.::still blinking::.

In high school I sang a song with the line:
May God hold you in his hand

I was thinking about this today.

If he is hold us in his hand…

and he shakes it up…

is it like shaking up a jar of spiders?

:: the way my thoughts have changed now that I am searching everyday for things I love ::

:: being out of credit card debt :: tax returns ::

:: yummy + beautiful dinners ::

:: silly boys ::

:: big open sky ::

:: this free birthday card :: this free envelope :: this stencil idea :: this retro star :: this little pouch :: this pin cushion :: this wallpaper :: this wooden book, isn’t that your mom Sarah ::

We set out this morning to take care of the weeds that are taking over the alley between our house and the neighbors. They aren’t knee high yet and it rained last night so I thought I would be able to tackle this in an hour or two. Turns out that is not the case. My weed puller has mysteriously disappeared.

And the weed pulling gets a little bit challenging when you have to yell at a little boy every two minutes.

Stop throwing rocks at the neighbors house. Stop throwing rocks down the window well. Stop throwing rocks. Stop sucking on rocks. Stop eating dirt. After a brief dry heaving episode, we continued. Stop sucking or rocks. Stop biting wood chips. Don’t throw dirt at me.

Luckily for all it got really cold again and started to rain.

I wouldn’t trade this. I love a little distraction and entertainment while I work.

When do they turn from babies to little kids? Is it over night or a progression?

When did he learn to love me in return? How does he know that I can make his owies better? When he is sick or hurt, why is that my greatest hurt?

I think that I am not alone in the fierce protection I feel for him. I think there are those who feel the same about me. We are always someones baby. All grown up and doing my own thing, sometimes you need a hug from your mom. Sometimes, no matter how different you are or become, it all melts away and you feel the unconditionalness of that connection.

What are you?

I took a linguistics class in college. I loved it. The highlight being that I learned to write messages to my roommates on the message board using all the phonetic sounds and symbols. I am sure they were very appreciative.

:: shadows ::

:: animals ::

:: newt love ::

:: all of these words : kutless :: with a little love from JD and Turk ::

:: ikea opening soon near me :: this counter storage unit :: these mirrors for my new red bathroom ::these salt + pepper shakers :: this stair storage :: this watch ::

This post contains actual swear words, not derivatives of or rhyming words, but ACTUAL swear words.

A friend came over today to teach me to clean. The bathroom is nice and clean and now there are cheerios and popcorn smashed on every other surface. Her daughter spilled baking soda in me bed. Her son hit Gentry and my friend did nothing about it. Gentry cried the entire time. Her daughter sucked on both our toothbrushes. I cannot find anything because everything has been rearranged. No one bled blood though.

To this, jj replied:

Doc: Well, bring her along. This concerns her too.

Marty: Wait a minute, Doc. What are you talking about? What happens to us in the future? What do we become assholes or something?

Doc: No no no no no, Marty, both you and Jennifer turn out fine. It’s
your kids, Marty, something has got to be done about your kids.

I think it finally sunk into today, as the boy went flying from his stroller onto the ground smacking his elbow and forehead on the sidewalk, that I am the mother of a rough and tumble little boy. And that yesterday was probably not our last trip to the emergency room. Since it was his second for the year I am hoping it is the last for the year, or at least a little while.

Here’s to having little boys and Elmo band aids making things better.

Don’t touch that it is VERY fragile. Put that back. Put it back. Put it down. Don’t throw things. Don’t throw them at me. Stop running. Don’t hit me. Don’t hit the wall. Don’t hit.

Get the screwdriver out of your nose. Where did you get a screwdriver? You may not have a screwdriver with your big plate of air for lunch. Where did you get a screwdriver, I thought I put it away with the handgun and the machete. If you eat lunch, I will let you play with a screwdriver or possibly a small hand held rake or a really sharp knife. Those are the best sort of bribes, the ones with a little danger involved.

Done with dinner. Fine. Go play with your toys. The big plate of air has given him a jump in energy and he starts his evening of swimming laps in the kitchen. That is where the longest stretch of virgin terrain exists.

As I am about to leave for my very favorite book club, the club that I faithfully attend. He falls and splits his lip open and gets a bloody nose. His lip swells to a quarter the size of his head and there is blood. The kind of blood that makes me a little woozy and the kind that we don’t like to get on the carpet.

What is that you say? You have a dagger in your heart? Well get off the carpet, I am not going to be paying THAT carpet cleaning bill.

A series of calls ensue to mothers, doctors and ask a nurse; which I really appreciate being there at all hours of the day to ask my first time mother insane questions of. Does he need stitches? Of course no one knows with out having a look at him and so we head up to Primary Children’s Medical Center. Where they tell us that they don’t put stitches in the mouth unless you have bitten off your tongue or only bitten it off half way. This is good to know.

We head home with the most expensive sprite, stickers and neosporin samples on the planet. For the rest of the night we should be safe. Maybe he is hiding the screwdrivers in his bed.

I never feel like I am in an exotic local. I usually feel like Utah, blaaaaaaaaah. Why on Earth if you were living any where else, Why would you come here?

Then I am reminded of the beauty that I live in.

I love waking up and seeing the suns rays shooting over the mountains into the clouds.

I love how you can smell winter coming and feel crispness in the air before fall actually arrives.

I love the way everything, almost over night, turns from icky gray and sludge to green grass and peaking new tulips.

I love being so close to the mountains I can run in them, they are that close to me.

I love the way the sun shines and warms me.

So Italy and Japan and Hawaii are all exotic to me, but I love where I am. I like returning to my home and to the comfort I have always known. I am surrounded by beauty and most days I forget.