Silky Bowling Balls

We went bowling last night with my *beautiful, talented, organized, brilliant friend Deborah and her family. Ellen had a friend spending the night so with both families there were 15 of us. It was a fun evening and I only smelled a bit like a smoky bar when I got home.

However, today my entire right side hurts because I had to throw a 13 pound bowling ball to fit my mammoth thumb into the hole. Being a **tall woman does not mean that your height is in proportion to your strength, although I want my husband and others to think that I am an incredibly strong and able bodied person. My husband embraces my strength especially at my weakest moments like; making me move a ***Phillips Sized couch when I am eight months pregnant, help re-roof the house when I'm nine months pregnant or pack and move as much as possible seven weeks post c-section. Then, when I think I'm strong and able to conquer the world he says things like; "Honey, leave that bag of leaves, I'll get it for you." or "Here, let me take your purse while your holding those 25 bags of groceries."

So, because I'm so **tall I have to use a man sized bowling ball and now I will pay the price for a few days because I'm not so strong after all.

Now speaking of bowling balls, the wedging of bulbous, blonde silky heads between my shoulder blades in the morning does not help aid with the recovery of sore muscles. There are too many blonde heads wedged in the bed!

* description requested by Deborah who wishes to be mentioned in my blog, but does not read it

**preferred description for people of my stature to other more accurate descriptions such as big, large or enormous

***refers to the need of a "tall" person to fit items to body type especially with the last name of Phillips

Learning to recognize my demons

I had a minor, no, major explosion at my 4-year old yesterday that involved chucking a cowboy boot at his head (that part was an accident), but he was so shocked and horrified at the way my voice had turned into something straight out of "The Exorcist" that he didn't notice the bonk with the boot. Later, after loving apologies he said, "Mom, you were really scary when you were telling me to get my shoes on."

My hormonal cycle seems to get a little more hyper with every child I've had. Before the giant mood swing sets in I usually get the hint that the time is coming by the choice of snacks I buy. I pick out the sickest, sweetest crap one can find on the Wal-Mart shelf. Like, red frosted brownies or off brand pecan sandy cookies. I mean it is just gross.

Yesterday, when we walked into Wal-Mart, Isaac said, "Hey Mom, how bout donuts?" Well, of course you can have a donut (mostly because I wanted 8 or 9 of them, and because I did whack him with a boot). So in the parking lot I dug out my foot long bavarian cream coconut encrusted donut and thought, this is so disgustingly good! I could feel the sugar calming my need to pummel everything precious in my life.

I also bought two bags of Cheetos. I ate half a bag last night and just polished off the rest for lunch and started on the second after swiping it out of my unsuspecting daughter's hands. So, now that the roof of my mouth is all shredded up from the Cheetos I think I'll go find some nice soft chocolate, or maybe the can of frosting in the fridge to soothe my inner demons.

...because he loves me

Because my husband loves me....
1. He gave me Alison Kraus & Unions Station Live and put it on my ipod.
2. He continues to let me have a cleaning service come every week, even though we shouldn't be shelling out that kind of dough.
3. He gets excited about all my new adventures: chickens, music, books, gardens, design ideas, writing a blog, organizing the house, and on and on and on.
4. He tells me, "You were the prettiest girl there", in a crowd of undeniably beautiful women.
5. When I'm pregnant, fat, swollen, zit faced, lumpy butt, greasy haired, morning breath he still desires me.
6. He laughs at all my jokes and makes fun of me in hysterical ways that make me laugh so hard I cry.
7. Sings along in his best opera voice to my made up songs.
8. Cleans up after dinner.
9. Stays up late to watch a movie with me when he's dog tired.
10. Calls me from work to just say, "Hi".

This list could go on for hundreds of points, but these are the ones I feel like sharing. I'm a very blessed woman to have this man.

The Screaming Woman Unleashed

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. We celebrated with all the homeschoolers from our church. My dear friend D. said, "Hey wanna have a party?" I said, "Yeah!" So we sketched out a plan, made calls and voila instant party with 54ish kids and 13 moms. It all went really well until after lunch the 54ish kids had no direction or planned activity to follow. One of the games was "jump the river", you lay two ropes parallel and spread them farther apart each time a kid jumps over until they start "falling in". Well the ropes turned into an instant tug of war game run amuck with all ages pulling and screaming, it was all good. I was standing watching the mayhem unfold when I notice one of the 5 year olds stuck in the middle of the rope panicking and the two sides were pulling while he was saying, "No, No, No". It's funny that of all the moms surrounding the scene I am the one that screams, "STOP IT!!! STOP IT!!!!" in my most hysterical authoritative voice. Well, it had an instant reaction those kids scattered like roaches when you turn the light on. I grabbed the rope and rolled it up and said something like, "that'll be enough of that..hah ha ha ha ha". Then I realized, I'm the only one that reacted to that. Am I a control freak? Fast forward 40 minutes.

We were cleaning up. My two oldest needed to go to their BLC classes and a friend was waiting to give them a ride. I had told Seth to get his socks and shoes on and get his backpack...twice. I looked across the room and saw that he had not moved from the chair he was lounging in, so out came my drill sergeant voice "SETH! MOVE! NOW!" The child catapulted out of the chair and I turned to see two or more of my friends snickering at me. Good grief! I am a psychotic, overreactive, power monger devouring all small children in my path that don't listen to me or cause chaos.

Did I mention that I was strung out on cold medicine and 24 oz of high fueled coffee? I had the jitters most of the day. Thank God I don't do recreational drugs, I would be a menace to society.
But, my sister told me today that I do have a very low tolerance for chaos. This is a true statement, and therefore I should not be the person planning parties for 54ish kids.

Just Stick It Up Him

When I was five Thunder entered my life. He was our black Standard Poodle. Thunder was the sweetest, smartest dog and the closest thing I got to a little brother. He lived until I was a sophomore in college, just died in his sleep.

Thunder developed a heart condition when I was in high school. Later, when I was working at an animal hospital I discovered he probably had heart worms. Anyway, we always knew where he was because his breathing became very labored, he sounded like an Orge rattling around the house. My mom brought home a prescription to help his breathing and sat it on the counter with a note, "Give Thunder his medicine." My sister ,Rechelle, and I read the bottle, "Give one pill twice a day." Okay, so how do you give a dog his medicine????? This was obviously too much for two teenage girls. My sister called our vet and asked how to administer the pills and the answer she was given was, "Just stick it up him". So I took the first round. Luckily we had a pair of yellow rubber gloves under the kitchen sink, it's very important to have the proper attire when you are about to stick it to a dog. Rechelle patted Thunder on the head while I held up his stump of a tail and nervously tried to get the tiny pill into his pulsating sphincter. I think I pushed it in about an inch and decided that should do. I have never seen a dog tuck tail and run to a door so fast in my life.

We tortured him a couple more times before one of us decided it just couldn't be right to be shoving pills up our dog's rear. Another call to the vet confirmed our stupidity and we laughed so hard we were crying. Poor Thunder, he put up with a lot.

Boxie Feet

Levi's feet are soft little boxes.

Ellen and I spent the afternoon shopping for nothing. She is beautiful, calm, sweet. I love the way she is growing up. She is the girl I always wanted to be. She's confident about her looks, she doesn't care that much about clothes (although that's changing a bit). She's smart and tries really hard until she accomplishes a task....like piano, she loves to play, I hated it. I love that. The best thing about Ellen is how much she loves her family. I've never seen a bond between siblings like Ellen has with Seth. I hope that doesn't change and I pray for a similar bond between Isaac and Levi.

Seth made his first goal in a basketball game today. No, I didn't see it.

Isaac makes me tell him stories about funny things like a monster that lives in the basement with the name Door. I start every story the same way..."Once upon a time there was a little boy named Isaac..." But on this occasion he stopped me and said, "No, no Door!" "You want me to call the little boy Door?" I question. "Yeah!" came his response. "Okay, once upon a time there was a little boy named Door...." "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah Door!" and then we both commenced to laughing hysterically.

Remember that time I said this blog was all about me and I wasn't going to write about the Fabulous 4? Weak moment of gushing pride.