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the american dream for weirdos.

my friend melissa and i were exchanging emails awhile back about how we are kindred spirits when it comes to our ultimate 'good life.'  when asked about what their best life would look like, some people think about traveling the world, some people dream about winning an oscar, some people dream about super expensive furniture or tiny dogs or a maid.  some people say stuff about joel osteen and then i want to punch something.

but anyway.  we dream about farming.

actually, i would say 'homesteading' would be a better term for it.  you know, living off the land.  growing and 'putting up' your own food.  owning (and milking) your very own cow.  chickens. tell me that wouldn't be awesome.  (don't tell me that - you'd be lying.)

now, before you get all judgmental and like, 'that would be a lot of work.  chickens stink.  land prices are high right now. do you know how expensive it is to feed a cow?'  just remember that i'm talking about a dream. no one ever said dreams have to be practical.

wanna be a doctor? it's expensive and takes work, but everyone's like, holy crap you're the best human being i've ever met in my life and can i have your autograph and will you bless my baby with long life and good health?  wanna marry colin firth? regardless of the fact that he lives thousands of miles away, is famous, and is obviously too good for any of us anywhere near this blog, people are all like, he's single and you're hott.  go for it.  but you want a cow and a stupid orchard and maybe ma ingalls living next door (actually, down the path) and people are like weeeeeeeeeeiiirdo.

so right now, just pretend i'm saying something else so that you can, in good conscience, tell me i'm an awesome human being and a hottie.  thanks.  moving on.

yes, i fully understand it's highly improbable that i will never own that acreage, nor am i fully committed to the idea of roughing it (toilet paper is non-negotiable, as are mary kay medium coverage foundation, tampons, and the option of pants and haircuts for girls.)  camping is for chumps.  but homesteading?  here's a little taste of what i'm currently missing out on:

a humongous garden.
a pantry full of stuff i grew and canned.
a freezer full of stuff i grew and froze.
a root cellar full of stuff i grew and...root cellar'd.
(see where this is going?)
a cow in the backyard.
some chickens doing their chicken thing.
a compost bin.
this guy:


yes, those are cloth diapers.  organized nicely on a clothesline.  in the country.  anyone else ready to pee their pants right now? no? just me then.

problems with the dream:

1. we bought a house in the city (er, in town. the town we're moving to has like 3k people, so maybe i'll just start thinking of it as a commune in the country that has its own hardware store.  in fact, i'm definitely going to start thinking of it like that.)

2. some of that stuff is expensive.  like land.  and cow feed.  and, you know, land.  but i feel like i can grow my own organic veggies, raise my own pets meat and dairy.  (don't throw red paint on me.  i love animals as much as the next guy.  sort of.  they do taste good.) gather my own eggs.  so, with the money i'm saving on groceries and gas to get to the grocery store, buying a huge acreage with a dream house on it that has all the animals and plants growing on it already that come for free with the property, is probably a wash.  or at least almost a wash.

3. once when i was little and we lived in the country, it took the fire department 45 minutes to get to our house.  that's a little unnerving.

4. i have never gardened anything in my life, nor have i canned anything.  so...there's that.

5. a lot of homesteads feel the need for their own beehives.  don't get me wrong, i think it would be really cool to have tons of honey bees at my beck and call (and maybe i could teach my bees to do other stuff, too, like mow the lawn or babysit the kids while i get my hair did).  also, i've started buying honey by the gallon so it's not like i wouldn't benefit from having tons of free honey.  but the pay-off is the potential for thousands of tiny little warriors getting t.o.'d that i'm stealing their goods... and carrying around an epi-pen just to walk through the yard doesn't feel very 'pioneer'.  plus, has anyone ever read the little house book where her cousin accidentally steps on a yellow jacket hive and swells all up and has to be wrapped up in mud and old sheets like a mummy? probably the scariest story i've ever read, barring none.  so...not going to take my chances.  i'll just pay someone else to wear the ridiculous outfit and do the dirty work.  but does that make me less qualified?


so here's the point of it all:  in six weeks, i will have my own little .4-acre slice of heaven.  and i will be working on getting it as close to the ideal as possible.  awesome.

if i promise to continue wearing pants, cutting my hair, and using modern technologies like the toilet, will you still be my friend? i pinky-swear not to get all pioneer-chump on you.

atticus' debut.

atticus cut a demo recently.  a guitar solo.  here is the music video.






yes, his guitar is made of a flourescent lightbulb package.  the best musicians come from the humblest of roots.

happy new year.

to me.

as of saturday, i am officially a 25 year old.  do i feel different?  hecks yeah i do.

actually, i don't really.  i even woke up saturday and forgot it was my birthday until todd said something.

i've never really been a birthday person; we never really 'did' birthdays growing up other than a couple presents. and now that i'm an adult, every passing year just reminds me that i probably shouldn't be wearing skinny jeans anymore (even though i was kind of late to jump on that bandwagon anyway).  or at least wearing my polo collars popped like i do sometimes, but i think that should be a rule for everyone, regardless of age.  also, each passing year just reminds me that i've been wearing my eyeliner like this for...about eleven years now... and even though i have a timeless face (hilarious), maybe i should do something about that.

and you know what else i keep thinking? i keep thinking about this lady i met in aldi who had eight kids by the time she was thirty.  and she was still so young at that point that she and her husband were all like, why stop, and now at the age of thirty-eight she has fourteen children. (after the eight kids she had THREE SETS OF TWINS.  in a row.  that means two babies at a time, three times in a row. on top of the eight she already had.  just to be clear.) and she homeschools them all. 

and i'm all like, whoa.  let's slow this gravy train down a bit before i turn into aldi lady.  minus her twelve extra kids and her great skin.

i mean, i got married at 21, had two babies by the age of 24, and also, i shop at aldi.  sounds a bit like aldi lady. 

and then i worry if this is what it's like to get old in the new millenium: demential rants on my blog about being afraid of how my two kids might be some gateway drug into fourteen - because after all, i'm right on track, schedule-wise?  and also, is it an indicator that i'm getting older because i actually met and had an interesting conversation with a homeschool mom while carrying my grocery-list-on-a-clipboard around aldi?  and also because she said that the clipboard put me on track to being the next aldi lady?  (on an unrelated note, i no longer carry a clipboard with me when i shop.)

so...all that to say, i'm halfway to halfway dead, which is a bit sobering.  and actually, knowing how little i exercise, i'm probably being too generous with myself when i say that.  cheery.

so here's to me.  happy birthday and a happy new year.

(note: ignore this blog.  i'm actually quite apathetic about getting older, other than the fact that it's becoming difficult to diregard that i'm as old as the cast of friends when they started shooting the show.  and come on, they were really old even then.  and also, lebron james is younger than me but looks like a forty year old, which must say something about me.  but i swear i'm not depressed or anything.)

'member that time?

hey, 'member that time i was rollerskating outside and thought i had to fart...but things didn't turn out so well for me?  and 'member how maaaaad my mom was?



don't worry, your story doesn't have to be this disgusting to participate.




thwr: how paige could've been a successful one-hit wonder.

todd: day-o. oh, daaaaayyy-o.

paige: i never told you this, but i used to be one of the day-o guys.  but then i chose to step down from the band because i felt it was taking me away from my family too much.

todd: crickets chirping because he has no sense of humor.

paige: so every time you come home and you see my smiling face, you better be grateful that i have my priorities in line and didn't value fame over you.

todd: how thoughtful.  i am definitely grateful.

paige: here's my reasoning: i am only one day-o guy, but if i stay home and raise up lots of little day-o guys... well, then there will be even more day-o guys than just one.  that's all i'm saying.

todd: still no sense of humor.  also just wants to go to bed.  also thinks paige is sleep drunk.  and is correct, but still humorless.


and that's how we roll.

when does 2 x 5 = 50?

when you're playing yahtzee with me, cracker.

when i tell you that the 'v' in van voorst stands for 'victory' (and the other 'v' stands for venom, but that's a story for another day), i'm not joking.  if you find yourself in the v.v. (victorious venom) household on game night, be afraid.  be very afraid.

you are witnessing firsthand (via my camera a week later) my VERY FIRST yahtzee.  ever.  in the history of my life.



i think you can tell that the shock of winning a yahtzee dropped my IQ for a second.



shortly after i got a yahtzee, todd also got a yahtzee.




not to be outdone, i got yet another yahtzee.  this time, it was snake eyes.  times two and a half.

but before it could be documented, i may have been all like, if we're going to keep playing yahtzee, i should probably put on some makeup. so at 10:00 at night, i did my makeup and took down my hair.  all for the sake of this blog and you people.  you're welcome.




also, i put a lot of effort into not laughing during this picture and effectively knocking over my whole stacka snake eyes.  because snake eyes have no tolerance for humor.


anyone feel like courting lady luck and playing yahtzee at our house? because i can't guarantee i won't kick your loser tooter.  (although i can't guarantee i will either, considering it has taken me almost 25 years to get my first yahtzee.)

was this my early birthday present, god? because it was AWESOME.  thanks.

you have to give him kudos for his persistence.

i'm still battling the sick bug.  i haven't been able to kick it so far, but this video motivates me to at least harrass it into submission.

(there is some bad language around 1:45 and after, so i'd recommend stopping it before then.)

quick update.

stuff is cah-razy around here right now, so i'll make it short and sweet.

last week, we took the week off of most of our activities and focused on...POTTY TRAINING! atticus seemed like he might be ready to try, so as kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, we gave it a go.  and he has done AWESOME.  after he figured out what was going on, and we went and got some new undies for him, he didn't have a wet accident for two days.  after that, we had a few spotty days, but we're back on track - we have very few accidents now and he even poops in the potty!

i'm so proud of him, and so glad he was ready.  i was prepared to wait until he was close to three to even try it, since i'd heard boys take longer to train, and i did NOT want to push him before he was ready. but he was showing signs of at least being prepared to try (waking up dry, not pooping anywhere but at home).  and he apparently was ready, because he's doing great.

[my favorite part of potty training has been a) how much he loves to watch the 'elmo's potty time' video we borrowed from the willises, and b) the fact that he insists on watching the whole movie while sitting barebutt on his potty.]

on top of all that excitement, i got the flu and have been under the weather for the last few days.

on top of that, our close date is coming quickly (may 2) and i've been working on packing.  we're showing our apartment tonight, so our fingers are crossed that they like it and want to move in before the regular august turnover date so that we can get out of our lease early.

so that's what's up over here. 

'member that time?

hey, 'member that time, in my 'calligraphy phase,' i had to survive 6th grade sex ed, and at the end they asked everyone to anonymously write questions they had about their bodies so they could be answered?  and 'member how i was the only one who wrote my anonymous question in calligraphy?

i bet mrs. rogers was not only baffled as to who could have written it, but also impressed by the impeccable handwriting.


whoops -- forgot to put the linky thing earlier.  hop to it!




'post from the past' friday.

today, i walked into the bathroom and noted that it smelled weird, so i made a mental note that someday (read: when we move out) i'll have to clean behind the changing table since i haven't mopped back there for awhile.  granted, i could do it when i get around to cleaning the bathroom, but since the cleaning supplies had been sitting on the counter since sunday and i still hadn't cleaned, i wasn't sure when exactly that would be.


(turns out, the weird smell came from one of atticus' giant turds that must've clogged that toilet...either i didn't realize it at the time or i did but forgot about it. needless to say, there was a mess percolating under the closed toilet lid. not to fear, the issue has been resolved.)

anyway, atticus had another poopy diaper this afternoon. he's quite regular when it comes to that. so after dumping the mess into the (freshly cleaned) toilet, i turned around to put the diaper in the diaper pail. as i was doing so i thought i saw a rogue turd rolling away....ahh, if only i had been so lucky.

turns out, it was actually a turd-sized spider.

needless to say, i freaked out and screamed "eww, yucky!" about a million times while atticus laid on the changing table waiting for a new diaper, totally confused. i grabbed one of atticus' shoes and went to squash it and marveled at the fact that the spider wasn't even trying to run away from me.

after a couple of screaming, girly squash attempts i realized why the spider wasn't moving...she was protecting her nest of baby spiders, which were now running in all directions. seriously, like 20 baby spiders.

so i did what any self-respecting naturalist would do: i killed them all dead with my nearby toilet-cleaning solution of water and vinegar.

as a fellow mother, i feel a little bad for destroying that spider's whole...litter. however, as a mother that doesn't want to find 20 full-grown spiders in my son's bed next week, i feel justified.
 
also, there are spider carcasses still stewing in toilet solution on my floor. i haven't figured out how to get rid of the bodies. maybe i should call jack bauer, he'd know what to do at a time like this.
 
 
****
original post here.

'post from the past' thursday.

i have sunk to new lows in money-saving madness.


as we have seen, i have a tendency to let my hair grow...and grow...and grow... (too bad hair can't really be harvested for anything useful. i could have a goldmine on my hands...er, head.) so this time, i was determined not to let it get out of control before getting another haircut. and believe me when i tell you, i scheduled two haircut appointments in the same week just in case one didn't work out.

well, excuse me for being a tightwad, but 32 bucks seemed a little hard to stomach and i got cold feet...and cancelled both of my appointments. so now what to do?

enter my brilliant idea: i will cut my own hair! i mean, todd cuts his own, he cuts atticus', lauren cuts her own...and i'm no stranger to the homegrown haircut, although i've rarely personally cut more than just my bangs. but others have.

over the course of my life my poor hair has seen its share of desk scissors, kiddie scissors, $6 goody shears from walmart and, yes, even kitchen shears. (a moment of silence for my poor fallen chunks of hair.) in fact, my first 'paid' cut was when i was 14 and i could probably count on both of my hands the number of times someone has received cash in return for one of my haircuts since then.

not that i'm aching to relive the whole "half-my-hair-is-bangs" stage of life that i found myself in for too long a while, but i don't wonder now why my mom paid my old hairstylist with beer instead of cash...not that beer is cheap, either, but three bucks worth of beer goes a lot farther than three bucks in cash when it comes to cutting hair. believe me, i know. not that when you're twelve you thoroughly appreciate the bargain that is a slightly-buzzed hairstylist, but that's a story for another day.

anyway, back to the real point of this blog. lucky for me, i spent neither beer nor cash for this 'do. i just sweet-talked todd into cutting it all in a straight line, then i added my own layers and bangs. i'm pretty happy with it, although i don't know that i'll be doing this every single time i need a haircut. just enough to make those 32 big ones go a lot farther.

a few disclaimers, though, before you go around shaving your head and telling people you did it as per my guidance. DO NOT cut your own hair if:

1. your toddler has run off with your only hand mirror so cutting layers in the back depends at all on the strength of your imagination.

2. your husband has an astigmatism, parkinson's, or has dipped into the stash of beer you were supposed to have saved by doing this yourself. unless you're going for some kind of flock-of-seagulls asymmetry, make sure your husband is well-rested, wearing his glasses, and has not imbibed anything questionable recently.

3. "good enough" is not good enough. if you are hoping for salon perfection, mow a couple of lawns to pay for a decent haircut. i won't judge you.

4. you straighten it for church and sit toward the front. a curling iron will be my best friend here for a while because even though i eventually found my hand mirror (see #1), the back of my head is still a little 'iffy.'

5. your best friend cuts your hair. seriously don't burn any bridges over this. you'll need her later when your homecut goes seriously awry, as it is certain to do at some point, let's just be realistic.

6. don't try anything fancy. you are no 'inverted bob.' you are no 'halle berry pixie.' you are a cheapskate who gets varying lengths of long layers. live with it. go a little wild with some bangs if you must.

i will also say that 'fiskars' is not an acceptable brand of haircutting shear. nor is 'crayola.' call me disloyal to the cause, but splurge the five bucks on a pair of actual hair scissors from walmart.
 
you have now graduated freauty school. congratulations. i look forward to seeing the semi-choppy but oh-so-frugal 'new you' around here soon.
 
 
****
original post here.

'post from the past' wednesday.

so, i've noticed everyone and their mom belongs to a "team"... like team van voorst, for instance. not that everyone and their mom belongs to team van voorst - we're actually quite exclusive. but many families identify themselves by "team (last name)."


so, to distinguish us from among the multitudes i have decided to rename us the bengals.





****
original post here.

'post from the past' tuesday.

this week is spring break week.  so this spring chicken is taking a break.  just going to, you know, chillax.  in the meantime, i figured i'd re-post some silly 'posts from the past.' (do i sound like a radio dj?)

enjoy.
 ***
moving on up to the SOUTH side...

actually, instead of 'moving on up', we're really 'renewing our lease here in the south side...in our two bedroom apartment on the first floor.' not as catchy as the original themesong, but other than that, pretty much the same situation the jeffersons found themselves in. i'm a backtalking, wisecracking, no-nonsense black wife and todd, though tiny in stature, owns a lucrative dry cleaning business.
(seriously, how disproportionate are the jeffersons?)

(plus, our managers strongly remind me of the bunkers, minus the fact that mrs. manager doesn't have any front teeth and likes to use the f-word.)

ANYWAY.
yes, we are staying in our apartment for another year, and i'm really excited actually. i really like our apartment and i've been doing some repainting and redecorating (i like to call it 'baby-stuff chic') so it has the feeling of being a fresh, albeit cluttered, space without having to actually move....which i DREAD having to do one day.

however, there are a few drawbacks. a while ago we switched the bedrooms (more on that later) and as i pulled our guest bed away from the wall by the window, i realized that our window had been leaking for quite some time and mold had begun to grow in the wall. mmmmm. (please come sleep at our house.)
so the manager took a look at our windows, determined they all were leaking and poorly installed - to the point that 'at some point, gravity will probably just pull them right out of the wall. if i pushed on them right now, they'd pop right out.' cool.

so there was talk about us getting new windows over the winter, but apparently they're waiting until spring to replace them (which wasn't thrilling news, but considering we don't pay for our heat, i wasn't too worked up about it). so we had leaky windows all winter, which would have been a bummer except....

the furnace guy came a week or two ago and discovered that our furnace had been leaking carbon monoxide. why didn't our detectors warn us? because our leaky windows let in enough fresh air to neutralize the carbon monoxide in the air. sigh of relief.

what i've learned in this situation: if you're going to have a ghetto apartment, make sure it's REALLY ghetto so that the bad stuff can neutralize the other bad stuff...

that's how to get a deluxe apartment on a single income. BOOM! ROASTED!


****
originally posted here

'member that time?

hey, 'member that time in kindergarten when megan introduced me to the concept of the treasure troll?  and 'member how i was under all this pressure to come up with a wish on the spot so i wished for a goat?


now, i'm not ruling out the probable power of the treasure troll, but it's twenty years later and i'm still waiting...





jog our memory on your own blog and stick the permalink right down there, yo.




purge it like it's hooooottt, purge it like it's hoooooottt.

i am a purger.  (i am also a perjurer, but that's not what we're talking about today.)  i am a purger of things, a get-ridder, a be-gone-with-thee-er.  and it works out in my favor, considering we live in an apartment with two kids.  we have no room for sentimentality, so most stuff that we don't use regularly, or realistically will use in the next few years, gets the boot.

i really am merciless.  i would rather get rid of something and pay the extra money later to replace it if we need it than to spend the extra storage space and mental energy keeping track of the thing for the however-many-years it will be before we actually use it.  so i would feel confident in saying that we probably purge at a faster rate than we accumulate.  which means that, other than kids' clothing (which is accumulating out of necessity) and craft supplies/home decor (which is less necessary, but i'm okay with it), our possessions are shrinking in number.

hello, landline-phone-we-won't-use-for-a-while.  you are finding a new home in the garage sale pile.  when we need a landline phone, we will buy a new one, maybe even at someone else's garage sale.  hello, tiny-kids-clothes-that-are-so-cute-but-you-never-actually-got-worn.  you will not be going back in the bin for the next kiddo, because let's be realistic, if you weren't worn this time around, you probably won't be worn next time either.

see how this works? talk to your stuff like it can hear you, then throw it in the trash or make some sweet moolah off of it.

the other day i got serious about cleaning out my clothing.  i don't have a ton of clothing to begin with (not really due to preference as much as to the reality that i don't look like katie holmes, so why even try?), but i got all no-nonsense and got rid of a full THIRD of all the items hanging in my closet.  and that is not an exaggeration.

i realized that even though i didn't have much, i still had a lot of stuff i was hanging onto but wasn't actually wearing on a regular basis.

some of the stuff i hang onto because what if one day the queen comes and she really likes shirts from the nineth grade that make me look good in fall lighting that go with my hair when i dye it red-brown and make me look skinnier but only after christmas? what if i purged it and so i can't wear it for the queen? what THEN?!

some stuff i hang onto because it's too trashed-out to make any money off of it, but not so trashed-out that i'd be okay just throwing it away or giving it to goodwill or making some kind of handmade rug out of it.  (or some other crazy thing i'd do with it.)  i might wear it.

so preparing for this move is actually going to be really good for me, i think.  i'm going to be even more severe than normal in my purging because i don't want to pack, and move, and find a new home for easily-replaced things i might use.  maybe. someday.

so screw you might.  i do what i want.  and i will not be held in bondage to the word might any more.

i am purge (i mean, paige). hear me roar.  then watch me throw stuff in the trash.

thwr: marital intimacy

paige: kiss my teeth.

todd: okay, i'm ready.  don't breathe so much.  ehhhhhhhhhh... they're cold.  i hate that.



and that's how we roll.  

my favorite things: atticus edition.



atticus is super fun right now.  some of my favorite things about him at the moment:


...he calls an eskimo kiss an 'applesauce nose.'

...'moonah' = water, 'meemee' = mitten, and 'boogerfry' = butterfly

...he calls himself 'big head.'

...he likes to play a game called 'football down' in which he catches the football, then fumbles it as he throws himself on the ground.



...he has picked up on the fact that we'll be moving, and frequently says, 'live new house.'

...the other day when penelope was crying, he calmly said, 'sister, you're fine.'  (although it sounded like 'chehcheh, tu fyyy.'  he really speaks his own little language.)

...whenever he gets in trouble, his first response is to ask for a hug.  he's effectively manipulative.

...he walks around saying 'hobay, pekk.'  which means, 'obey or get a spank.'  then he whacks his own bottom.  makes my job easier.

...he likes to ask me to play 'murph' (kitties) or to 'bud' (build).

...all cowboy hats are named papa.

...the first thing he says when he hears todd's key in the door is 'dada food? buhga?  fruh fries? peetsa?'  it really highlights that we should be eating out less.




...the other day he picked his nose, then like a gentleman, extended the favor to penelope and picked hers as well.

...he starts off affectionate with penelope, then tries to see how far he can go - is sitting on her okay? smothering her face in the carpet? laying on top of her? snapping her neck while giving her an awesomely huge hug?  yeah...sweet but not appropriate.  or safe.

...he likes to ask who all poops/has boogers/etc.  (yaya booga? mama booga?)

...he has this melt-your-heart laugh whenever you tickle his pitties.

...he knows all his body parts, although he can never actually find his nipples when you ask him to point to them.  he usually points to his sternum. 

...i painted his toenails once because i was painting mine and he wanted in on the action (it's winter, people; who would ever know?).  now he frequently asks to take off his socks so he can look at his 'peet.' (paint.)

...he is all boy, but he is also...i don't know what the word is - organized, maybe?  a "J" personality? ...he has to put his toys away before we leave or before he goes to bed.  he hates getting in trouble.  he asks before he does things that might not be allowed.  he puts his plate on the counter after he's done eating, without being asked.  he has never tried to climb out of his crib, undress himself, open doors he's not allowed to open.  he is kind of the perfect kid.




(not to say he's not also asserting his independence- he hates being watched while doing things he knows how to do himself, or being told how to do something, or having to hold my hand in the parking lot.  he is also learning how to make requests for what to wear.)

and one of my favorites - because he's been sleeping on flannel sheets, he wakes up with the craziest bedhead and this wonderful warm-sheets-baby-head-sleep smell.

ooh, i love this kid.  i love everything about spending all day with him.  i miss him when he's sleeping.  what a blessing.

'member that time?

hey, 'member that time my mom left me home alone in the evening for the first time, and she told me to call the neighbor if i needed anything?  and 'member how i got totally freaked out but had no real excuse to call the neighbor, so i made up a lie that some guy was trying to break into the house? and 'member how they called the cops and i had to give a testimony or whatever about the guy? so 'member how i lied and lied and lied to the police, and perverted justice or perjured or whatever?  i should probably go to jail or complete some community service or something for that.  and it will probably go on my permanent record.





jog our memory on your own blog and link up!




saw another famous person at the mall. nbd.

i don't go to the mall often.  and that is an understatement.  but when i do, i seem to be incredibly lucky in the brush-with-fame department.

last time i went, i got to see the back of david tutera's head.  not to brag or anything, but from 20 feet, it looks exactly like you would expect it to look.  in fact, lauren was all like, who's that and i was all like, it looks like the back of david tutera's head. then we looked up and saw a giant banner with the FRONT of his head on it, with some words that went along the lines of 'yes it is david tutera.  at the mall.  rightnow.  nbd.'  so i'm pretty much class-A when it comes to identifying C-list celebrities from 20 feet and from behind.

which is why i should be trusted when i say kobe bryant was riding the escalator the other day.  i kid you not.  i was within 50 feet of kobe bryant.  and his wife.  at the mall.

so there i was, innocently feeding my baby outside of the orange julius...shack.... (no, i was not feeding her orange julius) and there he was.  riding the escalator like any other lazy person.  (although i was all like, you're in shape enough to take the stairs.  save room for us fatties.)

but here's the thing: he's only like 5'5" in real life.  i'm dead serious.  and he's not really all that in shape.  but he does wear clothing that is made for someone over six feet and in shape, so he kind of swims in it.  and here's the other thing:  he was not riding with his normal drop-dead-gorgeous wife.  instead, he was hanging out with some lady who looked like she'd be at the mall in the middle of a wednesday.

so here's what i took from it:  the camera adds ten pounds to kobe...long-ways.  he needs a stylist.  and he's kind of a dirt bag, riding the escalator with a lady who's not his wife.

there's also the possibility that it wasn't actually kobe, but i think my track record shows that i'm pretty adept at identifying semi-close-by celebrities, so take my word on it.  it was him.

ahhh, thursday.

we've had a really weird, busy week.  lots of mornings out.  went to trader joe's yesterday with lauren, which made it all worth it, but still.  weird week.

so this morning, i opted to stay home from bible study so the kids could have at least one normal morning this week (tomorrow is set to be strange as well).  you know, relax.  hang out. enjoy each others' company.

it is 9:15.  i have declared a 'pajama day on purpose.'  i have not brushed my teeth yet.  the kids have been up for an hour and i have changed five diapers.  five.  three of which were poopy, one of which was in a cloth diaper.  so there was that.  the littlest kid is down for nap early because she was having a meltdown.

and all i can think is, if i had chosen to go to bible study someone else would've had to change those poopy diapers.  there's a reason i paid for a semester of childcare and i should have taken advantage.  not to be a butthole or anything.

well, i should probably go change into clean pajamas since these ones are currently covered with formula.

such is life.

yum.

so, while atticus won't touch chicken (even chicken nuggets) and most veggies, i've figured out that he LOVES red meat.  burgers, steak.  you know.  and while he doesn't eat potatoes in most cases, he WILL eat them when paired with steak.

and guess who else loves steak and potatoes? yep, the sis.

here she is eating yogurt:




guess what else she loves? split pea soup.  chili.  salmon tacos.




yeah.  i think the fact that i waited so long to give her 'big kid food' means that she'll take whatever she can get.  so now we're just moving to feeding her whatever dinner we're having (within reason, of course.  no eggs or nuts or fake stuff, obviously.) 

thwr: colorful.

paige: what color do you get when you mix red and yellow?

todd: orange.  have you not read mouse paint?!?



and that's how we roll.