I Promise to Take Pictures

The babies are still asleep! It's summer, so I let them stay up late and they tear around this house doing Lord-knows-what whooping for joy that their mama has no control over them. It's quiet in my house right now; the kind of quiet that makes me want to sit and enjoy my cup of coffee, writin' to all of you. But I can't. I'm supposed to be getting ready to head south today. We are heading to San Diego for one night and 2 days. Hubby has to do some Marine Corps reserve thing down there and the girls and I are tagging along for a change of scenery. We'll go to the beach to run from waves, build sandcastles and get sand in unmentionable places. We are looking forward to it. We (the girls and I) are also going to the opening of a new shop in Escondido called Urban Barn. I am super-duper excited about this because I will be meeting Aunt Ruthie of Sugarpie Farmhouse, her famous blog! I am bringing my camera, I will be stalking her like some crazed fan. Oh wait, I am some crazed fan. My mom and I love love love her blog. She is a native Californian who moved to Branson, MO and now channels the farm wives that lived in that area a few decades ago. She blogs about the Lord too and decorates so cute and takes beautiful pictures. I will be trying to stand near her hoping by osmosis I can make my blog half as wonderful as hers!

I will takes photos. I will post them. I promise. Stay cool. Not figuratively, but literally. It's hot hot hot here.

Cows and Mamas are a lot Alike

So my mom and dad asked if Hubby and I wanted to get away on a trip for awhile. Seriously? YES!!! Oh wait, that means my girls can't come. That means they will stay home with their Nana and Papa. They will eat without me, play without me and sleep without me, ok, I guess they do that anyways but still...

Hubby wants to go on a five-day cruise. That sounds nice. Five days and four nights of eating in peace and quiet, sleeping in peace and quiet, reading when I want to, taking a walk when I want to and just plain being with Hubby again as Hubby, not Daddy. But what if one of my babies needs me? What if someone gets hurt playing outside? Or they just miss me and can't get to me?? Or heaven forbid, someone gets sick? I will be hundreds of miles away on a ship for goodness sakes! It's not like there are cell phone towers in the middle of the ocean.

This all reminds me of the Pioneer Woman blog. http://thepioneer woman.com If you are not a reader well, you must become one. You just must. Ree is a red-headed, freckled mama of four married to the Marlboro man (her version of Hubby) and they live on and run a cattle ranch. She is originally from the city. Seriously. Her blog is a hoot and a holler and when I'm not cooking, cleaning or writing this or, okay, I admit, coloring or playing ball with one of my own babies I check out what Ree and the cowboy family is up to.

One of her posts talks about what happens when new calves are born. Marlboro man and the other cowboys must separate mama from baby so they can give the babies shots, brand them and check on their overall health. The mamas and the babies (no, not the Mamas and the Papas, the mamas and the babies...) are separated by one wood rail fence. The mamas stay at the fence trying to find their babies. The babies are lost without their mamas. Once that fence gate opens its' cow confusion. Mamas mooing for their babies and babies crying for their mamas. Looking at Ree's photos I really sympathize with her cows. " Excuse me, has anyone seen my calf? She's about yea tall, beautiful brown hair and eyes and is just the cutest ever... I'll be screaming over here for her if you find her."

It's sort of how I feel thinking about this cruise. I know Hubby and I need time together and I look forward to that aspect. But I know that by day three I will be done, starring at Hubby thinking, "Who's he and where are my babies?"

Independence Day

It's Fourth of July weekend. I love Fourth of July, I always have. My parents did a great job of creating memories for us, especially on holidays. The 4th was no exception.

It began when we (my little brother and I) were small and we lived on a cul-de-sac in a new neighborhood with other young families. We created lifelong friends on that block. All the neighbors would join in the middle of the block for a big July 4th party. All the dads would bring out their grills, us kids would decorate our bikes and scooters for a parade, music would play, and when it was dark we did fireworks. Yep, you heard that right, fireworks right out in front of our homes. Those were the days before safety was not the most important thing and parents still allowed their kids to play out front. I even have pictures of about 10 of us kids piled into the back of a pickup truck for a ride! My girls have no concept of what a sparkler even is now and the back of our truck is strictly for objects.

After moving to the small town I grew up in, 4th of July became huge parties at the park overlooking the lake. We swam till dark, played games, ate, swam more and then everyone would scatter to find the best spot to see all the fireworks shoot over the lake. As I became a teen the 4th of July became even more fun... partying at the lake with my friends, watching the fireworks and staying out afterwards. My parents were a little naive...

After getting married, Hubby and I created our own memories. He was in the Marine Corps so we would gather with friends and celebrate. Once we moved to Camp Pendleton the celebrating took place on the beach. Camp Pendleton would throw huge parties with sponsors, fireworks, food vendors and the like. Sometimes they were a little crazy. I just remember sitting in traffic for about an hour to get home even though we lived about a half-mile from the beach. We didn't have our girls yet so we could stay and have fun and not have to rush home. Ahh, those were the days...

Now, as a family, we have block parties (that's me trying recreate my childhood) and then sit on our balcony overlooking the valley and watch fireworks go off at all the different venues. Bethany goes to bed long before they pop. Of course, all the neighbors are over and the kids (I should say, 'girls', there's not a single boy in the bunch!) are so silly with candy and no rules and playing outside in the dark.

This weekend, take time to remember our freedom is not free and some are working in a dry, hot desert, thousands of miles away to protect what we so take for granted. Happy 4th of July!!!

Trowel and Error

I'm sure I've told you that I garden. I've had a garden in every house we've ever lived in. From growing strawberries and tomatoes in pots when we lived in the hot hot desert of Twentynine Palms to bougainvillea vines climbing all over my house at the beach in San Clemente along with more strawberries and cucumbers, I have always had a garden.

It really began when I still lived at home and dad let me have a small section of the backyard for a strawberry patch. I was asking for a horse and I think this was his way of sedating me! I didn't know a thing about gardening but still those red berries thrived. I'm sure I asked advice from my green-thumbed grandmother who grew up in a time when a garden wasn't a fun activity but a necessity. As a kid I remember grandma and grandpa's garden; sunflowers taller than my dad's head, tomatoes red and large, bell peppers ready to be stuffed, even blackberries plump and sweet.

I must have gotten my love of gardening from my grandma. My mom doesn't garden, hum, I'm not sure why, but she doesn't. Maybe this thing skips generations. I am the only one out of four grand kids and two of her own daughters who gardens. I think maybe this world is just too busy and full. Maybe that's why I keep a garden. I have to escape the kids, the house, the hubby, the TV and the computer (no offense) to go out back and water, pull weeds and pluck vegis. It's the best excuse I can come up with.

I sometimes have good luck with my gardens and sometimes not. It is trial (trowel!) and error. I've read the books but still it's up to God and nature what comes up. I love that. Even if I do what all the books say, the garden has a mind of its' own. No 'book learnin' here!! It's up to the Lord to see what happens. I've had plenty of successful gardens, plump berries, red tomatoes, large cucumbers, sweet peppers and bright orange pumpkins. And I've had seasons when my garden just refused to cooperate. Two years in a row I fought little flat beetles on the undersides of my pumpkins. More times than I can count have I had plenty of squash blossoms but nooo squash! Plenty of strawberry flowers but no berries. And for some reason, that's o.k. with me. I take it all in stride and just try again next year.

Ever since I became a mommy gardening had new meaning. I love teaching my girls about the seasons, the seeds, the ways and reasons a garden grows or doesn't. It's really a show of God's promise to provide for us right there in the lettuce and melons. Savannah began by being in her bouncer seat while I watered to now pulling weeds herself. She and my grandma made our resident scarecrow, Mr. Tom. He stands there scaring away nothing, he's just too cute. Savannah always reminds me about our garden every early spring. The moment it's obvious the weather is changing she is upon me, "Mom, are we doing a garden this year?" Yes is always the answer.

Maybe it's time for her to have her own strawberry patch...

Happy Anniversary!

Okay. If you're a prude or a male you may not want to read this! Today is the 100th anniversary of the bra! I, for one am very grateful that this unique device was created. I would be a sloppy mess without my bra. I would not want to walk, much less run without my bra. Well, I wouldn't want to do anything without a bra! It's such a supportive friend.

The history of the bra begins in the 1800s with it's first crude ancestors. Many women embraced the first bras as the bra embraced them. Chores were easier, less painful and clothing looked more tailored with these first bras. As the bra evolved, it became more like a corset and much more stifling. Remember in he movie Titanic when Rose's mother is tightening her corset... they had a great dialogue about a woman's position in those days; to marry wealthy and help provide for her family. As the corset tightens it becomes a great metaphor for Rose's life in a cage.

In the 40s and 50s women put themselves into very utilitarian bras. Large, many clips and definitely underwires were the rage and what was 'proper'. Many times, these bras gave a 'pointy' look. Hum...

In the 60s and 70s, as women fought for equality with men, their clothing showed the determination the wearer had to be taken seriously. Bra burning was a show of force to others that women were no longer going to fit into stereotypes set by generations before. I have a friend, who shall remain nameless, who never wore a bra until she was well into her 20s and married. She grew up in the 50s and 60s and embraced "hippie-dom" when it hit. I must admit, it does sound freeing!

Alas, I can never go without a bra. That's ok. My figure looks much better with my supportive friend. Bras have really evolved. Even I can get one now that's supportive as well as pretty and feminine. There are special shops I can go to for my size bra. Even my sports bras are better now than when they first came out. The sports bra first got popular during the women's game of the World Cup. The winning women's team, after running, kicking and sweating pulled off their team jerseys to reveal their snug-fitting yet modest sports bras. Women everywhere took a sigh of relief as we saw what to wear during workouts. As a teen I danced ballet, tap and jazz. It was my life then... some class almost every day after school. Sports bras did not exist then. I really wish they would have!

So, as you get dressed this morning or undressed tonight thank your friend the bra for all the support over the years! I know I will.

Just A Dream

Today is my birthday. When you've got little ones at home your own day seems to fall by the wayside! That's ok. I actually forgot it was today until Savannah wished me a good one this morning. "Oh yea, I almost forgot!" I've been getting phone calls and well wishes on my Facebook page. I am so blessed with my friends and family.

Hubby has to be gone this week in training so yesterday he spoiled me. I woke up to a beautiful light blue and white beach cruiser bike. He even got me a basket for it! I just love it. I have always dreamed we would live in some small town with a sweet Main Street filled with shops, a florist and a bakery. I would ride my bike into 'town' to buy some french bread and flowers for the table. Of course the town is beautiful with benches, flowers planted all around, friendly neighbors and the like. I guess I see it as a cross between Hale, Maryland from Runaway Bride and the sweet town in Practical Magic. We live in our cute Cape Cod styled house close enough to town so that I can ride my bike to go pick up groceries and put them in my basket. When I shop, all the people know my name because they know everyone in town 'cause it's a small town. I can park my bicycle just outside the shops without locking it. While the girls are in school I ride to the police station to bring Hubby and his partner lunch (it's just the two of them and the only 'crimes' they deal with are the occasional teenagers causing a rucus) and help them wash the one and only police cruiser. Small towns. My new bike is a good start! Thanks honey for contributing to my dream! Till then, I will continue driving everywhere, buying groceries at a superstore and riding my new bike through our neighborhood. I can still dream, though.

Hair

I have always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with my hair. It is very rare that I find a style I like and thus, make a return trip to the salon for the same cut. Right now, unlike my blog photo, I have about shoulder length hair that I am growing out from said photo. I didn't mind the cut and even that grew out from a very disastrous cut I got before that grew out. I am fickle when it comes to my hair. Hubby, on the other hand, loves it when my hair is long. He is very vocal about this. In the early years of our marriage many of our arguments ended with me at the salon cutting off inches and inches of my hair. But now, sometimes I do it just because I want a change. Thank heavens we've matured.

As a kid, mom kept my hair on the shorter side. I remember the Dorothy Hammill cut I wore for some of elementary school. I also remember mom giving me perms at the height of the home-perming movement of the late '70s. Don't tell anyone but my dad and uncle (both cops at the time) each had perms too. It was a weird time. My first day at my new elementary school, when I met the kids I would graduate high school with, mom put foam rollers in my hair and I went to school with very out of control curls. It took a long time to live that one down.

In Junior High I wanted long hair very badly but didn't want to take care of it. I hated the knots and sessions of brushing out tangles. Off it went. By the time I entered high school I had made peace with my hair and it had grown out considerably. It was the big-hair eighties and I was rockin' the big bangs and the tease comb and hair spray! My hair was long and I always had it curled, bangs teased high. When I didn't want my hair down my back and across my shoulders I wore it in a pony tail with my bangs 'down', a little "Grease-like" as in Sandy, not Rizzo. I even liked "Danny-ish" boys to complete the look. I met my future hubby in my long curls and big bangs. He said I looked cute.

As a newly-wed, I didn't know where me and my hair fit in. It was the grunge season. Hair was supposed to be long, straight and um, gross. I could not do that! So, I went though many more fazes with my hair. Short, medium length in a bob, long again, but straight, bangs, no bangs. My color even changed. As a girl I had blonde hair. As I got older it got darker to dark blonde/light brown. I highlighted. Then I colored it reddish brown for many years. Right now, as I age, it gets darker. No, I haven't found any gray hair, yet. Hubby is getting a lot of gray but it makes him look distinguished. I don't think it will have the same affect on me. So I color it. Right now it's a deep brown which I think looks good on my fair complexion and blue eyes. I'm sure I will change my mind.

As women we are so strange about our hair. My girls are even beginning their own hair-identity. Savannah has always had it long but just a few days ago got it cut into a bob. Bethany will either be cursed or blessed. Her hair is curly, curly, curly. I love it. She may not. You don't see men freaking out about their hair like we do. They don't color or cut, grow or worry about their hair (usually). I just want Hubby to have it on his head, not long, not too short. If it's receeding, oh well (his isn't) just go bald. But us women? Nope. Wigs, falls, fake pieces make millions of dollars for their makers. I never see toupees advertised on T.V. So, I must make peace with my hair. It grows quickly. I'm in the midst of it now. Just one question. At what age is long hair no longer flattering and I should wear it short? Just wondering.