Pumps and Pearls

Nic and I legally don't exist. We lost our social security cards and driver's licences. So in order to exist again, I made a trip down to the courthouse to obtain a copy of my marriage licence. While driving down main street I discovered one can buy poker chips with your name on them, wigs, vintage furniture, and other things I won't mention . You can also park your car on the "grass" of a seedy motel if you feel like it. Liberating. It's a different world, down town. The buildings are low and squatty and sprawl. The trees are huge and the windows are small. The cars were heavy and made of only metal and glass. I was wishing I had Nic with me as I checked my door lock for the fifth or sixth time.

After getting lost I finally made it to the Marriage Bureau. Oh the memories hit me like a freight train! I remembered climbing those very steps and waiting in that very line with Nic eight years ago. I wished I could remember what I wore, I remember Nic wearing a button up vacationey shirt with jeans and Vans. I suddenly wished I had on pumps and pearls instead of black sweat shorts and a green v -neck t with a mystery stain and rubber flip flops. People were snuggling, hanging on each other, kissing, staring at one another covered in that thick perfume of infatuation/love.

I made it to the glass window, and made my request to a girl with over plucked eyebrows and several gold chains lying on her busty bust. She sighed at me. " I'm going to have to pull this off of micro fiche." I felt old. She wasn't sure how to resurrect my ancient records from the wormy catacombs of the city, so she recruited help from the most knowledgeable clerk in the room who was intently looking professional while facebooking. I handed skinny eyebrows girl my marriage certificate and she said in an impressed voice, "Wow, those look so plain." She then pulled out a marriage certificate from "this century" and waved it's holographic sticker and cactus watermark next to my simple black and white one. Young newlyweds -to -be thought, "She's old". I know they did.

Meanwhile, while skinny eyebrows girl lit her torch and descended to the catacombs I observed the other couples. A thick Asian girl marrying a beefy black guy with snaky dreads. A very young Asian girl marrying a very old Asian man with a bald head and an island like tuft of bangs. But the most notable was the bride in the orange string bikini poorly covered in a gauzy white lava lava marrying her prince with a 3 day beard with beer breath. They had met about an hour and a half ago and were on an i phone frantically trying to gather guests to attend a wedding at a chapel they couldn't remember the name of..."the pink one". He thrust the phone in my face and asked me to confirm to his friend that he was indeed in the courthouse getting a marriage licence. I did so while bikini girl giggled into his armpit. Sigh.

I wanted to imagine her 60 years from now rocking on some porch with knee highs, a mu- mu, and orthopedic shoes. I wanted to imagine beer breath guy bringing her her pills and a glass of water clouded by metamucil. I wanted to imagine him kissing her forehead and sitting next to her with a gnarled old hand resting on her leg. But instead, I saw only a potato salad melting on a hot summer picnic table, in which said potato salad would have a better shelf life than this impending marriage. I held my mouth shut while I watched them sign on the dotted line. He rested his hand on the counter and I noticed he had a broken pinkie wrapped up in electrical tape. Heaven help them. I hope they are at a party some day and tell the story of how they met and how it was love at first sight and that it really was. I know Nic and I weren't love at first sight, (mostly because for two whole days he thought I was a different girl he had already gone on a date with).

I got in the car and examined our marriage licence. My signature was totally different than I sign it now. It was loopy and embellished and unnecessarily girly. Now when I sign checks for the electric company it's sort of like Ang-squiggly squiggle Lar-wavy line. I wanted to be that girl who had time for a ridiculous signature. I drove home and as I got on the freeway and made it back to the suburbs with big houses, small trees and big windows, I wanted to go to my man. I thought about our family and what we've made and who we are. We are different people. But we mean so much to each other and to our kids. We mean something to so many people because we are a family. We are a family. My marriage licence says so...even if it doesn't have a shiny sticker and cactus water mark!

Pudding that was not pudding.

My friend Sam asked the question the other day, what's happening at your house? The answer? A whole lotta nothin' that adds up to life I suppose. For instance, dress up. Everyday there is some form of "Mom, pretend I'm a mermaid and you heard some singing, oh and you are a prince mom and want to marry a mermaid with a Sleeping Beauty crown and snow white shoes, and a green bow in her hair." Commence innocent glances from behind a lacy fan and singing....and MOM! You are supposed to hear my SINGING and WANT TO MARRY ME. Commence some sort of dialogue (to myself out loud) about the beauty and virtues of said dress up outfit and how I could never marry any other mermaid unless she had a green bow and Snow White shoes.

Here's Ellie and Afton roping Jemma into this charade.
But I must say, Jemma can work a happy meal crown and tu-tu on her head quite well. Uh-huh miss thang (Z snap).
Also, Afton Graduated from the best preschool in town, Aunt Tina's. She felt quite grown up calling her aunt "Catina" all year long like the other kids.

Now, one Saturday my husband came home with a 30.00 bike helmet, a bag of spray paint and a grand vision. I was privately exasperated thinking this idea might resemble the feasibility of the "making real snow fall from the gym ceiling at a ward Christmas party" idea of 2001. Big Thinker my man is. (That's why I love him.) But, when he came home with this bag of goodies I thought, NEVER gonna happen. I was so WRONG! He whipped this baby out in two days! A custom painted SPIDERMAN helmet! Evan was ready to die a very happy boy.

On to the next little thing that is actually a big thing. 50 some years ago, my dad saw my mom skip across the playground with a blond ponytail and snug 501's. (true story) He elbowed his buddy and said, "I'm going to marry that girl." And 2 days after my mom's high school graduation at age 17, she did marry him. Exactly 40 years later they attended the blessing of their 10th grand child Jemma Sage Larkin. Happy 40th anniversary to two people who live only to make each other happy.

Here's to looking forward to many years with my sweetheart. Wait a second, am I toasting or blogging here? It's late. I'm really not sure.
I love this photo of Jemma sitting on my lap in the chapel. The light coming through the windows is as bright and pure as her little spirit. Too bad she is sneering as if she needs a nappy change.
Who needs actual property, yards and pools? I have a cement step, a crispy plant and a dented rubber maid tub with a dead spider in it for my posterity to enjoy.
This photo of Jemma is so Lady Ga Ga.
Kissing the daylights out of Jemma is my favorite little snack.
Speaking of little snacks. This was NOT a little snack. I watched this DARN Oprah about not wasting stuff. Then one day later Afton poured herself some cereal which I will never let her do again. She used half a box in a mixing bowl and used the last 1/3 gallon of milk. Of course it was soggy in the first five minutes and she wouldn't eat the rest. I could not bring myself to throw it out! I ate that stuff all day. This is the bottom of the bowl when I finally cried uncle. It was more like pudding near the end. I may never eat LIFE cereal again. Anyway...that's what's going on.

Today - kept forever.

The days are flying by! I can't belive I haven't posted in almost a month. The camera has been MIA for a few weeks and I've used that for an excuse. My blog serves two purposes. 1. Creativity outlet - Writing funny stuff that has happened and entertaining myself and you guys. 2. Quasi-journal for sentimental moments and big events, and little events I just want to hang on to. I don't have any pictures, but I want to remember...

-Kissing Jemma's little lips like she were a buttered biscuit...just can't get enough of her milk breath. I don't care that she slimes me every time.

- Singing "I am like a star shining brightly for FHE and watching Evan smile his brains out while he held up his crooked yellow construction paper star in the "sky".

- Giving Nic a bigger kiss and a longer squeeze than usual when he got home tonight and apologizing for being a poop about something I shouldn't have been a poop about.

-Videoing Nic and the baby with a lump in my throat because I know this day will all too soon be a dusty memory. She had on a purple flowered onsie and was experimenting with chuckling. Nic told me about "making it" at work and we remembered how terrified we were two years ago when he first got the job. Afton had a Koolaid moustache and underwear on. Evan just wanted to see himself on the camera in his spiderman underwear and sweaty curls.

-Hmm...I heard screaming and fighting outside earlier and now there are two ambulances parked right outside my window. The twirling red lights are shining right on my face. I am so so anxious to hear news on our house. It's time to move.

I love my little family. This is a portrait of today.

HOW?

How? How ? How?
How is it that the day starts out like this....Then we go outside and do a little of this...
and a little of this...
and magically I come back inside to find this?

and this?
If anyone runs into the woman that did this to my kitchen. Smack her. And then smack her again. Better yet, smack her husband cuz he contributed too.

Do Tell

There was no other answer. Afton came to me with that quirky little look on her face and said, "Mom, will you play with me?" No sneakiness, no guile, just a five year old who wanted to play with her mom. I looked around the kitchen at the dirty dishes. Very little counter space was visible. Last night's Jamaican Curry pan now looked and smelled more like Jamaican Furry. It was a mess. But, looking at her face, there was no other answer.

So out came the easy bake oven and two cake mixes + frosting mixes + sprinkles + a weird comb instrument used to make waves in the frosting + mini pans + spoons + mini bowls etc...
We spent an hour mixing up these little concoctions and I loved seeing how happy she was. It was near noon and I still hadn't had a shower. Oh well. When the first cake was finished - chocolate with pink frosting, white frosting dots, and rainbow flower sprinkles, she held it up proudly for the camcorder. OOPS! It slid off her baking tool right onto the floor. Face down of course. We laughed and I'm very sorry to say, ate it right off the floor. What a mess.

That mess got me to thinking about other messes. I'm curious, what is the worst mess you ever had to clean up? I thought of a few. One involved an exploded 2 liter jug of root beer. I never laughed so hard seeing that stuff drip off of my brother's eyelashes. We literally found sticky drips of it in the kitchen for YEARS! The other involved my dog getting hurt, bleeding all over the 9, yes count them 9 couch cushions on my new couch and then getting so upset about it running the other way and spewing doggy diarrhea on all 9, yes count them 9 cushions. (Ran down between the cushions too). Nobody will ever sit on my couch again after this.

But the hardest to clean was when a brand new 3 gallon jug of liquid detergent fell off of the top of my stackable washer and dryer and broke in the night. The next morning there was a sticky blue pool covering my kitchen floor. It had gone under the washer and had even leaked through the wall and covered the bathroom floor. I must say it was pretty amazing. That sucker took many a jumbo roll of Brawny, I'll tell you that. Good times.

What's the worst mess you've ever had?

That'l Learn Ya

Nothin'. Absolutely nothin'. I've wanted to blog for a month now and there is just whistling air inside the space where my brain used to be. So, I'm just going to share some pictures of life as of late. Speaking of the space where my brain used to be... I was reading yesterday a random quote from Pres. Hinkley. He was talking about not drifting through your days learning absolutely nothing. He encouraged us to always improve our minds because there will always be a use for knowledge. Wouldn't it be fab if I actually had the quote?

So, maybe it's just a bi product of adjusting to three kids and little sleep, but I feel like my forehead bone is about 4 inches thick. My kids call my name ten times before I hear them...I walk into rooms and then forget what I am doing in there... I lose my dog for hours at a time because I didn't realize he even got out. I think my brain is overloaded with trying to love and care for so many people at the same time. I'm sure I'll adjust.

In the meantime though, I miss learning things. I don't have time to just pick up an extra class at UNLV, or take up sewing. So I 'm trying to find little places to learn things. I like watching those Planet Earth Shows with my kids on Sunday mornings. Did you know there are amphibious monkeys? I've made a point to let my husband come home and teach me about financial things. I have always known the word bond, but now I know what one actually is. I try to cook something new each week. I'm trying Jamaican curry this week. Anyway, I think that's all Heavenly Father expects of us...to do what we can. Sometimes my efforts seem hit and miss, but I do what I can. Well, enough contemplation...Here are some pics of life.Afton loves Jemma. They fell asleep together on the couch. I like Afton's squished pig nose on Jemma's head.
Big sissy. Afton is five years older than Jemma. My sister is five years older than me. It's fun to watch what must have happened 31 years ago with me and my sister.
Afton made wings out of sale ads. She was pretty sure when she jumped off the couch it took a smidge longer to touch ground.
Jemma, 20% chicken legs, 5% eyelashes, 75% chubby cheeks.
Delicious evening at Sonic.
Come here my pretty.
Jabba the Jemma in lavender.
Evan got a Spiderman suit for Easter. Here he tests out his web shooting skills.
Evan contemplates his new identity.

RUDE!

When I first met Nic he would laugh often about how I classified certain things as "rude". For instance...if a cloud covered the sun while I was trying to get a tan that cloud would obviously be "rude". If I stubbed my toe on the door jam, the door jam was "rude". Etc...

Well, now something else is attacking me in a very rude way. This whole pregnancy-postpartum thing. Sigh.

As far as I know, my abdomen was the only body part that was actually pregnant. Why then, do you suppose I cannot get my jeans past my knees? My thighs weren't pregnant were they? RUDE!

How is it possible that after giving birth to a nearly nine pound baby I hop on the scale two days later and find I have lost a whopping seven pounds? RUDE!

And let's not forget the ultimate firing squad of brutal honesty...my children. I have had to give up my personal shower time and have traded it for piling me, Afton, and Evan in at once or else a shower just doesn't happen. During this morning's shower Afton asked me 1.) "Why is your belly button so big like a mole hole?" She then followed with my personal favorite 2.) "Why are your boobs so long now?" Sigh.

Now that I sleep solely on my left side to protect Jemma from Nic rolling on her I have developed this amazing zit on my left cheek. It's pretty much the biggest zit I've ever heard of in real life or in legend...I have affectionately named it Molgarath. (Watch the Spiderwick Chronicles for clarification). Here's a picture of Molgarath.

Even Nic got in on the action when one morning my naturally curly hair was particularly unruly and he told me I looked like Gene Wilder. For those of you who can't remember who that is...he played Willy Wonka on the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

I can't deny...he pretty much hit the nail on the head.

So, lately it can be pretty hard to look at myself. But you know what? When I get a little discouraged at what has happened to my body after three kids, this is what I do. I go pick up Jemma and I walk to a mirror and take a good look. I am a mother. I see myself holding her and know there is more to me than what I look like, what longitude my body parts are at, or if a mole would in fact enjoy burrowing in for the winter in my larger than normal belly button. I am a mother! It's pretty amazing. Jemma is pretty amazing. She's beautiful. And every night (several times a night) when she wakes up to be fed and it feels like someone Elmer's glued my eye lids shut and I can barely wake up, I can't help but take one look at her and a smile spreads across my lips because I still can't believe she is mine! I'm happy to see her every time. So I guess I just want to say...Yeah, it's important to look my best and take care of myself, but I'm trying not to dwell on the things out of my control. You know? It's not my fault these things happened anyway...my belly button is just rude.