Flu, woodworking, and the week before Christmas

Over a week since my last post.  That feels like some sort of record.  Other weekly records include but are not limited to: the five day flu virus that WILL NOT LEAVE my daughter's body, hours spent watching T.V. and sitting on the couch, gallons of simmering liquid coming from pots on the stove and vaporizers, absolutely zero contact with anyone besides my husband and parents, and general seclusion.   If it weren't for a somewhat crabby eight year old that still feels good enough to run around the house but not good enough to leave the house this would be a dream situation.

Erick has finished up several big work projects and has been able to be at home for the last few days working on this baby in my bedroom.  Knocking out entry way closets in order to create kids' rooms creates a need for more storage.  Enter: more storage.

ALL of this wood was reclaimed from an old barn on my Grandad's farm.  Pretty kickin.

This is a picture of the opposite wall before E painted everything a delectable shade of wasabi green.  

Too lazy to get out of my chair and snap a new picture.  It's green like the other wall now.

All of this wood came from a home in Kansas built in the 1920's.

The room's not quite finished and still lacks the floors being lacquered and baseboards added.

Can't wait to have a bedroom with furniture!!

Today in my daughter's quasi-irritable mood, she glanced outside at her Dad sanding and sawing wood on the driveway.  She turned to me with a half scowl and asked me "Why does everything in our house have to be made of wood?  It's getting annoying."

After I silently screamed in my head for the twelfth time that hour, shot her the most annoying icy stare I could muster, I calmly explained to her that Dad had a gift for woodworking and some people would pay a lot of money to have some of these kinds of things done at their houses.  I picked up a woodworking magazine and showed her the cover photo of a handsome woodsy guy making masterpieces out of wood and said the word wood as many times as I could in that quick conversation.  Wood wood wood.

She seemed repentant as she turned back to the T.V. and soon began an art project with her brother.  It was made out of wood. 

If I don't get out of this house soon I am going to slam my head into every piece of wood I can find.

And around here, that's a lot.

December

I love December.  Especially now that most of the busiest parts are over! Best feeling ever.  

Recital time

School progam: How the Grinch Stole Christmas

Basketball.  This is less stressful now that my son knows the word rebound and defense.
Given, when defending his guy he looks like a bear cub with curled claws.  Gotta work on that.

  Thankfully, he can dribble and score.

These two, as always. Hoping they will get to peek down/up at each other someday from the stage/orchestra pit.  I have no doubt they will.

It's recital week, y'all

That means lots of practicing in tutus when Mom-is-at-rehearsal-every-single-night-and-I-can't-wait-until-December 25th-when-I-have-a-life-again, and praying that Dad covers all the bases.  As all good Dads do, he manages to sneak in lots of basketball and wrestling breaks.  I realize I'm maturing, because I used to cry a good bit during the merry month of December and find myself several times curled up into a fetal position in Erick's lap.  I'm sure he found it so attractive that I used to blubber all over him and tell him that he was my blanket.  Whoa.  Grown woman and Mother needing a security blanket in the form of a bearded sawdust covered wrestling kid wrangling Dad.

I also used to fret over my engagement ring getting scratches and seeing a speck of salsa on my khaki newlywed couch.

Thankfully times have changed and I have figured out how to take it one step at a time and sweat the big stuff.  I will probably be 80 when I figure out how to sweat nothing, but I'm trying.  Luckily, I still have my blanket taking care of things more important than over-emotional khaki couch curl ups.

And just because.....

Thanksgiving wrap-up

Kids, I'm sorry for the tremendous lack of posting in your online childhood journal.  It's December or the end of November - I've sort of lost track.  We went to Branson for Thanksgiving, had a bunch of fun, ate a lot of food, and watched some guys from Shanghai in really tight leotards. Other highlights included car trouble in Springfield and a really ugly rental, Poppy's hurt knee and a borrowed scooter (loved it), cousin lip gloss application every five seconds, arctic day at Silver Dollar City, time share meetings and time share this and time share that, people watching, rock bin digging, Golden Corral-ing, BIG hair-ing, and general Bible belt Thanksgiving fun.  There is really not a more G-rated town in the entire Universe.

Branson, we thank you.  Time share salesmen....we thank you.  It seems my parents did know what they were doing.  And guess what kids?!?!  The deal has a lifetime transferrable warranty, so the fun will never end.  What we will inherit, your kids will inherit, their kids will inherit.........

Not really, but close.

Golden Corral, Thanksgiving Day.  I'm not even kidding.

Cotton candy.  Big hair.  This was an accidental capture that made the whole trip worthwhile.

Shanghai acrobats.  Squirming children.

Silver Dollar City

My Dad's new nickname is Rascal.  He was a blur of motion.  

I believe in this picture he was headed to the taffy store. 

We could barely catch our breath from trying to keep up with him and laughing so hard.

The rock hound left his scooter for ten minutes to fight pick over the rocks with the kids.

And, we're back.

Time for another audition. 

I have no idea what possessed me to capture the pure terror I felt in the dressing rooms

of the Civic Center the last go round, but here I find myself on the same merry-go-round. 

Last time, I did well.

Fully prepared to vomit on the floor in front of the conductor and table of judges, 

I did not.

I left the room smiling. I mustered a thank you.

Alas, conductors and panels require perfection which is what brings me to another three

weeks of practicing two hours a day.

Practicing several hours a day is so isolating, I am grateful for the rock licking squirrel that dwells by

by practice room half of the day.  He alternates between burying his face and tongue in the quarry that is my side door and popping up in a terrified state.  

I feel ya, man.  I have no clue why you're licking the rock, but the terrified.....I get.

Let's stare at each other for a few more weeks, shall we?

See ya in mid-December, folks.

Please forgive this narcissistic post, it's only once a year...

I realize this is a heckofalotta pictures to put on here.

I also realize we have found a photographer who can take a frazzled family at the end of a workday, 

plop them in the middle of downtown alleys and parking lots littered with trash, 

and produce insanely beautiful pictures.

Mandy, you amaze me year after year.

You guessed it

It's a new day.  My family is healthy, happy, and so blessed.  

I shall greet the new morning with a picture of my newest baby.  

Friends: meet wall.

Wall: meet the world.

My only dilemma is which color to paint the abnormally stained and disgusting walls circa 1984.

(fyi, the floors are still unfinished....)

Yes, the red is beautiful but pretty dark.

Love the yellow, but yellows are hard.

The green reminds me of nature, but will I feel like I'm sleeping in a forest? 

Thoughts?

Bob and Nonie

Erick's Mom and Bob got married last week.  

Give you one guess where..........

Congratulations Nonie and Bob!  We love you.

You say it's your birthday

Lessons and venti coffee from dear friend.

Sushi surprise from my husband.

Antique shopping with above husband.

Violin lessons, homework, and trick or treating my alma mater with Leia and Darth.

Great birthday, favorite month.  Here's to five more trick or treat events in the next five days!

(and thank you friends, totally over my paranoia.  Lots and lots of chocolate has helped....)

Privacy and blogging

I really have been watching too many episodes of Criminal MInds.  With that said, I decided to go into the search history of my blog this morning (something I haven't done in like a year and a half) and look at traffic to this site.  A reason I never do this is because it freaks me out to not have a clue where people are coming from and who in the world is visiting this website.  Seriously, getting thirty hits from an unknown source who is scrolling back years and years and reading previous entries of my life/babies' lives is sort of scary to me.  Why, I have no idea.  I'm sure they're like a close friend or something, but they never comment so I don't know it's them.  For crying out loud, it's probably a Mom sitting down with a cup of coffee taking a break from the craziness of toddlerhood.  Been there, done that.

I don't think this would bother me if I didn't have young kids, but it does.  I try to protect their identity as best I can and be as careful as I can about posting personal information.  But really, what does all that matter if people can click around on all the other people you are linked to and figure out more details about your life?

Again, too much of a certain T.V. show.

I wish I didn't have these fears and a name/face would show up on the 'recent activity' portion of my statcounter.  And if you are a no-commenter and are worried I am talking about you, no fear.  I'm obviously in the dark, hence this paranoid post.  As a person who rarely surfs blogs anymore, (and when I do I hardly comment) I get it.  Sometimes you're on and off with no time/care to sign in and leave a fingerprint.  There's no law against just staying for second, adding another nameless hit to a website, and logging off.  I do it all the time.

My husband walked in while I was typing this post and laughed at me about bringing up this subject.  My good friend who is also a blogger reassured me just to go private (at least for a while) if I would feel better.

I don't know what step I should take, but I'm confident shows depicting criminal elements and the internet have NOT helped my fears.  I'm just wondering if I am alone here or if anyone else feels the same way I do?  This really sounds like a plea for comments, but it's seriously not.  No commenters are still welcome and loved (as long as you're not a crazy maniac).

For real though, I either need someone to tell me that I'm crazy and these fears are totally unjustified, or tell me otherwise!  I love the ease of sharing our lives with family and friends in this online journal of sorts, but I love the safety of my family more.  I'm torn.  Husband says I'm crazy and no one cares.  I say they may not care and just be random visitors (but how am I to ever know?)

No more psychological police dramas for a few months......

Happy birthday Zoey

This three year old means the world to me.  The past year has been a roller coaster for my family and little brother, and no doubt this little girl as well.  I hope in the future we can all celebrate her birthdays and big events together, but for now she still gets two of everything.  Oh boy.

This year, it was a giant bouncy party one weekend and a quiet gathering at a Nature Park the next weekend.  Complete with a single Dad who brought the party in the bed of his truck (minus the plates and matches), and lots and lots of love.  Throw in a few suckers and a tantrum to end the afternoon, and it was a perfect party.

Zoey, we love you to pieces.