Can you tell which is which?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Y'all are good! Most of you guessed it.
And major props to you, Brenda. Not only did you guess Cabela's correctly, but you got the location, too!
And it's no surprise to anyone that Henry LOVED Cabela's. LOVED it.
I'm so thankful that Henry has Grandpa and Daddy to take these adventures with him. I've been to Cabela's a couple of times, and that was enough to hold me over for the next twenty years or so.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I made this Mother's Day card for both my mom and Matt's mom.
You can easily make it for anyone for any occasion.
I began by cutting two sheets of 8"x11" cardstock, each to 5 1/2"x11". Then I folded each section into thirds.
Using a gluestick, I glued the two together so that they made one accordion with five sections.
I printed five photos, 4"x6".
I cut each photograph so that it would fit on a section.
And I glued the photographs onto the cardstock.
I made sure that I glued the photographs close to the top of each section. That way I had plenty of room to write below each photograph.
Under each photograph, I wrote a reason why we are thankful for our moms. If your child is old enough, he/she can do the writing.
This is such a simple craft that makes a beautiful card and keepsake.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
*Vlog and GIVEAWAY
Here are your random numbers:
Timestamp: 2010-05-21 15:58:48 UTC
Here are your random numbers:
Timestamp: 2010-05-21 15:58:48 UTC
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And thank you, Avitae!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Auntie Kelley celebrated a birthday this week. And if you ask us, we think she deserves a FANTABULOUS birthday week.
Auntie Kelley, we think you are absolutely swell.
Sending major hugs and kisses your way.
Henry happily playing with his tent, a gift from Auntie Kelley & Uncle Joe.
Making Valentine cookies at Auntie Kelley's house. An annual tradition.
We love you, Auntie Kelley.
Kelley, you are such a blessing to me and my family. Thank you for loving Henry and Harper like crazy.
It means the world to me.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
If you're a parent, then you've probably been there. The moment you realize that you lost your child.
It happened to me. In my home. Sort of.
Let me set the scene. We allow our son, who is 2 years old, to play on our screened-in back porch unsupervised. On this particular morning, I could hear him playing, and playing, and playing, and then silence. But it was one of those moments where the silence didn't hit me until it had been minutes of silence.
I'm sick to my stomach even thinking about it.
What made this moment so awfully nightmarish is when I realized that he was outside and we live only feet away from a busy road.
Sick. Sick. Sick.
I was nursing my daughter at the time. I flew out of the house, with her still attached. The minute I realized he was gone, I yanked her off and set her down. I set her down so fast that she fell over and hit her head. She was screaming. I was screaming. As I ran down the back steps into our backyard, I heard the cars rushing by. I kept screaming and screaming.
And then I saw him.
He was running my way, parallel to the street.
Thank you, Lord Jesus. Thank you. Thank you.
He was safe. He was alive. And apparently he had been having the time of his life.
He was covered, absolutely covered, in mud.
I didn't care. I scooped him up so fast, and finally, I breathed.
It was then that it hit me that my heart was racing and my baby girl was on the ground, still screaming.
But I couldn't let go of him. I just couldn't.
I had just endured the absolute worst moment of my life.
As it turns out, I had failed to lock the back door (he can open the door if it's not locked). You better believe that I'm obsessive-compulsive about locking that door now.
Hours after the incident I was still edgy. No longer shaking, but I could still feel the pit in my stomach.
The thought of losing my son had become a reality. If even for a minute, it was a reality that I never, ever want to experience again.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Here's the truth:
I'm a lot more over-protective than I'd like to admit.
Helicopter parenting makes me bonkers, while the term free-range-parent is music to my ears.
But that was all before my son met the four-wheeler.
I first heard about it after a weekend away from my son. He and his father (I refer to my husband as "his father" anytime the two of them are getting into trouble, which happens to be more and more frequently) had gone down home (my in-laws' house) for a weekend of hunting and shooting and other city-absent activities.
I called my in-laws' house to check-in, and it was no surprise that my son and his father were unable to talk because 400 acres of pure nature are much too inviting for two trouble-making boys (I refer to my husband as a boy when he is getting into trouble with my other boy. Again, this happens to be the case more and more frequently.)
So my in-laws gave me a few updates, assuring me that both boys were doing well and having too much fun to be missing me (as evidenced by the neglect to check-in with us girls).
But in talking to my in-laws, I was suddenly blindsided with a tidbit of information that only a city-girl can appreciate.
My son, my itty-bitty baby boy, had been on the 4-wheeler. And by 4-wheeler, I mean 500 pounds of off-roading DANGER.
I tried to pull myself together. Inside, I was spinning. All I could think about . . . Was he strapped in? Was he wearing a helmet? Was he, was he, was he ALIVE?
Can you tell I was raised in the city?
Fast-forward to that evening when I FINALLY spoke with my boys, and I was able to address my
irrational and ridiculous rational and normal concern excitedly and fervently calmly and gently with the boy's father my husband. He listened (bless his heart), and he agreed to waiting until I was ready before my sweet, sweet boy could ride the death machine again.
You would think we were deciding on whether or not our son was old enough to ride his bike all by himself to Seven Eleven. Or use his allowance to buy a M-rated video game. Or borrow the car to take his girlfriend to a late night movie.
Breathe, Ali, breathe.
Needless to say, I had some settling down to do.
But something happened as I began to settle.
I started to realize that I wasn't really afraid of what could happen. In fact, my fear had nothing to do with my baby falling off the beast-on-wheels.
No, instead of fearing head trauma, my fear had everything to do with letting go. Letting go of my baby. And knowing that part of my job as parent is allowing him to have experiences that have nothing to do with me.
Sure, there was the possibility that something terrible could happen to him. But he was in the care of his grandparents and daddy who love him more than words can express.
And it's that very love that makes letting go of my little man so heartbreaking.
Knowing that my baby is beginning his journey as Henry, not as my baby. And the fact of the matter is that I won't be there for every Henry moment.
So when my son and his father went back down home for another weekend of weapons and dead turkeys, I didn't fuss. I didn't whine and search for excuses why my baby shouldn't ride the four-wheeler.
Nope. I gave in.
And if I couldn't be there to witness another of my son's Henry moments, I insisted that they at least take lots of pictures.
I love you, boys . . . both my son and his father :)
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
And now the poor thing rests peacefully in the depths of my freezer.
I'm talking about the bird.
As for the husband, he continues to believe that one day my children will actually want to participate in this, um, hobby.
Little does he know, we are raising hippies.