My New Space

About 3 years ago, I quit my day job and became a stay at home mom. Not long afterwards, my friend Staci (she has a great name but she spells it wrong) invited me over to her house for an afternoon of scrapping. That's scrapbooking for the uninformed. While I had seen scrapping before I hadn't really done any before that afternoon. Well, I was hooked. I thought "What a great hobby! It's fun, creative, and all you really need is a pair of scissors and some paper. So it's cheap too!" And here I am, a couple of thousand dollars later, addicted to scrapping. Turns out you need (seriously people, need is the right word) all kinds of things in addition to scissors and paper.

Once I got started, I needed a space at home to scrap in. Basically, I needed a desk and a book shelf to hold my stuff. No problem. There is a sitting room off Adam and I's bedroom. It's a strange shape, sort of L-shaped but not exactly. We already had a chaise and a large chair and a few antiques in the larger portion of the room, so I just stuck a desk and some shelves and in the smaller section and, voila, I had my scrap space. When I showed Staci, she predicted that eventually the furniture would get moved out and the entire room would become my scrap space. I laughed, there was no way that would happen. Well he who laughs last, laughs loudest. Staci, you can start laughing.

Over the past couple of weeks, the chaise and other furniture have been moved out and Adam built me a huge desk to use for scrapping. He did a lovely job, don't you think:





The desk is L-shaped. The long part is 8 ft long and about 30 inches deep. The short part of is about 3 feet long. I do my actual scrapping on the long section and the short section holds my computer and printer. Adam did a really great job. So nice to have a husband who can build stuff.

And I love my new desk. I have grand plans for the remaining space too. I definitely need more storage...so I can buy more stuff. Makes sense to me!

The Great Blizzard of 2010

That's right folks! The Great Blizzard of 2010. We just had snow here, a lot of snow. Big, fat fluffy snowflakes. It was a huge blizzard...by Texas standards. It was awesome!

So, on Tuesday morning about 7:00 am, it started sleeting and quickly turned into snow and it snowed on and off all day long. This was the view out my back door at one point.



At one point, I was talking to Andrew about the snow and I said "Let's go build a snowman." And he replied "No Mommy. I don't want to build a snowman. I want to throw snowballs!" That's my boy!

It was fun though, getting to do all of those traditional snow activities wiht Andrew that we so rarely get to do here in Texas.

We caught snowflakes on our tongues:




We made a snowman:






And we had a snowball fight:






And after we were nice and cold with frozen hands (we do not have the proper snow equipment!), we went inside and had hot chocolate:



It was a great day!

Don't Call Me, I'll Call You

It happens every two years. That song plays (you know the one), the torch is lit and I am instantly glued to the t.v. for the next two weeks. I LOVE the Olympics. The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. I love it all.

I am currently recording about 8 hours of Olympics each day and watching most of it (thanks to the DVR, I actually only have to watch about 6 hours). And it really doesn't matter what they show, I watch it all. Curling, cross country skiing, biathlon. I don't discriminate.

Now, as a rule, I root for the Americans. I am completely nationalistic. I don't care what your story is or how hard you have worked for it, I am cheering for the American, not you. Actually, if you are in the American's way, I am generally rooting for you to fall, slip, drop your curling ball, whatever. I don't want you to get hurt, just lose. The exception is when there aren't any Americans in contention. Then I get completely sucked in by the little stories and find myself cheering for some obscure Estonian competing in their 5th olympics whose uncle's dying wish was that they win a gold medal and this is their last chance to fulfill that wish. Go Marit or Petra or whoever you are (I generally can't pronounce the last name so it's first names only).

I get all worked up. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I scream at the t.v. The other night, I found myself leaning foward, back, side to side, all in a bid to help Seth Wescott win the goal medal in snowboard cross. He won by the way, thanks to my help.

So for the next week and a half, I am watching the Olympics. Don't call me, I probably won't answer the phone.

Regressing

Ahhhh, Valentine's Day. Flowers, boxes of chocolates, romantic dinners and Scooby Doo valentines. This year, Valentine's Day has taken on a whole new...angle. Andrew's class is having a Valentine's Day party. So, I gamely trooped out in the freezing rain (and I mean that literally) to pick up a box of valentines for Andrew to hand out at school today. I sat down at my desk to insert the temporary tatoo that comes with each one (can't give just a card these days) and fill them out. Then the instructions from his teacher arrived.

1. There are 21 kids in the class.

2. Each child shall bring 20 valentines to school (no more, no less).

3. The "from" section of each valentine shall contain the child's name.

4. The "to" section shall be left blank.

5. The valentines will be distributed....

Wait a minute! "The "to" section shall be left blank!!!!" What the heck is that all about??!!

I must say Instruction #4 ruined all of my fun. For a minute there it was like being back in first grade and getting to decide who got which valentines. Alissa is my best friend so she gets this pretty valentine. Suzie is mean and the teacher's pet so she gets this ugly one. And Johnny smells bad so he gets the valentine that is torn. (Admit it, all of you did the same thing.) If the I don't get to put names on them how can I insure that people get the correct valentines??!! For heaven's sake, Johnny might think I actually like him!

Eeeewwwww!

Where's the Beef

My grandparents owned a farm and raised cattle, so growing up I ate a lot of beef. In fact, you could say my family epitomized the phrase "Beef, it's what's for dinner." And I have carried that on in my adult life. We eat a lot of beef in this house. In fact, we eat a lot of meat. Almost every meal features some kind of meat.

I had not realized how central meat had become to a meal until I made soup the other day. I made a lovely green chile soup with potatoes. No meat. So Andrew and I sit down for lunch and Andrew starts picking through his soup.

Andrew: Mommy, where's the meat?

Me: What are you talking about?

Andrew: Where's the meat? There is no meat in my soup.

Me: This soup does not have any meat any it.

Andrew: Well, there is supposed to be meat in it.

Me: Just eat your soup!


Clearly we need to eat vegetarian more often.

Keeping Secrets

My husband is a wonderful man. He is kind, caring, funny, smart, and handsome (to name just a few of his many wonderful attributes). However, he is keeping secrets from me.

My 39th birthday is coming up in March (f.y.i., I am partial to diamonds and emeralds) and my husband has already purchased me a gift. I do not know what this gift is and Adam won't tell me. And, quite frankly, it is killing him. That's right, it is killing him that he can't tell me. He is soooo excited about it and he just wants to share the excitement with me. But he also wants it to be a surprise. It is quite the conundrum for him.

Actually, he goes through this frequently. Birthdays, Christmas, he is always offering to let me open my gifts early. Or giving me hints about what he bought. After he bought my engagement ring (but before he proposed), he showed it to everyone he knew. He invited one guy into our closet to "look at his new suit" just so he could show him the ring. He is doing the same thing again, telling everyone he sees about the gift.

I love surprises and really don't want to know what he bought. But that being said, I am a mean person and there is a prime opportunity here to torture my husband. So I am constantly asking him for hints and making guesses about the gift. It is making the wait just that much harder for him. I know, I know, I am just a cruel person.

So, if you should pass Adam on the street during the next few weeks, I am sure he will tell you all about my gift. If he does, call me.

It was bound to happen...

And this weekend it finally did. Considering how often Andrew falls while running at top speed, I am surprised it took this long.

It all started when we went to Home Depot on Saturday morning. Adam is building me a new desk (yea!). So, while he was picking out wood for the desk, Andrew and I went to get the other things we needed. After we had picked up everything we need, we started back over to the lumber department. Now, Andrew being the boy he is, he does not stay right with the cart. It's more like the cart is the sun and he is a planet in orbit around it (and not a very stable orbit at that). But as long as he remains within a few feet of the cart and isn't knocking things off shelves, I am okay with it. He has got to get that energy out some way.

So, we are heading down the big main aisle of Home Depot. We have spotted Adam at the end of the lumber aisle. When we are about 15 feet away, Andrew takes off to establish a new orbit around his dad. He gets about half way there and trips over his own two feet. Lands on his knees and slides across the floor face first into a shopping cart (yes, it looked like it hurt). He turns and looks and me and then bursts into tears.

I picked up my poor baby up and checked for injuries. And it had finally happened.

Andrew had broken his nose. Well, I should say he has all the signs of a broken nose. His nose swelled up and bled. Fortunately, it wasn't a bad break, my child is not going to have Owen Wilson's crooked nose (thank goodness!) And in fact, he didn't fuss about it long at all.

It is amazing how an offer of lemonade and M&M's can make a kid feel better.