i have two hands

I'm not feeling like myself.

I am mad at people that have done things to make me mad and people that haven't really done anything to make me mad at all. I'm dwelling on it all instead of forgiving them and loving them and moving on.

My knees hurt and I keep bumping them on things and screaming when I do. Knees are not something you want to rub all the skin off of, FYI, because you bump them on things all the time but you don't really notice until they don't have any skin on them anymore.

I don't know where my friends are to talk to. I feel lonely.

I took a pregnancy test (even though there was a 0% chance of me being pregnant) because I am insane. I think I wanted to see it tell me I am not pregnant anymore. It told me I am not pregnant anymore. I knew it would, obviously, but after the SIX tests that told me I was pregnant not very long ago, it tore me up. I am dumb for even going there. I am also out $5 for the test. I should be almost in my second trimester but instead I'm out $5.

Clark has been a pistol lately. Or a gun that is worse than a pistol but I don't know anything about guns so I can't tell you what kind of gun it would be. The kind that back talks a lot. Like he repeats everything I say to him back to me, but opposite. "You DO NOT have to take my game away. I DO NOT have to put my pants on. I AM being a very good boy."

I feel little pangs and sudden tiny stinging tears on and off all the time because I know I will never see my Papa again.

I am eating candy, as I write this, out of sheer desperation for a sugar induced mood boost. I hate candy.

on the other hand...

I have an amazing cozy house with a fireplace and lots of free firewood and I've been finding so many things I love at the Salvation Army lately and it doesn't matter if I like candy or not, I feel like it's okay to eat the pink Starburst because I have been running on the treadmill every night and my back and knees hurt but every time they sting I think of those with serious injuries and burns and pray for them and thank God for my healthy body. I have kids that are more amazing than could even be dreamed and DVR and a painting of kittens and some really amazing friends and family members and dreamy memories of being a little girl and playing Little House On The Prairie in my backyard while Papa mowed in his white t-shirt and shorts with white socks and shoes. And a cigarette. He always had a cigarette.

I love my life. I do. I thank God ALL THE TIME that this is my life. I'm exactly where I want to be. It's okay if some of it hurts or puts me in a bad mood. It's exactly where I want to be.

hello now

I just showed Clark (who will be three in January) Luke's blog and my blog and then asked him what he would put on his own blog for "all the people" to read.

His reply?

"A GHOST. A BIG BIG GIANT ghost. A punkin too and my best buddy Scout*, mom. I think a Scout story. Once there was dog named Scout. He played and hided in the grass. He hided inside of my own house and he said something to me. He said something about my wall. And about my blocks. He said that Wall-E blocks** are great to play with. And he said mooooo. Cows say mooooo. Tell them about me too. Tell them about my great planetarium house that glows in the dark***. And tell them about Scout too. What did Scout say? Did he say, bocka bocka? Did he say other things? He likes to say ruff ruff. HELLO NOW."

He just said that to me all at once, without really taking a breath, stream-of-consciousness-like. Can you tell he's my kid?

*not an actual dog, a LeapFrog toy
** these blocks-- they have nothing to do with the Disney character Wall-E except that Clark thinks they ARE Wall-E because they look just like him:


***he does not actually have a great planetarium house that glows in the dark, he just saw a picture of one the other day and thought it looked cool

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Neither LeapFrog nor Kid K'Nex paid me or provided me with any free product for this post but if they want to send me free stuff and/or money they are welcome to as Clark's Christmas presents are currently coming from the Salvation Army. Kid K'Nex and Leap Frog toys are two of his three favorite things in the whole entire world, the third being giant ghosts.

erin versus the milling tread

I fell off my treadmill on Saturday morning. No, actually, I fell on my treadmill and the treadmill kept going. I was stuck between the moving part (the milling tread I guess you'd call it) and the bookshelf behind it and couldn't throw myself off for a good 10 seconds as it moved along at 6 miles per hour, rubbing the skin off of my knees, arm, and back.

We have laughed a lot over how ridiculous this incident was and I feel completely stupid. The whole thing seemed like a scene from a movie, complete with the bookshelf breaking and me screaming and tumbling around. It really is a certain kind of funny. You know what certain kind I mean. The not-actually-funny-at-all-live-action-Disney-movie-guy-gets-hit-in-his-testicles-by-a-large-branch kind of funny. In fact, it turns out that treadmill humor is kind of a thing on the internet.* If you google "treadmill fall" you will be presented with many pages of "fat girl falls on treadmill OMGLOLZ" videos that were presumably created to entertain someone. (Not that I googled "treadmill fall" after falling on the treadmill like an idiot or I have an obsession with googling stuff or anything like that.)

On the other hand, it is actually not all that funny because I am in a lot of pain and it was quite frightening and it could have been much much worse. On page 8 of the "treadmill fall" google search results (so after the fat girl videos) I found a story about a teenager passing out on a treadmill and having so much skin rubbed off that she needed skin grafts and was disfigured.

Treadmills are dangerous.

I am so grateful that I made this realization after an accident involving myself and not one of my children. I am so grateful that I have been reminded to always take the safety precautions I don't always think I need to take. I am grateful for my newly heightened awareness. I am also going to have some seriously hardcore scars which is kind of cool, right?

Be careful friends. Accidents happen. Buckle up. Look both ways. Use the treadmill key.

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This is my back. This really gross wound runs from the bottom of my bra to the top of my pants. (Yes this is an intentionally small and blurry image. You're welcome.) Both knees and one of my arms have them too.


*I realize this is true of almost everything.

ghost of halloween past: because all the cool cats are doing it

(A couple of my favorite blogs have done this in the last few days and I have decided to join them.)

On Clark's first Halloween I decided to take it upon myself to dress him up like something I knew he would never ever agree to dress up like later.

Clark Kent.

He was only nine months old and I reasoned that he would probably leave the necessary plastic Clark Kent glasses on for around three seconds and that it would take me at least eight seconds to pose and snap a picture. But I had a plan! I nursed him until he fell asleep and then drew one side of the glasses on his face as fast and furiously as I could with a freshly sharpened waytooexpensivetobeusingforthispurpose eye-pencil. I nursed him on the other side; repeat.

I thought I was a genius.

Then I rolled him over to find the first side got all smudged as I was drawing on the second side, and then while touching up the first side, I got the second side messed up. Bad words were muttered and eye-pencils resharpened. I would get them so they looked okay on one side and then realize the other side was too high and uneven. I would fix that and then he would rub them up with his chubby baby wrists. Erase! Start over! Re-draw! I did not give up.

I think I spent several hours just getting those glasses right. Hours, friends. Hours with an eye pencil and a wiggling baby. A baby too young to go trick-or-treating or have any clue it was a holiday or be bribed to hold still. A baby who was wearing his costume only for me and my camera.

It's been two years, and looking back at these photos I am so so glad I am crazy.

(For Alice's first Halloween I didn't even dress her up. I hope she never reads this.)

you capture: fall

Is it weird to not really like taking nature photographs? Other people take them and they are beautiful and interesting and I totally appreciate that, yet somehow nature does not inspire me. I just like to document human behavior. Anyway. It's no wonder that I went outside with my camera and a vague notion that I would take some photos of plants and things for this week's You Capture theme, Autumn, but instead sorta just took photos of my kids.

Clark found a monkey bar.



Alice lost a shoe.

This next one doesn't have people in it! I have this habit of making miniature bouquets out of random crap I find growing, just to pass the time. I remember doing this even in elementary school during recess, often searching for an elusive four-leaf clover to add to the bunch. Here's the one I made yesterday. It's kind of pretty. It got weirder after I took the picture and added mushrooms.


And then we came inside and played "haunted house" under the dining room table. I'm not going to lie; this part was my favorite. I'm indoorsy like that.


As always, head over to I Should Be Folding Laundry and click through all the prettiness.

totoro, totoro

I finished Alice's Totoro costume/hoodie for Halloween. It is one of the cutest things I've ever personally laid eyes on. It isn't perfect (the whiskers should be something sturdier like pipe cleaner and there are weird glue spots all over and the ear shape isn't perfect) but it definitely gets the idea across and looks adorable on.

The whole thing cost me less than $10 which made Luke very happy. Hopefully he'll remember this in the future when she wants to be something (she actually picks out herself) that is more elaborate like Ariel or Eliza Doolittle or something and I need to buy real sequined $15/yard fabric.

As soon as it was done, Clark wanted to try it on. I didn't mind a bit because oh my goodness gracious-- HOLY CUTENESS. I told him it can be his to play in when Trick Or Treat is over and Alice is all done with it. I made this concession mostly because I want to look at him wearing it all day, every day.



And for those of you (so probably everyone but Dera and Beth) whose children are not obsessed with the movie, this is what the real Totoro looks like:




Now let's all sing it together:

things about me that embarrass other people but strangely don't embarass me at all

Thing number one: My brain is extra super good at remembering song lyrics and notes. I would feel silly and braggy talking about something I am this weirdly talented at but I don't think this is bragging at all because it is obviously such a ridiculous and useless talent. I love to sing and my brain loves to memorize notes. I hear a song once or twice and that's it; the next time I am shopping at T.J. Maxx and the song plays I am noticeably singing along. And by "noticeably" I mean NOTICEABLY, like singing nearly out-loud and making super expressive faces. I don't even have to like the song. I can love it or hate it or think it's really bland-- I do not discriminate. I just sing. Loudly. To this and this and this and this and this and this. Every word, every note. I cannot help myself. (And yes, I just clicked on each one of those music videos and sang along with them before publishing this post and just for the record the master list of these songs would be thousands of songs long. These were the first six that came to mind because I heard and sang along with several of them today.)

Thing number two: I talk to strangers. If one of my kids is being extra cute or funny or I can't find the brand of deodorant I want or I'm standing on a street corner and the light is taking a long time to turn into the "please walk across the street now, quickly, and you probably won't get hit by a car" signal, I look around and make eye contact with the nearest person and start chatting with them about the goofy situation we are in. Once we were eating lunch at my favorite Indian lunch buffet when I saw another mom with a baby Clark's age. He was only about three or four months old at the time, and I was totally in momfriend-making mode. The conversation went down like this.

Me: Oh my goodness, how old is your little girl?

Disinterested Other Mom: Uh, she's three and a half months old.

Me: NO WAY! That's how old my son is too! When's her birthday?

Disinterested Other Mom: Um, January Fifth.

Me: NO WAY! That is my son's birthday too! How crazy! Where was she born?

Disinterested Other Mom: (sigh) St. Vincent Women's hospital.

Me: NO FREAKING WAY!!! That's where Clark was born! They were born on the same day in the same hospital- that's crazy! They're birthday buddies!

Me to Disinterested Other Mom's Baby: Hey there sweet little girl, this is Clark, he is your birthday buddy!

Disinterested Other Mom: (pause) Uh, yeah. I guess.

Clearly not all people are people people.
This was around the same time that I totally gave up on trying to make friends with other local moms.