My Babies

My baby started Jr. High yesterday. Yeah, it's killing me. I was planning on the millenium to be here by now, so he could avoid the whole jr. high thing. I should have planned a little better and put him in a self defense class instead.

Chelsea and I pulled out Trey's baby book today; (she wanted to see if Paisley resembled her favorite uncle), and the memories came flooding back. There was Chelsea, 10 years old, holding her little brother. Now she holds her own little one. I've said it again, but it's worth repeating:

They grow up way too fast!

But if that's not consolation enough for the 3 am infomercial watching, sleep deprived mom of a newborn, consider this:

School has started. That means, before you know it, it will be time to start thinking about Halloween costumes, and carving pumpkins, and stocking up on candy. And we all know what happens the day after Halloween...Christmas music! But let's not forget Thanksgiving. We'll be so busy scouring over our recipe books, trying to find a new pie for the dessert table, that it will be here before we know it. And we all know what happens the day after Thanksgiving...setting up Christmas! The trees, the lights, the garland...oh think what fun Christmas will be this year with a new little one in our nativity manger! January brings birthdays and anniversary's to look forward too, and then spring will be right around the corner! Easter bunnies, walks in the park, blooming flowers and trees. Summer will follow on it's heels. Wading pools to keep cool, popsicles and fireworks...and then before you know it, she'll be a year old and sleepless nights will be a distant memory.



Whew! See how fast that went.

(Don't you just love the way I snucked (?) sneeked (?) the thought of halloween and christmas into my post just so I could use this awesome picture I took at Tai-Pan, cuz they have all their halloween decorations up and it's getting me trunky and treaty)

When I was a young girl in primary, we had a daddy-daughter date. I think we had dinner (I remember the ice-cream sundaes) and a program. I remember my best friends Lisa and Laurel sat on their dad's knee as he sang this song to them:

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

Turn around and you're two

Turn around and you're four

Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out the door

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out of the door

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Little dirndles and petticoats, where have you gone?

Turn around and you're tiny

Turn around and you're grown

Turn around and you're a young wife

With babes of your own

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young wife
with babes of your own.

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

By the end of the song, all of the Dad's were in tears. Back then, I didn't understand. I just knew my Dad cried alot. I figured it was a Dad thing.

Now I understand. And it's not just a Dad thing, it's a parent thing. (sniff sniff)

My babies are not babies anymore. Their grown, going off to jr high, and college, and having babies of their own.

Turn around Trey, turn around...come sit on my lap one more time. Come sing the Barney song one last time..."I love you, you love me..." come give me sticky kisses and wrap your dirty hands around my neck...let me read you a story one more time, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"...let me wipe away the tears one more time while you ask me what's wrong.

Nothing's wrong baby, it's just the way life is.

Where are you goin' my baby, my own.

Cake baking, picture taking, vanessa stalking weekend

I had the best weekend.

My uncle Jack is turning 90 years old this week, so his family had a nice little party for him at the town park. In case your wondering what one does at a birthday party for a 90 year old, one eats alot, visits alot, and takes pictures alot. Sorry, no clowns or magicians, but there was a 99 year old man there as well, which I thought was pretty cool.

So, we baked alot of cakes this weekend, Faun and I. We also took alot of pictures. Well, truth be told, her daughter Lauren took alot of pictures, Faun and I were on the opposite end of the lens this time, and we had no clue what we were doing. We have a whole new respect for all the poor saps that we boss around when we say 'tilt your head'' "chin up" "your hands look goofy" "give me a serious look" "I said serious, not constipated". Anyway, it was harder than it looks, which is why out of 100 pictures, only 19 made it through the editing process.

In all fairness, Faun looked great in all of them. Ok, most of them. She's a natural. I, on the other hand, felt like my arms grew by 2 feet. They were lanky and flanky and I didn't know what to do with them. Just as I was starting to get the hang of it, Faun would utter those 3 words every profile challenged model hates to hear..."Lets do serious". I was so worried about my chin disappearing when I stopped smiling, that I forgot to suck in my gut. So if there's only 1 serious picture that made it, it's because I looked like a butt protruding, gut flaunting, chin receeding, nose weirding person. I'm not kidding. I don't do serious. Just ask our photographer. We ended up laughing too hard, all thoughts of seriousness gone. Mission accomplished.

I also got to meet the house of one of my idols. Vanessa from V and Co. lives in close proximity to my cousin, so we drove by in hopes that she would be outside, working in her garden or taking fashion tips from her turtled neck sheep. Disappointment. She must have been inside working on a quilt, or better yet, blogging. But...I saw her house! It's darling! Her yard is beautiful too! I felt like somewhat of a stalker, knowing where she lives and all. She's very careful not to disclose her location on her blog, identifying herself as living in "the middle of nowhere utah"...and I know where that is, nah nah. I drove by again on my way home from Faun's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, working up the courage to stop and say "Hi, I'm one of your admirers, can I have your autograph", but lucky for her, she was inside. Probably whipping up some homemade apple pie in a cute frilly apron that she made. Oh, to be so close.

I wonder where she'll be October 9th? Maybe if she's reading this she can be outside, arranging her pumpkins fastidiously around her yard. Or dressing a cute little scarecrow with overalls that she made out of old pillow cases and worn out jeans. And if I just so happen to drive by on my way to a certain person's house in the middle of nowhere utah, I could stop by and say "Hi. I'm one of your admirers. Could I get a picture with you?"

Just as long as it's not a serious profile, I'm sure she would be great with that!

Smittled

I feel like I should be wise by now.

I thought by the time I was a Grandma I would be all knowing and wise. Maybe not. Afterall, we're not called Wisema's. But I can be Grand. Golly gee-wiz, I'm grand. Maybe not.

What I am is smitten...yes, smitten. That's the first word that pooped into my head when I think of my sweet little PJ.

And since I wanted to make sure I was using the word properly in a sentance, (cuz I've been known to make up my own words from time to time), I looked it up in the dictionary to make sure it was a real word. According to Dictionary.com, it is:

smit·ten 
 –adjective
1.
struck, as with a hard blow.
2.
grievously or disastrously stricken or afflicted.
3.
very much in love.

Does anyone else find it extremely ironic that the same word used to identify one being "very much in love" also defines it as "struck, as with a hard blow", and "disastrously stricken".

Does that mean when you "fall in love" you land on your head? When you're "head over heels" about someone, is it cuz you've been afflicted with vertigo? If you've been "swept off your feet", do you land on your tush with a hard blow? If you "take my breath away", have I been stricken with asthma?

I'm not sure smitten was the word I was looking for afterall.

How about...smittled. According to my pocket dictionary of Lindaisms:

Smit-tled, adj.

1. to have one's heart melt with love.

2. to be completely captivated by a sleeping baby.

3. having a strong desire to snuggle a baby in kisses.

Yes. That is what I am, smittled. Not wise, not grand, just smittled.

Do you blame me? I'm sure once you meet her, you'll be smittled too!