comfort and joy

The great bloggy giveaway has got me thinking...(check out the previous post if you don't know what I'm talking about). Let me just start by saying I know I'm a little bit of a loser. But I derive an arguably unhealthy amount of comfort and joy from certain TV shows. There. I said it.

It started with The Brady Bunch and continued with Survivor. (I know I've talked about this here before.) But tonight is big because it marks the end of an eight month long TV induced depression... when LOST aired its season finale. More importantly, though, its been eight months of living life here without my sister living 5 minutes away. But also, eight months of wondering how they get off the island and why they would want to go back. Seriously, though, its been eight months since John and I left our old church and started over at a new one. What?

And thus continues this strange journey I've been on of realizing how closely I associate certain TV shows with stages of my life.

I don't watch THAT much TV, I'm just fiercely loyal to those shows I do watch, largely because of the sentiment I attach to them. It's not even that I so like LOST, for example. I mean, I watch it...yeah. And I look somewhat forward to watching it. But more than that, I look forward to looking forward to watching it with PEOPLE. See...its the anticipation and the company. I'm making dinner tonight for the season premiere. We're having some of our favorite people over...because LOST is dinner and Breyers ice cream and favorite people. Same as Survivor will always be good food at my sisters' when her boys still used sippy cups and their house was only minutes away.

And then there's Friends. I didn't watch it regularly when it was actually on the air, but I borrowed Season 1 from a friend when my girls were small and I was nursing (this seems to be a pattern for me) and I found such joy, such sweet company. So I shamelessly asked for the entire series for Christmas last year and thanks to John and Costco, look what I got.
That's 10 seasons, people. So its now what I watch when John is out of town or I feel anxious at night and just need a laugh or a...friend (I now officially hate myself). So while I'm down here (you know, in the place where NBC executives most want me to be: addicted, needy, wrapped up, tricked), let me go ahead and show you these.

Look, it's 1994 Joey..
And 2004 Joey.
Yeah...still hating myself. Seriously, though, doesn't everyone do this? Maybe they don't, which is what I'm starting to realize. Because to me, The Wonder Years is a cold, cozy, rainy school night in Iowa, The Smurfs is a long john donut on a Saturday morning, and The Brady Bunch is afternoon sunshine and an after school snack. Right? RIGHT?! I'm starting to hyperventilate. Maybe 1994 Rachel will make me feel better.
Oh, and by the way, a long john donut is what my sister and I called chocolate eclairs because what kid knows the word 'eclair'?

show me that smile again...

Anyone feel like a carnival? Rocks in My Dryer is hosting one and I wanted to play. So welcome! Click on the little logo to see the master list of giveaway goodies. But once you see what I have, you will look no further. I know you want it. I also know you wish you didn't. But you do.
I bought this the summer after the baby was born mainly because I spent a lot of time nursing and in the middle of the night, reading requires too much light (not to mention thinking) and we didn't have cable. Besides, who doesn't want to revert back to 1985 in the middle of the night while nursing a newborn...?

I expected it to be somewhat entertaining. After all, Kirk Cameron was quite the heart-throb, was he not? What I didn't expect, however, was that everything would be so...familiar: the greenhouse back porch, Mike's leather jacket, Carol's big red glasses, the wooden truck on the shelf in the kitchen. I even found myself thinking the lines in my head before the characters said them. What? Where in my brain is there room to store the 20 year old script to Growing Pains? I was equal parts pleased and embarrassed by this ability of mine.

But I am no longer nursing and I have it memorized anyway. So now its your turn! As long as you live in the US, you are eligible! Aren't you lucky? The winner will be randomly picked and posted on Saturday. Just leave a comment (with an email if you don't have a blog link) to be entered to win your very own used-but-still-good copy of season one of Growing Pains.

Mike Seaver is waiting.

or her, either

So I just posted about one twin...and now I'm feeling guilty for not posting about the other. See how that works? And I wonder why I can never give them one-on-one attention. Because it isn't FAIR! (A word I have come to hate, by the way. How did they learn that word, anyway? Certainly not from me). But in this case, it just doesn't seem right to talk of one and not the other. So if you stop reading now because you're having my-kids-overload, I'll understand.

Still here? Then let me introduce you to twin B:
When we found out I was pregnant, it was a great day as we had been trying for over 6 months and then, there it was. Two lines. (Actually, 6 lines...I took 3 tests just to be sure.) Then I started getting really, grossly sick. Then I found out there were 2 kids growing in there. Then I had a nervous breakdown. Not really, but almost.

The doctors guessed our twins were identical from what they could tell in the ultrasounds (I'll spare you the details about placentas). But when they were born, they were different from the start. We needed no DNA test to tell us the obvious: these girls were fraternal. And so it began.

While I always thought of her sister as an older woman in a baby's body, this one was a genuine rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed ball of baby. She laughed hard, cried hard, slept hard and played hard. And she still does. It often seems as though the party doesn't start until she arrives. She loves football almost as much as helping me cook. She idolizes her older boy cousins. She is responsible, sensitive, funny and a sucker for chocolate. She likes the fact that her name has 2 L's. She is the spitting image of my mother-in-law.

As I think of her growing up into a young woman, I imagine she and I will get along well. Maybe that's because I don't see much of myself in her. She will be a compassionate, life-loving grown up. And though I'm not a fan of that I Love you Forever book (you know, the one where the grown man's mom sneaks into his house at night to hold him like she did when he was a baby...creepy), I can kind of relate to the sentiment. She is the best snuggler in the house. I know I will miss that one day.

because it's never all about her

I've been thinking a lot lately about parenting and how we only get one shot. The girls go to preschool a few times a week now and that means the baby and I get lots of time together, just us. And I'm beginning to reap the benefits of that, as I notice my fuse with him is much longer than with his older sisters. I don't like that. But it has reminded me to notice the girls as individuals and to see them as they are, not as I think they should be.

And so I look at her to see her and not just to hand her a juice. She is one of two, shared a womb, a birthday, then a crib, now a room. She answers to "Girls!" and hardly ever gets a parent to herself.

She thinks that the Prince is Cinderella's daddy. She has to kiss me on both cheeks and hug on both sides when saying goodbye. She likes long hair. She could play pretend by herself for hours. She refuses to wear hair clips because she's convinced they'll blow away. She won't let toys float in the bathtub because she's afraid they'll go down the drain. She likes carrots and loves to dance, though not in public. She is girly and dainty, feisty and sweet, and is crazy about Diego. And she's looking more like me everyday.

She is our first-born...our only child for 2 minutes. And then her sister came following quickly after and she's been sharing her world ever since. I am so thankful they have each other...what a blessing to have a sister who is the same age to play with now and to depend on later. But there are challenges that come with the blessing and I want to learn creative ways for them to feel special and separate as well as having a strong relationship with each other.

So this is a step for me...to focus on one at a time. To receive from the Lord a holy imagination concerning them and who He has made them to be, both now and later. So here's to you, sweet girl. Thanks for sharing the spotlight.

my disorder

Something is seriously wrong with me.

I'm pretty sure I've said those words here before, but this time it's really and seriously true.

How is it that a 30 year old college graduate, wife and mother of three does not know how to clean her house? What is the DEAL? The girls have been with my parents for a few days, so during the day, it's just been me and the baby. I wanted to take advantage of the time without all the kids here to clean up a bit...you know, without distractions. But guess what? Turns out I AM the distraction.

Yesterday I go to the girls room and I'm cleaning: emptying the toy basket onto the floor and sorting out purses from wigs, Barbie shoes from baby doll clothes...you know, cleaning. I start to notice groups of things that go together. Like these baby dolls.
Look at them. None of them have clothes (except the littlest one upon which I took pity. Is it normal that my girls only UNdress the dolls?) As I continued to clean, I saw another grouping take shape.
I felt like I was doing something, making progress. Grouping like things with like things. Until I realized maybe this isn't really cleaning. Did I change a sheet? No I did not. Did I windex anything? No I did not. Did I vacuum? Of course I did not vacuum.

I sorted. I organized. I rearranged. This is not cleaning, people. It is a component of cleaning, I know. But this is a problem, a compulsion to have all things that match be put together, a disorder of ordering. Instead of changing sheets, I took photos of naked baby dolls in a pile. Worse, after I took the photo, I stuffed all the dolls in a cabinet in disarray to get them out of the way. At least they were all in one place. What is wrong with me? That is what kids do when mom says "clean your room". That is not what mom does when cleaning kids room.

I have another problem. I have heard of people who clean one. room. at. a time. How is this to be done?
I start here and almost get the bed almost made. But then I remember Oh yeah. I need to finish adding towels to this.
Then, I walk right by this.
...and turn my head the other way. On my way back to my room to finish the bed, I see this:
So guess what I did? You're lookin' at it.

Everything I've read about housekeeping talks about routines. What is that word? I think it is important, but I'm not sure how to have one. I did FlyLady for a while. She talks about baby steps and starting with keeping your sink clean and shiny. That worked for a while. Until it didn't anymore (as you can clearly see).

So there you have it. I like to sort. I like to organize. And I really like to have clean clothes and clean dishes but I'm not so crazy about actually cleaning them. I would love to hear from anyone who has a routine and actually follows it. Because truth is, I really do sort of enjoy keeping house...I just want it to work for me and not against me. Any ideas?

chatting at the sky

In her song Tuesday, Sarah Masen sings about the tired ending of a too-long day. The lyrics aren't explicit, but I think they describe a girl who had lived a regular day in a regular life without making space for her soul to breathe. It seems like sometimes when we most need a source outside of ourselves we are least likely to seek one.

I find myself in a similar place on my very own Tuesday. I am foggy and droopy and I need a shower. The days are running together lately. I am still clinching my jaw. I feel behind. I have a vague sense that I have been looking for me. In the foreground is the task, the day, the laundry, the meal, the living. But in the background, there is still just a girl. And it is in this place of need where I remember that it is not left to me alone to finish the task, to have the right answer, to be amazing and perfect while saving the world. But it is up to me to be the girl that He has made...and to trust Him to be Himself in and around me.

At the end of the day, the girl in the song stops and takes notice of the beauty in life that surrounded her...and she doesn't only notice, she enters in. She stops to chat at the sky. And in doing so, she sees her Creator.

So while this blog is a place for me to chat about parenting and coffee and photo-taking and bargains, I hope for it to also be a place to remember. A place to just be and invite others to be alongside of me. A place that encourages me to write and reflect and find meaning in the mundane. And maybe, by chatting in this place, I will find treasures of His presence weaved into the days I am blessed to reflect upon.

go to Target

I hate Target for having bathing suits out in January. But I love it for the same reason...because bathing suits in January means 75% off wintery clothes.

I bought this outfit for $7.73. And by outfit, I mean shirt and pants. Throw in the cowboy boots from my mother-in-law, and you're lookin' at $13.08 for the outfit. Including tax. She got those boots at the beach last summer for $5. I guess those beach bums don't have much use for cowboy boots. Fools.

I know it isn't much...but a long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of comfortable fitting cords for less than 8 bucks is hard to beat. I just can't stay away from a good bargain even if it sometimes means spending money I wouldn't have spent otherwise. Kind of like my addiction to selling bargains at yard sales.

But I felt inclined to share this with the masses. Six racks of 75% off at Target! But stay away from the bathing suits. It would only encourage them. And discourage you. If you're like me, anyway.

a plea, an apology and a thank you

Dear Pediatrician,

I know you do very important work like saving the lives of children and stuff like that. I also know that you are very smart because you went to school for 25 years or something. Waiting at a doctor's office is a necessary evil. I know this, too. I do.

What I do not understand is why you insist on calling me back into the exam room (that measures exactly 8 square feet) when you know it will be another hour before the doctor will see my child. It is mean. It gets my hopes up, and then causes me to spend an hour keeping my less-than-2-year-old son off chairs that have wheels and dirty throw-up floors. I would rather wait in the spacious waiting room. At least there are more toys out there. And better magazines.

I also do not understand why you keep the urine sample cups in the bottom drawers of said exam rooms. My son thinks they are Tupperware. He stacks them. And licks them. I know they are clean, but this is not ok with me. I try to keep him out of these drawers, but it is difficult to keep him occupied for an hour short of letting him throw tongue depressors in the garbage. Which we have done. And I am sorry.

I do want to thank you, however, for having the "Note to Parents" posted on the back of the door. It keeps me up on my anagram skills. (Parents: part, rent, sent, ten, net, star, trap, nest, rant...) I think I'm up to 25 words. At least that's all I can figure without writing them down.

Anyway, I don't want to be part of the problem, I'd rather be part of the solution. That's why I propose it be made illegal to force parents with children under 5 to wait at the doctors office.

Thank you and have a nice day.
Emily

i never do this (portrait of a kitchen)

My sister (The Nester) recently blogged about my kitchen redo. What a novel idea, thought I. Who doesn't love a good before and after? She often writes of window treatments and her love of fabric (that she has so graciously passed onto me). I don't usually write about this type of thing, but with it being my kitchen and all, I thought it could be fun to post some significant shots of it before the love and after the love. So here we go. This was our kitchen on move in day, August of 2005.Please notice the lovely shade of dark mauve under the chair rail. Oh, and the sponging. What self-respecting woman in the early 90's didn't love a good sponged wall?
The bones of this kitchen were great, I thought. It just needed a little love.
And love it we did. First, we painted the kitchen Ivoire from Sherwin Williams. Actually, first we replaced the stove, but that's not as fun to talk about. Then we lived with it for a while. I talked a lot with The Nester about what I wanted to do in the kitchen. She encouraged me to look through magazines and find photos of what I really liked, realistic or not. It helped to think this way and get a feel for what my likes are. Sometimes I have a hard time with that. Then, I found this, my inspiration photo:
It's actually an ad for that stuff that's on the ceiling, but I didn't care about that. I noticed that the walls were the same color as mine and those cabinets looked great! And it also made me want a dog. And a friend. And coffee. But whatever.

I knew we couldn't replace the cabinets, so I just had to choose what color I wanted them to be. I decided black was the only way to go. I also liked the fact that the black made our dishwasher disappear. So we hired a friend to do the dirty work (you didn't think I did this all myself, did you?) and off we went. We also replaced the sink and the countertops, which was by far our biggest expense. Add a subway tile backsplash and here is the final product.
And another one with my butcher block/island included.

Here is a close up of the window treatment. I picked out the fabric and The Nester helped me hang it. I'll let her reveal her secrets. Let me just say it cost $10.
I found these bubbled glass knobs at Anthropologie. Love. Them. Oh, and by the way, we do have a refrigerator. I just had no before shots from that angle so I didn't bother taking any after shots of it either. Incase you were wondering.

Let's see that one more time, shall we?
We do have to replace our off white outlets with white ones, but other than that, we're pretty much finished. Now if we only had a dog...

different doll, same story

It's a paper strawberry shortcake doll and it came inside a pop-up book along with several other dolls like it. You can't change their clothes, brush their hair or move their arms. But these flat, 2-D, paper dolls have managed to hold their interest above Polly or Barbie or even Dora. I think I may have even wondered why out loud. And then, I remembered...

I was 8. Or 9. I may have been 10. Fine. I was 12. I remember looking through magazines and cutting out photos of models, then I would name them and make up stories about them in my head. Sometimes I would cut out photos of the same model with a different outfit on and pretend they were twins. Most of my characters came from JCrew magazines because my mom got that one free in the mail. One set of twins was Cameron Diaz before she was famous. I still think of that when I see her on TV and I like to think I saw potential in her before she was discovered. What? I know.

If someone were to walk into my room while I was playing, they would have seen me on my bed, sitting silently, staring at several piles of cutouts. I did not stand them up and make them talk to one another. I would categorize them into groups of friends, siblings, rivalries. The cutouts were merely reference for the stories I was writing for them in my head: their friendships, personalities, family ties.

I am willing to admit all of this to simply say this: a story is a powerful force. Nobody ever sat me down and taught me how to make up stories, or even suggested that I should. I was naturally interested in people and their stories, even people that only existed in my head. (And with that last sentence I'm certain I solidified the suspicion that you have undoubtedly been hiding, telling you that I am indeed crazy.) I have never taught my girls how to pretend. They just do.

I think all kids do this, just not in the same way. My sister, for example, would rather decorate the Barbie house than act out pretend scenes with me, which she freely admits on her blog. I remember being so frustrated as a kid playing Barbies with her because I wanted to play Barbies and she just wanted to dress them. And arrange their furniture. But it is the same idea. She was making up stories too, just not about the same things. She was imagining, creating, and playing in a way that interested her.

It also happend to make me crazy, but whatever. I had bigger things to worry about...like hiding the fact that I cut out characters from magazines. As a 12 year old. Yikes.

peace

Ahhh...I wish this for myself today. So warm, so snuggly, so...at peace. This baby is not mine, by the way (although I would take him in a heartbeat were the offer made). He wasn't this peaceful the entire time.

But still very sweet. I took these photos in my sun room next to a window because I know nothing about ISO or aperture or shutter speed so I just have to get near a window and hope for the best.

Nothin' like a paci and a mommy's touch to make a baby better.

a long way from Sweet Valley

I love to read. I didn't really have a good book mentor growing up, though. I just read whatever I could get my hands on. So instead of classics and meaningful, childhood literature, there was a lot of Amelia Bedelia, Ramona Quimby, and Sweet Valley Twins. And yes, later it was Sweet Valley High. I still can't hear the name Lila without thinking of snobby Lila Fowler which leads to red-headed Enid, sensible Elizabeth and Bruce Patman (who bears a strange resemblance to Tony Danza in my head.)

I was planning a post about some books I have read this year, but then I thought "Oh wait. I haven't read any books this year." Any. I've read paragraphs. And maybe even a few chapters here and there. Unless I can count Dora Goes to the Beach. But I don't think I can. So I was planning to reflect on some of the words I've read this year that have been meaningful to me. Then I checked out my friend Kari's blog and saw that she wrote a post about the books she's read. There were 13 of them...for January. Total, she has read 152 books. In a year. True business. I do not lie. I think she might be my hero. If I remember correctly, the entire Sweet Valley High series is about 152 books long. Not that I would know that.

So even though my repertoire is not nearly as impressive, here are a few books I have started and intend to finish this year.

Among my short list is a daily devotional by Brennan Manning, Reflections for Ragamuffins. I intend to continue to pick that one up from time to time. It should be called a "from time-to-time devotional".

Another is Choosing Rest and was written by a local author, Sally Breedlove. I've been in the process of reading it for several years now. I've not read it in order, which is sort of against all things I believe in (books should be read from beginning to end. There is to be no checking the last page to see if it ends well. Just as movies should be watched in the order intended by the creator ie: Star Wars Episode IV should always come before Episode I because that's the way it was intended. But I digress.)

I have a fond affection for Jane Austen. I read Pride and Prejudice a long time ago, then re-read it a few years ago and had a renewed love for the English language as well as a tendency to say things like "fond affection". So I've recently picked up Emma and look so forward to getting to know her.

Spinning Straw into Gold is a book I ordered this past summer and am most excited by it. It is by Jane Gould and the sub-title is What Fairy Tales Reveal About the Transformations in a Woman's Life. And since I spend a lot of time with princesses these days, this is a fascinating read so far. I've only read the first 2 chapters...but it oozes with quotable quotes.

There are a few other books I have picked up this year, but the covers weren't nearly as colorful and wouldn't have looked good in the photo above. I feel the need to confess that, what with all the warnings about judging and all.

best out of ten

Not kidding. I really did take 10 shots. This really was the best one. It was a fun party. No crying (at least not by any of my kids), no broken lamps (or bones, but you can see where my priorities lie), and lots of leftover cake. A success, I think.

Most importantly, our girls are another year older and we have another year of parenting under our belts...at least I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I still kind of think there should be some sort of "labor day" celebration for the mommies on the kids birthdays. I guess that's what Mother's Day is for. Way to make their birthday about me, huh? Let's turn our focus back to its rightful owners...

before and after

I love a good before and after shot. I ran across this website the other day that shows celebrities before their photos were tweaked and after (click on portfolios). In other words, before they took 15 pounds off Kelly Clarkson and after. Personally, I prefer her with the poundage...because that's her. (Course, if it were me, I'd be lovin' me some photoshop).

It's one thing to take out a stray hair or a booger...but to cut out half of someone's behind? That is extreme. Speaking of extreme before and after shots, I have a few of my own. I am a believer in offering real help to the helpless. Of offering hope where there would otherwise be none. Of taking before and after shots that are meaningful and honest and life-changing.

So here we go, straight from the pile of Christmas casualties. This is Ariel before...
And here she is after.
See what a difference I made in her life? I did not change her body type. I did not give here a smaller nose. I gave her hair where there was no hair. I took away baldness, people.

And here's another one. Polly before....
And Polly after.
Tada! What a difference a head makes, huh? She looks happier in this one.

So here's to extreme before and after shots. And if you're having a particularly rough day, just think: at least your hair didn't fall off and you still have a head.

tripping over the awesomeness

I've always enjoyed taking pictures. I have several photo albums filled with photos of me and my middle and high school girl friends. In recent years, I have developed a love for photography as an art as well as a way to document life, especially once I got married and had a family of my own. One of the (many) benefits of marriage is that you get someone to notice in you the things you are passionate about and then they want to help you to develop that.

Just 2 months before our wedding in 2001, The Man gave me one of the best birthday gifts ever: a Pentax ZX-7 35mm SLR camera (that he paid for with piles of change, but that's another post). Of course, by the next year, everything was digital. But I didn't care...and 3 months and 13 rolls of film later, we were back from our honeymoon with lots of awesome photos to remember it by. Like this one taken in Bar Harbor, Maine:
The original print is not so hazy...but in taking a photo of a photo, some of the brilliance is lost in the transfer. Here's another one from our 35 mm. This one is the Old North Church in Boston:
Once the world turned digital, I got a little Nikon...and I do mean little: it was the Coolpix 2100, 2.0 megapixels. But it was fun to experiment, download to the computer and then edit away. Like this one of my friend Diane.

And another one like it.

The idea of taking a photo and seeing it instantly was so amazing to me...not to mention being able to download it and then do something awesome like blur the edges! Wow!

But truth be told, I know nothing real about photography. Seriously. No. Thing. I know the basic stuff that most people know like how to turn it on, set it to auto focus and click. And I know enough from experience that I usually hate indoor photos, I rarely use the flash and close up is almost always better than far away. I know I have somewhat of an eye for the artistic...at least what is artistic to me. But sometimes I feel as though my hands are tied in certain situations...like if I just knew a little bit, it could take me so much further.

Last year, The Man got me a new digital camera, like, a real one. The Nikon D80. It has 10.2 megapixels. I hardly know what that means, but doesn't it sound awesome? And then for Christmas, he also got me a Nikon Speedlight SB 800. In other words, a big 'ole flash.... because even though I don't like a flash and rarely use it, sometimes it has to be done. Both the camera and the flash are chalk full of awesomeness. So much awesomeness, they sort of negate any awesomeness I have on my own and I start to feel un-awesome in their presence. Because people see me with an awesome camera and a big 'ole flash and they think I can like, take pictures with it. I sort of feel like a 5 year old standing in my moms fancy black high heels. They're really cool and in style, but I'm tripping all over the place and I need my nose wiped.

I hope to grow into this camera and its flash. It is definitely fun to learn. I'm sure I could learn a lot more if I like, read the manuals. Meanwhile, I'll continue to play and maybe get a few lucky shots along the way.

time is moving everything faster...

It takes four years to get through high school. Four years for college. (Theoretically). Imagine the years between your freshman and senior year...forever. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

Four years sure aren't what they used to be.

I have been weepy. I think this is when it started. The girls and I had some friends over yesterday. My dear friend, Melissa and her 2 kids. Here they are with River.
Melissa and I were pregnant at the same time and our due dates were only one day apart. Needless to say, these three have spent a lot of time together over the past four years. I took this photo on a whim...they were playing silly on the floor. As soon as I took it, I remembered. I rushed downstairs and pulled this out.
There they are at what couldn't be more than a few months old. And it hit me anew how consistently the days move on despite my efforts to hold on. So here I am feeling impossibly sentimental. If I am weepy as they turn four, can you imagine when they go to kindergarten? Begin to drive? Go off to college? Get....married?

I long to hold on, to keep their old clothes, to document with photos, to be sure I am able to remember. But even now, only 4 years later, the day of their birth is a foggy blue...sharpened into focus only slightly by looking at photos of the day or re-reading journals written in those wee hours between feedings and heavy, new-mom sleep.

I want to enjoy, to celebrate, to look ahead with hopeful anticipation of the women the Lord has made them to be by watching the little girls they are today. And I do. And I am proud. But there is a cloud. It is small and not overwhelming...but it is there. And I have a sense that with each birthday, it will get a little bigger. I so don't want to be the hovering, over-protective mother. But I can't deny the pull that does indeed exist...between holding on and letting go.

So with that semi-depressing thought, Happy Birthday girls. May you live life to the hilt with adventure and delight...and may your counseling bill not be too high when you inevitably realize all the issues you have because of your crazy mother.

html idiot

It had to be done. For many reasons, it had to be done. The first of which being I felt like I was being screamed at every time I clicked on my blog because the template I was using has ALL CAPS in the title and well, I just don't know anything about anything to know how to change that. Except to change the whole template.

So there you have it.

Besides, it's a new day...a new year. Let's just be new.

Now back to the code...Anyone know how to change the drab gray background? Why didn't I major in graphic design? What good is any other profession anymore?