Dismissed.

Buttercup has been a little ticked off at me today, and just a moment ago she screamed (with much enthusiasm, mind you), "You're not my mama anymore!"

Sigh.

Without taking my eyes off what I was doing I replied, "Good luck with that..."

She then screamed in a super PMSy way and ran up the stairs.

Some things are just beyond handling or caring about when you're flat out nauseous. I'll deal with Buttercup in about 2 1/2 months.

That is all.

The jig is up.

So here it is folks. I have nothing to blog about that isn't too private to share with the world wide web. Solution? Make my life un-private and deal with the results. (Hey, I have to vent somewhere...)

You know that thing I've been hoping and wishing and thinking and praying for? It happened! And now that the hurdle has been... hurdled, there has been much rejoicing in the land. (Example: squealing, crying, day dreaming, planning, calculating, and looking up as much information as possible even though I have pretty much been there before.)

To sum up, I have been happy, happy, happy, happy, happy. For about a week and a half. I have to admit I knew the yucky nastiness was coming--but I just wanted to be happy and not think about it. And yet here I am, smiling inside and grimacing on the outside. So if you happen to see me within the next three months, and it strikes you that I am looking pale, sickly, constipated, or nauseous--I AM. Just know that underneath it all is a huge, cheesy, out-of-this-world-happy grin.

That is all.

Announcement

Charming and I have officially changed "Our Song" from Josh Groban's When You Say You Love Me to--wait for it--Tribute by Tenacious D.

I don't know, it's just so much more us as of late. Let me know what you think. If you listen closely there's sort of a romantic side to it...

Edit: Charming has just informed me that our song has always been Annie's Song by John Denver. I always liked that song... Maybe Charming and I need to get together more often.

Here you go.

As of late I have been constantly writing blog posts in my head, with the idea that sooner or later (sooner rather than later) I would actually put these thoughts on the screen. Funny enough, once I accomplish my "head blog", I feel fulfilled enough from my train of thought to forget about actually posting. Today I want to actually get my thoughts down so they can become officially known to the internet and my posterity (if they ever bother with it).

The last six months of my life have been changing ones for me. I started out with many expectations of what my immediate future would hold, and then I pretty much demanded the universe to grant my requests. An attitude like that rarely gets you far, and this is where the Lord stepped in to teach me a long awaited lesson. The thought of "being taught a lesson" is usually not very appealing, but I have found to the contrary that the lessons, the knowledge, the understanding, and the enlightenment are incredible gifts I hope I will never be without.

Have the things I expected finally been granted me? No--but in return I have been given far more than I asked. I feel as though I'm swimming in blessings and happiness that I never knew before how to touch. My burden is lighter, my heart is bigger, my capacity to love is stronger. I am learning to listen and learn and enjoy life as it is presented to me. I have motivation to do and be things I never thought I would find the will for.

Yes, I still yearn and hope and pray for the experiences and the blessings I am without, but in the meantime my life is full and complete. I am playing with my children, reading stories, going on walks, cooking meals, organizing and decorating, teaching, having deep conversations, pondering and praying, gardening, making goals, learning, listening to beautiful music, smelling (the actual) flowers, and laughing because it feels good. In short, I am happy.

That is all. For now.

Ketchup.

So yes, I'm back. At least for today. It's been about five weeks since I blogged last and my mind is about to explode with random thoughts for the unknown public to read. Here are a few for your perusal:

• I swear estrogen is dripping off the walls of this house. Buttercup cries at the drop of a hat as if she's menstruating, and both little princesses insist on changing their outfits (along with shoes, scarves, purses, jewelery, and other accessories) at least five times a day.
• Why do the good people of North Dakota continually drive five miles under the speed limit? I never would have called myself a Utah driver--but when a lady in a Taurus with two babies in the back goes whizzing by all the traffic on the freeway, there is no other explanation.
• I LOVE my husband. Bless his soul if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. Not only does the man still give me flutters when he walks through the door everyday, he loves me and takes care of me like I'm THE queen. I'm so thrilled with this whole physical therapist thing because shoot, Charming is smokin' in a pair of dockers and a button-up collared shirt (with the sleeves rolled up all temptingly like he's really just a rustic mountain man underneath). Oh, and he made me a fabulous chocolate cake (his own recipe mind you) for mother's day. This man knows what love is.
• "Little House on the Prairie" (the tv series), has turned into a very unsatisfying soap opera for me as of late. I was bestowed with all 9 seasons for Christmas, and now what can I say? Will Laura and Almanzo ever stop bickering and just get to the romancing already? I mean I understand it's a family show and all, but good golly, if they can address issues like rape, murder, and death, I think we could deal with a little sweet-talking and a soulful kiss or two. (Yes, I know, I'm a loser. Moving on.)
• I have committed a domestic sin and bought (for a few weeks in a row now) ready-made meals for my family. It was yummy.
• I have gone from obsessing about household cleanliness--such as sweeping the floors three times a day and scrubbing toilets for fun--to beginning to comb through summer clothes put in storage for my girls, and dropping the whole project winding up with sundresses strewn all over the house by my precious little angels. Odd. Maybe I'm bipolar. I won't look into that though--I'll probably just end up taking another non-helpful expensive test/procedure.
• Better Homes and Gardens magazine is my new bible. I've actually begun tearing out pages of my favorite things and consequently had to make a "Home Decor" file in my cabinet.
• I actually spent more than half of my birthday money on "home decor". Crazy sauce. And does my house look any cuter? Not for me to judge...
• Buttercup has officially banned the word "cute". Apparently anything "cute" is a little girl thing and she is now in the "big girl" category. Why was I never informed that adolescence began at four years old? They should have trained us for this in all those prenatal classes I had to attend (you know, in between the "How to latch on" and "Go to your happy place when it hurts like the devil" chats).
• No really, I was serious. Please stop hitting on Livvy. (Plus is makes Jayni feel bad.)
• I went running the other day. I should have had a photo shoot for a special scrapbook page because I don't think that's ever going to happen again.
• Last night Charming helped me concoct an avocado hair mask (thank you BHG magazine!) at 10:30 at night. He then applied it to my entire head and actually seemed to be enjoying himself. I just wanted some chips for dipping with.
• I AM going to color my hair. If I keep chanting this maybe it will happen. Don't worry, I will still be a former blonde.
• It's been weeks since I've read an entire book. Something must be wrong. Or maybe I just need to get through Little House.
• How do you respond when your two-year-old is continually yelling at everyone around her "Don't SAY that!" I just end up saying "Don't SAY that!" right back at her and then we're going in circles. I hate being outwitted by a small child.
• Did I mention that Charming is growing his hair out just for me? This is how I know the guy loves me--it's a weird Edward fetish. Don't mock me, just feel privileged that I let you in on the strange inner workings of my mind.
• Today I was wishing I had learned to play the violin. Odd. I can't even play the piano competently.
• I am really looking forward to my Jane Austen tour of England when I'm.... well when I'm older and have money. Apparently that is important when you want to sleep in a castle in the British countryside.

Hopefully you'll be hearing from me again soon. That is all.

ATTENTION ATTENTION

To all males 19 years of age and older: Please take a good long look at this girl, my sister, named Mary Olivia. Alias: Livvy

Now as you wipe the drool off your face, please note that this girl is just that: a little girl. Not a woman or a "young single adult" or even a Laurel. She is but 15 years of age, and although of mature mind and body, she is too young for you.

So yes, I understand that she's the cutest girl at the party--of course she is, she's had 4 older sisters to teach her the arts of full-blown femininity and womanly wiles. I understand she looks and behaves sophisticated (although I doubt she even knows what that word means), and she's just the kind of girl who would charm you with her infectious laugh and that your mother would adore. I also understand that she is virtuous, lovely, of good report, and praiseworthy--but please don't seek after her until after her 18th birthday, which will occur January 2012.

It would be worth the wait. But until then STOP HITTING ON HER. It's getting a bit ridiculous.

That is all.

Please don't be offended just because I have weird dreams. Put your scoffing to good use and give me a reason!

I tossed and turned last night in bed, lost in one of those awful dreams where you can't accomplish your purpose. You know--like when you want to run away and you're stuck, or you need to dial 911 and you just can't seem to get the sequence right. Well last night my plight of pity was bra shopping and trying desperately to find the right size.

I remember pilfering feverishly through racks and racks of all different types of bras, finally narrowing them down to a nice white padded bra. But oh dear me I couldn't find my size! They had every size imaginable of this particular bra except for mine. I was throwing stuff off shelves when finally the sales lady came to give me a hand and asked if she could measure me. (I'm used to this sort of awesome treatment because, and here's a confession--I only bra shop at Victoria's Secret. Makes a girl feel nice, inside and out. Ah-hem. Moving on.) I lifted up my arms obediently and rolled my eyes like "Again! You'd think a girl would know her bra size." But then the most amazing thing happened. The sales clerk/brazier measurer expert royally dubbed me a 32 D.

So. Happy.

I had officially gone from average circumference and volume to trim and well-endowed! Needless to say there were plenty of bras in that size around the store, and many on clearance--because, let's face it, not very many people are blessed with my figure. (And after nursing two babies too!)

So what does all this mean? I vote for meaningless, but I bet you could come up with something much better than that, probably a horrific background story involving my adolescence and a date gone wrong. Let me know what you come up with.

On a related note, here's a big bra for you:


Also one more thing to destroy your day: Whenever you hear the beautiful classic song Edelweiss from The Sound of Music, think of your bra. It'll put a smile to your face and ruin that special song for you forever!

That is all.