Their Blonde hair, blue eyes, amazingly goofy personalities wasn't enough to make them bonded for life...
Their Blonde hair, blue eyes, amazingly goofy personalities wasn't enough to make them bonded for life...
SOOOOO. My lemmings. My adoring public. Those who come to read my awesome idle prattle hoping I'm falling apart and sharing it with the world wide web. I'm so sorry to disappoint. But I am doing SPLENDID. YEp. You read that correctly. Despite the giant pimple on my chin that makes me look almost like CIndy Crawford, only not hot and fat, and the discovery that my favorite Ed Hardy shirt now smells horribly like BO after wearing it to a 5 mile run at the gym, LIFE. ROCKS.
Hey. Remember me?
The girl with the complex? Yeah. I'm back. Complex as ever. But who's complaining?
Call me juvenile. Call me immature, call me the girl with the peter pan complex, heck, call me mom if you want, everyone else in this house does, either way, there is no running from what what I am currently suffering from.
I call it Forever 27. Slighty sloganized from the extremely cute, yet not very well made clothing and accessories store, Forever 21. I will not confirm nor deny shopping at such a place, but let's just say I have a friend, who has a friend, who knows this guy, who's girlfriend shops there. And occasionally, the things she buys, fall apart. Like the hand bag she chose to sport tonight on her million mile march through the golden gates of one awesome establishment, known as Golden Corral. It was there this friend of a friends purse, decided to give way under the 23 pounds of opposed gravital pull, AKA, CRAP, inside said bag. She was carrying the "bag", and not one, but 2 children, both of whom are more than capable of walking, but know that when I'm wearing the really cute boots, the friend of a friend may have also purchased at this store, I lose all sense of balance.
So there's me. And 4 kids. And approx. 1034 other military veterans waiting in line for our "free" calorie laden buffet, and the bag, which I will from here on out refer to as, the assailant, falls onto the ground. Revealing the contents, of one woman, who not only needs a purse intervention, but perhaps a coinstar. Included in this droppage, were the following, highly sensitive and classified items:
1.Tampons. LOTS. And LOTS. of tampons. I belive I bought the largest box they had at the gas station, and decided that "you just never know", I might need them. All 36 of them. In the next 24 hours.
2. 1 iPhone. Which at the exact moment of the release of the tampons, decided to ring, playing yet another evidentiary proponent of my refusal to grow up. My theme song. Britney spears. Piece of me. (Let it be known to be said, after seeing all the goodies I own laid out in such a crude manor, NOBODY will be wanting a piece of me.
3. 1 bottle of Alli. As if the fact I had the entire pack of tampons in my bag wasn't back enough, I have now given the crown reason to belive that I might be suffering from severe anal leakage. I mean not to offend, but let's face it, the first thing they thought was, " I wonder if she's having "THOSE" side effects?
4. Diapers.Oh yes. See because not only do I have a 1 year old, who loves to play in the toilet, rather than use it, I have a 3 year old, still deathly afraid of SITTING on the thing, let alone using it for it's intended purposes. Diapers are a must in a bag such as this.
5. 1 bottle of Acai Berry. Oh yeah squared. Sign number 2 I'm the fat girl trying to lose weight, while standing in line for the worlds largest buffet.
5. Approx. $134.54, in pennies. I actually had to stop the children from collecting all of them, once the veteran bus arrived, and the nice men begin to turn against the small ones for reaching between their legs in attempts to gather the useless pennies, we called it quits. Times are tough people. Change is a good thing. At least the kind that comes in silver and bronze, but even I have my limits.
6. One pair of cutterbee scissors. The last sign that a scrapbooker once dwelled within my sphere, and that my children have far too many hair brained schemes that involve the stealing of one such pointy pair of scissors, and the attempted smuggle of them into first grade. Apparently the ones in his class are "not sharp enough" to create the cuts needed to make the transformer snow flake he so desired in art class. I'm just glad this isn't the same teacher who was forced to view the "towel" from last years outrageously embarrassing debacle. Small tender mercies.
7. 3 sticks of deodorant. count em. 3. The girl with the leakage, apparently has a severe sweat gland issue as well. I cannot even begin to explain how 3 sticks ended up in my purse. I only know that from now on, I will apply my sweat soaker, BEFORE leaving my house.
8. a razor. As if the rest of the bathroom in my large bag wasn't more than enough, I had to have a razor too. Heaven knows those people are running for the door by now.
9. 2 bottles of perfume. I'm officially looking for a place to hide with all the odor fighting items in my bag. There are some who have probably taken this time to assume these are for the aforementioned Alli, and the side effects it may be having.
I would go on, but the novel which would surely result from the rest of the stuff that was blocking the entrance to the veteran salutationm would bore most.
I only offer this up to you, to let you see why it is I am forever 27. As I was picking through this debris, and trying not to cry, it became apparent, that Forever 21, is not for me. Not that they don't have cute stuff, not that I couldn't tease my hair, and pretend to be 21 for another few days, but Forever 21 has proven that they don't have what it takes. A woman with a purse load such as mine, requires a bag that holds far more than just a cell phone, and some lip gloss for the days events.
It was a wake-up call. Just the kind I needed. I've been through the lowest of lows this past year, I haven't shared most of it with anyone that reads this cobweb covered hootinanny, but it sucked. There are no other words. Suckfest. Right here.
Through it all, the only thing I could count on were my kids. MY kids. These beautiful little kids, who have never once doubted me. In all my shenanigans, in all my attempts to thwart lifes trials with cuteness in the form of matching shoes and tops, THEY loved me. For who I am.
And what exactly am I?
I am 27. I am not old. I am not perfect. I am not a role model for mothers everywhere. I am not a perfect representation of anything. I am out of proportion, I am confusing at times. I have faults. Thousands of them. I don't have all the answers. and I probably never will.
And that is ok. Who knew? Well I didn't. But I do now. I even made a page about it. I call it, lost and found. The journaling reads:Lost: 1 girl. Brown hair. No clue what she wants. Last seen, on the verge. SIze 12, Answers to Ruth. Found: 1 woman, Streaked hair, Still no clue what she wants, getting much closer though. On the verge, but of bigger things. Size 10, hopefully dropping. Answers to: Nobody.
It didn't work.
But I did manage to use some cute pictures I had been dying to see on a page. And my dearest Chittyarie, (so dubbed by hers truly) is a feature on both. So cute, that one.
All in all, my day was a bust. I am still 27. I Am still fat. And I still have no desire to ever turn 28. But I do know that being 21 isn't going to fix anything. Not even the strap on my adorable brown bag. I have surrended the mini-van back to the enterprise powers that be, in exchange for a truck, as the van rendered me unable to get to my mountain dwelling, and ended up in a head on collision with a volvo. Who knew soccer mom cars could be so fiesty? So yeah. Life still rocks.
Nothing changes. But I am doing better. I am figuring out where to go from here. And I am making the necessary decisions to be that girl who is happy. Whether she is 21. Or 83. (Mark my words, I will live to be at least 83). At least I will if I can kick the diet coke habit. One thing at a time. That's my motto. I leave you with a photo. A photo of me. turning my back to the days of childish self indulgences, and chocolate bars, and looking to what lies ahead. Whatever that may be.
Lay it on me. Would someone please help me out here. When did I become that girl?
You know the one.
When did I become the person who can't so much as MAKE a scrapbook page that doesn't scream I work for Mrs. Grossman. (who by the way, might be a lovely person who makes great brownies, but her scrapbook skills leave alot to be desired). I've printed photos, I've purchased new supplies, I've channeled my inner Garden Girl, I've hung out with scrapbookers who make Art out of crap, and still I've got nothing. Sure, I've got cardstock, with cute children attached, awaiting the proper placement of embellishments and stampage, I've even gotten so far as to distress the edges a bit, making it look as if I have a clue as to what I'm doing. but it's a falsehood. There's nothing worth gazing at here.
When did I get too big to fit into my size 12 jeans! I mean, sure, I can bust out the bungee cords, attach them to each side of my pants, meld the fat that sits around my middle like a grouping of moss on a toadstool, and stop breathing for 7-12 seconds while I release the bungee cords and hope for the best. All the while making it look as if I'm smuggling sausages in my belly region. I can pull that look off, but hotness? It's all but gone.
When did I become the mom who has 15 pictures of her kids in the past 3 months! 15. And those were all taken yesterday. I drug them outside in a single file line, and attempted to make them look as if they weren't wearing clothes dug out of the dirty clothes hamper, while their hair sported the messy buns gone
When did I become old enough to be the mom of not one, but 2 children in school. I can't freaking believe that in less than 2 weeks 2 Akers children will be walking the halls of the local elementary school. 2 of my kids will be terrorizing public school grounds during lunch time, and 2 of my children will require ridiculous amounts of hand sanitizer and lysol wipes that I am sure will cost me as much as a tank of gas in my gas guzzling vehicle. It's not real. It's not right. But it's reality. Mikey has already informed me that in 11 short years he'll be leaving for college, and he hopes I'm ready. Ready? Dude. I've got my iMac post it note counting down the days until all of you are happily boarding the bus to a college that you've gotten a scholarship to, or who is willing to offer a family discount to parents with more than one child in attendance. I jest. Of course. I love the darlings. And will more than likely shed tears at the idea of them leaving the nest for good, I'm just happy to have them out of the nest for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, so that mama bird can get some of the garbage piling up in her happy abode, out of here. Who am I kidding. They love school just as much as I do. I'm that mom. So sue me.
When did Aubree get her ears pierced? Ok. I know the answer to that one. It was yesterday, and she was so brave, and so ready, and so willing to wait until her 5th birthday to have them, and finally, I got my stuff together, and took not one, but 4 kids to the mall, (where I might remind you THEY DON'T ISSUE SHOPPING CARTS) and stood there cheering on my little trooper while she got her diamonds on. She had a moment of weakness, where her eyes looked as if they were going to tear up, and the women manning the ear piercing guns were like, "She's so pretty..." Yeah. That's all it took. She pulled out this smile, and happily forwent the tears for some much needed compliments courtesy of perfect strangers. She loves her diamonds. It might make me a bad mom, but so help me, I'm not telling her they arn't real.
When is my life going to STOP taking me for a ride that I am soo not ready for. When will the answers to the questions I so desperately need answers to, fall into my lap from the center of the newspaper that I don't read. When is that happening? I wake up every morning in my bed full of children who are usually wearing far less clothing than they started out in, most of them are sleeping on some part of me, and I'm typically searching for a spot that doesn't currently have smallish parts residing on it, and I think. Is this my life? Do I really wake up everyday and clean for a dad, who seems not only not to care, but almost takes it for granted? Do I really fight my sleep loving green bean eating sister over who gets to use the car everyday, only to lose and end up depressed and shoving prepackaged eggrolls into my mouth in hopes of quelling the idea that I still have 7 more months of this? Are there really bears breaking into my garage to eat my garbage on a nightly basis? Oh yes. That too is happening.
When did living in the wilderness become a feat involving bear sitings on a daily basis? I kid you not. We've happened upon a bear in our yard, for the past week. Moose, I can deal with. THIS big dude, grumbling past my door, tends to freak me out a little...
When is Mia going to actually get up off her cute little sausage legs, and start walking? Do you recall when we played this game with Charity 2 years ago? She was 14 months old, and still content on walking around on all fours like Mowgli child from The Jungle book? Mia won't even get on all fours. She's more than happy to raise her chubby little fists to the sky and scream out for someone, anyone really, to carry her to her desired location, a location which usually involves food. We actually secured this happy grin by dangling a piece of pizza over her head. She truly is the blood of my blood.
Of course, what's a photo of all the kids, without one of the big man himself... Yes it's red. Yes. It's hair dye. Yes it's washable. And yes. I'm completely prepared for the repercussions of posting such a photo. Bring it on. Isn't he cute though? Seriously people.
I think I know when. It's when I lost my mom. That's pretty much WHEN. My life went down the crapper. I still think about the fact that she taught me so much and I'm who I am (mostly) I can't blame some of my faults on her, heaven knows she's not deserving of that, but the good in me, the things I can speak of without bowing my head in shame, are the things she gave to me. I know eventually, losing her will be less of a blow to me, and more of something I look back on and think how lucky I was to have her for 26 amazing years, and how much she did for me, that I can in turn do for my own kids. I know that day will come. It's just not here yet.
I meant to be a better blogger. I mean to be a better mom. I meant to be a better friend. I meant to be a better housewife. I meant to be a better dieter ah heck, no I didn't. I hate dieting. I'll never be a good dieter. I meant to be so much more than I have been lately. And really, if you take away the past 4 months, I haven't done too bad. There are so many things to be happy about. My sister had her baby a few weeks ago... lost all the weight she gained in a matter of minutes, and of course looks like she could run a marathon 24 minutes after squeezing it out, but she did awesome, and her baby is adorable. All the hair. Just think of the streaks I could give her? Ha. Jokes. I got em. Anyways. Life's great. I'm here. you're there. Things will get better. They have to get better. And when they do, I'll write about it.
Don't forget me. I won't forget you. and maybe. Just maybe. I'll make it through all this, with my humor still intact, and tell you all about it.
I bet you can't wait.
The tough take a 2 month hiatus, runaway to the city of sin, invest in plenty of diet coke, baby-sitters of all various sizes and shapes, and fail to not only remain sane in the sincerest form of the word, but pretty much. Lose Their Minds. I can only thank my friends, and my family, the family that isn't sharing off their rocker status right along with me, that is. Mostly my 9 month pregnant sister in all her perfect angels flying out her hind quarters glory. She really is a saint. I love her.
So. Inquiring minds might be inquiring as to what I've been up to lately. Or they might could care less. I know not. That's how out of it, I've actually been. See. What people fail to mention is, when your mother was the only woman alive who could not only command an army of 12, keep a house spotless, and sew quilts for homeless in her spare time, she leaves LARGE shoes to fill. Larger than the ones I was almost forced to purchase during the last trimester of my second pregnancy. Thems was big shoes.
I've still not learned the art of keeping children in line, keeping laundry piles small enough to not suffocate wee babes when they topple over, and the toilets spotless enough that when Mia chooses to drink from them, they offer little toxic waste. But. I have learned a few things these past months. A few. I won't share all of them, as I'm sure you all have as much free time as I don't. But I will give you some updates. We all love those. I say all. But really. I just mean those who actually pay attention.
I'm getting fat. Yes. that's happening. Seems eating from a drive-thru plastic bag for 2 weeks in a strange city isn't the most conducive flow to weight loss. Nope. I'm gaining. More-so than the DOW after the google merger. I know. Easy fix. Stop eating. We'll get there. Eventually.
I'm back to streaks. Oh yes. That too happened. I decided enough was enough. If a 26 year old mother of 4 at the end of her long and painful rope wasn't allowed to don streaks and sport her hair in Vegas, nobody should. I give you, exhibit A.
Don't judge me. Or do. I'm past the point of caring. My children are free of streaks. This will please some of you. The rest will be forced to complain over my lack of appearance in the scrapbook world. Say what? Scrapbook? Please. Define? Can you use it in a sentence? I've not picked up a piece of paper that wasn't white and used for the removal of residue, since the visitors, a group of women and their offspring we so lovingly referred to as "the reprobate hobos" came to dwell in our midsts.
They turned out to be less than what was originally foreseen when my father purchased their tickets to come and hang out with us, but we did learn alot about the type of women one can meet on the internet. Dad is sticking to locals for the dating time being. I couldn't be happier.
The kids. Are friggin' huge. Mia turned 1. a month ago. Um. Hi. did I not just give birth to her insanely adorable face yesterday? Some of you may remember that. Well, unless you were one of the under paid hospital workers who was forced to watch me give birth to her sans epidural, you don't remember much but what I relayed to you, but it still remains, she's growing. Too fast. Does she not slightly resemble a fat little sumo wrestler? Only with a tad bit more cloth?
Moving on to other children that I do also have in my care. Charity. Still wearing diapers. Dedicated to those bad-boys like an Amway salesman to his clients. We've made some progress with her talking, and she seems to be full of life. Like any child of mine lacks that? She's getting so big. And pretty too. I mean, she's not just my little chubby girl. She's a beautiful girl. She gets that from her sister.
Ah. Yes. The ever elusive Aubree. Still my most dramatic and attention seeking offspring. She's learning to read. I mean. Like. Teaching herself. I love that. She's smart. Not just a brat. A smart one. It's been difficult lately to be the mom my kids probably want me to be, and try to maintain some semblance of normalcy in all the chaos we've been submerged in. I know I'm rather vague on alot of my posts about life lately, and I hope to change that soon. I just don't know how much of my life I really feel comfortable posting at this time. See. Vagueness. There I go again.
Mikey is doing amazing, as usual. Trying to run the world from the privacy of his own 2x2 square inch of real estate. They are the most resilient and amazing kids. I wish sometimes I was more worthy of them. I feel like a failure alot when it comes to them. Doesn't help my little sister makes it her duty to point out what I'm doing wrong. Did I mention this is the sister that has NO kids? yeah. She's great at advice.
I know. I suck at this whole update thing. It's all I can do to get through the day without bears diggin through my garbage. Blogging has taken a back seat. More like it resides along side the trailer hitch.
I feel it's pointless to ramble on anymore about the monotony that is the daily life we lead here. We've spent alot of time at the movies, the park, the ER, apparently MRSA is rampant in these parts, and guess who got infected. Oh yeah. That'd be me. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before something else happens and I'm forced to not only have my right cheek cut open, ( yes folks, I'm referring to THAT cheek) but some other slightly vital part of my body that already hates me for shoving 160 pounds of me into skin that was clearly meant for 120 pounds. You win some, you lose some. I tend to be the one taking home the medal they give to everyone for participating. But I'm still here. That has to count for something? Right?
I've been talked into dusting off my scrapbook supplies, and attempting to create something that shouldn't be used to kill roaches. When I do. I'll be sure and post.
Thank you to all of you who have asked about me. I try and respond, and if I've neglected your email, or your IM, I am really sorry. Spread horrible things about me. Tell people my cooking is wretched. I promise, they'll believe it. I'm going to be around more lately. Las Vegas was enough to remind me that no matter how bad my life is, I could always be that woman who thought it was ok to wear a fish net dress over her string bikini to the Cirque show. It can always be worse. Always.
I just finished typing a 2 hour response to the break in life that I have been taking part in lately, only to have it erased with nothing more than a click of my wayward mouse. Perhaps that was my hint that the world wasn't ready for what I had to say. I don't know. I have things to finish for the return of my father and his "internet girlfriend". So I can't retype it. I'm still alive. I'm still taking breaths. I am no longer wearing the hot size 11 jeans I once did, but I am here. Stay tuned. You're not gonna want to miss this.
Of course, I reside in Alaska, where ceiling fans are about as rare as the appearance of underwear on yours truly's favorite mother of the year. I still can't help but notice every time I get all the crap together, I forget to tie the bag closed, and fweeeep. All over the place it goes. Of course this attracts the children, and I now how crap everywhere. Way too visual I'm certain, but that's how it goes.
If throwing tantrums were something I'd get away with, I'd totally take it upon myself to have one, such as Charity does at just about every opportunity. And the one that I'd choose to have, would not be accompanied by a face like that. Even on a child as cute as herself, that face poses no evidence of such beauty. Tis best to leave tantrums to those who possess the appropriate pouting skill.
I. At this time. Do not.
Even the nectar of his most evil does nothing to quell my troubles. I've practically given it up. By practically, I of course mean I now only drink 44 oz. As opposed to 68. baby steps. Always.
My small hiatus of things included making layouts that were forever late. Relinquishing some of the things I had just decided to take on, and trying to convince the ER Doctors, that I don't just drive the 50 minutes there to find solace and peace. I really have sick kids who need something. Imagine that.
The snow did finally melt, rendering us able to once again walk on the roads without fear of losing life or limb. Which is always good for fat roll removal. I'm down to 159. And my goal is 140. Think I can do it? Let's all say it with me. I think I can, I think I can. If my petition to get Pizza put on the acceptable dieting food list goes through, I will be one step closer to where I need to be. If not, I may have to settle for this. Either way. The pizza stays.
Ok. A few layouts. I ask that you not point and throw sticks, they are far from what I would normally consider post-able layouts, but with all the Havoc that was being reeked upon us, I had to settle for less than my best.
yes. Once again, I've managed to create more layouts with 1 photo, than those with more. I tried. Honest. I tried really hard.
We had some fun over the weekend and threw a party for Charity. We kept it to the minimum in people and invited my friend Courtney, and her lovely children. Who really are lovely. I'm not mocking. Honest. My kids and hers get along smashingly, so I figured why mess with a good thing. There is only 1 month left of school, and then begins the fun of an Alaskan summer. We'll do things like, go fishing, camping, try not to get run down by moose and other Alaskan wildlife that may or may not be friendly.
See, we love animals here on the Kirby plantation. But teaching the kids that petting large things, like moose, is taking some time. I for one would be absolutely scared to death of a moose at their age. They however, not so much. Take for instance, last week, when this giant creature began tapping on the glass with it's large and in chargeness, begging to come in. ( Pay no mind to the windows that need washed like 100 times over. ) It's Alaska, clean windows are the least of our concerns. So. This beast, saying hi, and all of a sudden, My children, decide to open the window, to pet him! Pet. Yes. Like, it's a bunny, that will wrinkle it's nose at you. I don't think so children. Moose are not our friends. Lucky for them, the moose was more scared of them, then they were of it, and no harm was befallen. I just have to make sure next time Molly the moose, ( a name they so aptly chose for the creature with the large nostrils) comes back. I am there. To thwart the play date attempts. Yes. That is what I must do.
It's probably more information than you care to have, but I've locked myself in the bathroom to keep the howler monkeys at bay while I pretend to go to the bathroom. I however think they're onto me, and know I'm not actually relieving myself, so tis probably best I open the door and face the world with a smile. Or something somewhat resembling one. I don't know that I could force one today if I tried. I have alot of catching up on emails, and layouts to do, not to mention the household chores that are beckoning with the same amount of enjoyment as a can of Diet Pepsi. But I'm going to drive forward. I must. I cannot afford to give up. Yet. =)
1. Charity's appointment went as well as can be expected. She is testing about 1 year below her age for all except her social skills. Came by that one honestly. She's my kid. They've got her with a speech therapist, a fine motor skills therapy session, some much needed behavior therapy, and a developmental pediatrician. And all I have to do, is drive her the 45 minutes to her appointments. Thank goodness it's not winter anymore. OH WAIT!!, update number 2.
2. It snowed 18 inches over the course of the weekend. I pulled in Friday night, after a girls night out, gone somewhat wrong, and was unable to move my car This morning, due to the sheer amount of snow piling itself around my wheel wells. Don't you just love spring? Spring in Alaska. When you don't use your snow blower anymore, BECAUSE it's covered with snow.
Ah yes. These are good times. And I am clearly not going anywhere until I dig my car out. Rest assured, if you need me, I'll be here.
3. Even though "spring" isn't really here, the fact is, in most parts of the northern hemisphere, people are doing spring cleaning. Us Kirby's are doing the same. I've never been a fan of this wretched time of year. Taking all the crap out of ones house, and kicking up dust bunnies which will surely render my eyes watery, and my throat closed, sounds like fun certainly, I'd rather Jazzercise in my two piece. BUT, the fact is, my father has invited several women, who are actually very nice people, I can't complain, to come stay in the casa de Kirby for a few weeks starting the end of May. Sounds swell. EXCEPT. This house holds 15 people, is 25 years old, and could stand for some TLC. Guess who gets to be the Loving Carer? Bingo Johnny, what do we have for her. A whole lotta housework, and very little thanks in return. I'm excited. Can't wait. So much so, I'm already faking an illness. Tomorrow we begin the painting portion. This can only end in tears.
4. My operation fatrolls, is in severe distress. The onslaught of snow has left the roads a treacherous feat for even the most padded of runners, and I've been forced to turn to alternate methods of weight loss. As starvation was a no go, I made it until 9:21. I woke up at 9:15. I've decided to call for reinforcements. This new plan called for, buying a pair of really cute pants in a size smaller than what I actually wear, in hopes of tricking my body into wanting to wear said pants, and having the weight just fall off. What the plan failed to take into account, was that Ruth might jump the gun, and attempt to put these pants on, only to pop the button, making them completely unable to close. I will get into them one day. It might involve some vasoline and a pair of jumper cables, but there will be fittage. Just you wait. I could also use some advice on what I like to call, my "I might be 26, but my upper arms compare to that of a 76 year old, upper arm problem. Case in point... THAT. Bow to stern, that upper arm must be at least 12 inches across. How does one combat such an atrocity? Weights? Push-ups? Surgery? DO tell. It's a problem. A Large one.
5. Birthday time is upon us. This part of the year always reeks havoc on my budget, and my party planning skills, not to mention not only is it my daughters birthday, it's the population of just about all those residing within these walls' birthday too. That leaves us with the always looming problem. What to do? Charity would probably be content with some cake to call her own, and a .25 high flying bouncy ball from old navy. I however, am trying to encourage some of that social stuff she actually excels at, and have her a party. But where? With what? Birthday's anymore are like weddings, only messier. You can't just say, meet us at burger king. We'll split some chicken tenders, and call it a day. Oh no. There must be cake's, bouncy toys, presents, pizza, clowns, lawyers, permission slips, dry clean only dresses, and heaven forbid we dispense with the formalities, and not send invites via email too. I can't do it cap-tuhn. I don't Ave the powuh. I think we may just buy some trick candles, and occupy them that way. Kidding. Kind of. Point is, it's alot of work for something she's not likely to remember. Suggestions are always welcome.
The saddest of updates, is that it's also my mom's birthday this month. Never before has her absence been so apparent. We really are managing as well as can be expected. We do what has to be done, and we put on a good front, but sometimes, it's like the bonus footage around here. The behind the scenes stuff you don't see, until you buy the DVD. When someone calls, and asks my 6 year old brother if they can talk to his mom. When the voice-mail from the phone kicks on, and her voice says, just leave a message. When people who don't know, mention my mother, What do you say to that? I usually just smile, and say, she's doing good. Because deep down, I know she is. I hear it gets easier with time, and I'm certain that's true. I guess there's just a moment every once in awhile, I could walk into her room, and see her smile. Tell her how I'm dealing with the things I'm being faced with. Show her how much my baby looks like her. Which is really something special if you ask me, Looking into her sweet face, seeing so much of my mom.
I hate to end on a sad note, so I will say, my LT kit is on it's way, and I plan to scrapbook some more of my mom this week, maybe a little personal stuff about yours truly. I rarely scrap that. So maybe it's time. Might help air some things out I've been holding in. And just because, I'm a sucker for funny kids. I offer you Mia. Who's obvious position as an Akers/Kirby kid has just been secured. She knows exactly where to find the best treats for snacking. Why inside the couch. But of course ; ) Stay tuned for layouts. I'm sure you can hardly wait ; )