"Shape" up

This morning Braxton woke up with an unusual amount of vim and vigor. (That is sayin' something folks) He was running around the anchor table at very high speeds when I told him "You're running around that table in really fast circles!"

His reply: "No mom, I'm running in really fast rectangles".

Oops.

Wet Wet Wet!

I think my boys have ESPN or something, because yesterday right before we headed outside into what would turn into a "torrential downpour", they donned these:

And Braxton showing he's a real pirate by digging for treasure.

Suckah!

The boys got haircuts on Sunday and lollipops are the reward for coming out with no bald spots. Kieran really liked his.
Yay for fake banana flavor. {blech}

3 going on 30

Braxton often tries to act older than he is. He uses big words (think three sylables or more) and uses them correctly. When talking to his dad he refers to him as "Mark". But only when speaking directly to Mark - when he talks to me he calls him dad. The kid is growing up faster than I'm comfortable with - but such is the life of a mother.

The other day I was having my daily chat with my mom, and Braxton had to have his few moments with grammy too. I took some pictures of my "3 year old going on 30". The pictures say it all.

Love you.

Holy Moley!

I love to read. You hate it compared to how much I love it. (Name that movie) I'm not a book snob, and I read just about anything you put in front of me. There is some stuff I don't like. Kafka, and some of Mark's really out there scifi. Or, I guess syfy, now. There are four books that I will never stop loving. These are: "Island of the Blue Dolphins" by Scott O'dell, "Pride and Predjudice" by Jane Austen, "Bridge to Terebithia" by Katherine Paterson, and "Time Travelers Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger. (Bitchin' last name if you ask me) Usually if I've read the book before the movie, I'm fairly dissappointed with the movie. This is a problem as I usually read the book before a screenplay is even a sparkle in the director's eye.
So, with this being the case - why am I excited to see that a movie has been made of one of my favorite books? I have no clue. But you can bet that I will be going to see "Time Travler's Wife" in theaters. I'm actually hoping that this movie inspires my mother to read my copy of it - which she's had for about three years now.
I have no idea what the point of this post was. Other than to say - if you want a good read, and possibly a good watch, read the "Time Travler's Wife".

Inherited "issues"

I have a few sleep issues. Insomnia that rears its ugly head at the oddest of times and can leave me surviving off of only three hours of sleep (or less) for weeks at a time.
I am also a sleep walker/talker. Any time I'm way stressed, sick, or in a new/uncomfortable situation I have a tendency to sleep walk and talk. On my backpacking trip, my tarp mates found me trying to walk down to the lake ~luckily I hadn't gotten out of my sleeping bag, so I hadn't made it far. Mark came down one morning to find the couch in the kitchen. I'm sure my mom has some funny stories as well. Its weird, I know.

My oldest son seems to have inherited this trait. I first noticed last year at my parents house. We were staying with them for 6 weeks while Mark was off being Navular. We had all gone to bed and I hear our bedroom door open. I sit up and notice Braxton walking out - and calling for me. When I caught up with him, it was way weird, seeing me didn't seem to phase him and he was still looking for me. I don't remember how I got him back to bed - but I remember thinking, "oh this poor kid might be taking after me".
Then last night, he woke up crying his head off. We're deep in nightmare territory, so I figured that's what the all-call was for. But, he told me (in a very odd way) that he wasn't scared, just sick. Then I couldn't get an answer for what was sick. Since he was all hot and sweaty I figured I'd take his comfies off. I got a little grin from him and figured I'd done my work. About 42 seconds after I got comfortable back in bed another general alert was posted from Braxton's room. This time I didn't seem to be able to calm him down. So I laid in bed with him, and that seemed to help. Except he kept twitching like a dog having a "chasing the bunny" dream. I'm sorry for comparing you to a dog, Braxton, but it works, right? Finally the twitching and moaning started to freak me out, and I finally realized he hasn't been awake for any of this. So I call Mark in, and my yelp out loud for help finally rouses Braxton. He was totally different once he woke up, and finally able to tell us what was wrong. He had to pee. Like a racehorse.

I'm sorry that along with my drastic beauty (yeah, who am I kidding?) you also got this. There will, however, be some awesome stories as you get older.

Boom Boom Pow.

Mark's Mom, Dad and Sister came down for a vist at the end of June. We did some fun stuff - and I'm going to blog about as much of it as I can. Somebody still has all the pictures we took of our segway tour of the district on his camera. I can't believe he hasn't gotten them to me. I mean - it's not like he works 80 hours a week or anything. (Just kidding!)

Our trip to Mt. Vernon was deemed an acceptable trip for me to take my own camera, so I have a few pics from that I can show.

I've wanted to go visit Mt. Vernon since Mark and I packed our bags and became transplants. For reasons I'll not discuss here - it hasn't made it onto our itinerary. Until last month. I was sooo excited - downright bubbly about it. So, Monday morning we packed up and headed out. We had a few "donde esta" moments - and Sue Sue led us up to the gate at the bottom of Bowling Green. (I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to drive your car through that...) But we did make it.

I only got this one shot of the sheep because they were totally freaking Kieran's shiz out. So I had to snap and go. A sheep says Baaaaa.

We made it.

Mr. and Mrs. Gadgeteer. Apparently the audio tours weren't working properly. This accounts for the hard core concentration.

The garden. This is all we saw of it. We decided a bunch of veggies is not cool enough to haul the stroller down the stairs to see... or something like that. It might have been Braxton's constant mewing of "I want to see the animals now!!!". Either way - this is where G. Washington got his greens.

Oh man, this view was so gorgeous. So pretty, I forgot to take a picture when I got a little closer. Ooops.

The trip was going pretty well - until someone started shooting at us.

Ok, not really. My stroller tire exploded. I was busy trying to get a picture of the "dung repository" (who doesn't need a picture of the "dung repository") when we heard a loud bang. Like the kind of loud bang where everyone hits the ground. Peggy kept exclaiming "Sarah, it's you - it's you!!!" I was like "WTF? My camera shutter is not that loud!" and then I looked at where all the dust was settling. Dangnabbit!!! This tire here ended our trip to Mt. Vernon that day.

Well - after some lunch anyway. "Mom, look how much of a mess I made."Just FYI for anyone who is thinking about packing a lunch. Peanut butter and smushmallow sandwiches should not be packed on hot days. They explode. All over the place. And then you still have to feed it to your kids. Who end up looking like those trolls above. Cute trolls though, right?

The B-rox and his Pa hat. Adorable.

We'll give it another go someday.

To Shiv or not to Shiv and Romeo, Romeo - where for art thou Romeo!

My regular shifts in the ER happen on Friday nights. I love it because Friday nights are always pretty nutty. I stay busy, and generally feel pretty useful outside of my kitchen. Last night I was hailed like the conquering hero upon my arrival. They were completely swamped. Which meant I spent my hours there hopping like the Mad Hatter on meth. {Unless you were brought in by life flight, ambulance or came in with an axe sticking out of your leg - you were going to be there a while}

I'm now going to tell you a couple of stories from last night that still have me chuckling:



About an hour into my shift an ambulance brings in a 92 year old female complaining of hip pain. She normally resides at a nursing home. She gets a bed, but is fairly combative so is put in a "B or C" room. That means you're in the hallway so the nurses can keep a collective eye on you. (yup, there really are beds in the hallway) She was pretty unhappy about being told she's going to need to go back to the nursing home. Not only did she constantly yell at the nurses and doctors she yelled and threatened anyone who walked by. This is what I heard any time I passed her bed, "I'm going to 'shiv' you! DO you hear me? I will 'shiv' you if you try to make me go back there!". While it was sad that she is unhappy with her home, and sad that her son is in Texas (at least thats what she said) so he can't visit her, I've never been threatened with a "shivving" before. As I was getting off they were arranging transport back to her home. Hopefully she gets a visit from her kids here soon - and stops threatening to shiv people. It's a little disconserting (albeit funny...).

Another giggle moment: I was busy dealing with some records for the secretary and a cop shows up at the desk. He wants to know if we have a patient that has been brought back to a room with a leg injury. Computer database says there are six. Cop wants a white male - about 31. We ask for a name. Cop says - he's not going to give his real one, and I don't know which fake one he'll use. (Just FYI for any cops out there - uhm, when there are 100+ patients in the database, we really can't look for a name that maybe, possibly looks fake) We narrow out a few patiens based on sex and age. (The three year old back in kids care prolly wasn't his perp...) Because of HIPPAA stuff, I got to walk around looking for Mr. Fake name Leg guy with the cop. Whose nickname/callsign is Romeo. At first I thought it was because he was fairly attractive - turns out, he's in search of his Juliet... Oi. I'm not it buddy.

Oh, and I got to turn on the Heli-pad landing lights last night. It's just flipping a switch, but it still made me feel cool.
Then I went home and watched a Pauly Shore movie.

Going Postal.

With any move there are always kinks, annoyances and irritations. Mark and I moved going on 7 weeks ago. (Really? 7 whole weeks? wowza) Last week our permanent mailboxes were finally installed. [we've been using the old school red flag flip down front type of box] We were given instructions to take our settlement papers to the Post Office and recieve our little pieces of gold that give us the ability to open those wonderful letters from all those people who want your money.

The first try they told us our box isn't ready yet. Mark was the only one to go in on this trip, and being the more laid back individual out of the two of us said "thank you for your time we'll come back". Even though he knew the box was ready - because it sits outside our front door...
We had a housewarming party to get to, and couldn't delay any longer. I resolved to go back on Monday.

Monday my neighbor came over to inform me that he had picked up his mailbox keys - and lo and behold when he opened up the box number the keys corresponded to - it was my box. Instead of giving me the keys that corresponded to my box he kept them - and said "when you go, if it turns out to be my keys we'll just switch". I wasn't very motivated, so I figured I'd go to the PO the next day.

Tuesday, I headed to the post office. Where I waited in line for TWO WHOLE EFFING HOURS. Excuse my bad language. Oh yes, I sooooo had the boys with me. By the time we got up to the counter they were bouncing off the walls. Small children don't wait in line very well. Hell, most of the adults I was in line with weren't waiting in line very well themselves! So I get up there, and show the settlement papers and my ID. However, this lady has never heard of power of attorney - so I spend 15 minutes explaining why I can indeed pick up the keys in Mark's name. She finally consents after consulting a colleague, and goes on a mission for my keys.
She can't figure it out. She puts in a change lock order - and sends me home with those keys. Informs me that it will be changed in 3-4 days.

Wednesday I write a letter to my HOA liason - informing him I'm pretty fed up. Reply says "all I can do is call them and try to figure out where your keys are to go pick up". Great - Thanks.

Thursday, I'm still waiting for the lock to be changed when my postman, Mr. Fong (for anybody who knew me in high school you should understand why this was so freaking hilarious I could almost not breath.) calls me. He tells me he put a stop on my change lock order and that my keys are up front at the post office waiting for me. So, I roll up my yoga mat and change into "get out of the house" clothes and pack the boys off to the PO, again. yay.
We get there, and only have to wait in line for an hour. [Yes, I get the ridiculosity of how that sounds] and the dude finds my keys. note: "my" keys have now been found three times in this story... I come home and open the box to find... my other neighbors box, name and address.

Still no mail for me. And you wonder why people at the post office go nutty.

A new Baby.

Muahahahahaha - you all thought from the title I was going to announce yet another pregnancy - didn't you? Well, I'm not.

Sunday - Mark went into the store all by himself to buy a coke and some tortillas. He came out with my new baby, Astrid.

She's pretty, eh? She's the perfect pet. No pooping, no crying, no spaying/neutering, no dander, no walks and she doesn't sass me or break things or chew on things or - you get the picture.

The goal is to keep her alive. If I can manage this, maybe someday I can have a small garden...

Where art thou?

Oh Bob, Oh Bob, Where for art thou Bob?

Go Navy!

Beat Everybody Else!

I was just feeling a bit of that good ol' service pride. And thought of this picture...

And one of Kenny - because I love him too. Even if he is eating a plastic pringle.

T. U. Frog...

That is how Braxton sang his Alphabet this morning. Wacked as usual. [Iwouldn't have it any other way, however.]

Braxton has started this thing where he stops eating his breakfast a couple of bites in so that he can go watch TV. This morning I informed him if he didn't eat his breakfast - there would be no tv until after nap time. To get me to change my mind he told me "Mom, I'm going to say some romantic words to you. May I please watch some tv and not eat my cereal?". The boy really knows how to make me swoon... only not. (He's currently in finishing his bowl of cereal.)

licking the scoop.

Apparently I didn't scoop enough Ice cream for breakfast yesterday:
Good to the last dribble.

Beware...

... of bike racks. One ate my face yesterday. These pictures don't do it justice. Which is probably why I'm going to post them. Well, and my favorite bob asked me to. I love her, so I'm going to indulge her.

This one does an ok job of showing how the "big owie" goes straight down my face. A better shot of of the bruising on my forehead. What you can't tell from the pictures is that the stripe on my forehead is actually raised off of it about a 1/4 of an inch. And the (very faint in the picture) red line down my cheek has bruising all on it. But, as an idea - this should work. I didn't lose my eye - just temporarily lost the ability to make facial expressions.

My departing words of wisdom are - don't smash bike racks down on your face.

Fun with Wet Balls.

I know, I'm immature. Owell. In case you can't figure it out, We took beach balls to the pool - along with the camera. It worked out well because we were the only ones there yesterday! I love this picture. It would have been even cooler had he been looking at me through that glass like splash - but whatcha gonna do? This is as close to a self portrait you're getting of me any time soon. Long story short - I smashed a bike rack into my face right before getting to the pool. It's not pretty. But my toesies are! Where did the ball go? He puts alot of effort into those throws. Who doesn't love a good splash?

Because apparently there's never a bad time for yoga...I love this boy. This one too...Don't worry, there's SPF four thousand all over that little body of his...

What I've been doing...

...instead of blogging:

painting. This color is called "fairy godmother". How can you not love it with a name like that?

B-rox taking a break from "helping" me to play a little air guitar - in his roos. Oh yes, rockstar ALL the way.

Wasn't "Vertical Limit" a movie? Well - it's the story of my life. Perched on a step stool that is perched on the stairs, this is as high up as I can get on the floating wall above my third floor staircase. Until Mark comes home, and I rig a ladder system. And yes, I have to wait 'til Mark gets home - because as gung-ho as I am about this whole paint thing, it's probably a bad idea to precariously perch on a ladder 25 feet up in the air without somebody who's capable of calling 911...And the boys' bathroom. "Golden Echo" in semi-gloss. Sunglasses people, sunglasses.

Happy Fourth.

This post will have zero pictureage. I forgot my camera. I'm not all that sad about it either. Because I had fun. I'll give you a what was up with us over the weekend though.


Friday we delivered enchiladas to some friends who are new-baby-weary. Then we ate the pan I made for us at the same time for dinner. Muy bueno. (BTW Mike and Amy - she's beautiful. We're way stoked for you guys.)

Saturday my "big brother" and his wife came to visit. There was Ihop, swimsuit shopping, some swimming, movies, chile, then off to the Ft. Belvoir Freedom Fest. Amanda and I waited in line for about an hour to get our once a year funnel cakes and lemonade. Muy delicioso. (What's up with the spanish?) Then we watched fireworks. Braxton wowed the crowed around us with his John Madden-esque commentary on the fireworks. Example: Wow, that was big. That was a green firework. Whoa, that one went into the sky... catch my drift?

Went home and into bed. I woke up later with what I'm calling the funnel cake flu. Lasted until about 7pm yesterday evening. Lame lame way to end the weekend.

Hopefully I'll be graced by an aunt bop this weekend - who was in DC this weekend - and didnt' even bother to say howdy-do. Lame.

Happy Fourth. My friend Pickle put it nicely "Please don't let your patriotism end at midnight". Obviously, lighting off fireworks all year long is probably not a good idea (not to mention illegal) but, you should be proud to be American all year long - not just on the Fourth of July.