My freaky deaky twin...

Aunt Voula: [to Ian's parents] Now, you are family. Okay. All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the "hormonees." It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio... the b... the... the bios... the... b... the "bobopsy." Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal cord. Yes. Inside the lump was my twin.
-My Big Fat Greek Wedding

Though my sister and I were born an entire 21 months apart, we have often been mistaken for twins. Sometimes when people would ask we would just go with it and sometimes we would awkwardly answer "yes" and "no" simultaneously. That should have been obvious to the asker at that point because as we all know, twins say the same thing at the same time.
*We both ran track and did some of the same events...I had to quit because she was way better.
*There was that time that I was a blond...and the shorter lived time that she was a brunette (that's a more glamorous word for what I would call my "brown".)
*A couple of nights ago we both made Teriyaki Chicken for dinner for the first time.
*We both wore our identical yellow striped shirts today...OK, that one was staged for photographical purposes...are you disturbed yet and think that we don't get out enough?
*We spend probably 20 hours a week on the phone...you know, the kind where we watch entire shows with the other person on the line not really saying anything (you have unlimited long distance, right?) We call for shameless validation and sympathy, regularly.
*My Mom and her sister have the same thing going...they have been known to show up for a visit without having seen each other for months and months, wearing the same thing.
*We used to dress alike on Thanksgiving...not sure why. (This is back when I still thought it was necessary to cut my pictures with funny edges...and wear pegged white pants and turtlenecks...)
*Yesterday we found out that we had both been looking at pictures of her son as a baby. That one was weird.
*People think we sound the same on the phone.
*There was even a man at church when we were teenagers that honestly thought there was just one of us.
*We do all sorts of stuff together...even have babies about the same time...twice.
*And both of our names end in "y". Weird, huh?

And just in case you were wondering...these are the rest of my sisters...they are equal in awesome-ness. We just don't call each other to coordinate outfits so much.

A Photo journey...

I kind of tricked you...it's not really a journey, more like a jaunt. Here is what we did on Saturday.

Once upon a time we lived in Connecticut and it was Spring, but not really. One day, it got up in the 50's so we threw off our coats and ran outside. We decided to go to the beach so that the girls could really play and dig in the sand and sit by the ocean and really have fun. It started out sunny but somewhere between our house and the beach, the fog rolled in...and then the temperature dropped 10 degrees. We played for a while. Haley got her shoes wet. I kinda knew that would happen. I also knew that they would get horribly sandy...but we are coming to terms with that because we really like the beach.
We like this particular beach right now because
A) It's free until May
B) There is a park just up the hill from the beach so the view is always amazing and
C) Lots of "more mature citizens" like to drive their cars there to park in front of the beach and fall asleep with their heads back and their mouths open.

The wind picked up. We gathered our things and went home. But not before I took a picture of a goldfish stuck to Hazel's snot. That was funny.

This was the temperature by the time we got home...blasted wind.

What could be a better snack for the shore, than fishy crackers?

When we got home I sat in the driveway and stared into my rear view mirror and felt happy.


The End

Me tired. Need sleepy.

Besides all those nights that I creep stealthily into the rooms of my slumbering children to stare at their peaceful beauty whilst gently moving the hair from their eyes and feel the overwhelming love for their dear souls...I also like to let them fall asleep in the middle of the floor, take pictures, and laugh. So in no particular order, here are some of our best.

This is #3 asleep in the middle of the floor (circa 2005)

This is #2 ( also circa 2005, we must have been a tired people that year) asleep on the family room floor wearing no pants and number three's tiny baby shoes.

This is me, a #5 asleep on a magazine in the middle of the floor (circa 1978.) Just kidding.

OK, the picture of me as a baby is well-known in my family...I can't find it anywhere and it is making me crazy. So just imagine, if you will, a 6 or 7 month old baby curled up on the lid of a tupperware in the middle of the family room floor, fast asleep wearing some kind of baby sack-and if I ever find the picture, I'll add it. Why a tupperware lid? You got me.

#1's feet sticking out from underneath her bed on one of the many many occasions that she fell asleep under her bed...yes, sometimes I would leave her there. (2003)

The oldest 2 used to sleep together...

they still do sometimes.

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Let it not go unnoticed that my parents opened up their mission call last night and have been assigned to work in the

CHINA, HONG KONG mission!

I could not be more excited for them! They report to the MTC on August 10th of this year.
Congratulations Mo and Papa!!!

The tables have turned...and...a Photo Shoot or two...or three.

Tonight while I was getting Hazel ready for bed I was changing her diaper and leaning over her whistling to keep her attention. And then I drooled, right on her neck. Who knew that whistling while leaning over would do that? I do. And now, so does Hazel. I figure it's just desserts for all those months of spit up and drool that she inflicted on me. The difference though is that she found being drooled upon kind of funny.

Spencer and Sho came for a little visit this past weekend. They surprised the girls by ringing the doorbell and leaving their stuffed Monkey (whom Mia requests at every visit) and a trail of candy that led them around the house and back inside where they were waiting on the couch. We love to hang out with them. They drove up from DC and played for a day and a half before traveling all the way home to be responsible adults again. One of my favorite things about Spo (that's their relationship name...you know, like Brangelina...) besides their delicious cooking (they cooked both nights they were here!) and their absolute adoration of my children, is their photography skills. They got the skills. And now they have a business. But I get it for free because we're related and they think my kids are cute.

I found out three [not so] important things about myself this weekend:
My daughters are photogenic and beautiful.
I am capable of making only one face (I would never make it on America's Next Top Model)
and I have bad skin...I might need to request some photo touch ups.
Make that four things: I like other people to cook for me.

Here are some of the different shoots they did this weekend...

Sho is not only gorgeous and very very kind and funny and awesome...but totally a natural in front of the camera.

Hazel is about to be ONE so we had to capture that too.

This one is for my sailor.

Don't be fooled by all the pictures of me...he just hasn't put up more of the kids yet. There are lots. You just can't get enough of them. At least I can't.
Come back, won't you?

An update...

Here is an update for all those who have contributed to the cause! Thanks again, you are amazing.

Is there a dermatologist in the house?

This week we had another first. Our first case of Fifths disease. Hey, with practically no symptoms and being absolved of guilt from not knowing that she had it (until the rash appears and it's not contagious anymore) and therefore not being responsible for spreading it...we'll take it. It could have been worse.

And then this little darling came down with a very sudden case of nail-polish-all-over-my-face-itis. Know a cure? And don't say fingernail polish remover [it burns...not that I would know] or rubbing alcohol. They don't work. Slowly peeling it away in small pieces (whilst yanking out-delicate-peach-fuzz-on-our-hairiest-child) isn't a good idea either. It involves lots of crying and high pitched squealing.(It was much sparklier and pretty in person.)

Fourth Born

Sometimes I laugh that I have four kids. There are many different reasons why I would laugh but that would be an entire post in and of itself. I mostly laugh when I walk into the room and see something like this.
(Yes, that is a witch's hat on the floor next to her, naturally. It must have fallen off when I bent over.)
Mind you, it's no surprise to see her there. After all, I am the one that laid her down. But I laugh at how I have changed (many may say adapted) in my nearly 8 years of motherhood.
My first born was coddled. She was held every second of the day. I nursed her until she was nearly a year, tenderly and lovingly. She was nursed off to sleep at bedtime and nearly every nap. She was bathed often. I used to have a rule that babies were allowed to wear their pajamas in public until only about 3 or 4 months old, then they should be appropriately dressed for the time of day. Her binkies were no doubt thoroughly sanitized if dropped on the floor and I never left the house without appropriate hair accessories adorning her delicate fontanel. I'm sure we listened to classical music and went through flash cards every day to build her understanding and vocabulary.

Here is our dear fourth born.
Weaned (against my will) by three months old, lying on the hard wood floor of the kitchen, still in her pajamas at who-knows-what-time-of-day, feeding herself a bottle and no doubt has some kind of crust or mold growing in her neck.
Sometimes I forget how old she actually is and I have to count the months on my fingers. One day she'll do something amazing and I'll think "what an intelligent baby" realizing later of course that she is totally developing right on schedule. Heck, I might not even notice when she takes her first steps. One day she'll just come walking into the room and ask for the car keys and I'll say "Do I know you? You sure look familiar."

Is she just as loved? Absolutely.
Is she just as smart? Positively.
Is she just as coddled? You'd better believe it...and by six hands more than the first one.
Is she just as sweet and happy? No doubt.

A little neck crust never hurt anyone.

I confess y'all.

Connecticut is cold in the winter. It's downright frigid, in fact. I love the amazingly beautiful place that we live but in March, I get the hankerin' to be somewhere else. I didn't move to Texas until high school but it turned out to be a pretty great fit. I truly love that place. If you wonder why Texans have such Texas pride/attitude, move there. You can't just visit. You have to live there. Soak it in. Stew in it. Eat a chopped baker. Get real Mexican food. See the Bluebonnets. Eat Blue Bell ice cream. Go to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo as many times as possible. I was slightly afraid of Texans when we first moved there but heck, I scored myself a Texan for a husband so they turned out to be pretty cool.
This is why I miss Texas in March. That and all the other stuff.


I might as well surrender and buy this for myself.

Someday I will be sad that I do not live in New England. I really, really love it (most of it.) But March? I could do without.

Ready, set, GORGE!

I am now accepting bets on how soon all five boxes of Girl Scout cookies will be gone. If you need any help, consider this: Once in high school I bought a box of Samoas from a girl scout standing outside the grocery store. I consumed an entire sleeve before I even got home. I got some serious girl-scout-cookie-eating skills. Oh, life is happy. (And for the added bonus, I even have girl scout cookie ice cream in the freezer.)

Another self diagnosis...

In the words of Liz Lemon: "more is coming..."
The diagnosis is in. I have verbal incontinence. Is there a cure? Probably just earplugs for other people. Without this malady my life and the life of my loved ones might be oh-so-much-quieter. And my blog entries would be much shorter. Now what fun would that be?

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In other news: I came across this picture today while de-cluttering my desk. It was taken last year by a talented friend/co worker of Clark's during a port call in Northern France. Doesn't he look pious?
(Lest you be confused...he is posing for the camera and I'm sure trying to stifle the giggles from the corner of his mouth that we can't see. Correction: men don't giggle. He must be stifling a manly grunt of comedic approval.)

And now I will say one of the only phrases that I know in French...phonetically. May my delightfully lovely and beautiful French sister in law not be too ashamed that this is all I remember from our brief French lessons:
(Since it is spelled phonetically, I must insist that you say it with the southern drawl of a 1st year french student in let's say, middle school.)
"Sa garsone la? Tray bo, no?"
(The only other two sentences I remember make my sister in law shake her head in shame.)

Coping with loss.

My sister is gone. Her bed sheets are in the wash (not because she is dirty or anything...she stripped her own bed out of charitable service.) The last of the hummus is nearly gone and the avocados have vanished from my counter top. Mia played alone this morning.
It was so much fun to have her here...long enough to satisfy my need for familial companionship...also long enough to be used to just having her around. I am so sad that I think I will finish off her 2nd 12 pack of Vanilla Cokes in the fridge, today. They kind of give me a headache, but I will drink them in honor of her. She is giving up soda, by the way.
So in my sadness I will buy a new cardigan. There. I feel kind of better. It's green, and pretty.
And now to cheer me up, I will recount a story that I randomly remembered while driving in the car today.
My story is entitled: "Why I think Colorado is cool."
Number one reason would be that I know a lot of really cool people that live there. And from what I have seen driving through it several times, it looks pretty beautiful...even the treacherous mountain passes that we have scaled through at precarious hours of the night.
Once we were driving from Utah to Texas (a drive that I somewhat despise and have done way too many times...though I have to say I prefer the Colorado route to the New Mexico one...sorry, but the home town of Billy the Kid wasn't exciting enough to distract me from getting snowed in at Albuquerque a couple of years ago.) My husband was pulled over for a traffic violation...I must take the opportunity to note (since he is not available to defend himself) that I have been in the car countless, let me repeat, countless times when he has been pulled over...countless, did I say that already? This is the only time he has received a ticket. What can I say? He has that Scharman charm about him. That includes him getting out of the ticket where he was pulled over going 20 over the speed limit, in a construction zone, in someone else's car, with no insurance and no license...the cop was a woman. I told you he could be charming.
Anyway, I seem to have deviated from my story...but while I'm at it I would also like to take the opportunity to point out (because my original point of a story was not nearly long enough) that I have been pulled over, that is pulled over, once in my entire 15 years of driving. My friend Kristen was in the car and no matter how cute we tried to be, I was not nearly as charming as my dear husband. I have zero skills when it comes to flirting or "buttering up". By the way, I don't really find this wrong. I had a real cop tell me once that it works so I figure as long as they know that's what people are doing, give it your best shot. I got a ticket and had to take defensive driving, on my birthday. When I showed up for the class it was 10 whole minutes before I realized that my "comedy defensive driving class" (soft drinks included) was across the hall and I was instead sitting in the class for minors who had been pulled over for driving under the influence. They were all a little spacey. Where was I?
Oh yeah. We got pulled over in Colorado. The cop was a very nice. He was apologetic for having to give us a ticket and when he noticed that all of our children were properly restrained in the appropriate car seats he bestowed upon us certificates for free ice cream cones at McDonald's. I simply couldn't be upset with him. He was just so darn nice.
There. That was my whole story. Aren't you glad I added all of those superfluous details in between? Here, I'll even throw in a picture for you.