Archive for January, 2012


lost contact solution

January 6th, 2012 at 10:27 am » Comments (1)

For the parents googling Total Transformation: oops. that whole link over there that says ‘contact me’ is broken. you’re right. my apologies. i’d fix it if I could, but I can’t. so. you can still contact me. the email address is the first and last name above up there on the right that both start with the letter K, but all lower case and no spaces and then you add the little ‘at’ circle then ‘gmail’ and then the little dot and then the com and there ya go. perfectly confidential, and you don’t know me well enough to know that i’ll never tell anyone who you are or what you said about your kid or that i’d never cut and paste it into a tacky blog post, so i’ll just tell you and hope you believe me: i’d never do that.


First Comes Love. Then Comes the Guidebook. Then Comes Marriage.

January 4th, 2012 at 12:12 pm » Comments (9)

LaLa, my sister, is getting married in… less than 2 weeks.

I know almost nothing about weddings. However. I suspected it wasn’t a new wedding trend coming into play when LaLa mentioned that she’d be sending me her Wedding Guide and Strategy document. I laughed. But it was a nervous, squeaky laugh and there was fear in my heart.

It arrived yesterday. An 11 page document complete with diagrams, maps, and photographs that will be needed in order to assist in pulling off this wedding and reception in the manner she envisions. The Wedding Guide and Strategy Document was emailed to nine individuals. Page 1 is a to-do list that includes the item “Take Kelsey to the Bra Store.”

Believe it or not, I’m a terribly private person and was thoroughly mortified. LaLa was instantly apologetic that this made the list. (also? I DON’T WANT TO GO. It sounds expensive and touchy-feely, and I’m neither of those.)

It was a Distracted Bride Minor Thingy. Ha ha, no big deal LaLa.  Today, our father hit ‘reply all’ and wrote “DOES KELSEY NEED A REMINDER TO GO TO THE PANTY FACTORY, TOO?”

Ohmygosh.

Then more emails, in which he jokingly threatened to be ‘commando.’ And follow ups from my stepmom assuring us otherwise.

So after reading page 1, I didn’t really read the rest yesterday. I decided waiting a few hours would be perfectly harmless. But Mike was curious. So he insisted on reading the whole Wedding Strategy and Guide document out loud to me last night, even though I asked him repeatedly not to do that.

The wonderful thing about this is LaLa has funneled a great deal of her bridal energy into words. And I can deal with words. She’s thought of everything and diagrammed it all, so it’s not like I need to be the matron of honor type who has to think of all the details that have fallen between the cracks. There are no cracks. This is an airtight operation.  Nine people received the document, but I think closer to… 20 individuals had assigned duties spelled out in color-coded text. It’s a team effort, led by a really wordy but highly competent bride-captain.

When it’s all over, she’ll be married to a really wonderful person who is quite perfect for her.

And I’ll have a few new papercuts from frantically consulting my Guide, but hey, small price to pay.

(my early congratulations, LaLa!)


Not the Start I Envisioned. But a Start All the Same.

January 3rd, 2012 at 10:39 am » Comments (4)

I got out of bed on Sunday, stretched, and crashed hard to the carpet. I do that if I get up too quickly. It’s ridiculously Victorian of me. The ‘vapors’, i think they called it. But I wanted to go to church, so I tried to overpower it by popping up while I still couldn’t see anything and I smashed the back of my head and shoulder on some really hard scrape-y part of the bedframe. (there’s nothing really wrong with me. it’s a genetic weirdness. my father does it too, although he’ll deny it if asked. much of my genetic weirdness originates with him. although, in all fairness, not all.)

Mike scooped me up and put me back in bed and I started laughing about how it was the worst possible start to the new year. And… it pretty much was. He brought me breakfast I didn’t want and started planning his day.

He wanted an iPad.

This was news to me. If I had known that, I would have found Christmas shopping for him MUCH easier. I asked him to bring me back a skinny peppermint mocha.

He did not return with an iPad. And the peppermint mocha was forgotten, too, but he was on a retail therapy high that obliterated all other thought. Somehow, he’d found and purchased a leather couch, loveseat, giant chair and ottoman, and found ANOTHER couch, loveseat, super oversized ottoman thing-y he wanted me to see as well.

I didn’t want to see it. I don’t really care about too many pieces of brown furniture. I just don’t, under ANY circumstances, want to enter a furniture store with my three sons. Maybe in twenty years. But I doubt it.

I went and saw it and shrugged and said, “yes. fine. and let’s get these three boys OUT OF HERE, I want a veggie bowl with brown rice and extra lettuce from Chipotle.”

Mike asked if I wanted to see all the other options.

UH, NO.

NO I REALLY DO NOT. IF THERE ARE OTHER OPTIONS, I DO NOT NEED TO SEE THEM OR PROLONG THIS EXPERIENCE IN ANY WAY. IT’S JUST A GLORIFIED PLACE TO SIT.

And Chipotle was closed.

I saw a chair I liked (online, NOT in a furniture store) a few months ago. I told Mike as long as he was on a massive retail therapy furniture buying spree, then I’d like the chair with the exceptionally loud and bright red botanical print. Even if it’s also just a glorified place to sit.

So we’re working on that. It turned out to be much harder to find and buy my Loud Red Chair than for Mike to buy all the available brown furniture in West Texas. He found an entertainment center last night online and bought it ON HIS PHONE as I fell asleep.

He should really stop now.

Our furniture has been falling apart for some time now. Mike has talked about replacing it for some time now. And for some time now… I’ve shrugged and said, “eh. whatever. it’s not that bad, and I don’t care, and pleeeeeease don’t make me go in a furniture store.”

But last week Caden-7yr did something strange and ended up with an ankle stuck in the broken metal framework of the current, falling apart loveseat. He couldn’t get free. His brothers thought he was just being Caden-7yr. I thought he was just being dramatic. Because he SO DOES THAT.

But he was most definitely stuck in the broken part and I had to forget my policy of pretty much not using my still messed up left hand and Incredible Hulk the metal bars away from him with one hand and reach underneath and smash his foot upward with the other hand in order to free him.  And now my hand is really screwed up again. And his ankle is really bruised.

And Seth-6yr smashed his face into a piece of furniture so hard we thought he broke his face the other day. But he probably didn’t. He has big, squishy baby cheeks still, thank goodness.

And somewhere in there a decision was made that the child-eating furniture, finally, had to go.

By ‘a decision was made’ I don’t made there was an actual conversation. I just mean it became abundantly clear that it was time and a man left the house with a stated need for an iPad and a request for a peppermint mocha and instead returned with armfuls of furniture receipts and estimated delivery dates.

That’s just how we do things around here. For now.

For now, the boys are off school and they’re playing a fishing game on Wii and they’re all wearing just a pair of inside out underwear.

I commented on this oddity, and they looked at me as if I was really being ridiculous to have even noticed. The living room is cold, so they are using my (really wonderful Christmas present) space heater.

Because that makes more sense when you’re fishing than wearing clothes, I suppose.

I was up all night writing scenes in my head that will never be read about real people rather than fictitious ones. It’s so hard to stop that once I start. And now I’m exhausted. With three almost naked boys off school and adorably screeching about the size of a catfish.

It’s 1030 a.m., but I need a nap.