Tutu love

A few weeks ago, I mentioned on Twitter and Facebook that I desperately wanted a tutu for Caitlin’s Easter outfit, but all the ones I could find were slightly out of my price range. But I so wanted one.

When I thought all hope was lost for my tutu dreams, my BFF came through and told me there was someone out in Twenty-Nine Palms that makes them. As a birthday gift, she would provide the tutu.

I picked the colors and took waist measurements and hoped and prayed it would arrive in time. My mom got her a beautiful pink one, just in case something happened and it didn’t. But I desperately waited for the tutu from BFF.

On Monday, we got a package. And when we got inside and opened it? This happened…

The cute. It kills.

I think it’s hilarious that she recognizes she looks/feels like a princess when she wears it, even if she has no idea what a princess actually is.

I die from the cute.


WW: We went to the park-Caitlin

Kicked in the teeth

This wasn’t the original post I had scheduled today. I spent Monday afternoon writing a week’s worth of posts and today’s was a reflection on the week I knew I was going to have. A bad one.

And it was.

Early Monday morning, my Gpa died. He was old, in his early 90s, and in failing health for quite a while; he had been in hospice three times since moving to Virginia in 2007. Cancer treatments in the summer of 2009 and a failing heart and liver last year. Every time we thought he was getting ready to go, every time we went to say good-bye, he would pull through. Live another day.

Last week he was diagnosed with pneumonia and put back on hospice and after a couple of days, moved into my parents home. He fell again and they couldn’t have him alone. I assume he would be okay. Live another day. Even with that thought, when we got the call from my mom saying they had started him on Morphine on Saturday night, we decided to go see him the next day. Just in case.

We stayed for several hours, waiting for an indication when he was awake so we could tell him we loved him. I left thinking he would pull through, like he always does. Chris told me to be prepared. I said I would be fine, he was old and in pain. Death is better for him. He’s ready to let go, he’s been ready.

Monday morning, we got the text he had passed. I thought I was okay, I thought I was expecting it, but really I wasn’t. I spent a lot of Monday crying and angry. It filtered throughout my week.

The kids were behaving like lunatics on Tuesday and on Wednesday, after not getting a lot of sleep due to Kinley sleep-crawling, he nearly ripped his tooth out on the facet of the bathtub. Lots of blood sent me spiraling down, questioning my worth as a mother and contemplating where they would be better off. Lots more crying happened and little sleep because I kept seeing his bloody, jacked up mouth when I closed my eyes.

Thursday I woke up, exhausted, prepared to not fight the day in being terrible. Decided to just let it crawl over me and lull me into a comfortable numbness, hopefully away from anxiety.

But then, I read something. I read Kim’s letter to her son. I admired her strength and ability to get up and make cookies with him when all she wanted to do was give up. I looked back at the post I intended for Friday and realized that by allowing that to publish, I’m allowing a little bit of me to give up. And I know that’s not what Kim would want me to do. She would want me to get off my ass and do something. She would want me to kick this shit in the teeth.

So I did. I got up. I played with my kids. I lulled them to naps and laughed during horrible diaper changes. I answered the phone when my husband called instead of ignoring it. I told what I had anticipated as a bad day to shove it, and that, even if we didn’t bathe until late or go to park, it would be a good day. We would open the windows to let the breeze in and we would play with chalk on the back porch.

I told myself Friday would be an even better day, no matter what. That Thursday was a day to build momentum.

And here we are. And there we go.

Living  another day.

A hamster situation

I’m consistently surprised Chris let me have children. I don’t do good with small things I’m required to clean and feed and take care of.

Then again, well, they weren’t exactly “planned,” so he didn’t really have much of a choice, did he?

But if I were him, I would have been shaking in my Batman boxers. Which do exist, by the way. In case you were wondering. (They’re too small.)

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.

The point is, that a few weeks prior to our wedding, I got a hamster. I always wanted a hamster, but my dad has this thing about pets intended to be kept in cages. He doesn’t agree with it.

But I wasn’t going to be living with my parents much longer so I bought a hamster. A fluffy little thing I named Bear. And I loved him. NAY! I adored him.

Unfortunately, he died the next day. He had a case of hamster wet tail thanks to the lovely people at Petsmart and their amazing rodent caring skills.

(For those of you who know anything about hamster wet tail, it’s highly contagious, so all the hamsters in that cage, and probably the store, had it.)

We did everything to save little Bear; my sister even took him to the vet while I was at work and tried to get them to save him. They gave instructions and antibiotics, but he still died several hours later. My mom called Chris to break the news to me. Yes, my mom called my future husband so HE could tell me that my $10 hamster that I had less than 24 hours had died.

I took it just a wee-bit rough.

Chris, being the ever loving and caring fiancee, went to another store and got me a new one. A little ball of fluff named Rocko.

And then we got Kitty-Kitty. Do you see where this is going?


Rocko survived Kitty-Kitty’s attack, and while he went missing for a couple of days, we eventually found and caught him.

Only for him to survive a couple of more weeks and then die under his exercise wheel, presumably from a heart attack. I don’t know. I’m not a hamster doctor.

I haven’t had the courage to get another one since, but as Caitlin is getting older and understanding the world around her, I find myself taking her to Petsmart and having to talk myself down from the ledge of buying one. Quite frankly, that just sounds like a terrible idea; the only two places we could put the cage is on the kids dresser (which she knows how to climb onto now) and on the island counter (which would drive Chris nuts). So, I solidify the idea that it’s just not plausible and try and convince Chris that Linux wouldn’t eat neither a pig or a cat, so those are wonderful anniversary present ideas hint hint.

But watching them run on the exercise wheel can entertain me for hours that I don’t have.

WW:We went to the park-Kinley

And at home…


I remember

I couldn’t tell you the the day, the month or even the year; in a place where the fourth of July closely resembles Christmas Day, time begins to blur into a mass of endless sun. I don’t remember how old I was or if it was a school season or summer break.

I do remember the hot Hawaiian sun beating down, fiercely, on my neck and legs.

I remember the sound of the palm trees swaying in the breeze.

I remember a pink bathing suit.

I remember the chill of the water dancing from the sprinkler as I ran through it.

I remember being taller than I actually was, a vision of myself I once longed for. Tall and thin for my age, but I know that’s a false memory. I was, in every which way, tiny.

I remember a palm tree to my right when facing the house. I remember the outline of mountains behind it. I remember being afraid the dogs would get out of the fence, and run down the hill and get attacked by  a mongoose.

I remember laughing and jumping and screaming…

I remember pain. Sudden, severe pain shooting throughout my head.

I remember crying and running into the house.

I remember my mom looking at my ear…

I remember her saying it was time to change out of the suit and no more swimming or playing for a few days as she turned the hose off.

I remember an ear infection.

Prompt: Inspired by a hose

Our year

We’ve been waiting.

Every year since we got married we’ve said “this will be our year. This is the year for us.”

Our first year came and went in a blur of pregnancy and fights. A first year of marriage shouldn’t be that hard. It wasn’t our year, but we stuck it out. We held on.

Our second year came and went with struggles that we never anticipated. A second baby. Lots of moving. A hole we clawed and scratched our way out of, tooth and nail. It wasn’t our year.

We celebrate our third anniversary this year. On New Year’s Eve we promised each other, this will be our year. No matter what, this would be it. No more struggling. No more stressing. No more crying. This is our year.

Chris began searching for a job in January. Opportunities stared us in the face, just barely out of our reach for one reason or another. Until, finally, one came up. We reached for it. A perfect opportunity, one to get our foot through the door, to get us going.

On Tuesday we got word. Everything is cleared, everything is good, he starts on the 18th.

This is our year. This is the year everything we went through pays off.

I’m so happy. I’m so proud of him. We’re so excited.

Right now, our life is perfect.

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