited to have living around our yard: all of them. That's one fuzzy bug! Those suckers eat roaches, y'all. Bring on the arachnids!

After asps and tarantulas who else is going to spend the rest of the day saying over and over, "that is one fuzzy bug!"? Well, if you clicked on that then you are now...

Caramel Corn Dogs: Bragging AND Complaining

Each year for the kids' school carnival I sign up to contribute "a lot" to the bake sale. The form comes home asking parents to commit to bringing baked goods and I return mine with my contact information and a note saying I will show up with "a lot - whatever that ends up being." This was my third year in a row so by now the women running it just know to expect me. Don't feel guilty if you don't bake for your school bake sale. Other people contribute things like underwriting professional face painters. This is my contribution. Everyone just does something and it turns out great.

This year, I filled a laundry basket and a huge bag full of cellophane wrapped goodies, looked at all of it and decided to add caramel corn. Why? 

Yes, why indeed.

So then I made a crap load of caramel corn. A quadrupedal batch for those of you who have the recipe. For those of you who don't... don't ask. I'm no longer giving it out. I've realized the gift of caramel corn is that it is a labor of love. Part of the gift is that YOU didn't make it and I did. So, not giving you the recipe? You're welcome.

 After babysitting the caramel corn for an hour, I started bagging it and laughed as the thought "caramel corn dogs!" popped into my head.

And then, "Ha, caramel corn dogs... damn, I have to make them now."

The good news is that they were lots of fun to look at and turned out fabulous (in my ever so modest opinion) and a lot of them sold. The bad news is that... they took FOREVER.

FORR. EV. VER.

Why did I think that making and attaching tags and gluing googly eyes and cutting and gluing ears and making puppy faces would be a quick activity?

So, the good news is that they were cool and different and overall fun to make. The bad news is they were a huge time-suck and stole my entire morning.

The awesome news is: google "caramel corn dogs" and see what comes up.

 Ha! Take that Pinterest (aka the place where imagination and creativity goes to die *ahem* not that I have strong opinions on that or anything...)! Originality wins again!

The Best Part of Waking Up

I have a new friend who has become one of those people with whom we say, "me too!" too often and I have the sense that we (or I know I for sure do) sometimes stop ourselves from agreeing because of it. Not that I then disagree - I just don't say anything and instead do a robot dance. Hm... with my personality now you don't know if I'm kidding or serious about the robot.

Judge's rule? I'll leave you guessing.

Last week her response to my comment that coffee has a strange power over me was, "me too. I even set mine up before bed and then think about it when I'm going to sleep because I can't wait to drink it again."

Me, "Yep, me too. Totally. I don't understand how other people don't get that. There are too kinds of people in this world: people who love coffee and people who don't."

Her, "Agreed. My husband gets up even earlier than me (she's an early bird) so I hear it percolating and get insanely excited when I wake up!"

Dear Chris,
I only wake up at 440. The 438 time slot for plugging in the coffee is available.
Love, Casey

Blog update: Current daily coffee intake is up to three cups minimum. Damn. I'll let Future Casey deal with that.