Screw you, rainy day! Let the party live on.

Happy Monday Friends!

I’m still recovering from a Birthday Party Hangover. Seriously, I don’t know how barbequing some chicken, stuffing some goody bags and setting up a bounce house can make one feel like they’ve been hit by a Mac truck, but it can. It does. It did.

The house was full of the usual suspects on Saturday. Friends and family and kiddos all showed up to help us celebrate. As with everything else in this business, it took a village. Roxy frosted, scooped and wrangled. Jeremy’s mom, Debbie, chopped, straightened and wrangled. Jeremy swept, barbequed and wrangled. Adrianne made the cake pops. Austin brought the bounce house. I’m under no disillusions that I managed any of it alone. The village is good that way. Lots of hands. Lots of hearts. Lots of people who love Brodie and wanted to make sure his day went off without a hitch.

Adrianne made him his own "Monster" cake pop. Fitting, huh?

He’s pretty lucky, that kid. LOTS of people sure do love him.

The party started at 2:00 and the rain started at 2:15. After the initial meltdown that followed having to get off the swing set and out of the fort, we moved the bounce house to the patio. A toddler mattress was placed at the bottom to prevent any major injury, and the party lived on. No one seemed to mind the rain. No one seemed to mind being stuffed like sardines into my house. Kids running crazy, cake on everyone’s face, full bellies and dirty feet and happy laughter.

I love that I get to celebrate birthdays with my boys. Birthdays are a big deal. It is fun to celebrate the day one was brought into the world. After all, it’s a celebration for me too. I’m the one who did the ‘bringing’ and each candle we add to the cake means another year of being a mom.  It’s fun to eat cake. It’s fun to open presents. It’s also exhausting. And not only for me. Brodie was walking around like a zombie at about 8 o’clock, roaming around the living room, eyes half shut, wanting desperately to go to sleep but not wanting to let go of the excitement of the day, or let go of his toys for fear someone else would take them. I have to admit, though, it was also quite satisfying to see him so exhausted. It’s a good sign. A good sign that I did my job right. A good sign that he partied like a two- year -old rock star.

Mom Success.

I was a little anxious. I often am when it comes to stuff like that. I want everyone to enjoy themselves. I want my kids to behave. I want everyone else’s kids to behave. I want the food to taste good and my septic system not to back up and my carpet not to suffer any major damage.

They did. It did. Nothing got broken. Everything turned out fine.

I kept asking my Uncle Ronnie, “We doing alright?”

I knew he would ease my mind. He has a way about him. A way of reassuring me, without saying too much, that I’m doing better than fine. I’m sure glad he was here. Sure glad he’s part of the village. He did, indeed, ease my mind, warm my heart and make me laugh. When he was walking out the door, he hugged my shoulders and gave me the best present of the day with these words,

“You’re doing a hellava job with those boys.”

Thanks, Uncle Ronnie. I think we do alright, but it sounds better coming from you!  

Dear Brodie: Happy Birthday!

Dear Brodie,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

You, little one, are TWO today.

It’s been eight months since my last letter. Remember? The one where I begged you to stop screaming? The one where I threatened to throw you in Pops’ studio until you were quiet? Well, it’s been quite the eight months and you have, indeed, stopped screaming.

Thanks so much for that.

You have replaced the screaming with all kinds of other good stuff. Okay, well, mostly good stuff. You do say, “Dammit” and “Nooo!” an awful lot. (This, really, is my fault considering those are the two words you hear me say the most)But mostly you sing. And talk. And laugh and play and giggle. You really are too cute, even when you’re trying your best to be rotten.

You like your Bubba the most. He’s the first person you ask for when you wake up in the morning and the last person you say, “Night” to before you are all tucked into bed. He likes you back. I know sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, what with the, “Brodie, go away and leave me alooonnneee!” and similar things he’s always yelling at you. But, trust me, not only as your mom but as an older sibling, he really does like you.

Bubba going to kindergarten has turned out to be pretty cool for you and me. We’ve gotten a lot of time to get to know each other better. I know I was a little worried about it at first, worried how we would do without Bubba around as a buffer, but we’ve actually done better than okay. We have a system. A pretty good one, I think. One that includes starting the day with coffee creamer in your milk. You like Crème Brule the best, like me, but you’ll settle for French Vanilla in a pinch.

You are very routine oriented, unlike your big brother, and as hard as I tried to fight it, I’ve actually gotten a lot better at the routine thing myself.

Thanks so much for that.

The last eight months have also brought out a sweetness in you that is hard to ignore.  Although, most of the time when you’re being sweet, it is accompanied by an apology. I must say that along with “Dammit” and “Nooo!” you say, “Sorry” quite a bit. We all forgive you but, eventually, some of us are going to start hitting you back. Enjoy being little while it lasts. Any day now, I’m going to start turning my head and letting your brother handle things for himself. It’s probably good that you’re teaching him how to be a fighter, too. He’s going to need all the help he can get. You’re cute, but you’re still a bruiser.

I thought that I would feel differently about you turning two. Sad, maybe? Rushed. Like, the time went by too fast. The truth is I don’t. It didn’t. I like you at two. You’re fun and sassy and a riot to be around. I love hanging out in the car with you, windows down, Gaga blaring, Dum Dum in your mouth for the ride to pick up Bubba. I love playing outside with you, picking flowers, playing with snails, watching you scoot yourself around on a bike that’s too big, but that you’ll be riding without training wheels before your brother. I love that you aren’t a baby anymore. You’re easier now that you can talk to me, tell me what you want, understand the concept of “Give me a minute” and “Coffee first, then outside”. I love that you are such a good “helper”. I love that you make me beg for hugs and kisses. I love that as much as you want to do everything yourself, you’re still okay with letting me help you. “Thank you Mommy” you say when I help you put on your clothes, button your jammies or pull on your coat.

I love that you love to go and that you’ve taught me how to be better at going. As long as we’re moving, you’re happy. I’ve lost almost 40 pounds in the last year trying to keep up with you.

Thanks so much for that.

I’ve learned a lot in the last two years. A lot about you. A lot about me. A lot about how to be a mother to you and your brother at the same time. I like the kind of mother I’m turning out to be to you. We’re not perfect, you and I, but we’ve done a pretty good job so far.

You’re an alright kid, Brodie Kevin, and I wouldn’t trade you in for anything, no matter how many times a day I threaten to drop you off at Safe Surrender. Let’s stay two for a little while, okay? I kind of like it here.

Happy birthday, monster. I sure do love you. And no, you can’t have jelly beans for breakfast. I don’t care if it is your birthday…

Alright, fine. But only a few.

Love,

Mom

Krysten + Katniss = 2gether4ever

It’s been kind of quiet here at Consider Me Krysten lately. I’ve noticed. I promise. It’s just that the lap top was in Texas. She took a vacation. Had some work done. She’s back and looking better than ever. It was a nice reunion.

Jeremy had to walk me through an actual, teary-eyed breakdown in the driver’s seat of my car the morning he told me she was broken. Once I finally backed out of the driveway, I called him twice during my 7 and ½ minute commute to work so he could reassure me, for the umpteenth time, that he would get it handled as fast as he possibly could and get her back home where she belonged.

I missed her. Quite a lot, actually, and I spent the first few days she was gone in mourning. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Me, rolled up in a ball on the couch, under the blankets, violently weeping while crying out, “I miss you, Jessica!”

Alright, so maybe it wasn’t that bad, but I was pretty shaken up about the whole thing. I like my computer. I like writing at my computer. I bought a new notebook and some new pens, tried downloading a writing app to my Nook, installed a mobile blog app. None of those were working for me.

I like writing at my computer. And my computer was in Texas.

Short of going over to Best Buy and getting a new one, which, after only three days of deliberation I decided was a bad idea, there was really nothing I could do but wait for her to come home. It seemed like a pretty sucky place to be. (Yes, Sucky is a word. Trust me, I’m a writer) It might seem a little dramatic but, as a friend of mine  empathetically  pointed out, “The difference between having and not having one’s laptop is far greater than most people that have never had to bridge it would imagine.” I was totally bummed. But, as bummed as I was, waiting got boring. So, I did the next best thing I could think to do. I read a book.

Okay, fine, three books. In a row. A trilogy, if you will.

The Hunger Games

That’s right, Ladies and Gentlemen, I hopped on the train, landed in The Capitol, and, along with the rest of Panem, fell head over hills in love with The Girl on Fire. She had me at, “I Volunteer”, and I was hooked. I’ve been eating, sleeping and dreaming Katniss Everdeen ever since. I read the books, saw the movie, wore the T-shirt (No, really. Megan ordered us Hunger Games T-shirts to wear opening day) and have since read parts of the books again, as well as started a new book called, The girl who was on fire. It’s a collection of essays from other Young Adult authors about the trilogy. Have I mentioned I get a little crazy about these things? Have I mentioned that after my sister’s wedding in June, I plan on getting Mischief Managed tattooed on the back of my neck? Have I mentioned that Megan and I left our two and three month old babies at home in Fresno with family so we could drive to Salinas for the midnight premier of The Twilight Saga: Eclipse? No? Well, it’s true. And I’m not so much trying to decide whether or not to add a bow & arrow and a Mockingjay to my summer ink plans as I am trying to decide exactly where to put them.

I needed The Games. They came at the perfect time. I needed to go to District 12, into The Arena and come out at the end of Mockingjay. The Games not only filled in the empty void left by losing my keyboard for a few weeks, they reminded me why I love stories so much. They reminded me why I love characters so much. They gave me Katniss Everdeen. If you buy into the whole, everything happens for a reason idea, then know this: The lap top had to die, so Katniss and I could live.

Thanks to those of you who said you were anxiously awaiting a new post. I’m back, I promise, and you’ll probably find Katniss around here, too. We’re kind of a package deal now. Probably not so much Gale or Peeta, though. As Jennifer Lynn Barnes writes in The Girl Who Was on Fire:

“I’m not Team Gale or Team Peeta. I’m Team Katniss…the core story in the Hunger Games trilogy has less to do with who Katniss ends up with and more to do with who she is-because sometimes, in books and in life, it’s not about the romance. Sometimes, it’s about the girl.”

Happy Wednesday and May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor.

Happy Friday! A week in pictures.

It's Friday!

Linking up with InstaFriday today sharing my week in pictures.

The same night I had Prime Rib Dinner with Dad...I also ended up with THIS. This is Peach Cobbler. It was amazing. It was big enough to swim in. No, I didn't finish it all. But, I wanted to!

My kids and I have found a new way to enjoy dinner during the week while Daddy is at work...

RESTAURANTS!

Seriously, do you know how many "Kids eat free" nights there are in town? (Yep, I'm that lady) I get to sit with my kids and eat and talk while someone else cooks, serves and cleans. This night, we were at IHOP. Who doesn't love pancakes for dinner? Plus, there is a never ending supply of coffee! Score!

Monday was The Mr.'s Birthday. This is his cake. No, I didn't make it. I paid for it though, which totally counts. It was actually made my one of my best friends, Jill, and her mom, Lynn. They are amazing! They've done birthday cakes for both my boys and they are doing my sister's wedding cake. The Corona bottles are made from rice crispy treats. Who's the best wife ever? ME! (Can you tell just how excited he is to have his picture taken?)

This is our 5 and 2 year olds eating said rice crispy treat Corona bottles. Who are the parents of the year? We Are!

Bought new bedding this week. Isn't it pretty? Oh, you can't see it? Maybe that's because there are two little monkeys jumping on my bed...Their Auntie Rachelle thought this was a good idea. She's like having an extra child.

These, my friends, are homemade apple chips. Yes, the plate is also shaped like an apple. No, that is not an accident. I got a new slicer and microwave chip maker from Pampered Chef. It rocks my world!

My first pair of running shoes. They are so amazing. They make me feel like I'm wearing PF Flyers! They are also BRIGHT ORANGE! Like caution cones. For my feet. "Caution: Rookie Runner"

You will also notice that there is no laundry piling up on the treadmill. That's right, I use it.

And last, but certainly not least, it wouldn't be a week in pictures unless I showed off these bad boys. Handmade pajama pants...with coffee cups on them. And pockets. And a little tag in the back that says, "Made by La with Love"

My friend Lauren made them for me. By hand! Did I mention that part already? I feel so special!

Happy Friday, Friends!

Prime Rib Dinner with Dad

 “Fortunately [psycho] analysis is not the only way to resolve inner conflicts. Life itself still remains a very effective therapist.”

--Karen Horney

Jeremy, the boys and I went to dinner with my parents the other night. Friday night. The day Austin came home. The excitement had died down and everyone had gone, including my brother, and we realized we were all starving. We went up the street to a family restaurant. Steaks, burgers, pasta. Coffee refills from a glass pot. Lots of families. Lots of cute older couples. It was almost 7 o’clock and we were seated right away. My dad and I both ordered coffee, cream, real sugar, while we looked over the menus.

The boys ordered pizza and fries. Jeremy got some sort of pasta with absolutely NO vegetables of ANY kind…and a salad (??). Dad and Roxy both decided on prime rib. I’d never ordered prime rib. Like, Prime Rib Dinner, prime rib. I’ve eaten it. I like it. It’s just not something I think to order in a restaurant. But, that night, it sounded good.

When it got to the table I realized that because I had never ordered prime rib at a restaurant, I also had no idea what the extra stuff on the plate was. Not wanting to sound silly, I quietly pointed to it, shrugged my shoulders and whispered “what is this?” to my dad. It was horseradish. He didn’t look at me like it was a stupid question. He just whispered the answer.

The next thing I realized was that I had no idea exactly what to do with the horseradish. Not wanting to make a big deal about it, I just kind of watched, out of the corner of my eye, my dad prepare to eat his prime rib.

You have to understand that my father is an adorable eater. I mean that in the manliest way possible, I swear. But, really, it’s down-right cute how he is about food. He’s not a picky eater. He likes everything. Home-cooked, professionally prepared, comfort, gourmet, spicy, sweet, fried, sautéed, barbequed, ethnic, locally grown and operated. He is very particular about the way he eats things, though. He has a routine when it comes to food. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not like an A & E episode of Obsessed waiting to happen or anything, but he prefers to eat things exactly in the way he believes they were meant to be eaten. In the way they were meant to be truly enjoyed. I’ve always liked eating meals with my dad. He appreciates food. You also have to understand that we didn’t always get to eat a lot of meals together.  We lived in separate cities for most of my childhood. He drank a lot. We weren’t that close when I was a kid.   

I spent some years being bitter about that. Bitter that I didn’t have a relationship with him. Upset because things like pride and alcohol and distance had gotten in the way of us being close. Convinced that I would never have the kind of connection with my dad I believed I needed.

Then, ten years ago today, something happened.

It happened inside of him, a stirring only he knows by name, and he got sober. I’m not going to tell you his story. I’ve been reminded recently that I shouldn’t tell stories that don’t belong to me. I am going to tell you, though, that in the last ten years, ten years filled with sobriety and spirituality and understanding and prayer, apologies and amends and communication and laughter, my dad and I have built a relationship. A real relationship. We talk and giggle. We argue and grumble. We see each other every day. (Seriously, every day. We live next door to each other. There is a gate in between our backyards for goodness sakes.) We have coffee. We have conversations. We run up the road and grab something to eat. We have an opportunity, every day, to have a relationship.

And we do.

Nothing has been swept under the rug. Nothing has been ignored. We haven’t gone to therapy, we haven’t gone to blows, but in our own way, we’ve worked things out. I made him a grandpa and he made me a priority. He apologized and I forgave him. I decided to let go and together, we decided to start where we were and work our way forward. No time, no energy gets wasted worrying about the way things aren’t, worrying about the way things weren’t. He gets to be my dad and I get to be his daughter…right now. Sure, building a healthy relationship with my dad is an ongoing process. Some days, the man infuriates me. He makes me crazy. But I’m crazy, I’m infuriated because of what’s happening at that moment, not because of things that did or didn’t happen 20 years ago. When I’m missing something, something I think I was supposed to learn from my dad, I just walk next door and ask him how to do it. When he teaches my boys how to do something, bait a hook, fire a gun, properly enjoy a Pepsi or an ice cream cone, I get to learn too.

And at 31, he taught me how to properly eat a Prime Rib Dinner.

When I confessed that I had never ordered it, never eaten it that way, he just smiled. “Really?” he asked. But, not in a shocked way, not in a way that would draw attention. More in a way that showed, in my dad’s own manner, that he was glad he got to be the one to enjoy it with me. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

Yes, it is. Turns out, I really like horseradish.

Happy ten years, Dad. I love you.  

Dirty Secret Saturday

My best friend, Megan, got together with a couple of other bloggers and decided to put together a link up called “Dirty Secret Saturday”. You can read about it here. It’s just an opportunity to share a hidden something in a place where judgment is checked at the door. The link up came at a perfect time for me. I have something I really need to get off my chest. My own demon of a dirty little secret…

I throw away most of the stuff my kid brings home from school.                                                                                   

There. I said it.

Not all of it. I swear I keep the important stuff. But this kid brings home an INSANE amount of “Busy Work”. Worksheets and graphs and things that I’m sure he’s worked really, really hard on. I feel guilty when I throw it away. You can tell by the fact that I pile things on top of the drawings and math sheets and word puzzles so he won’t find out I threw away his work. I don’t know what else to do with it. There’s no place for it. It takes over my entire house if I don’t throw it away. Packing it away would not fix the problem. The boxes would take over and my house would, honest to God, look like an episode of Hoarders.  

I know I’m not the only one. In fact, a friend of mine just confessed she was guilty of the same thing as she tossed a pile of it in the garbage while our kids played outside. Her pantry door, like my refrigerator door, is covered in various pieces of art created by her 5 year old. I’m sure you’ll find homemade projects in various forms of glue and glitter in her holiday boxes, tucked away so they will be joyfully removed and hung around the house once a year. They will be enjoyed. They will no doubt create nostalgia as she, like myself, looks back at years gone by and remembers the smell of kindergarten. Then, when the hearts are removed or the turkey is eaten or the tree is put away, those beautiful works of art go back in the box and they don’t get looked at again for 12 months.

I’m not a completely horrible mother. I do keep stuff. But, I throw more away.

It might not seem like much of a secret. If I got one mom to confess, I’m sure there are plenty more. It does, however, feel kind of dirty to me.  

Here’s why.

I’m a creator of printed things. I write. I write a lot of stuff that isn’t very good. I keep it anyway. It’s important to me. It’s my work. I honestly don’t believe Logan feels this way about most of the stuff he brings home, but even if he feels a little like that, I’m convinced I’m screwing him up.  

When I throw away Logan’s printed things, I feel like I’m robbing him of something. His creative process. His toil.

Is this insane?

Probably.

But I tell you what…It sure feels good to let it out!

Cheers to Dirty Secret Saturday. I really do feel so much better.

My brother is HOME! (Snapshot Edition)

Today has been an exciting day. A very, very exciting day. My little brother, Sgt. Austin T. Lewis, returned home safely to his family today after a tour in Afghanistan. We are all SO thrilled and relieved and excited and proud and...

The list goes on forever.

Sometime soon I plan to actually calm down long enough to write a whole post about his homecoming. I just can't do it today. There is so much happening in my head that it would be super long and super mushy.

The bottom line is: He's Home!!!!!  

Here are just a few of the pictures from the day.

These are my boys, waiting patiently. Logan made that sign himself (mostly) and Brodie was super proud of his American Flag. If this picture doesn't scream U.S.A., I don't know what does.

Some friends of the family rode their Harleys to the airport to greet my brother's unit and then escorted them to the base to see us. This is Kasey Burton. Yes, that's an American Flag jacket she's wearing. Yes, she's a total badass. Yes, she cried several times throughtout the day. Her husband, Jack, said "This is the coolest thing I've ever done." They were honored to be escorts and we were honored, too.

This is my brother, Austin and his fiance, Meganne. They did this for several minutes. They did NOT notice me taking this picture. I'm glad. It makes the picture better. They may have missed one another.

 This is me hugging my brother. I think he was excited to see me, too. Not as much as Meganne, duh, but still, he was excited...

Logan and his Unc. They're kinda close. This is a VERY BIG DEAL...for them both.

And Brodie and his Unc. He's been gone awhile. Brodie forgot how cool Unc was. It didn't take him long to remember. By the end of the day, they were shooting guns.

This is the first and only time I've seen my dad get emotional through this whole deployment. It was really, really neat to get to watch.

.

All of the excitement got to Grandpa Bud, it seems. He climbed in the back of the Government owned 15 passenger van and took a nap. Seriously, Grandpa? Well, his hat does say US Navy, retired. Guess he earned it.

This is, by far, one of my new favorite pictures. How proud am I? How freakin' grown up is he? You know, we call him "The Golden Child"? You wanna know why? 'Cause he totally is! The kid is just amazing. And, I'm not just saying that because he's home safely from war. I'm saying that because it's the truth.

Happy Friday, or as we've been calling it, National Unc Day!!!