Dear Journal,

Today was one of those just really great days. It started with the {9:00 a.m. - oi!}blessing of one of my favorite babies. Mr. Cam Kozlowski. Dang that kid is cute. His eyes are pure sunshine. I get to feeling really happy just by being in his presence. Ashley, his mother, bore a wonderful testimony. I have always known that she is as sincere, and genuine, and wise as they come, but I was still struck by those traits as she shared her testimony today. My favorite part of it would have to have been the part where she fanned her tear-filled eyes and then proceeded to tell the congregation "I need to stop crying, I just got my eyelash extensions filled last night and they're all going to fall out if I don't." I literally laughed out loud {emphasis on loud} and so did her sweet sister and the rest of her family. Like I said, that girl is genuine as the day is long. She epitomizes what it means to be "without guile,"and man do I adore her for it.

Did I mention what a treat it was to go BY MYSELF and actually sit and listen to an entire sacrament meeting sans Tennyson {the gremlin} and Kort {the man-child of a thousand drinking fountain drinks}?

Consider it mentioned.

We attended our regular sacrament meeting at eleven, and it was another doozy! I cannot believe the love that our ward shares. It really is like a family.  I don't know how we'll ever talk ourselves into moving somewhere else.

Kort gave the talk in Primary, and did a great job...minus the constant fiddling with the microphone and the unnecessary comment about the fact that he took a bite {yes, an actual bite} out of the paper his talk was written on because he claimed to be starving.

By the by, how many times does one have to say:

Have you not eaten ANYHING for three days?
Do you have not one, but TWO able-bodied parents?
Is your belly distended?
Do you live in Africa? Cambodia? Guatemala?

Then you ARE NOT STARVING!!!!

After church, Tennyson awoke from his nap feeling MISERABLE and crying like crazy. He is constipated...again. Let me rephrase that, he is constipated continuously. All the time. Day in, day out. It is horrific. We have been trying everything. Fiber gummies, Miralax, coconut, lots of veggies, prune juice, etc... Everything works for a very short time, but his body inevitably gets used to it, and then it stops working. So we are using those in heavy rotation, but if anyone has any suggestions for long term help for our poor little dude, I would certainly welcome the information.

We went on not one, but two walks in the glorious sunshine.

We ate German pancakes with bananas and whipped cream for dinner.

We sat around the living room chatting and reminiscing about the good old days and how Kortland use to sing Bon Jovi's hit song "You give love a bad name" by belting from his car seat:

"Shock-a-la-ha! And you're to blame! You give love a bad name!"

and then Jordan piped up and admitted that she always thought the song went:
"Shout to the Lord! And you're to blame!"

{Ha ha! Quite the religious zealot, that one.}

Then, we started talking about how the human mind has a very difficult time being 100% random. Or even 50% random, for that matter. Kortland brought this to our attention, oddly enough, several months ago, when he said:

"They say that it's really hard to be random, but I'm really good at being random. See watch, I can name 5 things that are totally unrelated. Kay, mark, set, go.

Car...door...weirdeeee !"

Ha ha ha ha ha!
That was only three words...and since we were getting in the car, the "car" and "door" portions don't count.
And since "weirdeee" is a made up word, I'm fairly certain that it doesn't count either.

The hubs and I consistently have a good laugh over that one.
We'll be driving down the road, and one of us will suddenly yell out:
"Car! Door! Weirdeeee!"

So, tonight, we yelled it out again:
"Car! Door! Weirdeeee!"

And then we retold the story of it to Jordan.

And then we challenged one another to call out five completely random objects.

I COULD NOT  for the life of me do it.
Mine went something like:
"Couch. Frame. Rug. Mirror. Window!" {All home interiors.}
Then I tried again:
Mountain. Lake. Stream. Bahhhh!!! {All nature.}
I was no good at this game.

Jo did okay, but only when she thought them in her head first. And even then, she was at 25% randomosity.

The hubs took the cake though. He hadn't been listening when we specified that
1. The objects had to be random and unrelated, and
2. That each word had to be autonomous.

His offering?

"Poop butt. Peanut Butter Sandwich!"

{And honest to goodness, even as I type this, I am laughing so hard that my nostrils are flaring to high heavens and tears are LITERALLY streaming down my face. - Fortunately, I got my eyelash extensions filled several days ago, so, unlike Ashley, I am not under direct threat of having them fall out.}

Oh, how I love that man of mine.

My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
I love this little family.
I love all the quirks.

But mostly, I love the thought of just how very much mileage I am going to get out of the phrase:

"Poop-butt-peanutbuttersandwich!!!!!

Dear Journal, {Circa April 9 & 10, 1995.}

{Modern Vogue Photography.}

{Tennyson's DARLING picture has nothing to do with the post, but I thought it needed a little somfin' somfin' extra}

{Welcome to Tell All Tuesday, yo!  These are excerpts from the journal I kept when I was fourteen. Nothing has been added to or taken away from the following entries:}

4.9.95

Dear Journal,

In a few weeks, I will be in the speech meet telling RETOLD STORIES!
I will be telling:
"Who Put the Pepper in the Pot?"
"Up Goes Mr. Downs"
and "The Cat's Pajamas"

Me and my brother Bryan (15) have had problems in the past, but now that we're getting older, we get along a lot better. I {heart} cheerleading so much. I have TONZ more to say, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

{heart}
Laura

P.s. Bryan is a stud.

4.10.95

Dear Journal,

I have no idea why I ever say nice things about Bryan! I guess it's because he's so messed up! One minute he's a really nice brother, the next, he's a total jerk! I borrowed his plaid shirt today and he chewed me out, but when he takes my cd player without asking, it's no big deal! Tonight during family night he kept on being rude and making fun of me, but all my parents do is laugh cause it's so funny when he hurts my feelings! Then I'm sure that they'll come in and tell me that I'm being too sensitive and he's funny. Same old story. Well, it's not gonna happen this time cause my door is locked and my music is blasting.

Today was okay. I found out that a boy named Brandon Allen likes me. Well, I think that he's nice, but I don't want to have a boyfriend right now {or any time real soon!}

I just found out that we get to go to Park City  for 2 days, and I might even get a new dress for speech meet. I am singing in church on April 30th with my mom and I'm so excited..
I want to get these really cool hair extensions for my birthday cause I have thin hair.
I'll be sure to write everything about the trip.

{heart}
Laura
P.s. Bryan is a weenie. {mood swing.}

A few follow up letters 

{from 31 year old Lola}:

Dear Kurt Cobain, 

Thanks for the plaid shirt craze you sent us all into.
Pretty sure I milked that one a good 3-4 years after it was done for.

xo,
Lola

Dear Bryan,

Sorry I called you a weenie.

You'll go ahead and forgive me for being just a little bit excited for the day when Lily writes that Jack is a "weenan" in her journal though, won't you? Cause I am going to RELISH every second of that.

Oh, and sorry that I took your shirt without asking.

On an entirely different note, I'm also sorry that I bumped "Gangsta's Paradise" non-stop for the better part of a year. {I couldn't help that I was so gangsta.I am what I am.} However, that must have stunk considering our bedroom doors were all of three feet apart. I would have been a weenie to me too.

xo,
Lola

Dear 14 Year Old Lola,

I so love that you can at least acknowledge that you're a titch on the mood-swingy side. Spot on.

Also, I think I know where our son gets his ADD:
"I get a new dress. I'm going to Park City. I want hair extensions. I'm singing in church"

Yikes.
Get pills.
Get them now.

Xo,
31 Year Old Lola

P.s. LOVED the bit about your door being locked and your music being blast-y - 10 points for a statement perfectly RIFE with teenage angst-i-ness. You should be a writer for One Tree Hill or The Vampire Diaries or something. 

Dear Mom,

Just so you know, it was pretty much DEVASTATING that you refused to get those hair extensions for me. Because of you, Julie Duncan successfully stole, let me see, um EVERY boyfriend I had/guy that I liked from 8th through 11th grade. Those Emery County boys love them a thick, shiny head of hair...and you just WOULD NOT let me level the playing field with clip-in hair extensions for 5 easy payments of $19.99!

I hope you're happy.

Xo,
14 Year Old Lola

Dear Mom,

Thanks for teaching me that I should love myself the way that I am.
Got it.
{Well, most days...}

Xo,
31 Year Old Lola

Dear Julie Duncan,

I still like you.
It's not your fault that you have such great hair.
Water under the bridge if you ask me.

Xo,
31 Year Old AND 14 Year Old Lola

Dear Journal,

11.28.2011

{Would YOU want to spend all day every day with this lady? Yeah, that's what I thought.}

I'm feeling like a really, really happy little failure right now.
Strange, but true.

So, the home-school thing didn't work out.

In a lot of ways, I loved it.

I loved having in-depth discussions about serious/cool topics, like the Salem Witch Trials...or the big debate about whether or not Springville residents should vote for a tax raise in order to fund a rec center. It was cool to give Kort all of the facts, and then let him suss out the details and decide what he thought for himself

I loved seeing his love for reading reignite.

I loved seeing his love for art and writing reignite.

I loved our home-school field trip group.

I really loved the good days.

Then there were the not so good days.

Days when I felt like I just couldn't get it all done.

Kort didn't want to listen. I didn't want to teach. The dishes were two days old, and Tennyson seemed like a chubby, grunt-y, scoot-y, delicious little shadow far off in the distance who I vaguely remembered, but...?

Then there was the fact that I didn't get to take any more naps. {Go ahead and minus 50 points right there.}

Then there was also the fact that I started taking Metformin again because we really want to have another baby {it's totally okay for me to try for baby number three even though I'm just a sub-par mom...yes? ...right? ...maybe?}and that Metformin makes me feel like I am going to throw up pretty much all the time, and that makes it extra hard to want to crawl out of bed, put my game face on, and teach 6 hours of home-school to a rambunctious eight year old.

Then there's that whole thing where "NOT teaching home-school" sort of defeats the purpose of "home-schooling," and such. You know, there's ALWAYS that.

So I would have to push through, but I wouldn't be very nice, and that's a problem, because I promised myself that I would be nice, but I feel like poo, and I'm tired, and being nice is just a really tall order for a tired mom who feels like poo, so I would end up being mean, and then I would go to bed that night feeling all sorts of devastated that I had been mean, and feeling like home-schooling {or my failure to do it well} was going to drive me and Kort further apart rather than bringing us closer together like I hoped it would.

{Breath.}

Then I would wake up the next morning resolved to do better.
And I would.
And we would have great experiences, and lots of positive strides.

And then I took Kort to a "Thanksgiving Etiquette Dinner" that was being put on by his home-school group. He had such an amazing time. He was polite and respectful. He had a blast with the other kids. After the etiquette lesson, we let the kids run around the church gym and play for about an hour. Again, Kort loved every second of it, and I thought to myself

"This just might work afterall."

Then we went out to get in the van, and found that the Elementary School kids {right next door} were all out on the playground screaming and running and swinging and having a ball, and Kort turned to me with watery eyes and the tight "I'm trying really hard not to cry but it's not really working" strain in his voice and says:

"Mom, I really, really, really, wish I hadn't messed up."

"I know," I say. {Wanting to bawl, myself.}

And it just stinks, ya know?

Parenting is wonderful, and MAN it is hard too.

Despite my best efforts {which, let's be honest, probably aren't all that awesome or impressive}he longs to go to school where he can see his friends, and eat yucky lunches, and learn things alongside his peers.

I decided that a full month at home with me was probably punishment enough, {for both parties} and that he could try serving out the remaining six months as a suspended sentence. If he still has problems with behavior, I'm thinking that I'll try having him scrub toilets with a toothbrush, THAT is a little more "win/win" in my humble opinion. {Which, I guess is also dependent upon whose toothbrush he uses to do the scrubbing.}

Part of me still loves the idea of home-school and is really sad that we just can't hack it.

Part of me is jumping for joy because this morning I fed kids and sent them out the door, went walking the hills with a favorite neighb, put the baby down for a nap, ate a delicious snack, read a book, wrote a blog from bed, and NOW I'm fixin to have me a little nap.

So, I'm a failure.
But sometimes failure feels really good.
Who knew?

Xo,
Lola

Dear Journal,

{September 8th, 2011}

I don't think there is anything as wonderful as an ordinary day. August's party after party after party lifestyle completely did me in. Today, I reveled in the simple things:

A chaotic breakfast with the kids {where I, admittedly, woke up on the wrong side of the bed and thus was snappish and mild to moderately - okay totally- unpleasant for 15 minutes or so... and Tennyson outdid my grumpiness, like, times a million...lil' turd nugget.} I made zucchini and mushroom omelets and wheat toast. {And, in case anyone was wondering, none of it was organic, and I bought most of my food stuffs at Walmart. Yep. I'm "that" mommy blogger, and I'm not even sorry.}

Pulling school bags together, making a school lunch for a high schooler, {Did you know that I am temporarily housing a high schooler?*} squawking at Kort to get. in. here. and. get. his. gosh. darn. hair. combed. not. in. five. minutes. but. now. now. now!

Scriptures, prayers, read a few inspirational poems from Grandpa Headlee's "Be What YOU Want to Be" book. Hugs, kisses, send 3rd grader off to school.

Pile into the new mini van {and yes, I am still on cloud nine about my new mini van, and yes, I have rather enjoyed the absence of all those crusty looks I was getting from concerned parents everywhere whenever I drove too slowly through their neighborhood streets in my pedi-van. } with Tentens and Jojo, and listen to Jojo talk about how:

"She's always wanted to name her son Boston and it has been, like, her favorite baby boy name for forever and ever, but recently she started liking a different name even better, so it was totally fine with her when her bestie called her up the other day and asked Jojo if she would be mad if she totally stole "Boston" and used it for her adorable new little 6-week-old weenie dog puppy and of course she was fine with that because she is so over Boston so...no biggie..."

Do you remember when you dreamed up names for your future children? Did you just dream up names or did you get all crazy and act like you were going to even call shots like having EXACTLY four kids and they were going to be birthed in the order of boy, girl, boy, girl and spaced precisely three years apart?  {I'll give you one guess as to whether or not I did.}

I, personally, felt that I had beautiful names picked out:

For a girl? Crystal.
A boy? Tyrone.

Yep.

As you can imagine, I thank heaven every. single.day. that I didn't have babies at 12 or 13 or 15.
{And my babies would be wise to do the same.}



Tens stayed in his jams all day, puttered about the house, and let his diapered butt show my polka dot pillow who was boss {20 times over} while I delved into the book:

"Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World." 

{Which, thus far has been a mixture of fantastic, and completely stupid. Go figure.}

It's a wee bit rife with liberal feminism, and while I am all about equal pay and opportunities and overall treatment of women, I am SO TIRED of being told that stay-at-home motherhood is degrading. Frankly, it's glorious. It's also the epitome of what the fruits of feminism are {or at least should be} about. Just as I should have the right as a woman to go out into the world and become some ball-busting, law-changing, highfalutin'  attorney, I should also have the right to LOVE motherhood and all that it entails. And I should have the right to do so without any hint of shame or apology for purportedly setting back the women's movement some 30-odd-years via my love of all things domestic.

On the other hand,  I find Ms. Bloom's assertion that women need to stop mutilating their bodies and risking their very lives in pursuit of unattainable standards of physical beauty set forth by the corrupt and misogynistic visual media to be spot on. Due to this, I will keep reading, {I'm sure she really cares...} but I am setting my liberal feminist filter to a ten as I do so.

I helped a neighbor pick out outfits for her family pictures, ate a bread-stick-lunch-snack-thing with her, and chatted and laughed, a lot. {Cause she is very, very funny.}

The hubs grilled hamburgers and I toasted burger buns with butter and garlic salt, and we smothered those suckers in pickles and guacamole. Kyle's dad joined us for dinner, and I couldn't help but smile at my full table. A little over a year ago, It was just the three of us. Now our table is pushing capacity with a baby, a teenager, an 8 year old, a loving grandfather, and two beaming 30 somethings who are still so in love after 10 years of marriage that it's bordering on ridiculous.



We cleaned up dinner, got kids into the bath and into their beds, then Jojo and I set to work glamming up a cork board that she wants to make into a vision board for a project at school. Then I tidied up, showered, climbed into bed, and tickled the hubs' outstretched arm with one hand as I read the book I was holding with the other. I just love all of the small daily moments that weave threads into the gorgeous and satisfying tapestry of a simple life. And I'm so glad that life is getting back to something a little more NORMAL!



*My niece Jordan is currently staying with us whilst her mother is receiving intensive treatments for her bone cancer at the "Cancer Treatment Centers of America's" Chicago facility. She has been with us for three weeks and will be with us for about four more, and OH how we love her... I'm seriously contemplating sending God a letter recommending that he change his policies just a wee little bit and start allowing moms to start out with a 15 year old daughter {but only ones that are as sweet and helpful as Jojo}and then add some babies to the mix after. Cause lemme tell ya. It is WAY better that way, y'all.

11.28.2010 (sunday.)

Tentens woke up four times last night. - Bummer.

When we were "officially" up for the morning at 7:30, Kort wanted to play Mario Kart. I said that was fine, changed Tennyson's diaper, and took him into the living room. I decided to try sitting him next to Kort while I pulled together some sort of breakfast, and you know what? Worked like a charm! Tennyson seemed quite excited to be part of the "big boy" club! And right before my very eyes, one of Kort's fondest dreams was coming true. (A live-in guest who quietly watches him play video games. Never asking for a turn, never telling him what to do, just watching {and admiring} him politely from the sidelines.) Dreams really do come true, folks. You heard it here first.

{I JUST LOVE THE VARYING DEGREES OF CONCENTRATION ON KORT'S FACE WHILE TENNYSON IS MUGGING IT FOR THE CAMERA. I ALSO LOVE HOW TENNYSON WOULD REACH OVER AND TOUCH BUTTONS ON THE CONTROLLER AND KORT DIDN'T MIND ONE BIT.}

Nothing sounds good today. I've tried a fried egg sandwich, and CPK's frozen margarita pizza, and freshly baked biscuits and... well, you name it. Wish it meant something crazy like I am pregnant or something, but it more likely just means that it's cold, snowy, and my body is on junk food overload. boo.

Today I am thankful for friends. I blog-stalked the better part of the morning away, and I don't know about you, but I love all of the gratitude posts that flood the Blogosphere this time of year. This friend in particular had some lovely things to say. And her fantastic photography is just icing on the cake. I spent the entire morning reading all of her posts for November. Every single one. She just sucked me right in with her beautiful, sincere musings about all of the blessings in her life. I admire her ability to write things so concisely. I am as wordy as the day is long, and she is like a poet. A speedy fast one with super great thoughts to boot. I find myself having to slow down and think upon what she has written in order to understand the deeper meanings. I just really like her. I think everyone who knows her does...and everyone who doesn't know her would...you know, like, if they knew her.

I went into the bathroom this afternoon and found that, during the course of his 2 + hour bath this morning, Kortland had taken it upon himself to organize his bath toys in groups according to color.

black toys, green toys

red toys


white toys


toys with silvery accents


pink toys


multi-colored misfit toys that can't fit into any one category
{this is the category I like to think we all belong to.}

I love his baths.

I love to hear him singing, and talking to himself, and playing made up games, and telling stories with characters made up of the different toy categories seen above. I love the tile-wall paintings that always have an "I love you" just for mom running across the top of them. I love prune-y fingers, and soggy bath mats, and the very, very fleeting smell of a very, very clean little boy.

Every time I ask him to wrap things up and get out of the tub, he claims that he can't wash his own hair or dry himself off all by himself. Every. Time. (And to both of these claims I call b.s. and make him do it anyway under the threat of a disappearing wii gaming system...and suddenly, he remembers how. It's like magic, I tell ya.)

Tonight, while I nursed Tennyson, Kort stretched out across the foot of my bed and read to us from the most delightful selection: "The Incredible Book Eating Boy" then, when I told him to hop into bed, he insisted that he was starving. (Oi.) So, after a lengthy lecture about eating his dinner DURING dinner, and NOT claiming starvation 10 full minutes past his bedtime, Dad took him into the dining room and gave him some leftovers. I know that parents "back in the d-zay" would have made him go to bed hungry...and part of me really wanted to, because this gig is getting old... but, *sigh* I couldn't.

Maybe it's because I am just too tired to fight that sort of battle right now.

Maybe it's because he is such a sweet boy, and he's only seven, and I know he is really trying, and I want to cut him some slack.

Maybe it's because I don't want to add to the ever-growing number of children in the world who go to bed hungry.

Maybe it's all of those things.
hm.

no comment.

so, i've been thinking.

and what i've been thinking is this:

i haven't been blogging as much as i used to. and when i do, i haven't done it with as much vigor as i have in days past. it's fun...but not as much fun, and i've been trying to figure out why. while i have taken into account the fact that i am dealing with a significant amount of sleep deprivation, i think that there is more to it than that. but what?

well, driving through the canyon on our way home from ferron today, i thought:

"i think i care too much about what other people think of my blog."

not so much about the fact that i told you that i drive a pedophile van, or that i sometimes yell at my kid, or that my hubs lives on a steady diet of pb&j sandwiches and love, or that i don't bother to shower most days...

it's more...um, general than that. i think i care whether or not people care at all. and i don't like the fact that i care whether or not people care at all. i shouldn't care if people care or don't care or care only a little bit and/or only care some of the time, like on monday, or only on the weekends. i mean, really, who cares about who cares? (...right? ...are you still with me?)

so then i asked myself:

"okay then, self, how can you help yourself not care about whether or not people care? what makes you keenly aware of whether or not others to care (or not care) and such?"

and then i thought:

answer? comments.

sometimes, when no one comments (or very few people comment) on something i write, i think to myself, "hm, that was probably boring, or annoying, or of little importance to anyone other than me, and maybe i shouldn't have bothered writing it, and i really don't want to bore people with the minute details of my life, and blah blah blah, insert nonsensical mind-rambling here ________."

but the fact is, of course i should have bothered writing "it" because "it" is what i was thinking about and "it" is what i wanted to blog about, so i had every right to write about "it" regardless of whether "it" was compelling enough to make someone take 2 minutes out of their day and add their own personal commentary on "it". i know, right?

and furthermore, sometimes (and by sometimes, i mean almost always, and by almost always i mean 99 percent of the time) people just want to peruse the blogging world. they don't have anything to add or take away, they just want to wander about and take things in, and if they happen to stop by, that is awesome, and they shouldn't be expected to come up with some grand thing to say, or some clever thing to say, or some nice and entirely much too kind and complimentary thing to say...they should just be allowed to come and go unnoticed if that's what they like to do.

and even furthermore than that furthermore, we all owe it to ourselves to live the most authentic lives possible. lives lived just for us. (not in a selfish "i only do things for/think of myself" sort of way, rather, in a "i don't tiptoe around inside my own life trying to please everyone and their dog and their grandma and their crabby neighbor Sue" sort of way. to be fair (to myself, mostly...okay only) i DON'T tiptoe around inside my life... not even close... but in a way, i think i was starting to just a wee tiny bit, and that's just no fun for me. and i'm all about the fun. so somethin's gotta give.

this is not to say that comments are bad.
this is not to say that all y'all's comments haven't been lovely, welcome, and much appreciated.
this is not to say that people who allow comments on their blogs are searching for approval, or attention, or praise.
this is not to say that other people can't function perfectly well with their comment sections in tact.
this is not to say any of those things.
this is not to say any of those things at all.

this is just to say that i want to
try out the no comment thing,
and see if it brings back the blog spark.
because the blog spark is sort of awesome,
and i sort of miss it.

you can always email me...and with email, i can actually write back.

(don't you sort of hate the blogger format? i mean, it's like, where do you write back? do you write back within YOUR OWN comments section and expect the other person to revisit that blog post's comments section and check to see if you responded? seems rude to expect that. so, then, do you go over to THEIR blog and write on their most recent post and say "hey, i'm sorry to hear that your grandpa died/kid was throwing up all night/cat refuses to go in the litter box/insert whatever other awkward thing that their most recent post might be about here______ but thanks for stopping by my blog and saying that you thought my cupcakes were pretty!"

so which is it?

more importantly, why am i asking you this?

it's not like i'm going to leave you a comments section to answer in.

and why am i even talking about this since it won't be a problem anymore?

hm.

anyway.

i hope you'll keep stopping in.

and i hope you will enjoy reading
whatever crazy junk i end up
spewing onto this baby day after day.

but if you don't, i've decided that will be okay.

i need to write this for me.

and i really want to write this for my kids.

and i want to start writing "stream of consciousness fast as i can type journal entries" every night so that my life will be chronicled. and i absolutely refuse to create even one more blog (have you noticed that i have an addiction to creating blogs? i flipping love blogs.) in which to write these thoughts separately. so there. it's official. this is the book of lola (and her hubs and childrens and dogs and hermit crabs and such.)

i ran into a good friend from high school at "jeannie's/grant's/hometown market/whatever they have decided to call the ferron grocery store this week"and she said the awesomest thing. she said she liked my blog because i was honest about the fact that my life wasn't perfect and that it made her feel better about the fact that her life isn't perfect, and i thought - that is so true. and we do ourselves and others such a great service when we just chronicle our lives in the most honest way that we know how.

that's the goal.

so here's the first journal entry of the new lola letters:

11.27.2010

i just ate an entire can of cheddar cheese pringles while typing this.

eating healthily for the benefit of tentens for ten months straight gave me some serious food issues. i'm living on a steady diet of powdered doughnuts, milky ways, egg nog, and chips...and then complaining to the hubs about the fact that those last 5 baby pounds won't voluntarily fall off.

kortland made new friends at the new house in ferron and this makes me so happy. he is going to build so many wonderful memories each time we visit there.

i've found that kortland also has a tendency to get really nervous, and talk like a baby, and run around the room like a lunatic attempting 3 stooges style-slap stick-physical comedy when he meets new people. hm. it was awkward. yep. got pretty weird. kudos to the neighbor kids for sticking it out though. nice kids. thanks also to the neighbor kids for sticking around when he creamed them mercilessly while playing mario kart on the wii. he HATES it when other people bomb him and oil slick him and what not, but has no problem doing it (like, TIMES TEN!) to other kids. geez. we had him pause it 3 different times, took him into a private bedroom and told him to knock it off and practice the golden rule and all of the things that parents tend to say - and it availed us nothing. he is a piece of work, that kid. and it's pretty clear that we are just gonna have to keep workin'.

i fell asleep sitting straight up in a hard chair today. oh the joys of sleep deprivation.

the hubs explained the BCS bowl championship series controversy to me while driving home today, and to be honest, it was almost painful because i am dangerously allergic to football, but then i got all worked up because it became clear to me that the teams playing within the BCS are just greedy and evil and won't let other teams into the series because then they have to share the booty (and by booty i mean cash, not girls who like BCS football players, although this type of booty may also apply...) with more people and what not. so i told him that they needed to have a football revolution. and then we tried to plot the football revolution which would entail all of the non-BCS teams revolting and such, but soon realized that nothing would work because greed beat us at every turn. TV stations wouldn't boycott BCS games... because they'd lose money. Other colleges wouldn't refuse to play, because they'd lose money. anyway. it's annoying. i'm sure glad that i don' care about football - otherwise i would have a huge, hopeless revolution-staging on my hands. phew! crisis averted.

kort watched "a christmas carol" at nama and grandpa jim's today. he said the ghosts were scary and now he keeps getting out of bed on the "i'm scared!" card. i finally just told him that those ghosts are going to look like mary poppins compared to me if i have to tuck him into bed one more time. haven't seen him since. hm. who needs spanking when you've got bloodshot eyes and crazy hair?

we cleared a lot of the furniture out of house so we could fit everyone in it for thanksgiving. now it's over, but we haven't put any stuff back, and i'm loving the empty space. i think i'm going to monk it out for awhile and get rid of all of our stuff. seriously. the clutter-free-ness of it all has me smiling from ear to ear and i really think i'm going to have to make a lifestyle change. hm. we'll see.