Welcome to My Virtual Mailbox

Merry Christmas, Internet!

Have you been sprinting to your mailbox every. single. day. to check for my family Christmas card? You know, the one containing an adorable family portrait.

Yeah. Slow down and stop sprinting. It ain't comin'.

Because, we're being eco-friendly this year!

And, by eco-friendly, I mean ecoNOMICALLY-friendly.

So, Internet, here's your Christmas card:

Photo courtesy of the very patient Uncle Bradley Ortloff.

And really, isn't this better than the mailbox?

Because: No sprinting required.

And the Medal for "Best Aunt Ever" Goes to...

Internet, this woman...

kept these children...

on Saturday evening while Dave and I attended a cocktail party.

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That woman up there in that picture loves those children in that other picture. But. But she abhors all things icky. Like poop. And vomit. And did I mention poop?

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Which is just gives more evidence to the fact that she loves those children. Because with children - especially the ones wearing diapers - comes the inevitable run-in with poop. Or, heaven forbid, vomit.

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Yet she came here on Saturday and stayed here ALONE with my little poop machines.

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And everyone came out alive.

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In the midst of everything else going on in our lives, it was such a treat for us to leave this house and go be with grown-ups. Wearing grown-up clothes. Eating grown-up food. Talking about grown-up things.

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Thank you Aunt Susie. We are so grateful.

A Snippit

Oh what shall I tell you about the weekend? So much to say. Yet, the writing just isn't coming tonight. The words I need just aren't big enough.

I'll start by saying: We are So Fortunate.

This whole Losing Our Income Disaster has served to remind us that we're strong. Individually. As a couple. As a family.

Also, it has shown us that we're cheap. Yes! You heard me! We are total cheapskates.

Frankly, we've always been cheap. Even when we had an income. But in times of budgetary crisis, Being Cheap comes in quite handy.

For instance, I gave Paige her first haircut this weekend.

No wait! Don't act so shocked! The typical child's haircut is 10 or 15 dollars. That's expensive! I figured Paige would rather eat than have a professional stylist.

So. SO! I found a video tutorial on youtube.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Internet taught me how to cut hair.

Need proof?

Behold:

Mommy, why are you watching youtube?

Eating is overrated. I want a professional stylist.

I look maaaaaahvelous, darling. And now I can eat!

I grew these curls myself, you know.

I cut about an inch off the back. Not much, but enough that she no longer has an Achy Breaky Mullet.

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So: Success!

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Stay tuned for more on our weekend. Including details of the fabulous cocktail party we attended on Saturday night. And! Aunt Susie kept my kids so that we could stay out AFTER TEN PM.

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I know. We're crazy like that.

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Also, Aunt Susie deserves a medal. Or at least a cocktail.

Military Precision

Internet, there's just nothin' in the world better to pull a girl out of a funk than the Pre-K Christmas program.

Oh my.

Seeing all those 4 and 5 year olds up there on stage. All shined up in their Christmas best. Smiling ear to ear and waving furiously at their mommies and daddies and grammas and granmpas.

Well, it just gives me hope for humanity is all.

'Course, the program also tends to make me hot. And kind of itchy.

But that's because of the enormous crowds of parents and grandparents waiting to view their little dumplin's. All those folks crammed into an extremely small space can really heat up a joint. And I never remember to dress in layers. So, there I was, all snuggled into my warmest sweater and sweatin' like a pig. Well, except, technically I don't think pigs can sweat.

Where was I? Oh right, Hope for Humanity.

The first order of business this morning was to dress William in his Christmas outfit. Would you just look at him?

Good gracious. A plaid tie on a 5 year old. Have you ever in your life seen anything more adorable?

Then we got Paige all dolled up in a Christmas theme sweater.



Which is oddly cute when you're 18 months old. But please, if you're a grownup, let's agree to put your Christmas theme sweater into storage, m'kay? Trust me here, I know what I'm talking about.

Next, we jammed the children into the car a full half hour before we were supposed to report for "duty". We learned last year to get there early - very early - to get a seat.

And we learned something new this year.

Why am I on the floor in my Christmas theme sweater?

Getting there a half hour early still doesn't ensure a seat. It was standing room only a full half hour before the program.

Which would have been fine (as I wore comfortable footwear), except I have a wriggly, squirmy, HEAVY toddler who would very much like to personally greet each and every one of the parents in the auditorium.

Let's just say that 30 minute wait crawled by.

By the time the program began I'd been there roughly 16 years.

Oh but then they marched those kids out on stage.

And there was William. Front row. Center.

I was so proud I burst into a million tiny mommy pieces right there.

But then something happened.While the teachers were passing out instruments (hand bells and wooden sticks), William carefully shaped his fingers into a gun and began SHOOTING THE AUDIENCE.

WHILE MAKING MACHINE GUN NOISES.

Loud machine gun noises.And I died. Dead. Right there in the elementary school auditorium.

Folks, Oprah would call this a "Full Circle Moment". And here's why: 9 years ago my nephew was in a wedding. I think he was two. He could've been 3. I don't know. Point is, he was the ring-bearer in a wedding and he marched himself up to the front of that church and proceeded to "shoot" everyone with his pretend Buzz Lightyear laser beam. During the wedding.

And that day - 9 years ago - my sister in law (his mother) died. Dead. Right there in that church.

And when she came to, she saw me and my husband snickering. And laughing. And hooting. And I believe she said a little prayer right then. She asked God to please, someday, pay us back for this moment.

And today Jesus answered her prayer.

If that doesn't give you faith in God, I just don't know what will.

The Green Mist

Reality found us today.

And it punched us square in the face.

Dave and I have done our best for 9 days to keep our chins up. To take action. To make plans and backup plans and backup plans for the backup plans.

And until today The Planning and The Action was working. We knew The Bad was out there, but we were fighting against it.

Oh, don't get me wrong, occasionally a fearful, hopeless thought would sneak in. But today The Bad came creeping in like a green mist. Under the doors. Through the cracks under the windows. It curled around our feet and between our toes, and it swirled around our hearts and took hold.

And just like that: we were hopeless.

Dave did better than I did. He got up. He got dressed. He shaved. He had conversations with grownups.

I, on the other hand, am still in my pajamas. Have been all day.

Other than the obvious unemployment issues, I blame all this sadness on the cold weather. That and cold symptoms. My entire family has been sick for going-on 3 weeks. Everyone is coughing. And everyone is cold. We're cold with a cold.

It makes for a bad combination.

So this evening I hauled myself up to the urgent care doc and loaded up on prescriptions. I'm sick of coughing. And hacking. And sniffling.

But mostly I'm just sick of complaining.

Tomorrow will be better. I know it will. I have so much to be thankful for.

Like steroids. And cough syrup.

All the Perks of Childbirth

With none of the pesky labor.

Internet, I had a meal delivered to me today! A meal!

And here I thought folks only delivered meals to new mothers and widows. Not so!

Apparently, my friends also bring meals to the unemployed.

Isn't that just awesome?

Because nothin' says lovin' like sumpthin' from the oven.

Today, my friend Theresa arrived for our weekly playdate with soup. And not just any soup. Toasty warm tomato basil soup. And sourdough bread for dipping.

I want you to know, when she arrived at FOUR PM , I sat right there and scarfed down a whole bowl right in front of her face. Clearly unemployment has stripped me of all manners..

Or maybe I was just really hungry. Either way, bad manners.

Don't you just know she's gonna tell everyone Those Ortloffs are starvin' slap to death over there!

And I hope she does. Because, dang, that was Goooooood Soup. I wanted to eat a whole bunch more, my daddy always said he never got full, he just got ashamed and quit.

And while we chatted and ate and ate some more, our precious boy children entertained themselves in my playroom mostly by creating elaborate scenarios involving trains. Don't ask. Because we sure didn't. They were happy, that's all that counts right? Plus. PLUS! They weren't asking for any of the delicious soup. And heaven forbid I have to share.

I want to thank Theresa for the best bowl of tomato basil soup I've ever eaten and for being the kind of person who Must Do SOMETHING when your friend is in need. Even if it's just hot soup on a cold day.

Because, you know what? I DID need that soup. And you. And that sweet boy.

So you done good sister. And I am so grateful. Not only for rhe soup, but for your listening ear.

Thank you.

Gulliver's Travels

How big is Paigey?

Sooooooo big!

I took Paige to her 18 month checkup today.

When we arrived at the doctor's office, the nurse did the normal weighing and measuring routine.

Then she did it again.

Then she came back in and measured her A THIRD TIME.

Why?

Because my barely 18 month old child is 36" tall.

Did you hear me Internet? She's been alive for a year and a half and she's THREE FEET TALL.

I am enormous!

This information came as sort of a relief for me. I've been wondering lately how it is that Paige seems to be outgrowing her crib.

But how can that BE? She's only 18 months old.

It's getting crowded in here, Momma!

On the standardized growth chart, the doctor estimates Paige is at the 130th percentile for height.

Oh, and did I mention she's 29lbs buck nekkid?

Wow. That's really big.

I'm left wondering if she'll ever be able to date. Won't she be taller than all the boys in her class?

Of course, if she inherits my chubby thighs, she'll be glad she has a few extra inches on her.