Fell Into a Waterfall

Ok, so none of us actually fell into the waterfall, but Eric did plop down onto a muddy rock after Gracie knocked him off balance. :)

Today was a wonderfully full day--full parks, full rivers, full boats, full tummies, full-on sunshine! Oh yes, today was good. You see, the sun and I have this agreement: it comes out, I come out. (Contracts are still be drawn up for wind and snow.) And boy oh boy, we were both out in full-force!

We decided to trek down to Shoshone Falls today on a hunt for a large, grassy area where the dogs wouldn't have to be on a leash the entire time. Much to our amazement, the first spot we found was perfect--grassy, huge, and most importantly, unpopulated!

As you can see in the pictures below, a little waterfall and creek was running through our section of the park and we couldn't get enough! This picture of the mini-falls almost looks erie or edited with the vibrant greens cutting their way through the dead grays of the surrounding bushes and trees. It was obvious the moss and algae were loving the delicate mixture of sun and water (H2-oh so good!) as much as we were.




Eric broke out the shovel and had a ball "diggin'". It's his favorite thing to do these days. I have full confidence one of our next purchases will involve sand and a large box. I love that he loves being outside, too; as you can see, a little sun on my blonde little boy wouldn't hurt. :) At least he's easy to see...

Levi got our "big girls" in the water for a big drink and some fun. Roxie and Jewels loved exploring the new terrain, especially with our section of the park being home to a large rock-chuck colony (maybe that's why it was deserted...?)

My little man and I just dinked around together, digging here and there, discovering moss, discovering that it's "yucky" just as quickly, and of course, posing for a photo-op (for my sake). I'm so thankful he humors me, even if it does look like he's just spotting his next "construction" site.

When we finally returned home, after a very necessary pit-stop at Cold Stone Creamery (to those of you who don't know what that is, it's a very healthy restaurant...kinda. Ok, not at all; it's ice cream), we rolled out the "big chalk" and attacked the driveway again. There is now a hopscotch, a couple scribbles across Spongebob's face, and 3 body outlines. Don't worry, we gave them "happy faces".

That About Sums It Up

My "baby girl", Gracie, is with me wherever I go. Literally. Two steps to the left, there she is; spontaneously bust out the Chicken Dance, there she is, trying to figure out what the heck I'm doing! I love her and love having her in my life. She's great company when the house is quiet.

Since her days mostly reflect my own, you can probably get a good sense of how I was feeling before I snapped this shot.

Fun in the Sun

After I managed to get the rest of the wedding invitations I'm designing done, Eric and I tried to spend some quality time outside with our sidewalk! After going for a walk around the block, we headed into the garage, ready to create.

I opened our big box o' chalk and this is what spilled out...

Ready, Aim...

I'm almost entirely convinced that God gets bored every now and then and decides to stir things up. I'm also convinced His topic of choice is watching us--his sub-perfect creations--scramble when we realize how much time we don't have. Not enough time to finish that paperwork, wash the dog, cook dinner, plan a vacation, scrapbook, etc.

I can see His almighty finger casually push the "big hand" of our clocks ahead an hour and then laugh uproarously as our eyes bulge out of our heads. An hour is merely 60 minutes in the limitless grandeur that is eternity, but to us--we who live from hour to hour--it's 60 minutes that will effect the next 60 minutes, that will effect the next 60 minutes, etc. And so goes our day. And almost invariably, part of every 60 minutes includes traveling to the place we will spend our next hour, and when even one hour is taken from us, it can throw everything off because then you are late. Then you are on loan from the present 60 minutes.

And I've found there's only one single place on earth that can reset it--your bed. Once your brain and body disconnect, the only thing that matters is how many hours they can manage to stay that way. Though, it seems some people are able to be awake and still be in this state of disconnection. And those same people are of no help to us as we try to manage our 60-minute blocks of time because they're the ones holding up traffic or gossiping by the water-cooler or putting 17 things at the 10-items-or-less counter or trying to make the earth-shattering decision of whether or not they want whipped cream on their latte.

Ack. Is there no way out?

This post kinda got me by surprise. I was flipping through my mental calendar, realized I've got a lot to do and not much time to do it, and this came out.

For those of you wondering: no, I'm not on any medication (legal or otherwise), and yes, maybe I should be. If it was strong enough, at least then I could imagine myself getting the jerk in the car, the priss by the cooler, the fool at the checkout, and the loser with the latte all within range of my eye-lasers.

Yes, eye-lasers; different medication, different weapons.

And as soon as the present 60-minutes are up.....ZAPPO!

Don't laugh, because the next time you decide to take some of my time because you didn't use enough of your own trying to find--and wait for--the absolute closest parking spot, just know that somewhere, I've locked on and am ready to open fire...in

3...

2...

The Extinct Classiness of Swimsuits (and the Women Who Wear Them)

On my quest to find the perfect swim-suit, I realized I'm living a parallel life to the brides I mentioned before...different destination, same journey.
As they browse the tall racks that overflow with satin, beadwork, and tulle, I'm directly across from them trying to figure out where this bikini string ends and the other begins.

I'm also met with another common hurdle--dissatisfaction. There's not one triangle of fabric that I feel I "must own"; the ones that are kinda cute aren't in my size; the ones that are in my size aren't cute; the ones I know everyone's going to be wearing; the obvious ones that no one will be wearing; etc. So, that leads me to an equally obvious solution: my less-than-victorious swim-suit experience absolutely must be counter-balanced by an overwhelmingly-successful shoe-shopping experience. Am I looking for justification for buying yet another pair of shoes? Maybe. But my frustration is real.

Since I became a mom, things have changed, and I'm not just talking the location of my female parts. My outlook on...well...myself, for one. Because I have a "young" look to me, I get my share of pitied looks and older women scouring my hands for their "sign of acceptance" (a.k.a. my wedding ring), like they need the comfort of knowing I didn't bail out on my future by living promiscuisly (sp?). But that's the last of my concerns.

My main concern is that I don't want to look "young & pitiful" to my son when he's older and somehow gets the urge to go through the immaculate scrapbooks I've put together of all our perfect outings. *Whoa...I better knock that off or I'm going to spiral into depression due to the ridiculousness of that statement.*

But you get the idea. I want to be his mom. Not some young woman who still dresses like she's 17 because she thinks she can get away with it. I look upon women who do that with disgust and pity because they're not fooling anyone, and if nothing else, are sending out the wrong message.
I intend on embarrassing my son a-plenty when age and situation call for it, but it will not be because his friends can't get over my has-been butt-cheeks hanging out the back of my pair of Daisy Duke's that my friend's sister's 14-yr-old daughter can't wear to school anymore because they're inapproprate. Oh no no no...there will be the usual naked toddler pictures, kisses good-bye in front of his friends, packing clean underwear, and "pee-pee" stories. All harmless; far less damaging than the sight of Mom in a tube top, ponytail, and shorty-shorts dropping off his sack-lunch while everyone wonders if she's his (much) older sister who they graciously assume has mental handicaps. Awkward.

Oh no...I've decided it would be in everyone's best interest if we left the embarrassing "visual-aids" to his dad. I'm glad everyone's in agreement.
P.S. It would be great if you didn't mention that last part to my husband. He knows nothing about it, yet doesn't seem to have a problem with it as he continually "plays along".

Wedding Season Open

As I'm sitting here with half a cheesecake delightfully disappearing one bite at a time, it occurs to me how glad I am I'm not getting married...again, anyway. I have been working with brides who are hell-bent on fitting into that 3-sizes-too-small, far-more-expensive-than-budgeted, wear-it-all-year-if-I-have-to gown. The ones that actually fit are never acceptable. That would be too easy, and heaven forbid any part of the wedding-planning process be less than matrimonial calculus (which, by the way, has been the only time EVER that I have ever found math that excessive to be necessary).

I've been doing a lot of wedding invitation designing these days and love it. It just boggles my mind how a few pieces of paper can create such anxiety and trepidation in one woman, i.e. "how should we address them?" "should we offer hotel information?" "do you think they need directions?" "what if they don't like my colors?" "we don't really like them, but if we don't invite them then they'll know we don't like them"...etc. It becomes comical after a period of time, to me. With every new bride comes the same look of horror, earnestly searching for the Dahli Lama of Wedding Etiquette and Appropriateness, when they realize all she has to fall back on is the latest wedding trends Hollywood is pumping out and her opinionated, over-medicated Aunt Pearl who can't seem to avoid "passively" mentioning how nice it would have been to see her marry her pastor's son.

*Sigh!* On a day that is supposed to be about one man and one woman, why is it that anyone capable of speaking feels the need to do so?

I'll just do everyone a favor and design in silence...assisted by a mouthful of cheesecake.