Special Agent

The C.I.A. should be recruiting me any day now. My interrogation skills are supreme. Not bragging here...it's just a fact.

I walked into the kitchen this morning to find Evan in a puddle of spilled cereal. His pajamas looked like Swiss Cheese because of the holes freshly cut in them.

Me: Evan? What happened to your pajamas? Why are there holes in them?

Evan: There's no holes. ( With a tone that implied "you silly, silly woman)

Me: Evan, I see the holes and I see the scissors on the floor. Don't lie to Mom.

Evan: There's no holes.

Oh to be young again and not even flinch at a bald face lie.

Me: What color were the scissors you used to cut your pajamas?

Evan: (starting to squirm now) Um.....um....the sharp ones.

Me: That's what I thought.

Tajma Super Fance

I'm in a good mood this morning. I'm purely tickled with my lot. The kids have bed heads and milk moustaches and are chasing each other around with uncooked spaghetti noodle swords. Jemma is warm and floppy fresh out of her crib. Her cheeks are pink and I love the sound of her nursing to beat the band first thing in the morning. When I nurse this baby I feel like I could take down 50 rabid tigers in a field of broken glass with bare feet...the mothering urge is so strong. Is that weird? I want to absorb her!

I went in my room to answer the phone. That's not interesting, but this is: Earlier this week I was bummed that I had no paint or furniture to decorate this big room with. I saw it as an empty place. Today though, I walked in and the covers were pulled back and a sun beam had landed on my blue snowman flannel sheets. The pillows were askew, the room was every bit as empty as before with nothing more than outdated night stands and a lamp with no shade. But something about the sun warming that little spot on my bed... and the tiny particles of dust even glowed with contentment...that room looked like the presidential Taj MaSuper Fancy suite of the universe. I was grateful for it and didn't want anything else.

I was feeding Jemma in her highchair and a feather from an upstairs comforter somehow floated down stairs, around the corner, into the kitchen and right above Jemma's sticky face. She reached for it and bounced in her chair. It was like a scene out of Forrest Gump.

The vacuum-like draw of my bed beckoned us back and the kids and I lounged around like lazy island natives with not a care. Afton stroked the bit of my calf that peeked out of my terry cloth p.j. bottoms. How perfectly satisfied I was. Then Afton said, "You need to shave your whiskers mom. You must have like 2000 whiskers." I wonder if there really are 2000? I'm too stupidly happy to care.

TWERDS UNITE! (again)

Click on the invitation to see full size...
Okay ladies! We've waited, we've obsessed, we've combed the internet for pictures and news, we've sniffed our jar of La Push beach sand before bed each night (wait, maybe that's just me), and now the time is actually here! New Moon will be in theaters November 19th! Come celebrate at a dinner party at my new house! I hope to see all of my old cronies and my new ones too! Email me for directions @ cecchiniang@yahoo.com or just call.

I loved seeing you all last year at the Twilight party and hope to see even more of you this time! Come Come Come!!
Love, Ang.

Take Me Home

I went home for the first time in a long while. I didn't realize how much I missed it. One of my favorite parts of going home is when we finally pass the city limits of Las Vegas and the houses, signs and city smells go away. It feels like unbuttoning your pants after a big meal.

On my way home my mom and I pulled into the town I was born. I passed the hospital, small enough that I could walk around the entire thing by the time you are done tying your shoes. I wondered which window was the room entered the world in.

Main street was so quaint. I recalled the old post office with its dozen steps, the towering stone and wrought iron on the top window. I remember the smell of paper and floor wax. My grandma used to take me there. Go in, to the left, half way down her box was hollow and tinny sounding.

The bank had painted the front display window with the hometown mascot - The Mucker. He was moustached and poised for battle with his boots and pick axe. And since when did banks stop having a display window?

Shop after shop of odds and ends. Books, crafts, hardware. How do they stay in business? A salon in an old house on stilts with a view of main street traffic and a viney plant in the window.

We continued on to my old home. When we hit the dirt the vibration of the washboard road was familiar. I've done it a thousand times, but pulling into the drive, stopping the car and getting out surprises me every time. The silence! The impenetrable darkness! The smell of clean and hay and wet earth. The stars innumerable, white, pressing down so close I forget there even existed so many with Vegas's scant handful that burn through the glow of the city sky. The same thought comes to me every time. "Why don't I live here?"

I pull sleeping kids from sweaty car seats and cover them with blankets before their damp temples and backs get a chill. The smell of my parent's house is delicious and for a sec I feel seventeen and carefree. I put the babies in my old bed and go in my old bathroom for a long awaited pit stop. I flip on the light and the bathroom looks too clean! Where is the tangle of curling iron cords and the sticky hair-sprayed counter tops? Where is the litter of make up and globs of toothpaste in the sink? The knee pads and tennis shoes on the floor? And who the heck is that 31 year old girl in the mirror? I was surprised to see her in deed!

I tip toe into my old room, open the shades like I used to so I could see the mountain while I lay in bed. The waterbed is gone. The walls are now pink. Tasteful pictures are on the wall and a rocking chair for my babies is in the corner. Time warp. Strange and sweet.

The next morning I couldn't resist stopping and smelling the stacked wood, warm and piney in the sun.

We had a beautiful time wiling away the hours on the western porch. Swinging, talking, looking through grandma's cook book from 1943 and watching the mountains.

Jemma chewing (Cruella De'Ville style) on a good clean stick. To my mom's horror of course.

We are gathered near the orchard for a good ol' fashioned apple pickin'.

Kids so excited on the walk to the orchard.

Afton in heaven with her first apple.

Dad testing the spoils. Juicy, crunchy, tart, delicious.

Crew can't decide. He ate one bite of lots.

As the sun went down, I had a silly quiet moment looking up at the canyon. There used to be a tire swing by the corral that I would come to when I had a broken heart or was just plain bored. I've looked at these rocks and shared my soul's complaint with God many a time!

Tina was feeling ambitious and picked the orchard clean with only falling out of a tree once. I hope I get a jar of apple butter or a pie out of the deal. It was a great weekend except for Nic was in Vegas and I missed him. Oh it's good to go home!

Crumb-y

When I was little I ate my peas in pairs. I imagined that if one went down the hatch he or she would be lonely and afraid, but if it had a buddy it wouldn't be so bad.

At age four I probably should have seen a counselor after watching "Dumbo". The scene where he is outside his mother's cage, in the rain while she swings him in the bend of her trunk...warped my soul irrevocably. Sometimes, randomly I think about how Buzz and Woody will eventually be sold in a garage sale. I have always had a bleeding heart for things that don't really deserve it.

Well, I got rid of my dog Raisin last week because he pees on everything. He was permanently banished to the backyard. It will be getting chilly soon and that was a problem because Hitler's moustache had more hair than Raisin. But I put my foot down. Raisin was not coming back in the house. He lived in the downstairs shower on really hot days as it was. Not the greatest life for a dog. So we found him a new home. Trouble is, everything feels crumb-y now.

Apparently Raisin ate every morsel of everything that even thought about falling on the floor. Now every time a cheerio crunches under my un-pedicured heel, or every time a shard of a Dorito stabs my foot, I think of Raisin. That thought of him leads to more thoughts. Does he feel rejected? Does he miss us? Is he wandering the streets looking for our house?

I watched "Marley and Me" last weekend with my husband, who by the way thinks my heart is made of the most vile, poisonous , icy stone imaginable for what I've insisted on. Let's just say that is NOT the movie to watch after you give your dog the shaft. There was a scene in which the mom had had it with her dog's shenanigans and told the husband to take him to a naughty dog farm. After a couple of days, she apologized and and rescinded her threat. Then at the end of the movie, there was a heart warming montage of pictures and music depicting the long and fulfilling life they shared with their dog. I almost drowned in the tidal wave of "I told you so" that silently poured off of my huz.

I wanted to post a sort of memorial, good -bye raisin photo, but the only photo I could find off hand was one where my husband was standing in the bedroom and Raisin was on the bed (oh my gosh Nic is going to kill me) and somehow the way Raisin's head was with his long nose and huge bat ears superimposed the perfect dog head speedo on my husband. It was the most amazing random photo, but I can't very well post it here.

So, I'm still not sure I did the right thing. The facts: Raisin peed on everything. He's too naked to live outside. I gave away my little doggy. Sigh. I just don't know. Good bye Raisy-boy. I miss you. Sort of..

Rare Leathers

My husband is a big fan of AXE products. He thinks they can do no wrong. I privately wonder if it is because each container has a picture of a confident dude flanked by two curvaceous beauties? That image so reminds me of the mudflaps on an 18 wheeler...you know the ones with the voluptuous chick who is writhing in her own attractiveness? Yeah, I think that's why he buys these products. He loves to find non-serious ways to be piggy. Let me share with you what his latest bottle of body wash says:

"AXE instinct shower gel. The masculine scent of rare leathers in AXE Instinct arouses your animal magnetism. Use Axe and instinctively act as nature intended...How Dirty Boys Get Clean."

Yeah, if the devil made body wash, this would be it and my husband would buy it.

So this morning I stopped him and said, "Who wants to smell like rare leather anyway?"

And what constitutes "rare leather?" So we commenced a show down on who could come up with the rarest leather.
Me: Ostrich Skin?
Him: Lizard Belly.
Me: Rat Pelt.
Him: Moose armpit.
Me: Chicken feet.
Him: Ant shoulder.
Me: That's not a leather!

I love my husband. I love his indestructible male confidence. When he comes in sweaty and I tell him to go shower, he says: "I know it's hard for you to resist my natural musk". So I guess it's a win win for me in the smell department. I can enjoy his "natural musk" or try my luck at beating off the women when he cleans himself with "rare leathers". I'm a lucky lady.

Dry Shoulders

Remember spur of the moment trips? I remember when Nic was up at BYU for the summer and I jumped in the car wearing Victoria's secret pajama bottoms and a Hane's white T-shirt. No bag, no toothbrush...just me and wrinkled p.j's. Things are different now that we have kids. We can't be as spurry of the momenty. But on Tuesday, my sister-in-law masterminded a beach trip and we were happy to oblige her whim. This was Jemma's first trip to the ocean and she underwent the traditional rite of passage of Dad putting little baby toes in the water and taking a picture with her name and age carved in the sand. Hmm...maybe I should have posted THAT picture!

Afton was a boogie boardin' mamasita! She couldn't get enough of it! So much more daring than I was at that age. Or um...at my current age. I was so proud of her.

Jemma was a total beach bum. She gazed at the waves and caught dorrito crumbs with the brim of her hat as I ate them above her. She nursed and napped under the umbrella. She got sand in her ears and didn't care. She is the most chill baby.

Afton: Airborne and loving it.
Roxy's next cover model.
Evan could do boy stuff and not get in trouble. He could break sticks and throw mud and test the boundaries of speed and splashiness. He could eat Chips ahoy without limit and stab things that washed up on the beach.
Something about beach towns just sets my mind abloom with mystical magic-ness. Everyday things seem interesting. Walking by a dry cleaners and seeing serious faced Asian people press clothes and wipe sweaty tendrils from thier foreheads. Walking by a beauty parlor, (yes it was a beauty parlor not a salon) with pink and turqouise hair dryers and old ladies getting their weekly poodle do. Then walking by a salon, (not a beauty parlor) and noticing men getting pedicures and men waiting to get pedicures (no women). Only in California.

I had my yearly negotiation with the ocean which includes me standing knee deep in the waves and telling the Pacific, "Don't kill me and I won't kill you". Each year I tell myself I will get in over my head and body surf. I will not be afraid of sharks and getting rolled and coughing up salt water and getting stung by jelly fish. I will. I will. I will.

I didn't. As usual, I left the ocean with wet legs and dry shoulders. Someday.

Leaving the beach we drove by this little sushi place. They had a hand written sign in magic marker that said, "Sorry we don't make change for meters". The windows were open and people were sitting on stools breathing sea air and eating slippery noodles. I don't know if it was because we were leaving (over my dead sunburned body) or what, but I wanted to go in there. I wanted it to be my regular haunt. I wanted a usual table and to know the name of the waitress and she would know I'd want water with lemon.
I think Afton knows how I feel because I had to physically pry her from the parking meter. She loves the beach as much as me. I can't wait til next time. I hope I hop on a boogie board with her and come home with wet hair.

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.