bob, jr.

I went ice skating with the Young Women.






















A week ago.

family home evening

taken by Chris

this is my mother

we shopped all afternoon yesterday, and I still love her very much.

I think that says something.

exercise

I woke up Monday morning feeling ambitious and energetic, and thought to myself, "Hey! You know what I feel like doing today? exercising!"

Which was suprising, because I can count the number of times in my my entire life I've thought that on one hand.

But I did. I felt like exercising. So I did a very short workout video two mornings in a row, and it pretty much destroyed my will to live, but that's a story for another time. This is a story about Michael.

I went to pick up Michael from preschool Tuesday, and his teacher smiled at me and said, "So. You've been exercising."

It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about (because really, how much difference can two days of exersicing make?), but I glanced at Michael and he was smiling and nodding and I laughed.

"I heard all about it," she said.

"Well, he's never seen me exercise before," I answered. "It was very new and interesting for him."

("Oh, you usually work out before he gets up?" she surmised.
"...sure," I said.)

But at the time, even though I knew that it was new and interesting, I failed to realize how much he really truly enjoyed the exersicing. It's pretty much the awesomest thing he's ever seen ever. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure his list of Awesomest Things I've Ever Seen Ever goes something like:

1.Disneyland
2. mom exercising
3. Little Einsteins

He has told everyone we have talked to this week about his mom exercising, and I'm starting find it vaguely embarrassing, especially since I've already given up. This morning instead of asking over and over and over again if can PLEASE watch an episode of Little Einsteins, now? how about now? now, please? maybe now would be good! he's been asking when I'm going to exercise, is it time to exercise yet, maybe if he speaks in a nice voice we could all exercise?

dude. EXERCISING IS HARD. If I don't even do it for my own well-being, chances are I'm not going to do it for your amusement.

Yesterday when Louk was over playing, the boys started fighting over a toy. I took it away, made them apologize, then listened as Louk said, "What do you want to do now, Michael?"
and Michael offered, "Hey! I know! You want to watch my mom exercise?"

a very serious game of tag

poor william

he just wants to play, too.

today's project

no time for posting

closet purge 2009 underway.

flashback

I am having a bad blogging week.
Sorry.
At least tomorrow is a new day.
In the meantime, here's a story from Ye Olde Blog, originally posted February 2005:


I Will Punch You In The Face

There are many, many things about elementary school that I don't remember, and I'm told that's probably a good thing because according to reliable sources, I went through some action-packed grade-school living.

But my favourite memory of elementary has nothing to do with the dramatics that erupted my twelfth year, and everything to do with my elementary school arch-nemesis Adam.

Adam sat across from me in fifth-grade, constantly brushing the corners of my work off his desk, mocking my scribbled handwriting, and making dumb statements like, "My parents are buying a house up on the Avenues, and it's on, like, a whole acre of land."

To which I would say things like, "That is so dumb. It couldn't be a whole acre of land. The whole Avenues isn't on a whole acre of land," which I felt pretty sure about, because I lived on the Avenues; and even though I didn't know how big an acre was, I knew an acre was big, because in movies and on TV that's how farmers would measure their land. And farmers have tons of land.

And then he would say something stupid like,"Is so. It's an acre."

And I would say, "Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

And he would say, "My mom told me."

And I would say, "Your mom lied."

And he would say, "She did not! It's an acre!"

And I would say, "Yep. She lied. Your mom's a liar."

And then he'd raise his hand, and tell the teacher I was calling his mom names, and my messy homework was all over his desk, and I would have to clean out my desk and practice my handwriting, and I would be so mad that I would never tell him that when I asked my mom how much land our home was on, she told me 1/2 of an acre, and since our home was by no means the biggest home in the neighborhood, his parents could conceivably have bought a lot with a whole acre in it.

That big baby.

Anyway, one day our class was in the lunchroom for a school assembly. One of the greatest indignities in a fifth-grade life is that even though you are ELEVEN, and clearly much older and more mature than the ten-year-olds nearby, you must still sit on the hard, tiled floor for hours and hours, while people talk on and on about things you could never remember, because you were too busy wishing you were sitting in a chair, sleeping - like the teachers.

And, on this particular day, to add insult to injury, I somehow wound up sitting next to Adam. We'd already been sitting on that hard, cold floor FOREVER, waiting for all the other students to file in and sit down, when he started poking me in the back. Poke, pause. Poke, pause. Poke, pause. And when I threatened to tell the teacher, the teasing started. I was getting madder and madder and madder, and finally I lost my head. I turned to him and said, "Stop it right now!"

And he said, "No."

And I said, "If you don't stop, I'm gonna ..."

And he said, "What? Start crying and tell Mrs. Brown?"

And I said, "No. I will punch you in the face."

And he said, "Ha! will not!"

And I said, "Will too."

And he said, "Will not!"

And I said, "Will TOO!"

And he said, "Will ..."

And I did it. I really did it. I punched Adam in the face.

And there was a crack.

The biggest crack I've ever heard in my life.

Echoing through the lunchroom.

I gaped at him. He gaped at me. We stared at each other for what felt like minutes, identical looks of pure horror smeared all over our faces. Then we started crying. Hard. I was sure I'd broken his jaw. I mean, I'd heard it break. The crack heard around the world. My parents were going to KILL ME. I HAD PUNCHED A BOY, AND BROKEN HIS JAW, AND I WAS NOT A NICE PERSON ANYMORE!

After I'd gone to the office, and my mother had been sent for, and I'd cried and apologized and been tentatively forgiven (by the school, I mean), I went back to my classroom to ask my teacher if Adam was going to be alright. A more penitent, remorseful child she'd never seen than me with my tear-stained cheeks. She knelt down beside my chair, put her arm around me and assured me that I had not actually broken Adam's jaw - I'd chipped his tooth. One of his front teeth, most of it knocked away by my fist.

"That must have been a pretty hard punch, Elizabeth," she said to me reprovingly.

And all of a sudden, everything seemed okay to me. I mean, a broken jaw was one thing, but a chipped tooth? I wasn't such a bad person, after all.

When Adam came back to school the next day, we were both classroom celebrities. He showed off his severed tooth (it hurt, he said, because his nerves were exposed), and I told everyone how I'd done it. United in our spotlight, basking in our glory, we retained a glossy show of civility that lasted for the rest of the year - for the rest of elementary, really, and then Adam moved away, and I haven't seen him since.

I like to tell this story to people who don't believe me when I say, "I will punch you in the face." Don't mess, fool.

waiting

right now I'm waiting for some delivery guys to deliver some stuff.
I think they're lost.

in the meantime:

bride

I spent all day wedding dress shopping with my sister.

she looked amazing.

Ivy sitting

It occurred to me three days ago that the likely reason Ivy couldn't sit was I never gave her opportunities to try.



look at her now.

yesterday was a good day

we went to the library.



and we rode the elevators



and read some books


































we looked at the city.



I love the city county building. I thought it was a castle when I was a little girl.
































of course, that was before I had been inside and smelled it. but the facade is still nice.


and we rode the elevators some more.

it was a good day.

first thing in the morning

quick note

Hi, everyone.
A couple of people have asked lately if they can add me to their blogroll, which, Of Course! Yes! Please! I love! Thank you! I need ATTENTION!
So that's pretty much awesome . HOWEVER, I would really prefer that any links not use my last name. Elizabeth is fine, or Liz, or Spliz, or even That Crazy Lady With The Incessant Pictures Of Her Kids.
I'm flexible.
just not my whole name.
And if I'm already linked with my last name, I would really appreciate it being changed.

Thanks! and don't worry. Tomorrow we'll get back to the incessant pictures of my kids.

my two-year-old uses a binky, and other recent parenting failures

We took away our two-year-old's binky, then gave it back to him

and I still let my three-year-old use a sippy cup.

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I've been letting the boys watch two or three episodes of Little Einsteins a day

and for lunch this week they've had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day.

Two days ago I put Michael in time-out, and forgot about him

til I heard a little voice ask "Mom, can I please get down now please?"

Ivy hasn't had a bath since Tuesday

and I spent five minutes today pushing Michael's shoe on and insisting he just needed to relax his foot already! before realizing it was actually William's shoe.

next week will be better (I hope).

new lens

this morning I opened up my package and started to play.




"Why, mother, why? Why must you endlessly torture me with your camera and your lenses and your equipment, all the time, every day, on and on, oh for the love of heaven is that a NEW ONE? WHYYYYYYYYYYY!"






sorry, dude.
but look at the clarity! the focus! the shallow depth of field!





look at me try to work with a fixed focal length! that's going to take some getting used to.



I love it.

thank you, Christofer

Don't you love how, with the economy and everything, spending money feels like a good deed? because when you buy something, you're pretty much helping everyone! right? and that's what I like to do. Give. I'm a giver.


You're welcome.