Bedtime Stories

I asked Little Man to tell me a bedtime story.

I brought a mean black haired bunny inside the house
He jumped on the table and then pooped in my helicopter
He then pooped on your leg and jumped on your head
We had to cut him out of your hair like bubble gum
Then we put him in the train bank

Much like trying to interpret a dream, I am a little scared to interpret this story. After dinner I mentioned to Little Man that there was a bunny in the backyard. Little Man's favorite color is black, mainly because anything that is chocolate is black and he loves chocolate as much as I do. Little Man loves to talk about poop; we actually created a bedtime game called "poop". He was also playing with his helicopter right before bed. Little Man likes to play with and brush my hair. He also likes to chew gum but knows not to swallow it. Little Man has a little silver train bank on his night stand; when I asked him what we do with the bunny once he is out of my hair he looked around and said "hmmm, put him in the train bank".

Based on my interpretation, Little Man is just using his imagination. Right?

I know, now you want to know how to play the poop game. Rather than make things seem taboo in our house; we tend to play them off. Why make a big deal out of something when you know they will go on and on and on and on. As I mentioned before Little Man went through a phase where he liked to say the word poop. Brother has poop! Pooping pants! Poop in the pants! I have to poop! Poopy pie! On and on and on.

One night during the bedtime routine Little Man was getting a little wound up and said something about turkey poop with cheese on it. This was so long ago I can not interpret why he put this together. So began the poop game. Turkey poop with cheese. Banana covered monkey poop. Ice cream covered green beans. See, I try to steer the weirdness a little. It is really just one of our silly bedtime games. I might share others with you all if I haven't scared you off.

Sweet dreams.

Bedtime Stories

I asked Little Man to tell me a bedtime story.

I brought a mean black haired bunny inside the house
He jumped on the table and then pooped in my helicopter
He then pooped on your leg and jumped on your head
We had to cut him out of your hair like bubble gum
Then we put him in the train bank

Much like trying to interpret a dream, I am a little scared to interpret this story. After dinner I mentioned to Little Man that there was a bunny in the backyard. Little Man's favorite color is black, mainly because anything that is chocolate is black and he loves chocolate as much as I do. Little Man loves to talk about poop; we actually created a bedtime game called "poop". He was also playing with his helicopter right before bed. Little Man likes to play with and brush my hair. He also likes to chew gum but knows not to swallow it. Little Man has a little silver train bank on his night stand; when I asked him what we do with the bunny once he is out of my hair he looked around and said "hmmm, put him in the train bank".

Based on my interpretation, Little Man is just using his imagination. Right?

I know, now you want to know how to play the poop game. Rather than make things seem taboo in our house; we tend to play them off. Why make a big deal out of something when you know they will go on and on and on and on. As I mentioned before Little Man went through a phase where he liked to say the word poop. Brother has poop! Pooping pants! Poop in the pants! I have to poop! Poopy pie! On and on and on.

One night during the bedtime routine Little Man was getting a little wound up and said something about turkey poop with cheese on it. This was so long ago I can not interpret why he put this together. So began the poop game. Turkey poop with cheese. Banana covered monkey poop. Ice cream covered green beans. See, I try to steer the weirdness a little. It is really just one of our silly bedtime games. I might share others with you all if I haven't scared you off.

Sweet dreams.

Fro Me To You Carnival 5.29.08

This week's Fro installment refers to weddings,weekends and weather. Hubs and I had a wild weekend planned in St Louis for my cousin's wedding. We were invited to come without the boys (thank you for the mini vacation) so we took the opportunity to make the most of our time in the city.

Friday night we attended a pre-wedding cookout at my aunt's house. We then headed to a craw fish boil and then back out with my brother. As you can see, I started my weekend with straight hair. This is really just my lazy way of not having to wash my hair everyday. My straight hair was a surprise to my old friend A Bun's Life. T hasn't seen me in over a year and in the last eighteen years we have known each other I think she has seen me with straight hair once; Friday.

Thanks for the image T.

Saturday Hubs and I hung out around the house recovering from what we considered a late night. We don't get out much anymore; midnight is late. Party on Rock Stars!

Saturday night found us heading to a rehearsal dinner. My brother and I decided we would shake things up a bit. I washed and went curly and he decided to tame the mane. You see, I have a lot of hair but brother has A. LOT. of hair. He is in the process of growing his hair long and is having trouble with frizz. That is what happens to us, our hair doesn't grow down, it grows out. He humored me and allowed me to use some product and play dress up. He was such a good sport.

Sunday you would find us sleeping in due to the fact that we finally rolled in around 2am. What is wrong with me? Do I think I am 21? Oh wait, my step-mom was outlasting me so age can not be my excuse. I am out of practice, they have a martini bar walking distance from their house!

The wedding was scheduled Sunday at 6pm. How many weddings have you heard of that start on time? I now know of one! Since I have seen the same group of people everyday since arriving I had to do something a little different with the fro. The humidity was not helping so I decided to go with the conservative "bun". Not sure how well I pulled it off...

Sleepy and too much wine...

I needed more bobbie pins at this point. Damn layers.

Want to see the rest of the weekend? Click here.

Fro Me To You Carnival 5.29.08

This week's Fro installment refers to weddings,weekends and weather. Hubs and I had a wild weekend planned in St Louis for my cousin's wedding. We were invited to come without the boys (thank you for the mini vacation) so we took the opportunity to make the most of our time in the city.

Friday night we attended a pre-wedding cookout at my aunt's house. We then headed to a craw fish boil and then back out with my brother. As you can see, I started my weekend with straight hair. This is really just my lazy way of not having to wash my hair everyday. My straight hair was a surprise to my old friend A Bun's Life. T hasn't seen me in over a year and in the last eighteen years we have known each other I think she has seen me with straight hair once; Friday.

Thanks for the image T.

Saturday Hubs and I hung out around the house recovering from what we considered a late night. We don't get out much anymore; midnight is late. Party on Rock Stars!

Saturday night found us heading to a rehearsal dinner. My brother and I decided we would shake things up a bit. I washed and went curly and he decided to tame the mane. You see, I have a lot of hair but brother has A. LOT. of hair. He is in the process of growing his hair long and is having trouble with frizz. That is what happens to us, our hair doesn't grow down, it grows out. He humored me and allowed me to use some product and play dress up. He was such a good sport.

Sunday you would find us sleeping in due to the fact that we finally rolled in around 2am. What is wrong with me? Do I think I am 21? Oh wait, my step-mom was outlasting me so age can not be my excuse. I am out of practice, they have a martini bar walking distance from their house!

The wedding was scheduled Sunday at 6pm. How many weddings have you heard of that start on time? I now know of one! Since I have seen the same group of people everyday since arriving I had to do something a little different with the fro. The humidity was not helping so I decided to go with the conservative "bun". Not sure how well I pulled it off...

Sleepy and too much wine...

I needed more bobbie pins at this point. Damn layers.

Want to see the rest of the weekend? Click here.

Wacky Wylie Wednesday

Wednesday we have a standing play date with the Wylies. Mom Wylie and I alternate who brings coffee to the other home. I like a non-fat white chocolate mocha without whip and Mom Wylie likes a one pump mocha. Although they did not sit accordingly in the photo, our kids stair step in age at 18 months, 21 months, 3 years, and 4 years.

It is funny what happens when you are around other parents and their kids. For instance; today, when Mom Wylie was graciously making all four kids lunch at her house, Little Man decides to add a request to the menu. Not only would he like a hot dog, he would like icing for dipping the hot dog. Normally, this would be funny and we would move on, maybe talk about a recent birthday party and the cake for reasoning. However, Mom Wylie has happened upon our home on more than one occasion when my kids are either eating cinnamon rolls with icing for breakfast, or the one morning we made pancakes and I allowed Little Man to have some left over cupcake icing for dipping. The boy likes to dip his food, what can I say.

So I have added a new food group to the pyramid. Icing. Preferably cream cheese icing. Cheese is good for you right?

If Mom Wylie only knew what her boy eats when she is not around at our house!

Check out the Heydt-Wylie Blog; Blue has a weekly wacky wardrobe entry that is too cute.

Wacky Wylie Wednesday

Wednesday we have a standing play date with the Wylies. Mom Wylie and I alternate who brings coffee to the other home. I like a non-fat white chocolate mocha without whip and Mom Wylie likes a one pump mocha. Although they did not sit accordingly in the photo, our kids stair step in age at 18 months, 21 months, 3 years, and 4 years.

It is funny what happens when you are around other parents and their kids. For instance; today, when Mom Wylie was graciously making all four kids lunch at her house, Little Man decides to add a request to the menu. Not only would he like a hot dog, he would like icing for dipping the hot dog. Normally, this would be funny and we would move on, maybe talk about a recent birthday party and the cake for reasoning. However, Mom Wylie has happened upon our home on more than one occasion when my kids are either eating cinnamon rolls with icing for breakfast, or the one morning we made pancakes and I allowed Little Man to have some left over cupcake icing for dipping. The boy likes to dip his food, what can I say.

So I have added a new food group to the pyramid. Icing. Preferably cream cheese icing. Cheese is good for you right?

If Mom Wylie only knew what her boy eats when she is not around at our house!

Check out the Heydt-Wylie Blog; Blue has a weekly wacky wardrobe entry that is too cute.

Back Seat Driver

It's official. Little Man fell from my tree. Much like I fell from my dad's tree, Little Man is "one of us". Although Little Man looked just like Daddy when he was a baby, my personality and charm have taken over what was once Daddy.

When we found out we were pregnant with Little Man my Aunt Michele told Daddy "don't have babies with someone in our family if you want to have kids that look like you". This has been the case for generations; our genes just take over. We are like that, a little dominating, but lovable.

I wasn't disappointed when Little Man took after Daddy, after all, I did fall in love with him. When The Babe arrived he took over the position of daddy clone. Not only does The Babe look like Daddy, he is just as laid back as the man that made him. The Babe will take a drink and then toss his head back and say "ahhh". He doesn't walk or run, he has a stride. Nothing phases him.

I don't believe babies are born with a clean slate. I believe they are born with predisposed characteristics that grow or stay dormant. My parents divorced when I was eight. With the divorce came a geographically distance between me and my father. The distance was as little as across town or across the world while my father was traveling in the Coast Guard. The distance brought a loneliness for my father but did not deter me from taking on some of his personality traits.

Little Man has taken on most of my traits. Either I act like a three year old or the boy is my child. The other day at Nana's he wanted to make a list. He grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and headed to the table. I was on the other room and heard a number of people call for me. I was in trouble, I could tell. I guess Little Man wanted to make a list of all the missing toys in the house. To top it off, he named all of them!

Daddy was not happy. What are you doing? You are making him neurotic!

As I have said before; I don't think I can MAKE my boys do anything. I simply think I am a guide. This incident merely reminds me to pay attention to what I am doing so I can pick the traits I want Little Man to see most often.

It also reminds me that I have an interesting road ahead. I am not sure who will do the driving, but someone's going crazy!

Back Seat Driver

It's official. Little Man fell from my tree. Much like I fell from my dad's tree, Little Man is "one of us". Although Little Man looked just like Daddy when he was a baby, my personality and charm have taken over what was once Daddy.

When we found out we were pregnant with Little Man my Aunt Michele told Daddy "don't have babies with someone in our family if you want to have kids that look like you". This has been the case for generations; our genes just take over. We are like that, a little dominating, but lovable.

I wasn't disappointed when Little Man took after Daddy, after all, I did fall in love with him. When The Babe arrived he took over the position of daddy clone. Not only does The Babe look like Daddy, he is just as laid back as the man that made him. The Babe will take a drink and then toss his head back and say "ahhh". He doesn't walk or run, he has a stride. Nothing phases him.

I don't believe babies are born with a clean slate. I believe they are born with predisposed characteristics that grow or stay dormant. My parents divorced when I was eight. With the divorce came a geographically distance between me and my father. The distance was as little as across town or across the world while my father was traveling in the Coast Guard. The distance brought a loneliness for my father but did not deter me from taking on some of his personality traits.

Little Man has taken on most of my traits. Either I act like a three year old or the boy is my child. The other day at Nana's he wanted to make a list. He grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and headed to the table. I was on the other room and heard a number of people call for me. I was in trouble, I could tell. I guess Little Man wanted to make a list of all the missing toys in the house. To top it off, he named all of them!

Daddy was not happy. What are you doing? You are making him neurotic!

As I have said before; I don't think I can MAKE my boys do anything. I simply think I am a guide. This incident merely reminds me to pay attention to what I am doing so I can pick the traits I want Little Man to see most often.

It also reminds me that I have an interesting road ahead. I am not sure who will do the driving, but someone's going crazy!

Fro Me To You Carnival 5.22.08

Graduation is an important time in a student's life. I have been thinking about graduation lately. Partly because it is that time of year, the fact that I think I may never finish my MBA at the rate I am going, and that one of my favorite bloggers recently finished her degree.

As I mentioned in my Fro post last week, my senior year of high school was unusual to say the least. Lack of regular parental supervision left me to my own devices most of the time. Although many parties were held in my honor at my home, it was always clean and the fridge was always full (thanks to working at the local Hy-Vee). If you have been a reader of mine for some time now you know I have moved around A. LOT. My carefree gypsy spirit provided me the opportunity to live in many exciting and beautiful places bu did not do much for my transcripts. I remember telling hubs in 1999, "we will not move from North Carolina until I finish my degree". Five years later in Florida I found myself saying "we will not leave this state until I am done with this BS". I walked in 2006 and moved back to Missouri the same spring.

These thoughts of graduating made me turn to my photo site to reminisce. The photo of my high school graduation is of me and my sister's boyfriend of a few years, Steve. He was a great guy and like a brother to me. As you can see, I was pretty happy that day. You might also notice I am wearing the little hat the "proper" way. I hated to see all my girlfriends with the little hat propped on the back of their heads with bobby pins everywhere. Too much stress for me; who wants to worry about keeping that thing on when I was worried enough about tripping.












The photo of my college graduation is of me and hubs. Oh, you thought that was Billy Idol? Ha! I did too. You see, while I was practicing and waiting in the grand stand of the TECO Arena, hubs was hanging out with friends. One of these friends is a hair stylist. They got bored. They bleached hub's hair. During the ceremony hubs sent me a text that he had surprise for me. This was not the jewelry I was expecting. Especially since we had family pictures scheduled for two days later. I may be happy to be graduating, not so happy about the hair. Leave a man with a hairstylist and bad things can happen.

Fro Me To You Carnival 5.22.08

Graduation is an important time in a student's life. I have been thinking about graduation lately. Partly because it is that time of year, the fact that I think I may never finish my MBA at the rate I am going, and that one of my favorite bloggers recently finished her degree.

As I mentioned in my Fro post last week, my senior year of high school was unusual to say the least. Lack of regular parental supervision left me to my own devices most of the time. Although many parties were held in my honor at my home, it was always clean and the fridge was always full (thanks to working at the local Hy-Vee). If you have been a reader of mine for some time now you know I have moved around A. LOT. My carefree gypsy spirit provided me the opportunity to live in many exciting and beautiful places bu did not do much for my transcripts. I remember telling hubs in 1999, "we will not move from North Carolina until I finish my degree". Five years later in Florida I found myself saying "we will not leave this state until I am done with this BS". I walked in 2006 and moved back to Missouri the same spring.

These thoughts of graduating made me turn to my photo site to reminisce. The photo of my high school graduation is of me and my sister's boyfriend of a few years, Steve. He was a great guy and like a brother to me. As you can see, I was pretty happy that day. You might also notice I am wearing the little hat the "proper" way. I hated to see all my girlfriends with the little hat propped on the back of their heads with bobby pins everywhere. Too much stress for me; who wants to worry about keeping that thing on when I was worried enough about tripping.












The photo of my college graduation is of me and hubs. Oh, you thought that was Billy Idol? Ha! I did too. You see, while I was practicing and waiting in the grand stand of the TECO Arena, hubs was hanging out with friends. One of these friends is a hair stylist. They got bored. They bleached hub's hair. During the ceremony hubs sent me a text that he had surprise for me. This was not the jewelry I was expecting. Especially since we had family pictures scheduled for two days later. I may be happy to be graduating, not so happy about the hair. Leave a man with a hairstylist and bad things can happen.

Udder Lies

Call me a sucker:

A sucker for blue eyes.
A sucker for cowboys boots.
A sucker for a cook out & beer.
A sucker for a good dancer.

After high school I moved from Kansas City to Springfield to go to what is formerly known as SW MO State. I spent about a year in 417 land and then moved back to my birth state of North Carolina. I worked and played in the Tar Heel state for about a year and moved to Connecticut with some friends. Still young and free I was able to go where the wind blew. Things did not feel right in Connecticut so I packed up and moved back to KC on the advice of my sister. Sis informed me of this fabulous new job she had for a great computer company with a marketing theme based on a cow and a box.

I began working for the cow computer company by attending an eight week training program. Consider it a crash course in computers before the Internet was readily available and the hottest selling item was a 166 with 16MB; we called it "The Happy Meal" as it was packaged with a 15" monitor and ink jet printer for 1599.00.

During my eight week boot camp we eat, sleep and breath cows and computers. The class spends all day together and then socializes at night together. There was a great mix of people from all walks of life. We enjoyed our time together but I enjoyed one particular class mate more than others. I was smitten with Daddy the minute I saw him in his cowboys boots and v-neck sweater. He was charming and funny and knew more about my home town than I did, which intrigued me since he had only been there a couple of years. The strange thing was, although we all knew each other's names, we did not use them, we used what I will call "stage names". Kind of like strippers, but with clothes and less money or attention. The first thing they do is change our names. We would be working in a call center setting so you can imagine how many folks have the same name: I don't want my commission going to someone else. We are told to pick three names that we like and the one that is available will be our new identity. Our new name will even go on our name badge. My new identity would be Kendall and Daddy was known as Gannon.

Our training was close to an end when Daddy mentioned to me he was having a celebration cookout at his house in honor of our graduation. He drew a map for me and gave me his number. I was a little nervous and decided to dress like I didn't care. I wore my black cowboy boots, jeans, white button down, and my Yankees ball cap.

When I pulled up to the house as indicated on the map I thought I had read the directions wrong. There were no cars in the drive and no one in sight. I rang the bell to be sure. Daddy answered the door. I walked in to his Westport home to hear David and David on the stereo and no grill in sight. The only thing in the fridge was the brand of beer I was known to drink, some ketchup, and some relish. So much for a cookout. Daddy and I had a beer and talked a while. He looked at his watch and said "I guess it's just me and you tonight". (Maybe becasue he did not invite anyone else from training)

We never made it to dinner but filled up on drinks and dancing. Before I knew it he had taken over my spare closet and had stolen my spare key.

Can't get enough of stories like this? Check out Ramblings By Reba

Udder Lies

Call me a sucker:

A sucker for blue eyes.
A sucker for cowboys boots.
A sucker for a cook out & beer.
A sucker for a good dancer.

After high school I moved from Kansas City to Springfield to go to what is formerly known as SW MO State. I spent about a year in 417 land and then moved back to my birth state of North Carolina. I worked and played in the Tar Heel state for about a year and moved to Connecticut with some friends. Still young and free I was able to go where the wind blew. Things did not feel right in Connecticut so I packed up and moved back to KC on the advice of my sister. Sis informed me of this fabulous new job she had for a great computer company with a marketing theme based on a cow and a box.

I began working for the cow computer company by attending an eight week training program. Consider it a crash course in computers before the Internet was readily available and the hottest selling item was a 166 with 16MB; we called it "The Happy Meal" as it was packaged with a 15" monitor and ink jet printer for 1599.00.

During my eight week boot camp we eat, sleep and breath cows and computers. The class spends all day together and then socializes at night together. There was a great mix of people from all walks of life. We enjoyed our time together but I enjoyed one particular class mate more than others. I was smitten with Daddy the minute I saw him in his cowboys boots and v-neck sweater. He was charming and funny and knew more about my home town than I did, which intrigued me since he had only been there a couple of years. The strange thing was, although we all knew each other's names, we did not use them, we used what I will call "stage names". Kind of like strippers, but with clothes and less money or attention. The first thing they do is change our names. We would be working in a call center setting so you can imagine how many folks have the same name: I don't want my commission going to someone else. We are told to pick three names that we like and the one that is available will be our new identity. Our new name will even go on our name badge. My new identity would be Kendall and Daddy was known as Gannon.

Our training was close to an end when Daddy mentioned to me he was having a celebration cookout at his house in honor of our graduation. He drew a map for me and gave me his number. I was a little nervous and decided to dress like I didn't care. I wore my black cowboy boots, jeans, white button down, and my Yankees ball cap.

When I pulled up to the house as indicated on the map I thought I had read the directions wrong. There were no cars in the drive and no one in sight. I rang the bell to be sure. Daddy answered the door. I walked in to his Westport home to hear David and David on the stereo and no grill in sight. The only thing in the fridge was the brand of beer I was known to drink, some ketchup, and some relish. So much for a cookout. Daddy and I had a beer and talked a while. He looked at his watch and said "I guess it's just me and you tonight". (Maybe becasue he did not invite anyone else from training)

We never made it to dinner but filled up on drinks and dancing. Before I knew it he had taken over my spare closet and had stolen my spare key.

Can't get enough of stories like this? Check out Ramblings By Reba

Tattoos and Scars

You know when you are in a stressful situation or are counting backwards while being put under and they tell you to find your happy place? You search for butterflies and grass or classical music in your mind. You dig deep and recall a magical moment in the way back of your mind. Your happy place may be in the mountains or on a beach, reading a good book with a glass of wine by a fire, or sleeping in a hammock.

My happy place is somewhere on a beach. Not a very well known beach. I am talking the kind of place where you master the fine art of counting waves. My dad introduced me to this art form when I was young, on the beach in Virginia. I fell in love with the water, the shells, and the sun. Now that I am older I simply added a cold cocktail.

Life is hectic and sometimes we forget about our happy place. The mundane chores of daily life pull us down like a current. Fear not! I found a solution! For me, anyway.

While living in the Sunshine State I decided it was time for tattoo number two. I will not bore you with the details of the first one as it needs to either be removed or redone by one of the wizards on Miami Ink. Tattoo number one is almost 15 years old now and is showing signs of age. Maybe I will do a before and after post one day.

Back to number two. Hubs and I were spending the day on Ft. Myers Beach. Before we had Little Man we spent all of our free time exploring Florida and it's great beaches. This particular day we stayed close to home and had just finished a couple of frozen concoctions at the famous "Top 'O Mast" on the beach.

So I have a strategically placed birthmark. This birthmark resembles an island. Daddy and I had always joked I should get a palm tree on said island. We couldn't think of a better time.

Off we go to Big Stick Tattoo. BS is the typical tattoo parlor with ideas on the walls and a sign that reminds me "yes, it still hurts". No problem, I am still in.

I meet my artist Bobby. He reminds me of an older, shorter version of Danny Boneducie, red hair and all. I like him and he informs me he can freehand the palm tree I pointed to on the wall. Wow, I am impressed, and a little nervous.

I am instructed to straddle the swiveling chair so he can get a better vantage. While straddling I am able to watch Bobby design other tattoos on the TV. I guess Bobby likes to tape his work so he and others can enjoy later. My art is not spared, Daddy has been employed as cameraman. Look Mom! I am on TV!

I prepare myself. He informs me he will start with the trunk of the tree. Whoa! How tall is the trunk? I swore the tree was all the way up to my bra line! Daddy later informs me the words in his mind were "oh, well we can't turn back now". He keeps his mouth shut and keeps rolling tape.

I sit there for what seemed like a day, if nothing else it was long enough for my Rum Runners to wear off and Bobby to take a smoke break. It was really only about two hours. I need to remind you, I have been on the beach so I am in my swim suit. I am straddling a chair with my suit in places that only my OBGYN has seen and I am trying not to concentrate on the fact that I really need to get on a treadmill. Those tattoo needles can make your jiggling parts jiggle even more.

My new friend Bobby tells me we are finished. I am exited to see my tree but because of the location of my birthmark I can not look directly at it, I have to twist and turn like the yoga lover I am. I turn in the mirror and I am shocked! He free handed that? That is a palm tree? How can something so small feel like it was piercing my frontal lobe? I love it! I got more than I bargained or paid for but was happy with my new happy place. My island birthmark had a tree, sun, birds, and all the fixins to make counting waves a breeze (Ha Ha, get it).




I studied my new happy place for weeks while I settled into my new digs. It was a perfect illustration of that time in my life. I think of my tattoos as just that; an expression of who I am and where I have been in life. I struggle with the idea of changing my first tattoo because I feel like that is me just trying to change the past. Every decision we make is what makes us who we are today.


*Image has been enlarged for detail; it is actually a small tattoo and is placed where you only see if without clothes.






The Babe has a birthmark just like mine. Daddy swore it was a bruise until it was there for about three months and did not go away. So far, this is the only physical characteristic The Babe has like me.






For those of you in the crowd that might be offended, please don't be. The tattoo is not in any "naughty" places but it is placed so only those that see me naked get to see it. I like tattoos on other people that I can see, but like to think of my two as my little secrets with hubs...and all of you.

Tattoos and Scars

You know when you are in a stressful situation or are counting backwards while being put under and they tell you to find your happy place? You search for butterflies and grass or classical music in your mind. You dig deep and recall a magical moment in the way back of your mind. Your happy place may be in the mountains or on a beach, reading a good book with a glass of wine by a fire, or sleeping in a hammock.

My happy place is somewhere on a beach. Not a very well known beach. I am talking the kind of place where you master the fine art of counting waves. My dad introduced me to this art form when I was young, on the beach in Virginia. I fell in love with the water, the shells, and the sun. Now that I am older I simply added a cold cocktail.

Life is hectic and sometimes we forget about our happy place. The mundane chores of daily life pull us down like a current. Fear not! I found a solution! For me, anyway.

While living in the Sunshine State I decided it was time for tattoo number two. I will not bore you with the details of the first one as it needs to either be removed or redone by one of the wizards on Miami Ink. Tattoo number one is almost 15 years old now and is showing signs of age. Maybe I will do a before and after post one day.

Back to number two. Hubs and I were spending the day on Ft. Myers Beach. Before we had Little Man we spent all of our free time exploring Florida and it's great beaches. This particular day we stayed close to home and had just finished a couple of frozen concoctions at the famous "Top 'O Mast" on the beach.

So I have a strategically placed birthmark. This birthmark resembles an island. Daddy and I had always joked I should get a palm tree on said island. We couldn't think of a better time.

Off we go to Big Stick Tattoo. BS is the typical tattoo parlor with ideas on the walls and a sign that reminds me "yes, it still hurts". No problem, I am still in.

I meet my artist Bobby. He reminds me of an older, shorter version of Danny Boneducie, red hair and all. I like him and he informs me he can freehand the palm tree I pointed to on the wall. Wow, I am impressed, and a little nervous.

I am instructed to straddle the swiveling chair so he can get a better vantage. While straddling I am able to watch Bobby design other tattoos on the TV. I guess Bobby likes to tape his work so he and others can enjoy later. My art is not spared, Daddy has been employed as cameraman. Look Mom! I am on TV!

I prepare myself. He informs me he will start with the trunk of the tree. Whoa! How tall is the trunk? I swore the tree was all the way up to my bra line! Daddy later informs me the words in his mind were "oh, well we can't turn back now". He keeps his mouth shut and keeps rolling tape.

I sit there for what seemed like a day, if nothing else it was long enough for my Rum Runners to wear off and Bobby to take a smoke break. It was really only about two hours. I need to remind you, I have been on the beach so I am in my swim suit. I am straddling a chair with my suit in places that only my OBGYN has seen and I am trying not to concentrate on the fact that I really need to get on a treadmill. Those tattoo needles can make your jiggling parts jiggle even more.

My new friend Bobby tells me we are finished. I am exited to see my tree but because of the location of my birthmark I can not look directly at it, I have to twist and turn like the yoga lover I am. I turn in the mirror and I am shocked! He free handed that? That is a palm tree? How can something so small feel like it was piercing my frontal lobe? I love it! I got more than I bargained or paid for but was happy with my new happy place. My island birthmark had a tree, sun, birds, and all the fixins to make counting waves a breeze (Ha Ha, get it).




I studied my new happy place for weeks while I settled into my new digs. It was a perfect illustration of that time in my life. I think of my tattoos as just that; an expression of who I am and where I have been in life. I struggle with the idea of changing my first tattoo because I feel like that is me just trying to change the past. Every decision we make is what makes us who we are today.


*Image has been enlarged for detail; it is actually a small tattoo and is placed where you only see if without clothes.






The Babe has a birthmark just like mine. Daddy swore it was a bruise until it was there for about three months and did not go away. So far, this is the only physical characteristic The Babe has like me.






For those of you in the crowd that might be offended, please don't be. The tattoo is not in any "naughty" places but it is placed so only those that see me naked get to see it. I like tattoos on other people that I can see, but like to think of my two as my little secrets with hubs...and all of you.

Fro Me To You Carnival

Kristen from We Are That Family had this great idea that is so easy for me. You see, I have A LOT of hair. Back in high school though, I did not think it was big enough. curls, layers, hairspray, and a pick was all I needed. My neighbor was an older retired man that would "tease" me (as if I needed more) that I had to drive a four door car to make room for me hair. Case in point:

My sister took this photo of me while we were in Dallas on Spring Break during my senior year. We had a blast. We spent the days shopping and going to a baseball game and at night we hit the town. I remember feeling so out of place when we would go out. My sister, being four years older, was 22 at the time. She seemed very confident and comfortable with bar hopping. I remember feeling like a third wheel when a guy would be hitting on her; I would not know what to do with myself but also did not want to cramp her style. She, however, was very gracious and made sure to include me in conversations and such.

My sis and I were pretty close my senior year. My mother and step dad moved to Springfield Missouri that year due to a job transfer. I was allowed to stay in KC to finish out my senior year with my sister as my "guardian". With sis being about four years older than me so we struggled with the parent/friend relationship at times but it worked out in the end.

For those of you wondering, I did graduate, but barely. I had great grades and worked three jobs.; what got me was the amount of days I was absent. I guess they only let you miss a set amount of days; I was a couple of days over. I am still not sure if they send warning letters but if they did I did not get them.

One of my teachers asked if I had anymore siblings that would be attending after me. They seemed relieved when I answered no.

We've come a long way, me and my hair.

Fro Me To You Carnival

Kristen from We Are That Family had this great idea that is so easy for me. You see, I have A LOT of hair. Back in high school though, I did not think it was big enough. curls, layers, hairspray, and a pick was all I needed. My neighbor was an older retired man that would "tease" me (as if I needed more) that I had to drive a four door car to make room for me hair. Case in point:

My sister took this photo of me while we were in Dallas on Spring Break during my senior year. We had a blast. We spent the days shopping and going to a baseball game and at night we hit the town. I remember feeling so out of place when we would go out. My sister, being four years older, was 22 at the time. She seemed very confident and comfortable with bar hopping. I remember feeling like a third wheel when a guy would be hitting on her; I would not know what to do with myself but also did not want to cramp her style. She, however, was very gracious and made sure to include me in conversations and such.

My sis and I were pretty close my senior year. My mother and step dad moved to Springfield Missouri that year due to a job transfer. I was allowed to stay in KC to finish out my senior year with my sister as my "guardian". With sis being about four years older than me so we struggled with the parent/friend relationship at times but it worked out in the end.

For those of you wondering, I did graduate, but barely. I had great grades and worked three jobs.; what got me was the amount of days I was absent. I guess they only let you miss a set amount of days; I was a couple of days over. I am still not sure if they send warning letters but if they did I did not get them.

One of my teachers asked if I had anymore siblings that would be attending after me. They seemed relieved when I answered no.

We've come a long way, me and my hair.

One Carry On Per Passenger Please

If you saw the tree house on a real life traveling adventure you would wonder if we were homeless nomads. We bring everything of importance with us. Each adult has a laptop bag on their back. The boys share a big "bag 'o crap". Finally, there is the carry on which is stuffed as much as possible to avoid the wait at the baggage carousel. Oh, I forgot the car seats, for each child, and a stroller.

I am the type that will stuff as much in a bag as I can. My Army veteran husband has taught me the proper way to roll clothing to take advantage of all the space available in a bag. I also utilize the "sit and zip" method. I carry a big purse, which, due to my neurosis, has its own little purses inside with categorized items. No, I do not mind if my food touches smarty.

If life is a journey we have baggage right? Guilt, self hate, shame, etc. I am taking full advantage of the space in my bag with lots of guilt. I worry about spending enough time with friends and family and still leaving room for me. I worry about giving my boys, all three of them, enough encouragement to help them grow as men. I worry about what others think of me. I worry about making my parents proud. I worry about making God proud. I second guess myself a lot.

I am still a newlywed to the stay at home gig with the boys. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding for all of us. My guilt was magnified the other day when Daddy was home.

I was doing the dishes when I heard Little Man say "Mommy watch me". If you are like me, you hear this A LOT. I told Little Man to hang on a second so I could finish my task. He continued to request my eyes. I guess my tone was noticeable by Daddy. My heart overflowed with guilt and love when I realized all Little Man wanted to show me was how he and brother were hugging and kissing each other good morning. Heartbreak.

I begin to explain myself to Daddy. Daddy, I hear that all the time, it is like the boy that called wolf. How do you determine when to look immediately and when to wait? How do the boys know that everything they do is worth acknowledgement?

I think it is important to let my boys know they are a part of a whole unit and not the center of that unit. They need to know it is not all about them, but that each of us supports and encourages the others. Little Man is great about praising The Babe when he does something new or says a new word. The Babe is good about waiting his turn. Now, if I could just forgive myself for not being perfect. I should give it up.

One Carry On Per Passenger Please

If you saw the tree house on a real life traveling adventure you would wonder if we were homeless nomads. We bring everything of importance with us. Each adult has a laptop bag on their back. The boys share a big "bag 'o crap". Finally, there is the carry on which is stuffed as much as possible to avoid the wait at the baggage carousel. Oh, I forgot the car seats, for each child, and a stroller.

I am the type that will stuff as much in a bag as I can. My Army veteran husband has taught me the proper way to roll clothing to take advantage of all the space available in a bag. I also utilize the "sit and zip" method. I carry a big purse, which, due to my neurosis, has its own little purses inside with categorized items. No, I do not mind if my food touches smarty.

If life is a journey we have baggage right? Guilt, self hate, shame, etc. I am taking full advantage of the space in my bag with lots of guilt. I worry about spending enough time with friends and family and still leaving room for me. I worry about giving my boys, all three of them, enough encouragement to help them grow as men. I worry about what others think of me. I worry about making my parents proud. I worry about making God proud. I second guess myself a lot.

I am still a newlywed to the stay at home gig with the boys. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding for all of us. My guilt was magnified the other day when Daddy was home.

I was doing the dishes when I heard Little Man say "Mommy watch me". If you are like me, you hear this A LOT. I told Little Man to hang on a second so I could finish my task. He continued to request my eyes. I guess my tone was noticeable by Daddy. My heart overflowed with guilt and love when I realized all Little Man wanted to show me was how he and brother were hugging and kissing each other good morning. Heartbreak.

I begin to explain myself to Daddy. Daddy, I hear that all the time, it is like the boy that called wolf. How do you determine when to look immediately and when to wait? How do the boys know that everything they do is worth acknowledgement?

I think it is important to let my boys know they are a part of a whole unit and not the center of that unit. They need to know it is not all about them, but that each of us supports and encourages the others. Little Man is great about praising The Babe when he does something new or says a new word. The Babe is good about waiting his turn. Now, if I could just forgive myself for not being perfect. I should give it up.

Get Ready Cuz Here I Come

I am calling out to all my readers; all three of you. I know that one of you is in the St. Louis metro but if anyone else is out there let me know. Even if you have only lurked, now is a good time to speak up. Why, you ask, should you divulge your secret location?

Two of the residents of the tree house are coming your way! That is right; you will have the once in a lifetime opportunity to not only meet the mistress of the house but also Daddy!

Daddy and I will be in St. Louis the weekend of Mat 24th for an "adult only" wedding. Although I love my boys more than anything I am looking forward to this fun filled weekend. My cousin and his fab fiance are making a weekend of the festivities but Friday night we will be free to do as we please and maybe meet some bloggers. I know my high school friend A Bun's Life is already in even if she is just now learning about it. It may just be the four of us but that will be party enough.

Saturday we are off to the rehearsal dinner and then Sunday evening we will attend the wedding and crazy party.

The best thing about this whole thing is I don't have to worry about cooking all weekend and my cup will overflow with drinks, friends, and family.

Let me know if you are in and I will figure out the most efficient location for the rendezvous. For those of you with an opinion; my favorite spot in town is downtown near Compton Heights (I can walk to my Dad's from there too which helps ☺) so let me know what you think of that.

Can't wait to see you!

Get Ready Cuz Here I Come

I am calling out to all my readers; all three of you. I know that one of you is in the St. Louis metro but if anyone else is out there let me know. Even if you have only lurked, now is a good time to speak up. Why, you ask, should you divulge your secret location?

Two of the residents of the tree house are coming your way! That is right; you will have the once in a lifetime opportunity to not only meet the mistress of the house but also Daddy!

Daddy and I will be in St. Louis the weekend of Mat 24th for an "adult only" wedding. Although I love my boys more than anything I am looking forward to this fun filled weekend. My cousin and his fab fiance are making a weekend of the festivities but Friday night we will be free to do as we please and maybe meet some bloggers. I know my high school friend A Bun's Life is already in even if she is just now learning about it. It may just be the four of us but that will be party enough.

Saturday we are off to the rehearsal dinner and then Sunday evening we will attend the wedding and crazy party.

The best thing about this whole thing is I don't have to worry about cooking all weekend and my cup will overflow with drinks, friends, and family.

Let me know if you are in and I will figure out the most efficient location for the rendezvous. For those of you with an opinion; my favorite spot in town is downtown near Compton Heights (I can walk to my Dad's from there too which helps ☺) so let me know what you think of that.

Can't wait to see you!

Oh just a card...

The other day, Daddy asked me what I wanted for Mother’s day. Usually when I am faced with a question like this I say something like “oh nothing, just a card”. This year is different. I am no longer the selfless mother I was when I started out a mere 3 years ago. I have a list this year:

~I would like a professional cleaning company to come over. Just once, for a deep clean. It is kind of like that deep tissue massage we all need, but never get, about once a month. Although we only moved to this house in February the floor under the kitchen table looks like we have had a countless number of food fights. It does not help that the floor is slate tile; it just magnifies the hair that sticks to the food after a while. I would do a better job of cleaning this area, but I was informed after marriage I would no longer be on my knees.

~I want to meet this so called “Sand Man”. What or who do I have to do to get some sleep around this place? I would like one night, starting around 8pm Central Time to sleep uninterrupted. Of course I would probably still wake up a hundred times but at least I know I can go back to sleep. I would probably sleep on a lawn chair by the pool so I would be able to get some sun while I was at it but not have to move.

~The sleeping neurotic inside me has a list of missing toys that I would like to have found. If that means we call in a crew of curtain climbers, so be it. It is funny how kids can find a toy without trying, but for me it is like looking for a moving target. Maybe I am on to something. My kids are playing a trick on me. Like the trick my brother in law played on me at Christmas. He gave The Babe a Noah’s Ark with a Noah figure and the animals. Little did I know he had kidnapped Noah for ransom and tied him up. I later received an e-mailed photo of poor Noah. I went on medication soon after.

By the way here is my list of missing toys (yes I keep a list):

~The Little Einstein figure “Annie” is missing from rocket. How one earth are they able to complete missions without her fabulous singing and made up songs? Her brother Leo has no one to conduct.

~The yellow ball, one of four total balls, is missing from the tunnel toy. This of course can’t be good for The Babe when he is learning his colors. Now he will only learn green, red, and orange.

~“The White Mask” as it has affectionately been named since it’s disappearance. We have a black one and a white one; of course one good and one evil. Little Man only likes the white one. The Babe could care less. They are kind of like mardi gras masks.; purchased for a mere 52 cents apiece they have made for hours of enjoyment. Without white who will conquer the evil black mask?

~One of the red batons from the xylopiano. This is really just selfish on my part. The toy came with two but I have two children. When one begins to play, so must the other. Come out little baton.

As you see, none of this really benefits me. A little extra sleep for me will help the rest of the house because I won’t need so much coffee. A clean house is just a healthy place to be for all of us, and finding all the missing toys will just make the boys happy.

So I guess I would like the above and a massage and facial.

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Oh just a card...

The other day, Daddy asked me what I wanted for Mother’s day. Usually when I am faced with a question like this I say something like “oh nothing, just a card”. This year is different. I am no longer the selfless mother I was when I started out a mere 3 years ago. I have a list this year:

~I would like a professional cleaning company to come over. Just once, for a deep clean. It is kind of like that deep tissue massage we all need, but never get, about once a month. Although we only moved to this house in February the floor under the kitchen table looks like we have had a countless number of food fights. It does not help that the floor is slate tile; it just magnifies the hair that sticks to the food after a while. I would do a better job of cleaning this area, but I was informed after marriage I would no longer be on my knees.

~I want to meet this so called “Sand Man”. What or who do I have to do to get some sleep around this place? I would like one night, starting around 8pm Central Time to sleep uninterrupted. Of course I would probably still wake up a hundred times but at least I know I can go back to sleep. I would probably sleep on a lawn chair by the pool so I would be able to get some sun while I was at it but not have to move.

~The sleeping neurotic inside me has a list of missing toys that I would like to have found. If that means we call in a crew of curtain climbers, so be it. It is funny how kids can find a toy without trying, but for me it is like looking for a moving target. Maybe I am on to something. My kids are playing a trick on me. Like the trick my brother in law played on me at Christmas. He gave The Babe a Noah’s Ark with a Noah figure and the animals. Little did I know he had kidnapped Noah for ransom and tied him up. I later received an e-mailed photo of poor Noah. I went on medication soon after.

By the way here is my list of missing toys (yes I keep a list):

~The Little Einstein figure “Annie” is missing from rocket. How one earth are they able to complete missions without her fabulous singing and made up songs? Her brother Leo has no one to conduct.

~The yellow ball, one of four total balls, is missing from the tunnel toy. This of course can’t be good for The Babe when he is learning his colors. Now he will only learn green, red, and orange.

~“The White Mask” as it has affectionately been named since it’s disappearance. We have a black one and a white one; of course one good and one evil. Little Man only likes the white one. The Babe could care less. They are kind of like mardi gras masks.; purchased for a mere 52 cents apiece they have made for hours of enjoyment. Without white who will conquer the evil black mask?

~One of the red batons from the xylopiano. This is really just selfish on my part. The toy came with two but I have two children. When one begins to play, so must the other. Come out little baton.

As you see, none of this really benefits me. A little extra sleep for me will help the rest of the house because I won’t need so much coffee. A clean house is just a healthy place to be for all of us, and finding all the missing toys will just make the boys happy.

So I guess I would like the above and a massage and facial.

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

What is he thinking?

What is my husband (not) teaching the boys?





His side of the bathroom...

My side of the bathroom....