Of Old Ladies ,Teenagers and er Thirty Somethings.

I started the training for this today.

I. am. beat.

Due to the freezing cold temperatures here in my hometown, I have had to resort to getting a membership to our local family fitness center.
I ran on an indoor track today.

One mile is 11 times around the track.

That is 33 laps.

Thirty. Three.

My mind is still numb.

There has to be a better way.
Pedometer.

Until then, it will be me, my iPod, and the numbers going through my head...
lap 1...lap 2...lap 3...etc...

While I am certainly tired, I am excited to be on this journey again.
I had forgotten how much I love running for the sheer ME time it allows.

There is something about spending an hour or more with yourself,
meditating and conversing.
(Is it possible to meditate while running?)

I was able to release a lot of pent up frustration and problem solve a few things.

When I wasn't problem solving, I kept my eye on the random
mop buckets strewn about the track.
Three to be exact.
They were red.
Were they there because the roof happens to have leaks at those particular points?
Or perhaps they were there in case someone needed to puke?
(I would be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind that I may have to puke in them...I actually have been feeling all day the need to puke since my three miles this morning.)

Random.

Other thoughts?

How come that girl who looked to be about 13 was out lapping me repeatedly?
Every time she would pass me, I just kept thinking...
"I am almost 30." "I don't got it anymore."
PROOF I am getting...eek O-L-D

Then...toward lap 25 an older lady with silver hair pushing a walker got on the track...and for the next 8 laps, it felt SO good to pass her repeatedly.

Pathetic
is having 13 year old pass BOTH me and the old lady at the same time.
I'm just going to pretend that didn't happen.

What are you all up to after all the holiday goodness?

Nine Years and a Million More

The time has flown by.

NINE years.

It feels so strange to say that. It feels like just yesterday I met this amazing man.

So, in honor of our ninth year anniversary,
I will share with you the story of how we met.

Hubbs and I met shortly after his mission for
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He had served his mission in Anaheim, California. He was 22 years old,
I was 18.
YES 18.

I was still in high school!

I would leave school at 2:10 p.m. and basically speed (yes...SPEED) to make it the ten miles to be to my full time job at 2:30 p.m.

How many high school kids do you know that go to school all day then go straight to work and don't get home until 10 at night? Not many.

I did it. I did it for 6 months during my senior year.

It was rough.

Anyway, to make a really long story even shorter, I didn't work most Thursday nights because I had a clinical class for nursing assisting that I had to attend on Thursdays. So the first day of training for a new area of this job happened to be on a Thursday. I came into work on Friday, and during our meeting everyone was jabbering on and on and on about the trainer. How he wore a pink polo shirt, and his name was "Fabio" and how gay he must be.

Hilarious, I laughed along, thinking how funny it was, and a wee bit sad I missed out on the pink shirt because I had been gone. I knew I wouldn't have the chance to meet this Fabio because I wasn't going to be doing phone work with the rest of the group.

As I walked to the computers that day after our group meeting, one of my good friends from training convinced me in about 30 seconds that the phone work was REALLY easy and SO much better than the computers. If any of you know me, you know that in high school I was HIGH ANXIETY.

The fact that I even went to sit down and learn the phones was an amazing feat.

Anyway, I sat down and shortly after met the famed Fabio.

No pink shirt (to my dismay).
I did, however notice that he was wearing a CTR ring.



This convinced me that he probably wasn't gay,
and that perhaps there was some explanation for his pink shirt.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I noticed he would always talk to this old lady.
I thought it was super weird because he was so young and always spent his time
with this other woman.
(this woman turned out to be his MOM.)

Our seats were not assigned either so my friends and I would move around quite often. One day my friend said to me,

"Kim, don't you notice that Fabio always sits next to you?"

I hadn't really noticed up until that point, I just thought he was being nice and helpful. Tee hee. I did notice him on breaks and stuff that he would often be in close proximity to me. After that I started to notice that he took every opportunity to be by me.

A few weeks later I had some Pepperidge Farm cookies in my bag, and I asked Fabio if he wanted some...so I shared.

That began our deep conversations.

He asked me that night if I wanted to 'hang out' and go bowling with him and some of his friends.

I had to politely decline (it was a school night and my curfew was basically when I got off work).

He had no clue what a 'curfew' was.

Strike one for Fabio.



A couple days later, he asked me to 'hang out again'.

I finally got the idea that this guy had a THING FOR ME!

AHHHH. I wanted nothing to do with him. He was 22, and was only looking for a wife.

I was 18, and I had SO many plans. College, mission, backpack Europe. Etc...etc.

Marriage was THE furthest thing from my mind. My parent's marriage had ended in divorce and I was kind of anti-marriage at that point in my life.

Strike two for Fabio.



Again, he asked me out...

Strike three.

I have to tell you at this time in my life, I REALLY was busy an I had LEGITIMATE excuses to be turning this young man down.

I really didn't want to date him, he was from Brazil, and had a great accent, and he was kind of cute, but needed some serious wardrobe help...and really I didn't want to deal with it.

Strike four.

The poor guy asked me out FOUR times and I said NO each and every time.




The time came for my little group of trainees to move to another building. There was this small part of me that felt bad for this guy who had tried so hard to ask me out.

On the last night we were in the same building, I wrote my number down on a piece of paper and slid it to him.

I apologized for always being too busy to 'hang out' with him and told him to call me sometime.

I was pretty sure he wouldn't call.

I think I was hoping he wouldn't.

He called two days later.




I picked up the phone and it was Flavio!

He called wanting to know if I could go out and I said YES.

He was SO stunned that he stammered and sputtered.
(he hadn't even planned a date...so sure I was going to say no.)

He asked me to go to a birthday party of one of HIS Brazilian friends, and said:

"Do you want to meet me there?"

I said, "Well, that would be great except I have no idea who your friend is, and you are asking me out so you probably should come and pick me up."

Poor Flav.



He came and picked me up later that evening. I kept looking out the window for some atrocious beater car. When a super sporty red car pulled in front of my house and Flavio got out, I was floored.

Say what?!

Home Run.



We went out.

Here is where I would like to tell you it was the most romantic date ever.

It wasn't.

It was horrible.

We spent the evening with 30 or so Brazilians who spoke only Portuguese.

Not the best first date for someone who only knows English.

He took me home that night and I vowed not to do that again.

He called me the next week.

I decided to give him ONE more chance.



I am so glad that I did.

Our second date was the best I have ever been on.

I knew that night that this man was going to be my eternal companion.

Really. I. Did.

Strange but true.

Nine months later we were married.

I was still 18.



It was the best decision I ever made.

I love you sweet 'Fabio'.

So thankful for you.

Nine years.

3 Kids. 1 Angel.

and a hope for a million more years together.

Happy Anniversary Love.

I NEED MORE!!!

e-mail me

and I will send you an address where you can send me copious amounts of
YOUR
pass along cards.

I assure you they will be going all over the country...and maybe even the world.

Huggs.

kimsueellen [at] gmail [dot] com

"The 'breastfast' of champions."

A story of weaning.

5 months

That is it. It is all I can do. It is the farthest I have gotten with any of my babies.

I feel kind of 'meh'.

I want my body back.

Selfish I know.

Part of it probably has something to do with the fact I am flying with my sweet baby in about two weeks, and I really, REALLY don't feel comfortable nursing while I sit in the middle of two complete strangers.

Really? I know teeth are coming and I am afraid.

Also? I am really fat.

Like, REALLY.

Like, I have never been so big in my ENTIRE life.

This makes me sad.

My body holds onto every gram of fat I put into it, like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter, my body thinks that it must not let any of it go for fear it can't produce enough milk for this little one.



Do I feel guilty? A tiny bit.

JUST a tiny bit.

(I feel more guilt about the day we pierced her ears...now that is a tragedy.)

I do know however that I am going to be a MUCH better mom when I am not so stressed about whether or not she is getting enough, or that I have to be home within three hours from the exact time I leave the house. A little excited that maybe I can sleep through the night one of these weekends when my husband doesn't work, as this sweet face STILL wakes up every three hours at night. I am a zombie.

Love this sweet tiny thing. She brings me so much joy. Thank you Millz for not making me feel guilty when I gave you that bottle of formula for the first time in your little life today.

Thank you for drinking it right down and
smiling
through it all.

Just what I needed, you are definitely a champ.

This is Familiar

The instant I held Millz in my arms for the first time,
she was familiar.



At first, I wasn't sure if it was because she looked so much like her brother and sister,
or if it was because
SHE herself was familiar.

Of course, it was because she was familiar.

The first few days and weeks that she was a part of our home, a part of our lives,
she brought an
air of familiarity
to our hearts.



This tiny girl was the reason, the push, the drive of the previous three years. She was the one standing behind the veil SCREAMING for us to not give up on her. It was her spirit begging for us to not give up hope for another child to come to our home. It was her. She wanted so badly to come to us...and when she was finally here, it was with the simple, sweet, enduring ways of a baby that I realized as her mother that I already knew her inside and out.

I KNEW HER.

She. Was. Familiar.



As I look back on the almost five months since she came to us, I am in awe of her spirit. Her happy face, and the sweet love that she has for us.

She was worth Every tear. Every heartache. Every loss.

Every. Single. One.

I would do it all again for her.

To my friends still 'waiting' or still 'finding' or still 'hoping'...
don't give up.

Your 'Familiar' is waiting, standing behind an unseen veil,
waiting and hoping just as hard as you are!

She is proof:

Ross the Intern and My Grandpa Jerry

I have forgotten the hilarity of Ross the Intern
when he crossed paths with my Grandpa Jerry a few years back.

It wasn't until some friends and I were discussing when

Ross met Danny,

the newest winner of The Biggest Loser on Tuesday night.
How that Ross had us in stitches.

My Grandpa Jerry, (my dad's stepdad) passed away a few years ago.

Go and enjoy the hilarity for yourself:

HERE

Is the last thing Jerry says to Ross not the funniest thing you have EVER heard?

I miss him. I know my brother misses him dearly.

What a treasure this video is.

Back to Work--

--ing Out.

I had about two weeks to work out hard between having Millz and before my surgery,
which put me out from almost no exercise for another six weeks.

It has been hard on me.

The last four months have just been one lazy, messy, day after another. Last week was the week when the red light turned to green, which meant I needed to get my lazy ars off of the couch...
(not that it spends much time there anyway with three little ones.)

So, Friday I started my exercise routine, three weeks before I start training for THIS.
(still waiting on word if I got in though, cross your fingers.)
It is not too late to get in on it too...sign up for the lottery...training starts Dec 27!
Get your super fab shirts here.

Anyway, today I tried the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred.

Holy Bananas.

I got this DVD for a STEAL only $10 on a Target sale (my fave store) and holy mother.

I hurt.

I never realized 20 minutes could hurt so good.

I think I just might be able to get back into this work--ing out thing again.

As for 'real' work?
Ya I've been doing that too.

Check it out here.

Huggs.

Fighting back the tears...

...of JOY.



So, yesterday was J-Man's FIRST official SEP.

Call it what you would like:
"Student Educational Plan"
"Parent Teacher Conference"

It is what it is.

Seeing how it was J-Man's first...that automatically means, it was also MY first (as a parent).

We got to the school, sat across from his teacher, and she just goes on and on at what a great boy J is.

How sweet he is.
How kind he is.
How SMART he is.
How helpful he is.
How loving he is.
How he helps her SO much.
How she rarely gives '5''s...but how he had almost ALL 5's

I did not doubt that he would be just as good at school as he is for me.
I had to try really hard to fight back the tears of joy that I felt for my little man.

He is a rock.

Upon leaving she told Jothan:

"Come around the table and give me a hug."

Which he did. She proceeded to whisper lots of things in his ear, finishing off with what I assume was the question:

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

He promptly replied:

"A missionary."

First on his list. I don't know where he gets it.
The tears spilled over.

I love this little man.
So proud of the person he is becoming.

Alien Names

****If you weren't aware, Hubbs originates from the land of Brazil.
He came to the United States just shy of age 18.
This is important information to have upon reading this post.
Enjoy.***

A few weeks back, we were all driving in the car as a family.

We are conversing about names and whose dad is "Grandpa Fur-Face", and what is
his REAL name, and what is Grandma's name, etc...etc.

So I begin to tell J-dawg and Memms:

"Well, my mom's name is Mary.
her Husband is Joseph.

My dad's name is Don.
his wife's name is Tisha.

Grandma Lorraine's name is Lorraine.

Get it?"

To which J-Man promptly replies:

"Wow! At least they aren't alien names."

Me: "Alien Names?! What do you mean?"

J-Man: "You know Alien Names like: Flavio, Zuleide and Claudio."

The names of his dad, grandma and grandpa.

What I will or will not admit is that maybe just maybe I think they sound a bit alien too.
Hubbs just broke out into sheer laughter.

Needless to say upon further discussion,
(according to him mind you)
J-Man will under
no circumstances
be passing
along ANY of these family names to his children.

Black Friday Deals in the Et-say!

custom initial necklace.
email me if you are interested in customization.

custom three name bar necklace with birthstones.

custom grandma brag bracelet.

from 12:01 am on friday, november 27th through 11:59 pm on saturday, december 5th we will be offering FREE SHIPPING to anyone living in the united states or canada.

consider it r holiday treat to you.

to browse our already made earrings, bracelets, necklaces and adoption shirts click HERE.

"Mom?"

"Did you just give Millz a bath?"

Me: "Ya sweetie, why?"

"'Cuz she smells like donuts."

Squish, squish, squish. I love him.

BTW Memms is guest posting today at the r house.

GO READ!

I ask a lot of you...

...but thanks to your help my friend 'Bec' made it through to the final round on the Good MOod Blog Contest!

PLEASE...take a few minutes to go and vote for her.

Vote here!

And if you have more than one browser, you can vote for her on all of them.

Thanks, you guys totally rawk!

I can be perfect at some things.

Hubbs and I often joke about perfection.

In our religion we believe we can be perfected and exalted in time.

A process that takes a really really long time
and a process that definitely won't happen here on Earth.

Part of this process is the Word of Wisdom...maybe you have heard of it.
Basically we don't smoke or drink alcohol, that kind of stuff.

Other things we have been asked to do, is not look at pornography, or watch R rated movies.

Also, keeping the sabbath day holy.

All of these things help us to grow closer to our Father in Heaven and leave behind the things of the world, that would take us away from our family.

So, as the joke goes with Hubbs and I,
ESPECIALLY when it comes to the R rated movie thing...is that:

"We can't be perfect at ALL things,
but we can be perfect at SOME things."

So when the temptation comes to watch that movie that looks just too good to pass up...we remember our small area of perfection.

One area we are striving to perfect is our
Family Home Evening.

Family Home Evening, or "FHE" as we call it, occurs on Monday nights in our house, and is basically what it sounds like, we spend the evening as a family. The Church suggests doing spiritual activities or creating family memories.

Let me preface by saying the last year has been full of ups and downs and I am not always perfect at planning FHE in advance. Oftentimes it really is planned 5 minutes before we are suppose to start it. Tee hee.

See...NOT perfect, but WORKING on being perfect.

So, last night was FHE. I had these little foam turkey kits that I had purchased awhile back...and so I decided that for Family Home Evening we would talk about Thanksgiving and why we celebrate it.

So I read a book, we talk, we ask questions, all the while making six little turkeys to give away to people the kids were thankful for.

So we jump in the car and proceed to drop off all of our little turkeys.

On the way home, little Memms says:

"Mom! I really like this Family Home Evening,
it is a FUN one, and not a BORING one."

My kids are hilarious, and oh so brutally honest.

A friend in need:

...the holidays are hard enough, and especially difficult when someone

you love is facing a very costly surgery.

My good friend Nakia is raising money for
her son's upcoming surgery.

Please visit her fundraising site to see if there is a
way you can help her.

She is making pies for Thanksgiving...nothing more delicious than Nakia's pies I tell you what!

The Rubied Apple

If you aren't into pies, she has lots of other beautiful things, like
this piece of art
from yours truly.

I Apologize

To my Hubbs.


I came across this orange gift bag a few weeks ago. It was in the Halloween decoration box, and I found it as I was trying to get my kids ready for the ward Halloween extravaganza.

At this same time I was just a week out of my surgery and feeling very emotional and drugged, so perhaps it all has something to do with it...

...but mostly I have finally grown up,
and I need to tell my sweet, sweet husband how sorry I am for so very many things.



I know you don't think that I care about the "little" things you do...or used to do or did or still do.

When I saw this bag I recalled with perfect clarity the day you brought it to me over nine years ago. It was filled with some of my favorite treats from that time period.

Nestle Treasures.
(Which is no longer around, they go by another weird and random name now.)

I recall oftentimes receiving gifts such as these, or notes, or flowers, and at the time I didn't appreciate them as much as I should have.

Part of me was embarrassed, or part of me felt extremely unworthy of love or adoration from anyone,
especially from you.

I loved every moment of these thoughtful things, and looking back I really wish I would have done more to let you know how much I loved and appreciated them, how much I wish I would have showed you that I deserved them.



This one especially chokes me up when I read it:





'Cuz I didn't, and I haven't...not until now...almost ten years later.
I finally see it.

I can finally feel comfortable enough with myself
to realize how lucky and blessed and deserving I am of such a
wonderful and loving husband.

I kept waiting for you to go away
like so many things in my life did while I was growing up...
I did what I always did to the good things
in my life that didn't last.

I pushed them away.

Thank you for not leaving.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

I am sorry.

Sorry for being a spoiled brat at times,
and a beastly 'b' at others.
(WAY, way, way! more often than not.)



Thanks for loving me enough to buy me this black coat a year after we got married.
I love it so much and still have it, I can't part with it.
I just remember how excited we were to buy it...and how shocked I was that you did buy it.

And it was to make ME look good.
I am selfish like that.

I am a lucky girl.

So sad I haven't fully realized it...until now.



Thanks for taking me on horrid four hour 'whale watching' extravaganzas in Rhode Island.
Thank you for letting me see Autumn back east.
I still dream of it often and want to run back there with you someday.



Thank you for letting me start fights at someone's wedding service when I hear them talking trash about my husband's culture.



Thank you for loving me through horrible flat hair and too much makeup,
even when I thought I looked fabulous.

You are right, I look pretty no matter what,
and really I am not all that much fatter than when we got married.

I am sorry I haven't realized this until now.

I am sorry I haven't taken the time to appreciate who I was inside,
thank you for appreciating who I was regardless.



Thank you for loving me enough to let me fly.
For letting me have my many hobbies and crazy times to remain sane...
even when it costs you lots and lots of money in the process.

Each thing has allowed me to grow and develop as a person, physically, and spiritually.
You are always there for me.
Every. Day.

I am sorry I complained for so long and only
focused on the times
you weren't there
because you couldn't be.
(Because you were usually working to pay off the debt I got us into.)



I am especially sorry that I taught you too much English.

I miss your accent and your misspelling of words.

I miss making these little cards for you.



Thank you for this.

Thank you for helping me to become who I am today.
I love you more each and every day.

You are my everything.

Love you forever.

I mean that.

They're done! Go and see and buy! Toooooo Cute!

we finally have all our childrens clothing available in the shop.

Come see me IRL...and get some Christmas shopping done!

click to enlarge.

we will be at pistol pete's mexican grill on saturday ready to handstamp whatever you would like. come and grab a quisadilla (random that it's at a mexican grill, right? lol!) and bring your christmas shopping list. we are all stocked up and ready to create.

p.s. the kiddie shirts and running shirts will be there too.

see you there ...right?

Death. Bed. (Surgery blows and other such nonsense.)

Hi.

Sorry I have been gone.
Mostly I have been sleeping, interspersed occasionally with bouts of work
I probably shouldn't have been doing.
(Got reprimanded on Friday. Awesome.)

I am on the mend.
It will be three weeks tomorrow, and all being told, I am feeling better day by day.

The lovely Leisha came with mrs. r to comfort me and to bring me goodies that I couldn't eat. (bless them) Leisha also brought with her a camera. Gotta love that camera.
Proof of my awesomeness.

Here is a picture of me after puking my brains out in front of another human being
(something I try to avoid).

The IV which inevitably turns into a bruise the size of Rhode Island (I still have one from when I had Millz.)

I like to call this one, "To avoid blood clots".
Which won out highly over, "I feel like my grandmother."



mrs. r gives me an arm massage as I drift in and out of dilirium.



So, anyway, back to the surgery. I was in the hospital for about two days, I went home early because I wanted the catheter out and to be off of the O2 and to eat human food.
(a decision I kind of regretted later...)

We got to the hospital at 8.

I signed in on a little kiosk just like at the airport self check-in. Then they gave me a pager like you get at restaurants. You know the kind that buzz when your table is ready.

I wasn't sure what to think.
As mrs. r put it, it was like battle of the 80's awesomeness between pagers and hairnets.

Not sure which was the cooler part of the day.

It seems on days I look my ugliest, I get the cutest of nurses and or doctors caring for me. There was a pretty cute nurse-in-training tagging along before the surgery...
eye candy is always nice when you are about to go under.

(Don't worry Hubbs was there with me, and I inform him when I find someone attractive.)
Please note I find Hubbs very attractive.
A post for another day.

As they wheeled me into surgery the last thing I remember was some old male nurse asking to
"trade your pants for a warm blanket."
Hmm.

That was around 9:00 a.m. The next time I can adequately recall remembering my eyes functioning and working with my brain was around 2:00 p.m.

I was so worried I wouldn't be able to see any of my kids for three days...especially little Millz who is still breastfeeding.

My doctor is awesome.

After much persuasion and going up the chain of authority, he claims he finally talked to Obama and he gave the okay to have Millz come into the hospital.

He said it had something to do with health care reform and trying to get a higher rating as prez.
(Meh.)

It was nice however to have her come in later that night to be with me for awhile, it wasn't without a fight. In my drunken state of anesthesia and morphine to the spine I can recall some hobbit type looking nurse with really short arms trying to convince me that my baby would die of "Swine Flu" if we brought her in...lol.

Then the really cool OBGYN...who is almost ready to have her own practice (love her if ya'll need a referral in a few years) came in and I told her how un-accomodating everyone was being...and she put the smack down, saying "Your doctor has it HUGE on your chart that you are a new mom and that your baby has the okay to be here!"
(empowered...I obliged and loved and cuddled my baby.)

The surgery went well. I had my post op last week and things are looking good.

Benign.

That is ALWAYS a good word in my opinion.

The surgery went really well, they were able to keep most of my ovary.

So another four weeks of recovery before I am released back to my full schedule of motherly, wifely, and photographer duties...and all will be well.

How am I feeling?

TIRED

What was it like?

Like having a c-section three months after having a baby.
(or so I am told by my doctor)

Thank you so much for all of your thoughts, prayers, flowers, cards, food and love sent our way.

We needed it.

I needed it.

(Hopefully my posts will make more sense after my recovery...still feeling grade-a dopey!)

Baby 'Grande' and Toes are WAY more exciting than me.

When J-dawg was a little tiny man, he got this baby doll for Christmas.
(Incidentally she is like half the price now...geez.)

My hope in getting him his own little doll (and I am obviously using that term loosely) was to prepare him for the eventuality of a little brother or sister one day, hoping that it would ease the transition.

The problem? The first words out of his mouth the instant he held it were, and I quote:

"Ooooooh! Bebe muito grande!"

(said like gah-ran-jee)

Basically my tiny boy was telling me that this doll was TOO freaking huge for him to handle,
it was seriously SOOOO big!

So, the name stuck.
To this very day, having been played with by J-dawg, and Memms, and one day soon, Millz...this doll is still called,

"Baby Grande".

Meet Baby Grande...
who may or may not have once been a "boy" to ease Hubbs into the idea of his son having a doll...and who somehow has blossomed into a yellow polka dot wearing baby girl.
Who knew?

Note Millz with Baby Grande just this week.
Please consider that Millz is now three months old:

Hilariousness.

Do you see Millie in that last picture?
My other dilemma.

She is in LOVE with her feet.

She just discovered them.

While I dearly love her in every way possible,
as a mother, it is hard for me to accept that she no longer wants to look at my face,
and as a photographer she no longer eagerly looks at my camera either.

Instead she would rather look at her toes.
Another sign that she is getting bigger.
Pause while I shed a tear.

Just don't tell her that I love her toes as much as she does,
if. not. more.