1 toffee creme coffee
2 times the entire shopping cart of golf balls was pushed over = 2 times my sanity was pushed over
2 dog shadoobies in the laundry room
4 hours and counting of Nickelodeon
5 loads of laundry finito (!)
56 times I bent over and put the balls back into the ball pit
1 time I said to the baby as she was hugging two of the ball pit balls,
"oh, give the balls sweet love!"

0 times that will ever happen again.

P.S. no milk throwdowns today. it's a record. but i'm too exhausted to celebrate


12 thousand bugs in my car
10 cars at starbucks drive-thru
27 milk throwdowns*
3 chapters read
34 million "can you say 'Miss Kelly???'" 's uttered
13 grounded** lima beans

*a time of irritation in which a toddler chunks their choice of item (typically a sippy-cupped beverage) to the ground

**grounded- another term used to describe something that has survived a throwdown

POST-EDIT- P.S. I would not be described as grounded, because I did not survive that throwdown. goodbye forever.


this is me and my sister on my birthday just last week.

did you know i had a birthday?

i did.

i'm off to go lie about my age now.


It's been a long time since we've talked about the ole' ball and chain.
Also known as ocd.
I don't like to capitalize the acronym because I think it gives too much power to something already pretty mighty.
I do think we should give power to things like COOKIES. or CAKE. or MAGAZINES.
Who's with me?

I've got this theory. That ocd is a mood chaser.
Whenever it senses that things are going good, it rubs its little hands together and grins that creepy little grin and you can see the wheel start a churnin' in his head.
I always imagine this little bratty blob romping around my third floor apartment and grabbing all the things of significance in my life and tossing them out the window. First the television, with images of traveling the globe. Then my scrapbooks filled with photos of all the wee babes and families that I love. And then the books. Oh those meticulously color organized books filling up the study from floor to ceiling. All the while I just lay there on the couch pleading with blobby to please just put it down! Not that one! It's so special to me. I NEED it! But alas, to no avail. He just tosses it like a cotton ball and leans down into the window until he hears that earsplitting crash, which he masks with his little evil laugh.

I'm sure there's a technical term for this devolution of happy times, some term therapists whip out like its just your ordinary average phrase. Not a term for that weird blobby rant I just went off on. Though, I'm sure there's an equally enlightening term for that. Like "crazy" or "frightening" or possibly even "medication".
I found out through twitter that Pete Wilson: blogger over at WithoutWax, Pastor of Cross Point Church in Nashville, and author of recently published "Plan B" would be speaking here in my own stomping grounds.

And I knew that it was pertinent that I go hear him. Mostly, to soak in all the glory goodness I knew he was going to spew out.
But also to see that hair in person.

And maybe to touch that hair and report back to you the stiffness to softness ratio. Or maybe that's just insane.

Anyway, it was phenomenal. He spoke these words:

"God is most powerfully present even when he seems apparently absent"
and that in these times we should place our faith in his identity, and not his activity.

So next time Mr. Blobby is going all ape in my apartment. I think I'm just going to stuff two pillows on both sides of my head, start screaming la-la-la-la with my eyes closed and know that its God's identity which will prevail, much longer than Mr. Blobby. He'll run out of steam far before God's identity.

*** and his hair feels.... well... I'll just leave that to your imagination.

ode to you

dear most unflattering dress in the universe,

our time together is over.

i've never been happier.

actually now you are in a messy ball on the floor of my closet and every time I walk in there I step all over you. And that makes me the happiest.

goodbye forever,

michael "zoey" phelps

Zoey spent the day with me on Wednesday and had a blast, especially with all my sisters golf medals.

she is so special to me.

i love you, woooey.

and ashley, you too!


everytime someone close to me gets married, i buy myself a huge present and pretend someone gave it to me at my shower.

Hello, new bedding!

things i'm a sucker for...

anything under a glass domed cake stand

people who look you in the eye when they smile

cosmetic superstores

people who let drivers get in front of them in traffic

someone who makes a mean cup of coffee

biblical references

little kids in adult sized clothing

my buddy

there's a dead bug just a few feet away from me, that i killed several days ago.

let's just call him Lazarus because ever since then he's shown up in various places throughout the house, belly up.

but he's so huge that I can't bear the thought of having to touch him to throw him out.

so i guess for now, we're together.

** dear PETA, please don't freak**

below sea level

there was this one time a few years ago that i was very much infatuated with a boy. 

so in love that at one point, when he was sitting in front of me and he left his coat on his chair...

i leaned over and smelled it. 

it was a nice long whiff. 

and now thinking back, this has got to be my lowest point.

i'm really glad to get this off my chest. 


starbucks boy said yes. 

yes, he would be my date for the event. and he would be so happy about it. 

(or at least that's the insinuation that i concluded)

then he texted me and said that he couldn't make it. 

three hours before he was coming to pick me up. 

i've never felt more embarrassed in all my life. 

the embarrassment actually killed me. 

please visit my gravesite. 

hyacinths are my favorite. i mean, they were my favorite. 


i walked outside to get my mail. 

my 70-something-year-old neighbor flagged me down, asking me questions and pretending she couldn't hear me so that I would have to walk across the street and talk to her. 

[i promise, she does this. it's fake, i know it. I know she can hear me, i've caught her]

this time, after she went through the same 4 stories she always tells me, she also told me about how her ex-husband, whom she lives with and her ex-sister-in-law, who also lives with her (and yes, she refers to her as "my ex-sister-in-law") were laughing around the breakfast table because Miss Audrey fell off her toilet this morning.

She was wearing a bathing suit trying to go to the bathroom. As girls, you know how difficult this can be, and then she sat down on the toilet, and you know how slippery those silky suits are, and she just fell off. 

While trying to fix her hair, because she has a mirror directly facing her toilet, just for that reason. And she brought the mirror crashing down with her. 

So there she laid, on the floor, in a bathing suit, her hair awry, shards of mirror glass all around her, her dogs rushing to her side- licking her face trying to help, all to call out to her ex-husband of several decades to come pick her up off the ground. 

And I thought I had a bad day? 

{Also, Miss Audrey and I reached a new level of friendship with this descriptive story. I don't know how to feel about it]


today in the car, one of the kids asked me what a soul is. 

i really don't know how to answer that. 

luckily, before i could answer, she found a goldfish in her booster seat and instead cracked up that a goldfish was in her seat. 

i however ceased the find the humor in this, since her belief that a booster seat also serves the purpose of disposable trash can really brings out my gag reflex. 

after she yelled at me at least 4 times to turn around and look at this great treasure of a cracker that was found she then sighed and said "Miss Kelly, what's a rib?". 

the questions. 
they never stop. 


I asked my barista to be my date for a charity function that I was invited to. And I'm not quite sure, but I think that I was denied. By a barista. Awesome. 

Who's the charity case now?

[i use the term "my barista" very lightly]


today i was at a doctor's office with the boys. 

the woman who works behind the front desk came into the waiting room and started doing the chicken dance. 

after it was done, there was complete silence. 

until someone said, "do it again!"


catnapper restored!

Here's the real picture of the soul-warming catnapper.

I guess that's what I get for blogging on the job.

a new chair

a conversation i just had with the seven year old.

me: when you're talking with your dad on the phone be sure to talk slow and clearly.

him: "yersrh yei no yei no no"

which i think translates to "yes, i know i know." but i'm not sure.

one day i'll learn that telling him that is completely pointless.

also i just bought this recliner for my living room, and i've never been more excited. plus its called a 'catnapper' and that made me so happy i practically skipped out of the store.

hey there Rodrigo

you know who that is?

probably not.

but that's okay. because i'll tell you.

it's Van Morrison, voice of the ever popular "Brown-Eyed Girl".

this song tends to hold a tender place in many female chocolate coloured iris' hearts.

but for me not, so much.

maybe because i've got oceans for eyes, or maybe its just because i always thought brown eyes were everywhere. so what was special about them? dominant traits are hardly ever dreamed about.

but also, because i could never figure out why the first line was talking about some chap named Rodrigo.

I figured it out now.

And I think i might like the song now.

Now I need to go figure out why the your baby can read infomercial keeps coming on the television. and better yet, why i want to order it every time.

i don't even have a baby.

sunday movies[revealed]

I grabbed my cute friend Kelsey
and we booked it downtown for a Sunday night evening showing of "An Education"

*FYI no one goes to the movies on Sunday's, did you know that? I didn't know that.

When we approached the window to buy our tickets, we were interestingly informed that the theatre we were placed in did not have a working heater, and that the temperature of the room was a squelching 40 degrees.

I figured out why no one goes to the movies on Sunday's.