This is me giving up.

Bode = Punk

This kid knows good and well who I'm trying to take a picture of

 and wonder of wonders, it's not him.

 He's already hit the dreaded stage of torturing Mia and her friends.

 And once again, I'm reminded that's it's going to be a long 15 years.

Raise your hand if sleepovers are your equivalent of Chinese torture

*hand raised*

Mia and Raegan had their very first sleepover last night.  

Things were going fine at 10:30 PM.  I even made the comment to Andy that this sleepover thing was easier than a normal night with Mia.  We immediately high-fived each other and did the "we so have this parenting thing whipped" fist pump.  

This was, of course, followed by the inevitable eating of the words. (When will I ever learn?)

This picture was taken at 10:30 PM when I was still feeling smugly satisfied with myself for my ingenious sleepover plan. Mia was actually in her bed, which never happens this early.  Go me.

This was taken at 2:00 AM when I stumbled into their room in a drunken stuper and begged them to go to bed.

At 3 AM I demanded they go to bed that instant.
At 4 AM I bribed them to be quiet.
And finally at 5 AM I declared the sleepover officially over if I heard another peep.  When I left for my workout at 5:20 I heard silence.  For the first time in 9 hours.
I almost weeped tears of joy but I was too tired to even care.

I tried to be kind of nostalgic about their sweet relationship and how since birth they have been the best of friends. {Was there ever a choice?}

But I was too busy getting the coffee brewing.  

At this point, the only thing I know for sure is that the next sleepover will be at Raegan's house,

and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that...

Dear Mother Nature,

On behalf of all Mothers-of-three-year-old-boys out there,

I beg you to give us a little break.

We aren't asking for much here.  In fact, just a couple days in the mid-nineties will suffice.

All I know is if I have to keep this kid inside for one more day

one of us is going to end up hospitalized.

Sincerely,
Losing It

Leave it to a little black bear to give me some perspective.

Our car died this weekend.  

(Picture me and the kids stranded on Broadway extension in 105 degree heat.  Also picture both kids crying and Bode yelling, "I don't want to get dead," over and over again while huge semi-trucks whizzed by us missing our car by millimeters.  Fun times, I tell ya.)

Satan loves to throw Andy and me a huge curve-ball on Missions Sunday weekend.  

It happens every single year.

And yesterday the verdict came back on the car.  I'll spare you the details but let's just say I kind of wanted to curl up in the fetal position, rock back and forth, and cry for my mother.

But then this little black bear came into the kitchen and growled in my face.  And I couldn't help but smile.

And then I laughed at the sight of my daughter in this ridiculous get-up, so happy and carefree.  

And I quit worrying about that silly car.

I may have to have another kid just to have something interesting to blog about.

Not really.  

But, these kids are so darn sweet that I don't really have much to say, except my kids are just so darn sweet.  And fun.  And adorable. 

Case in point:

I've already cried twice at the thought of Mia going back to school in 5 weeks.  And Andy has already rolled his eyes twice.  I see a pattern here.

I turned 34 this weekend (and celebrated by gaining 34 pounds at Melting Pot and Cheesecake Factory),

and my Dad turned 60.  

I made a cake and let Mia dump a bunch of things in it.  She settled on a bag of chocolate chips, three packages of mini Reese's peanut butter cups, and one tootsie roll.

 It was....rich. 

I am signing off until after Mission's Sunday.  We have 2,500 people to feed and 100 people to guilt in to helping us.  And if you are one of those 100 who is screening my calls right now, I will find you.  

Well, my work as a mom is complete.

I hear it's smooth sailing from here on out :).

  

You know you are a Memorial Rd. kid when you come up from the water and immediately sing that song.

(I am definitely playing these videos some day at their real baptisms.  Priceless.)

Happy awkward 4th of July pose!

From our family to yours.

Now you see it,

 Now you don't.

So long ugly-red-brick-from-1972.  You won't be missed.

A word about paining brick:  If you're even slightly suicidal don't do it.  It will send you over the edge.

I was inspired by this happy-go-lucky couple, which should have been my first clue. When you look up "perky" in the dictionary, you see a picture of this family.  Which isn't a bad thing, but let's just say our personalities aren't even close to similar.  (Although I do love everything about their site.)

Anyway, they make this little project look like a walk in the park, a Sunday afternoon stroll through a field of clover.

Each individual brick took about 12 hours to prime and paint.  And then there was my husband who just laughed in my face every time he walked through the living room and chanted "I told you not to do this, I told you this was a bad idea, I refuse to have anything to do with this project because I think it's ridiculous," over and over again until I poured paint thinner in his drink.  That shut him up real fast.

Let's just say stresses were running a tad bit high.  However, I am pleased with the finished result and am relieved to be out of the insane asylum.

Next up: Filling it with cute little pieces of wood.

{via}

Me and a chain saw should make for an interesting post.