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greetings.

from san diego.

hope your thanksgiving was thankful.

pontificate.

Please don't think worse of me for admitting that there are a few people in this world who bug the crud out of me. Seriously. Like this girl in my literature class for instance. I'm sure you know the type, we've all met one at some time or another. People who love to pontificate. And excuse me while I pontificate on this subject for a minute.

This girl, seriously loves the sound of her own voice. For some reason she feels the need to comment on EVERY single point the professor makes, whether she's looking for participation or not, and whether this girl has anything interesting to add or not. Seriously, half of her comments are nothing more than what the professor already said, filtered through her (obviously) superior mind and vomited back to the rest of us in different word order. Brilliant girly, pure genius. Thank you for repeating almost exactly what the professor just said for all of us. We none of us lower minded folks got it the first time, but now that you have so graciously repeated it back again, well, shoot, now we get it. Whenever we're on break, she can be heard chatting quietly at the top of her inside voice lungs to anyone around her or within ear-shot (which at her volume means the whole class) about how old she is, how she's been in college for so long, and is so much older than everyone in this class. (Apparently too, because she's SOOO much smarter and more mature) I laugh because while I may look young (see here), I'm pretty sure I'm at least 3 or 4 years older than her. Not only that, but she loves to use this, I have a PHD in every subject under the sun, tone to her voice whenever she does comment. I wish I could describe listening to her when she uses this tone, but there are not words. What I'd like to do is stand up in the middle of her discourse and chuck my copy of Mansfield Park right at her head. Does that sound extreme? Perhaps it does. But before you judge me too harshly, let me illustrate one last thing.

Now this class is a Victorian Literature class. Perfect subject for me, let me tell you, since I LOVE Jane Austen. A phrase commonly used in that time period, and consequently in many of the books we've read this semester is: "What the deuce?" Meaning, basically, "What the Devil?" Interesting phrase, but one not typically used in our language. But alot in the books we've read. Well, yesterday evening I'm sitting in class. Potificator is sitting in the row behind me, and believe me she was in rare form last night. Fabulous since I was sitting in the perfect spot to get the full benefit of her volume whenever she chose to extrapolate, which was every other minute or so. At one point, the teacher went over to the computer to adjust something on the power point. She of course began, bla bla-ing it as soon as the teacher stopped for air. The volume was turned up on the speakers in the classroom and when the teacher started clicking around, it sent a DE-DONG sound across the classroom so loud that the whole class jumped, and the girl behind me yells out, "What the deuce?"

Seriously.

Maybe it was the fact that I had gone to bed at 1 am and was exhausted, maybe it's because it's "that week of the month," maybe it was having to sit 2 feet in front of her and listen to her all evening bugging the crud out of me, but it took all my self control not to turn around and say, "Are you kidding me?"

I have a lot of self-control.

Good thing for her.

grades are in.

My Husband's Report Card

for the first round of Grad School:

Statistics: A+

Organizational Behavior: A-

Business to Business Marketing: A

I told you I married a genius.

ps. that's while working full time and most weeks putting in overtime as well.

1 down 5 to go.

love you craig.

do you want to see my kitchen? I bet you do...

Pardon another post about the house, but there is just SO much progress now. Let me introduce, our cabinets! No counter tops yet...

I may be biased, because after all we picked them out, but I think these babies are gorgeous!

I might be shallow, but you have no idea how happy the sight of this makes me... I'm laughing right now, I'm so excited.

fridge

I sold our fridge last night. It was the fridge we bought when we bought our old house. Just a normal basic white freezer on top fridge. We're going with black appliances in our new house and the old fridge was taking up space in the tiny garage that doubles as a storage unit here in this tiny townhouse. I posted it on Craigslist and some guy drove halfway across Phoenix to buy it. While they were loading it on the truck, he said did I mind him asking what my husband and I did for a living. "I'm a stay at home mom," I said. "And my husband is an Engineer. He works for Boeing." I realized when I said this, how proud I am to be a sahm. And proud that my husband works so hard so that I can be one. It was nice. I didn't feel the need to explain myself. I am a mother, my job is caring for my children. There are other things I love, but I don't need to tell him that. I smiled as I was thinking this. Thinking about how I didn't have to explain myself, or why I've chosen to do what I do. And as I was thinking about this he started telling me about his life. About how he used to have a business, about how he just got divorced, how he lost his house. He told me he kept saying it couldn't get worse and then it would, so now he said it will get better. He told me how awful it was to lose everything at once. His wife, his job, his home, everything. I felt so, I don't know, sad I guess. The kid that was with him, it might have been his son, looked like he was embarrassed that the guy was telling me this. But there's no shame in admitting that life has humbled you. No shame in saying that life is hard and bad stuff happens, and we can look at whatever situation we've been given and say, "it will get better." I hope it will get better, for that guy. I hope the fridge treats him well.

halloween at last.

A smattering of fall pictures for your viewing pleasure...

pumpkin patch adventures

Hannah's get-up. Purple Butterfly

I thought Ethan's face was priceless in this picture.

Hannah was all ready for her school party.

Painting up Carter's face for trick-or-treating.

Carter's Get-up. A Bluejay.

It looked kind of freaky.

BLuejay zombie, maybe.

The little bunch.

Painting on Ethan's Whiskers.

Ethan's get-up: A Puppy.

Just Waiting.

Trick-or-treating.

sand angels. yuck.

Shorts in November.

Welcome to Arizona.

The end.

painted house.

Sorry, you're going to have to endure another post about the new homestead.
They painted on Friday. Hurah! For progress.

Do you love the color? I do. Fabulous earth tone. Lie to me if you don't like it...

In side, textured and painted as well. Here I am standing in the entryway. That's the library right behind me.

Craig in our bathroom. I love that man. He's worked so hard to get us this house, and he makes it possible for me to stay home with the kiddos. Plus, he looks hot in a tie. Sorry, I'm just sayin'.

Me on the back patio, chillin with the dirt. Yes. I am blessed. So so blessed.

...on the poetry of Robert Louis Stevenson

I wonder if I've made it clear in writing sporadically on this little online journal of mine, exactly how important the written word is to me. I've had my nose in a book since about the time I learned how to read. I started writing poetry in 6th grade. Everyone told me it was wonderful. Now that I look back though, I think it probably wasn't all that good. Love of the written word has not lessened as I have grown older. It has blossomed into an appreciation for good modern literary writing, a love of the classics, a slight obsession with Jane Austen, and now, with writing my own words. Where did this come from? I often ask myself. I think everyone is given to certain tendencies, things they naturally gravitate to. I think I would have been a reader/writer whatever my background, but I truly believe that I found these things earlier in life due to the influence of, my mother. Nora Lee the saint. Seriously, not kidding about the saint thing. My mother, how to describe this woman? I don't have the words. I'll have to illustrate for you instead. I grew up on the poetry of Robert Louis Stevenson. My mother laying next to me in my bed tracing her finger slowly across my face, over my cheeks, along my forehead, down my nose, and singing softly in her clear as a bell voice, the words to "The Swing" and "My Shadow." Beautiful children's poetry written by a superior mind, made more magical in the melody of a mothers voice. Literature soothes me. Reading a book makes me feel happy, content. Poetry is like music. It's not hard to see why. Thanks, Mom.

My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

ps. I sang that song to Carter tonight, Mom. He smiled the whole time.

instead,

I was going to blog about Halloween, but instead I wanted to show you all the pictures of our house!!! It's getting SO CLOSE, finally!!! We make a little trip out there after church every Sunday to check on the progress. This in addition, of course, to me driving past it everyday when I pick up Hannah from school.

family room
front, we have a door people
front again, with me... sweating in the 90 degree weather, in November

Entry way, living room and dining are in front of me, kind of where Carter is. If you look just past Hannah's head you can see into the library.
Kitchen, it connects to the family room. (and there is my huge island)

yay!

ps. our move-in date is set for December 21st.

this should be an interesting Christmas.

been there.

this video is so freakin' hilarious, I'm crying right now.


but that's probably because I've been there a thousand times.