If It Could Always Be Like This:

Blow bubbles. . .

 and more bubbles. . .

 And more bubbles. Soak yourself in bubbles. Disrobe.

 Then grab your bubbles and run like the dickens from

the people who want to make you wear pants.

 Oh, the good life. I remember you. Today I blew bubbles with Olivia for an hour.

I pushed Emmerson on the swing for another hour. I took out my camera and used it.
I put away my laundry, and enjoyed it. (Maybe I'm done finding/washing/drying/matching
socks for the season? I could kiss sandal weather on the toes.) I made Thai food for dinner.

It feels like I haven't had a day like this since ratting your bangs was cool.
So grateful to have my little bundle of responsibilities tidily shelved and out of the way for now.

Dear the good life: it's so good to be back.

A special treat for you today. . .

. . .at the expense of the last little bit of my dignity.

I knew my mind was in a fragile state.

After a whirlwind weekend of residency matching, then listing and selling our house (glory be!),
I found myself at the market yesterday buying supplies for the last major event of my current relief society
career (glooooory be! I will be replaced on Sunday.)

I filled my cart, removed bouncy balls and cartoon dvd's from my children's lustful fists, made my purchases, then exited to the parking lot where I rested my cart against the front bumper of my vehicle in order to wrestle jaded toddlers into their car seats.

Out of breath and a little peeved, I then buckled my own seat belt, dropped my tranny into reverse, and began to pull away.

Looking over my left shoulder as I backed out, a strange sight sped into view: a shopping cart, loaded with groceries, heading of its own volition down the sloped parking lot and toward the busy street. I heard my own bewildered "what the?" escape my lips at about the same moment a sinister realization settled upon me: Mine!

I jerked out of my seat belt and threw open the door in pursuit, realizing too late I'd failed to put my van in park. Hopping backward on one leg, I clung to the door of my rolling vehicle and managed to pull myself back in and stomp the brake. With the cart now far beyond reach, further action was futile. I'd have to watch helplessly as it rolled its ill-fated course.

Time slowed. Two leather-clad moto men idled across the street, eyes wide, as the rogue groceries raced across traffic, narrowly missing cars, and careened into an adjoining lot brimming with unsuspecting parked vehicles. The men looked searchingly in my direction. They caught my eye before I could duck out, so i shrugged my shoulders and shook my head as if to ask, "Where in the world did that come from?"

They shrugged back, and we three watched as the cart settled its sights on a shiny gold Buick. I groaned as it plowed with all its might into the Buick's rear bumper and ricocheted off toward a black SUV. Praise the Good Samaritan who threw himself between the cart and its next victim, grabbed it, and guided it to rest at the foot of a light pole. 10 points of good karma to you, sir.

I sat a while in disbelief at all that had transpired. My pulse was audible, but not as loud as my one thought: "Kate, you are an IDIOT."

Olivia brought me back to the moment with her query, "Where we going?"
"To assess the damage," I replied.

I waited a good five minutes, giving any witnesses a chance to move along, before I could muster the courage to drive over to my cart. Sheepishly, I transferred bags from cart to trunk and noticed that, for all the ruckus, not even an egg was cracked and only the ginger ale seemed a little shaken.

Next, I walked over to the Buick, my Geico card and cell phone in hand. (And would car insurance cover such an event?) To my shock and immense relief, there was not a scratch. Nary a skid mark. Nothing to show for the trauma that bumper had endured minutes before. Buick, I think I love you.

Unable to leave my children alone in my van in order to walk the cart back, I held it at arm's length out my window and drove it slowly to its home.

Perhaps some bystander watched this whole event transpire and later had a good laugh over dinner with friends. Someday soon perhaps I, too, will have a good laugh about this over dinner with friends. Today, I'm just deeply grateful nothing more serious came of my brainless blunder than a super-sized dose of embarrassment. It could have been so much worse.

Dear mind: So sorry I've been neglecting you. Tomorrow I will take you to the spa.

Matchmaker

Dear Family,

I apologize for making you wait 36 hours to find out where we are moving for Caleb's residency while we filmed, tried to upload, tried to edit, and tried to publish this little ditty, and failed miserably. All of our technology is ailing and in desperate need of replacement.

Thanks to our friends for letting us borrow their new technology for a minute to get this done. Worth the wait? Definitely not. But here you go.

Patio/Firepit

Thanks so very much for your encouraging and helpful feedback on the house.

Here are pictures of Caleb's patio/firepit project.

(When I told Caleb he was going to make the blog with this one, he just about died from joy.)

Our back yard, like most Pittsburgh yards, is on about a 35 degree angle, so this new patio is on the flat spot we had created for our trampoline.

Here it is:

No chairs

With chairs (thanks Barb and Doug. We like those chairs.)

We tried it out on Saturday night with a little inaugural fire, and it was pretty great.
Thanks, babe, for finding time to do this while working ICU shifts 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. Your rocking rocks, as do you, and you've earned yourself a blog nod, like it or not.

He also re-bricked our sunken walkway. Hero.

This Old House

*comments enabled for this post* *feedback much appreciated!*

Well, if you've ever wanted to see every nook of our little abode, this is your moment. (Even the yuck-o basement/our hoarding pit.) We'll be listing it as soon as we can read through the (copious amounts of) paperwork. I warmly welcome your thoughts, tips, and comments on these pictures and on the home staging (more light in that corner? that spot needs a houseplant?) as I plainly feel quite daunted by this whole process.
(All furniture courtesy of thrift stores, Ikea, Craigslist and generous neighbors who decided to upgrade just in time. We're not too proud to take secondsies.)

Main floor:

Kitchen:

 (Oh dear, that top drawer is skeewhompus and my sweatpant-clad legs are reflected in the stove window. Guess I'll be re-shooting...)

Basement:

(That is some super-classy-faux-wood-roll linoleum going on there. But a major improvement over the 1950's asbestos tile it covers.)

The bathroom:

Bedroom:
(Having the dangdest time trying to get wrinkles out of the bedspreads.)

Bedroom:

Bedroom:

And a close up of little cute faces (just for us friends to enjoy.)

And that's that. Caleb is working on turning our trampoline spot into a sweet fire pit patio paved in slate we harvested from the forest. Kinda makes me want to stay here. I'll post pictures when he's done.

Hope you enjoyed our home tour. Wish us luck.

Time out for Grapefruit

In a moment of personal brilliance, I knocked Caleb's laptob off it's perch and destroyed the screen.
So here I am online for the first time in a week. Emme is napping, and the laptop is plugged in to the tv screen,
preventing Olivia from watching "Super Why" while I type.
I have about 5 minutes before meltdown.

Our house is awash in packing boxes and I'm awash in paint touch ups and fixture replacements. House goes on the market next week.
22 days til match day, the day they'll reveal our next hometown. Weird feeling.
The kids are already tiring of life in "museum house," as they've dubbed it.
(Don't eat there, don't walk there, don't play there. . .)
It's a bit of a high stress time for all.


Nothing a heaping plate of grapefruit can't fix, at least temporarily.

Beautiful carnage.

 Ah, that's better.

Just a few more tidbits I want to jot down until the next time i get dibs on the tv:

Emme has started offering spontaneous kisses lately. She'll look sweetly into your face,
then lean over and plant one smack on your lips, "swak" noise and slobber and all.
And since she's indiscriminate with her kisses, we blame her that we're all now sharing another cold.

Last night Jane asked Caleb for a priesthood blessing to help her with the stomach pain she's been dealing with (side effect of arthritis meds.) She wanted us to listen in, so we all sat on the bed with her during the blessing. Half-way through, Caleb felt something touch his hand and looked down to see Olivia, head bowed solemnly, eyes closed, both hands on top of his on Jane's head. He retained his composure, to his credit, and we had a good laugh about it after.

Today I had to pick out a new toilet since our old one is leaking from the tank. While I tried to decide between two of the three options on display right inside the front entrance of Lowe's, Olivia decided the third option was best and had dropped trou and begun to wiggle aboard when I noticed her. She was also noticed by two entering mothers, their two toddlers, and a customer service desk rep, who informed me as I retrieved and reproofed my daughter that there was no water supply to the display toilets. It is my fondest hope that she was just being funny, otherwise I must look like even more of an ignoramus than I actually am.

I hope my dignity can survive this move. Please try not to think less of me.

Lub

"Lub" is how we're saying it this week, our pockets a'bulge with Kleenex.

(My Valentine shows his lub by taking on the majority of little-nose-wiping
since snot is my nemesis.)

On to lub day.

Lub day eve family card making:

Jane made a special card for Elliot, her true lub. she told me earnestly, "We're going to marry for ever and make all our dreams come true."
She dictated this card: "Dear Elliot, BE MINE. Have lots of hugs and kisses, from Jane."

 Lub around the house:

Pillows and bookmarks for little lubbies:

 Hearts:

Including one of Malan's love notes from a secret admirer this week. It says, "To: Malan, From: You know who. Here is a hint. I start with E. You are nice. You can read."
(Caleb bristled a bit at his little girl's first love letter, but had to give the lad credit for prioritizing personality and brains.)

 Lub in the kitchen:

I'll have no need to go out to eat ever again because Caleb has mastered all my favorites.
This go 'round it was fresh spring rolls (2 dipping sauces) and Thai pineapple chicken curry.
What?! so so good.

My dippy little card seemed a pittance after that feast, but tradition is tradition.
I dedicated this card: "To My Valentine, because when life gets crappy, you make me happy."
I am pleasantly surprised by my own wit.

Would you like a peek?

 Heart girl does not have a mustache. I just stink at art.

I guess Valentine's Day can seem contrived. But I tell you what, in our frantically busy life right now, it was SOOOO nice to have an excuse handed to us all to pamper each other. And it was sweet my friends, so sweet.

To all of you:
I value your niceness and reading skills.
Have lots of hugs and kisses.
Lub, Kate


More love here and here and here and here

Winter Weekend

It began like most weekends, with one, then three. . .

 . . .then four babes piled in our bed.

 Later, a little music. . .

Some art. . .

 Some eats. . .

 And a few fairies, as per usual.

A well-rounded, bountifully enjoyed weekend by my measure.
Though clearly, as witnessed by anyone (hello neighbors) who stopped by today, we did not get much cleaning done.

Worth it.

Hope you, too, have a mess to show for your weekends' happenings.