Pictures on the porch, then and now

This morning, I dressed the kids up cute and went outside on the porch to take pictures. It marks 12 weeks of deployment, and I wanted to show Andrew how cute they looked for church. Of course, they weren't very cooperative, but I managed to get a few decent ones. (Eva's outfit was the star of the show, in my opinon.) Tonight, I sat down to edit them and send them to Andrew. While looking at them, I remembered some pictures we took last year on the porch, and I thought, "I bet that was almost exactly a year ago." So, using handy Picasa, I scrolled down to September of last year. And sure enough, it was September 6, 2008. We were pretty new in our house, although it still doesn't feel that long ago to me. But it absolutely shocked me to compare the kids then-and-now pictures.

























They've only gotten cuter with age, wouldn't you say?

Won't you be my neighbor?

(Warning: This post contains rather graphic mental images. If you are easily offended, please click away. If you want a good laugh, please read on.)

Tonight the kids were playing happily, so I took that opportunity to go use the facilities, as civilized people say. Seconds after sitting down, Eva came in. "Mama, you going potty?" I told her that I was. Leighton heard the conversation and came toddling in to join us. Within seconds, a fight escalated between them, and they both were crying at my knees. I growled in annoyance and said loudly while looking to the heavens for an answer, "Can't I even poo in peace?" Then I looked over and saw that my window was open. I guess even my neighbors can't have peace while I poo, since I'm broadcasting it to the whole neighborhood. That was slightly mortifying.

But the story doesn't end there. No, the fun continues. Just as I was finishing up my business, the phone rang. Thinking it would be Andrew, I dashed from the bathroom to grab the phone, hopping over my kids' heads, with all my clothes down around my knees. (It was a slow, cumbersome dash.) So you can imagine my anger when I saw that it wasn't Andrew, but a solicitor who has been calling at the worst times for the past week or two. I answered the phone with every intention of yelling at the telemarketer. But alas, I was denied even that pleasure as it was an automatic recording. I growled again and slammed the phone back down.

I hobbled back to the bathroom to see my kids staring at me in confusion. Eva said, "Mama, are you naked?" I pulled my pants back up and said, "Yes, Eva. I'm naked."

Bet you're glad you're not my neighbor.

The Runaway Shopping Cart, starring Eva

Yesterday we went to Target to purchase the most adorable brown boots I've ever seen, for Eva. Of course, that wasn't our original intent in the Target trip, but it was our best purchase.

We were in the parking lot getting ready to get back in the car. I left Eva sitting in the cart while I strapped Leighton into his carseat. When I looked back to where I had left the cart, at the bumper of the van, it was gone. More confused than panicked, I ran back there. No Eva. I looked over to my right, and there she was, floating away across the parking lot with the most confused look on her face.

It was the funniest thing to see, and I just laughed as I chased after the runaway cart. She had gotten pretty far away and would have knocked into the cart parking thing, so it was a good thing the parking lot was fairly empty. I told her how funny it was that she was just rolling away, and she couldn't stop talking about it for a little while. "Mama, I scared you. I was rolling away!"

Maybe I'll write a children's book: The Runaway Shopping Cart. Like unto the runaway bunny, but with a more materialistic (we were at Target) and modern twist.

The never-ending search

There are two things I am constantly looking for.

(Not the fountain of youth, or the answer to mysteries of life.)

Henry the frog, and the remote control.

Tonight I looked for the remote for at LEAST 30 minutes - forcing me to pick up the toys and crap littering the floor - and do you know where I found it?

In my bathtub.

The one great thing about kids being immobile would be that I would never find a remote control in my bathtub.

(Other things that are also always lost: Leighton's shoes. My cell phone. Matching socks for both kids. Eva's pacifier. Wipes. My mind.)

I just can't get it right.

Last week, after my nasty blister incident caused by the gym's boxing gloves, I decided that by next class I would be the owner of my own personal pair. I took a trip to Sports Authority to try some out. I tried on the same kind my boxing friends had, and they looked great. After trying on a pair, I put that one back and grabbed one from the back of the rack. You know, I never buy anything from the front of the stack - I always reach in the back to find one that nobody else has touched.

So tonight as I was on Skype with Andrew, I decided to show him my gloves. I ran to grab the bag from my bathroom and put them on for him. I punched the air with pride and imagined how cool I would look tomorrow morning in class. Then as I unstrapped them, I saw on the wristband: L/XL. What? There must be some mistake. I had gotten a pair of S/M gloves.

Sure enough, on the bag it was clearly marked L/XL. Crap. Apparently in grabbing one from the back of the stack, I got the wrong stinking size. Which means tomorrow morning I'll be wearing the stinking gym gloves, AGAIN. When my battle wound from last week is just barely healing, with a 1/4-inch-thick scab.

Looks like the stink and I will be battling it out again tomorrow. But by Thursday...mark my words. I WILL HAVE MY OWN PAIR OF GLOVES. A pair that fits. Dang it.

Andersen Sisters take on Martha Stewart

You've probably seen (if not, then at least heard of) the new movie called Julie and Julia. Allow me to tell you my history with this movie, and how it came to influence my life.

Back in July, I was visiting my family in Houston. My sister Lindsay was there, and we decided to take advantage of a convenient babysitter (my mom) and go see a movie. At a theater. It was a very big deal. While sitting in the theater, we saw a preview for Julie and Julia. It was a moment of epiphany for me. I felt like that movie just fit in my soul, and I knew that nothing in the world would stop me from seeing it the day it came out. So our scheming began.

So it happened that last month Lindsay and I again found ourselves together - this time in Utah, with all our other sisters as well. After all our anticipation and planning, we took a sisters' day out to go see the movie. On the day it came out.

It did not disappoint. It may well be my #1 favorite movie I've ever seen. But that's not all. It got us all talking, and we decided that we wanted to do that same thing. We wanted to cook our way through a cookbook - together - and blog about it. Not to get famous, but to have a bonding experience, through food, across the country.

Back at home, I started racking my brain thinking of what would be the best cookbook for us to do. We are all at different levels in our cooking lives, and we all wanted something a little instructional in nature, where we could learn new skills along with making good food. I settled on Martha Stewart's Cooking School, and everyone agreed. We got our books ready, I made a syllabus for us (with my obsessively organizational nature, I couldn't just dive right in without the whole thing planned through the end!) and started our blog, and off we went.
Today was recipe #1 - chicken soup. (You may have seen the post if you use Google Reader - I accidentally posted it on here first.)

If you would like to follow along on our journey through Martha's world, or even join in the fun, check it out. But be warned: Martha Stewart University is no place for the faint-hearted. Just ask the poor chicken I hacked up today.

Oh, siblings.

Just when I'm convinced I will never be able to foster any sort of happy relationship between these two, I see this.

Maybe there is hope after all.