Me and Eloise

Have you met Eloise? As in at the Plaza? Hotel? I heart Eloise. What is not to love? She six, she know what she wants out of life...right now... and she has unlimited credit. (SIGH) But what I really love about Eloise is the statement she makes often. "Here's what I love..." and then goes on to list what she loves.

I'm having a particularly crappy day. So I decided to 'Eloise' it for just a moment, and make a list of what I love.

I love that my foot hurts because I injured it RUNNING.
I love that I can go outside and run, until I just can't run anymore.
I love that I have a doctor who takes good care of my injuries, and doesn't tell me I ought to be slowing down.
I love my Physical Therapists.
I love my insurance company.
I love it when Liam says Boobies, and wants to wear my bra.
I love having an hour in the afternoon when NOBODY talks to me. Because I've been talked out today, and it's only 2:30.
I love that I am for the first time in YEARS happy to be living right were I am.
I love that I have a good husband who takes care of our family.
I love that my children are healthy.
I love my crazy schedule, because I DON'T have to be home to take care of the dishes and laundry 24-7.
I love my spin classes and my yoga classes, because I get as much of a break, as I get health benefits.
I love my friends who are willing to 'bare' (with) my children.

I have more... but I'm sure your done hearing the me, me, me, I, I, I. Yet it's MY blog...
I'm glad I Eloise'd. I really needed it.

Shiny Gold Engine

Just a quick post about Elleory's school play. It was "The Little Engine That Could". Elleory had a part as part of the Shiny Gold Engine. It was a very lively production in which most of the characters wore roller skates, and there were over 250 parts and characters. She also had a part as a puppeteer, in which she danced with a puppet on a string. It was a very fun evening, and the Little Engine did finally get the train over the mountain!

Small Spaces

Anders still has a great need for small spaces to feel his most comfortable. This particular afternoon he wanted to watch a movie, on my bed in his "baket". He stayed in here for the entire movie.

Liam and the Big Stick

Liam has a stick 'thing'.

Every time we go on a walk he finds a willing stick to march along beside him. Naturally, as his mother, I worry about his eyes. So far no accidents. (We actually had to take him into the eye doctor on Saturday morning, to have a poke looked at...NOT from a stick, just Anders' finger. All is well, he has some drops to put in for about a week.)

The stick is usually the biggest one he can find, and if he finds a bigger stick along the way, well, he dumps the first stick and moves ahead with the better stick. Hopefully this is not an emerging pattern for later in life. Beware, girls!

This is the biggest stick he could find at the watershed when we took the kids to see if the snakes were awake yet. They weren't. But there were a lot of great sticks.

Writers Block

It's really not that I have nothing to write about...I just can't seem to get anything out of my head and onto the page. (Probably one of the reasons I've been sleeping so poorly.)

I'll let you know when I do.

And the Answer is...

no good. They were up to 'no good'!

I have a strange, yet very fulfilling, love affair with plastic boxes. All shapes and sizes and brands for that matter. If it comes in plastic I love it! It's a little like a friend of mine who loves women...doesn't matter what shape, size, color, age... if she a woman, he loves her. I love that those plastic boxes are the key to my sanity, my true well being. They genuinely embrace my O.C.D. and still love me back. They say to me, "Bring me your messes, your loose ends, throw them into me and I will comfort you knowing that everything has a place. Nothing will haunt you in the night by crying out, 'I have no place to be'! I love you because you understand me, and you use me." (This is all said with a smooth Italian accent, because plastic boxes are sexy to me that way.)

My wild sons were abusing those wonderful plastic boxes. There were up to no good. Each CRASH was a poor box being emptied onto the floor, behind the headboard of their bed. Trains, Lego's, Crayons, Matchbox Cars... pretty much everything I had painstakingly sorted and stored away into those beautiful boxes, and put onto the shelves (oh those shelves...) in the closet. (I won't go into how I feel about well planned closets...)

We've been so devastated by the willful destruction, (those darling boxes and I) we've done nothing to clean up. We figure, the best answer to give to those boys right now is "I'm sorry you threw your cars behind your bed, I can't reach them right now. You'll have to find something else to play with." Eventually, when I have a strong husband home to help me move the bed I will fill up all of those lovely plastic boxes again with the tossed toys, and we (the boxes and I) will feel better knowing, that everything is in it place, and that they, the boxes, will be fulfilling the measure of their very creation.

SIGH....

Need to Know...

I've sent the boys to play in their bedroom. I need a little time out. It's 10 am. I have a babysitter coming in two hours. Still need the time out...

From the bedroom I hear; CRASH...harharharharhar!!! "Let's do that again!!" "OK!!" CRASH...harharharhar!!! CRASH...etc...etc... this goes on for around four minutes.

Two thoughts go through my head, 1). What could that possibly be? and 2). Do I really Need to Know?

I love the part in all good action movies where the head guys says... "This is a 'need to know' problem and you DON'T need to know."

So really, do I need to know?

Probably not. But I can smell someone in need of a pit stop, so I'll go check out the carnage...

One of Three Percent

Boy am I ever lucky!!

I have a new medication to treat the inflammation in my shoulder joint. It is a patch that I stick on my shoulder every twelve hours. It makes me totally nauseous...like I'm in the first trimseter of pregnancy.

Not enough to throw up, but enough to notice that; I just don't feel great.

I'm one of the three percent of people who have this side effect.

Lucky me!

A Strange Revelation...

I went to the circus for the first time when I was 24 years old. Probably a good thing, as I was the type to run away to join up as a kid. Now I know better.

Revelation: I HATE SPRING BREAK! (Who ever thought of it is on my list!)

Reason: I don't want to be the Ring Master in the circus. YET here I stand...

I guess lion tamer is out too.