Breckin loves TBall.

Not playing it.  Reading about it.  Auntie Heidi- I'm lookin at you. 

He just turned 5, right?  What do 5 year olds learn in Kindergarten?  How to write their letters and how to read basic words.  Well, I'm sorry future Kindergarten teacher, Breckin is going to drive you bonkers.  Cause he knows how to do both of those things and now he's reading Berenstain Bears books.  What the what?

Last night, his foolish, ill-planning mother kept him out too late on a week night.  So, he rushed through a very short show, took a super-zippy shower, and jumped in bed.  I told him I would read the first two pages of his book and he could stay up with his flashlight on to "read" the rest on his own.  He usually complains about that and I get suckered into reading a few more pages and/or books with him.  No biggie, right?  Well, last night, he must have drank some "I'm a big kid and know how to be a good boy at night" juice cause I read him the first two pages of Berenstain Bears Play T-Ball and handed it to him to finish.

I wasn't serious.  Finish looking at the pages and maybe talking about what they were doing.  That's all.  I never intended to stand up from the side of the bed and see him:
                              Point his finger at each word "Billy swung the bat.  He hit it hard.  He did not hit the ball.  He hit the tee!" and say them correctly and laugh at the humor.  He continued on like this for the entire book.  He missed a few words here and there but, for the most part, I stood there with my mouth hanging open.

I grabbed him, hugged him, and told him I was very proud of him for reading so well.  I sent Daddy up to hear his new skill but by the time he got up there, he was done reading and almost asleep.  He's had this book for not quite a week and I've only read it to him twice.  He's real deal reading new stuff.  IN-sane, I tell you.  Insane. 

Again, I apologize to his teacher next year because I've taught Kindergarten.  I know what they are going to teach him and I know he already knows his phonics and his complex sounds like th, sh, ch, and tion/sion.  He's going to be bored and there is nothing worse than a bored student.  His summer school will consist of learning patience and how to entertain himself when everyone else is busy and he's done with his work.  Crap.  I'm not even good at that stuff. 

Oh, hell. McStuff with no pics.

Yeah, it's Monday again.  Yeah, I had another "1 lb week."  I'm not losing weight (well, technically, I am cause I am throwing old stuff out of the house and that's a bigger weight for me than my body ever will be) but I am losing stuff.  Slowly.  So slowly that the average person couldn't really tell.  But, if I just showed up one Monday with a miraculously clean craft room, this journey of the McStuff Monday would be a joke.  And a mini-series.  I'm going for a 6-season, epic battle with my stuff.  I will win but it's really hard for me. 

I have a hard time getting rid of my stuff.  Mostly, my craft stuff.  What if I need it one day?  It's raw materials and what if Breckin has a craft project for school that requires a small square of neon orange felt?  If I throw that scrap away, I'll kick myself for having to buy another one.  I'm not a hoarder, people, but I'm as close as you can get without the germiness and rotting food and inability to walk through rooms.  I have squiggle scissors that I got when scrapbooking first took off- in 1995.  I have fabric that my Grandma Mary used to have in her stash and have vowed to make a mini-quilt someday with them but haven't found the perfect pattern.  I have 2 oz jars of acrylic paint in every color imagineable cause I've painted with them- even if just a small drop- at some point in the last 10 years.  What do I get rid of? 

Well, this weekend, I got rid of scraps of paper, fabric, and ribbon smaller than my hand.  That was my guideline.  Know what?  I got rid of a large Nordy's bag full of scraps.  If I need them, oh well.  I still have a wall of shelves of other, larger pieces that will have to work.  

I still have those empty bins waiting to be filled and I still can't decide what should go in them.  The table is still cluttered with stuff but one of the boxes is actually just holding empty bins.  My next project is the photos.  I know we have multiples of most photos and I'm ready to pare them down.  They will all go in albums until the day comes that I can scrapbook them.  One of these days, you WILL see a clean room.  And then, season 2 will begin cause it'll take me even longer to tackle another space.  Who knows, I might interject another McStuff room in the middle of this one.... The fridge and pantry are looking mighty McStuffy...

A Letter to No One

Dear Zumba,

I heart you.  I love how nervous I was to start going to your classes but five minutes into the very first one, I remembered the feeling of dancing like this.  Zumba, you bring back my memories of the Valhalla at 12:45 am circa 2001 as well as my memories of The Club Bellevue Solid Gold Dancers way back in 1998.  I'm pretty sure I haven't shook my a$$ like I do in your class without some liquid courage EVER and the fact that I can now do this two times a week, makes me proud.   

The Zumba Gods have given me your best instructor, Jessica.  She is a mom like me and she doesn't show up with a body by Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.  She shows up with a real woman's body and can shimmy like no one's business.  We blast Shakira, Black Eyed Peas, random tribal African drum beats, and a myriad of FAST, reggae-inspired, slightly-flamenco-dancerish rhythms that would make Snooki pump her Jersey little fist til she fell down. 

I am literally dripping sweat half way into my Zumba boogies and I LOVE it.  I hate running.  I semi-despise Step aerobics class.  I hate boot camp type stuff.  I want to work out and not know I'm working out.  Zumba, I heart you the most cause I have gone from still wearing maternity clothes in February to wearing a SIZE 6 today.  Size 6.  Last week I was a size 8.  I could give a crap about the weight number behind it cause as long as I feel good in my clothes, I'm happy.  Granted, this size 6 pant is not from Abercrombie or American Eagle for people with no hips or rear end.  This is a mom-cut, natural-waist, roomy in the seat, Cutter & Buck size 6 but I'll take it. 

Zumba, I love you.  Sometimes, when we dance, I feel like Baby when she's walking down that white fence wearing her oh-so-cute denim shorts and doing a dance all by herself.  I find myself humming the Zumba tunes in the shower and washing my hair while salsaing.  I wish each and every one of my girlfriends could meet you and fall in love like I have.  I will forever be grateful to you, Zumba, for giving me back my body and filling me with the confidence that only dancing and sweating-your-face-off exercise can.  I look forward to Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings and only wish I could go more than that.       

Til next time,
Holly

Mmmmm. Food. (And, a funny conversation)

Although I don't do it as often as I'd like, I really enjoy cooking.  Last night, I made one of my absolute favorite recipes.  It's a Thai Chicken Salad with naan or nann or non or whatever the hell that Indian bread is called.  The salad hails from my much-loved, well-worn, tomato-sauce-splattered cookbooks:  Biggest Loser Family Cookbook.  It requires a lot of chopping and several different measuring spoons (which I can NEVER find cause Breckin thinks they are great as drum sticks/bath tub toys/hot wheel launchers) but you know what?  I'm finding that most mouthwatering recipes are the ones that involve a long grocery list and lots of chopping. 

I'm currently- like just spilled some cilantro on my keyboard- eating the left-overs of this salad and DAMN it's good.  Here's the ingredients:  Ground chicken, EVOO ::Holla Coeur d'A Olive Oil Company!:: , mint, cilantro, honey, garlic, ginger, chili powder, pepper, carrots, onions, cashews, and lettuce.  Combine them in various stages to make a dressing/cooking sauce, bowl o' salad, and hot, ground chicken.  I can't tell you the exact directions cause a) that would violate something and b) I don't have it right now.  A big, huge portion that I can't usually finish is 300 cals.  Yum diddly dum. 

Trust me, it's good.  If you only have room for one more cookbook on your shelf, seriously, go get one of the Biggest Loser books.  Their food is phenom and they really are pretty easy to make.  I pull about three meals a week from those suckers and they are good every.single.time.  For reals.  Tell me when you're coming over and I'll cook you some.  I heart dinner parties and any reason to cook something healthy and delish.  Let's make it a date.  You + The Armstrongs = Dinner time fun. 



Oh, ok.  I promised a conversation, too.  Here's the latest Words from the Mouths of Babes.

Breckin:  Mommy, guess what?  Chase I'll insert a vague name to protect the guilty Charlie's mom, Coach Julie Janie, let him drink lum.

Me:  Lum?  You mean rum?

Breckin:  No.  Llllll um (heavy accent on the L to show me he knows exactly what he's talking about).

Me:  What's lum?

Breckin:  You know, the stuff that pirates hide on deserted islands in treasure boxes.

(wait, when did Breckin see Pirates of the Carribean?  Cause I sure as hell didn't show him.)

Me:  Oh.  That's not really a kid's drink.  You won't be trying lum.

Breckin:  I know.  He said it tastes like the sink pipes.

Alright.  Who can identify the major problem here?  The fact that a 5 year old tried lum?  The fact that he tattled on his mommy to his friends at school and now the whole PTA probably knows?  The fact that my child knows that pirates hide lum on islands?  No.  The fact that the kid related LUM to the SINK PIPES.  Why, on God's green Earth, does a 5 year old know what the sink pipes taste like?  Nevermind.  I don't want to know.

Gettin' Itchy

Here's something I realized:  Today, I was bored at work.  And, in the last 12 years, I haven't lived in one place for more than 2 years at a time.  Serioulsy. 

I went off to college in 1998, lived in a different dorm or apartment each year, moved into a different apt after graduating, hopped back home for a while, then to Issaquah from 2005-2007.  We've been in our Maple Valley place since Sept 2007 and this is the longest I've been in the same place since I was a kid.  I lived in the same house from the age of 5 til I left for college... so I should be content to be in one spot for a long time, right?  Nope.  I don't know why but I'm gettin itchy. 

And, not move across town itchy.  Like today, I was looking at property in Scotland.  And, how to apply for a work visa in the UK.  And job openings in Glasgow.  Like, it went that far.  Here's what else I realized.  I don't think I have the drive/guts/ability to sell our place and uproot my kids/husband and actually follow through with it.  For now, I'm content to have window shopped living in Scotland.  It would kill me to move away from all the people I love but dammit, my beautiful mother raised an independent, do-it-if-it-kills-you kind of girl.  I think if the house would sell and Dustin would be on board, I'd follow through.  What does that say? 

Here's the house that I think would be fun.

  Really?  What's so appealing about that?  Is this my mid-life crisis? 

Here's what I THINK is happening.  My momma raised my sister and I to feel totally comfortable on our own.  Went to summer camps for a week by ourselves at 1st grade.  Flew to see grandparents (not on our own) every summer.  Went to Europe with other students in high school.  Flew to see them in Indy in college.  Went to Cambridge University on my own in college.  Took the subway to London and stayed in a hostel in White Chapel late at night by myself.  I'm used to just up and doing stuff.  AND, I LOVED England/Scotland.  LOVED it.  I would live there in a heartbeat. 

I think I'm missing my travelling days and feeling bogged down by life and wish I was able to just go.  Only, this time, I want to bring my family.  I stayed in a house similar to the one above when I was in Cambridge.  I went to Scotland every weekend I could and backpacked across the Highlands.  I MISS it.  I want to show Dustin and my kids the beauty of that place and heck, I'd just stay there.

But, on the same token, I love my house.  I love my neighborhood.  It almost makes me cry when I think about how wonderful and loving and fabulous our neighbors are because I grew up on a street just like ours and I CHERISH my childhood.  They love my kids.  I want to stay where I'm at and raise my kids in the same house for the entirety of their childhood.  I want to give them what my parents gave me.  Freedom and independence and confidence.  I want them to have roots and wings.  For that, I'm just fine with window shopping my other life. 

A brick, drafty, narrow house with the washing machine in the kitchen and no dryer and a small garden in the back with wild guinea pigs and bedrooms too small for a double bed and a toaster built into the oven and tea 8 times a day will have to wait.... 

McFatty takes a Holiday

I really shouldn't be posting cause today is hectic so I'll keep it brief.

I cleaned some stuff.  I mean, I looked through the piles and resorted them into different piles that made more sense.  I made two bags of stuff disappear- one to the local dump, one to Goodwill.  I found that I have two totally empty storage bins and now I have anxiety over what to put in them- what precious things will get a new, dust-free home?  I have more scrapbook paper than humanly possible and my storage bins are ::this much too small:: to hold 12x12 paper so it's currently filed on the floor.  But, I went in the room and made baby steps of progress.  Consider this week equivalent to a 1 lb loss.... enough to motivate and feel like I'm actually doing it, but not enough to feel successful. 

In other news, and maybe it should have it's own post, so I'll insert a post title here....

Ella says stuff and I grasp at straws to think it was intentional.

When I change Ella's diaper, to keep her from reaching down and grabbing ahold of dirty yuckies, I give her a plush baby doll to hold onto.  I usually hold the doll above her face, say Baby Doll in the most embarrassing, goo goo voice possible, and snuggle the doll into her waiting arms.  She squeals/screams every time she sees the thing cause she gets sooooo excited.  It keeps her occupied and she has some lovely conversations with her Baby Doll.  Mostly, she eats her hat. 

Well, on Saturday, I put Ella on the changing table after she woke up.  She's squirmy and giggly and generally happy about life.  And then.  She babbles.  She says Da Da Da Da repeatedly and waves her arms around like she's trying to flag down a taxi.  Her consonant is very clear.  Da.  I repeat it back to her a few times thinking she's funny and grab her Baby Doll to distract her.  She sees the Doll.  She SCREAMS Da and squeals loud enough to rival any Beatlemania fan.  Did she just say Doll?  Really?  She damn near bites Doll's head off in all of her excitement. 

I didn't mention it to anyone cause I must be crazy to think my 6 mos old tried to talk.  But, I can't stop thinking about it.  She's seen her Doll since then and hasn't said Da Da Da.  What do you think?  Of course, I can't remember when Breckin first spoke.... I mean, I'm a mom and have severe mom brain.  I know his first word was ball... I just don't know when he said it. 

I'll let you know if it happens again.... sheesh.

Happy 1/2 Year, Ella Marlene!!!

Ella is SIX months old today.  I remember (barely!) when Breckin turned six months old and it seemed like an eternity from the day he was born until Nov 11, 2005.  So, how did this one fly by so fast?  Blink- she was born.  Blink- she's 1/2 year old.  What happened?

Ella is our missing puzzle piece.  She is the yang to Breckin's yin.  She is what was missing in our lives before we even knew about her.  Ella has a beautiful temperment, addictive giggle, sweet-as-honey smile, and endless love for her big brother.  Whenever she hears his voice- whether she's grumpy or happy, eating or sleeping- she looks for him.  As soon as she spies him, she grins.  She has her Daddy completely wrapped around her tiny finger. 

Here are the things that Ella can do:

• Sit up all by herself until she decides it's time to chew on her toes- then down she goes!
• Chew on her toes.  (Jos, you need to come teach her about stinktooth)
• Roll from back to tummy.
• Eat liquified veggies from a spoon- we've tried green beans, peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, yams, and squash, and yogurt.  She wants nothing to do with liquid fruits or rice cereal.
• Scream.  Squeal.  Babble.  Laugh loudly and get hiccups.
• Hug her baby doll.
• Suck her thumb.
• Get whiplash looking for Elmo as soon as she hears La la, la la.
• Reach for me, Dustin, Breckin, Grandma, Baba, and Denise.
• Eat apple slices from the food net.... greatest invention since disposable diapers.
• Turn the pages in a book.  Ok, so it's involuntary but I hand her the page and she turns it.
• Kick her feet wildly and destructively in the bathtub thus washing the kitchen (she is bathed in the sink).

I'm so glad that I keep up with this blog because her baby book is seriously lacking.  We got a ridiculously cool journal from our fantastic neighbors ::Hi, Dicolas!!!::  that tells me what she should be doing/learning day by day with little margins for notes.  I keep up on it better than I thought I would but it's nothing cutesy. 

And, I would LOVE to include a video of her squealing at her baby doll but I am inept.  I don't know how to capture said event and even if I did, I wouldn't know how to post it.  I'm offering Starbucks money for anyone who wants to volunteer.  Seriously.