my favorite things, vol. vii

There's something so luxurious about having fresh flowers around the house.




also cheerful.

cheerfully luxurious.

yes.

think about it.

poolside Saturday

Don't you want one of those hats? It's so very Holly Golightly.

why Chris stopped asking what's on my mind

what I've been thinking about:

1. cheese
2. shoes
3. my lack of skillz, specifically relating to numbers
4. cheese!
5. if William will survive childhood
6. if Michael will survive childhood
7. if Michael and William will survive childhood, but die from the force of my wrath
8. what?
9. painted nails are distracting
10. cheese

what have you been thinking?

daddy's girl

Ivy and Christofer play this game where Ivy shakes her head at Christofer, and then Christofer shakes his head at Ivy, and then they both laugh hard enough to shake the whole house.
I don't really get it.
Whenever I try to play, Ivy might smile some but we both know it's not the same.
I'm not him.

i love graphs.

I was introduced to graph jam by H, via her Awesome League of Awesomeness.

Unsuprisingly, it is awesome.


see more Funny Graphs

this is for Christofer:


see more Funny Graphs

what it looks like to be the father of three

happy fathers day

I've seen and known a lot of great dads


these three are the greatest.

open letter to some of my friends and family

If I'm working on a project for you
I swear
before all the people reading this blog
that I didn't forget.
I also swear it's almost done.
This has been a week full of craziness
and everything will be finished by Sunday
I swear

(incidentally, this could be my kids in about three years.)

(Incidentally, everytime I use the word incidentally I am reminded of my highschool choir teacher.)

( becaue I did go to school sometimes.)

swimming lessons on a rainy day

learning to kick


and have water fights


and blow bubbles



couldn't let a little rain stop that.

prodigy

Internet, did I ever tell you about the very first time I skipped school? It was in kindergarten.

Yes. That's right, kindergarten. The very first time I skipped school I was six-years-old.

It shouldn't surprise you, really. I mean, you don't get to the level of school-skipping proficiency I achieved by starting late. Literally years of dedicated practice went into making my high school career non-existent.

But I digress.

The very first time I skipped school was in kindergarten. I was standing on the playground during recess watching an older class rehearse a dance during P.E. Their teacher was wearing white and energetically demonstrating the Grapevine, her knees reaching surprising heights, her leg crosses dipping low to the ground. I was mesmerized.

I don't know what it was that made me finally turn around, but when I did my classmates had vanished. The playground was deserted, desolate, a veritable wasteland. Everyone was gone. Nobody on that huge stretch of asphalt but me, a gym class and their crazy, grapevining instructor.

I panicked.

Our house was only about three blocks away from school, and I decided to make a break for it. I had walked back and forth many times, but never alone, and never without a crossing guard. I felt very small and very unsure as I carefully navigated towards my house.

When I finally reached it, I ran to the door, planning to burst in and cry all over my mom. "Mom! MOM! EVERYONE WAS GONE AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

But the door was locked. So much for that plan.

I circled the house--the back door was locked, too. I banged with my tiny six-year-old fists, but no one was home to answer. I was ready to sit down in the driveway and have hysterics when I saw the small basement window. I think I'd seen my brother crawl through it, once. I tentatively pushed it open, and wriggled my way inside the house.

It's a scary thing to be all alone when you're six-years-old. Our home seemed huge and ominously silent. I was scared to be downstairs in my room. I was scared to be in the kitchen. I was scared to hide. I walked into the front living room and sat down on the couch. I crossed my ankles. I folded my arms. I don't think I moved for five minutes.

The phone rang, and I jumped, then ran to answer it.

"Hello?" I said quietly.

"Hello, may I speak with your mother?" a voice replied urgently.

"She's not here," I quavered.

"Is this Elizabeth?" the voice demanded.

"...yes," I began.

"This is Mrs. Lyons, you had better HUSTLE YOUR HEINIE BACK TO SCHOOL RIGHT..."

I hung up the phone.

Let me repeat that: I HUNG UP THE PHONE ON MY KINDERGARTEN TEACHER. WHO WAS YELLING AT ME.

If I'd been scared before, now I was in a state of complete terror. I glanced out the kitchen windows, afraid I'd see the police coming to get me. I wasn't exactly sure what punishment was used on little girls who hung up on their teachers, but I was pretty sure it involved jail time.

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled back to the couch, where I sat, statue-like, until my mom came home.

She was not happy to see me.

And that's really all I remember of the story.

Although I'm happy to report I did not end up imprisoned.

Just emotionally scarred.

and that's probably why I never was very good at attending school, AREN'T YOU SORRY YOU YELLED AT ME NOW, MRS. LYONS.

the end.

trouble

You'll be happy to know that while I was not posting, William managed to survive falling out a window.

and crashing down some bleachers.

and diving into some thorny bushes.

and sliding into the oven handle.

and burning himself on a griddle.

and also several biting incidents.

so really, things have been pretty normal for him.

However, on Friday night he and Michael got in a fight in the front room. I was on the phone with my sister at the time, and trying to ask her about something, so when I heard William start screaming I just went in and scooped him up, holding him on my lap while I finished my call. After I hung up a moment later he was still wimpering so I wrapped him tighter, leaned against the couch and tucked his head under my chin.

and there was something wet in his hair.

I shifted back to look and realized he was covered in blood. It was trickling down the left side of his face, pooling in his collar. It was spattered all over my neck and shirt.

He had split his head.

And I know what you're wondering, you're wondering "How did this happen?"

but I don't really think the question is "How did this happen?" so much as "How has this not happened before?" because William is...William. I'm pretty sure I've talked about this before, but William is not satisfied unless he is actively defying someone, usually Chris or me or death.

sometimes all three.

it wasn't actually his fault, this time; Michael threw a block at his head. I'm not sure who was more surprised it actually connected. Michael's aim is improving.

In any event, I don't think it will happen again.

and the point is we're fine.

for now.

fascination

the boys have been glued to the window all morning.

ALL MORNING.





because nothing is more interesting

than watching some guy move dirt. right?

cousins

These pictures look very similar to these pictures, so sorry if this feels redundant to you, but I wanted to share with my mother-in-law:

even when Michael and Madelynn haven't seen each other for 6 months, they are such good little buddies.

saturday afternoons with Dad

or, Why It's More Fun To Run Errands With Dad Than Mom

veils

so here's something I didn't know: shooting veils is really really awesomely super great.
I'm serious. I've always thought being a wedding photographer sounded like an awful job, truly terrible, but apparently it has it's perks.
veils and free cake.
doesn't sound like such an awful job now, DOES IT?

storytime

"Come on, William, follow me, " Michael said, and led his brother toward the front room. "I will read you a story."

"This is a story about Rocket and Big Jet. And there were Pirates. Can you say pirates?"
"Piwates."
"Yes! and can you say ARG? Pirates say ARG. Can you say ARG?"
"AAAAAAARRRRRRG!"
" Good! Good job, William. You are getting very big."



"Then they find the treasure. Then the pirates comed. And Michael and William got lightsabers, and we fighted them. and then we went home. Mom gave us a treat."

"It was cookies."

the end.

take 3

last one today, I promise.
This is a cry for help.
I'm making a present for my sister for her wedding and I'm looking for a few love poems.
It's not like I don't know any love poems-I do.
It's just that my favorite love poems tend to be about death, too.
which is not very wedding-y.
and kind of awful sounding when I type it out.
so. what is your favorite love/friendship/relationship poem?
help a sister out.

guidelines:
1. not depressing
2. not risque
3. not ... lame.

thank you.



Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

--Pablo Neruda

redacted

well. oops.

I posted a post here earlier today, and then went to take a shower (yes, at noon. don't judge me.) and while I was in the shower, I heard a voice. A voice that sounds exactly like my husband's voice, only in my head.

It is the Voice of Reason.

And do you know what the Voice of Reason said to me, in my head, while I was showering? is the suspense here killing you? could I drag it out any longer?
probably, but I won't.
The Voice of Reason said, "Elizabeth. Do you really want to leave that post up on your blog?"

At first I thought, yes, I do, SHUT UP.
because I'm not in a great mood today.
but then I thought, ooohhhh. wait. no. no, I don't.

I'm not sure exactly who reads my blog, but the people I am aware of are mostly either a)neighbors or b) relatives of my husband. Sometimes when I write here, I like to think I have an audience of complete strangers, because there's safety in distance, but this is not accurate. I am very likely to run into people who read this blog at the grocery store, or worse, at a family party. And, of course, I wouldn't want to write about things I might not discuss in real life.

So, sorry. Sorry if you saw it, sorry if you came here looking for it, sorry you've now been subjected to several sentences explaining why it's gone.

But mostly I'm sorry that the Voice of Reason has to sound like my husband.

what's that all about, anyway?

weekend project

I didn't post at all this weekend because things were a little chaotic around here. For example,
we spent 2 hours on Saturday afternoon digging a giant hole in our backyard by hand.

it didn't go well.

so Chris left, and came back with this:




much better.


although I didn't get to drive it, because, apparently, it's every little boy's dream to one day operate a digger.
solo.

without any help from his wife.







see? our house is a place where dreams come true.
like disneyland!
only messier.

a few hours later, we had a giant hole in our backyard.









victory!