Tonight Jonas will be attending our church Harvest Festival dressed as Peter Pan. Maggie will be dressed as Tinkerbell, and so I, in a moment that can only be explained by saying that I am a recovering overachiever, thought that Chris and I would dress up as Neverland characters as well.

My mom sent me my little brother’s Peter Pan costume (still have to bring myself to go make the alterations so it will fit Jonas) and also sent my old Sacajawea costume. I wore this costume in fourth grade when I had to give a report on a historical figure. It was lose and the fringe went nearly to my ankles. I was adorable. I wore it again when I was a senior in high school and needed a quick costume for the costume dance. It hugged all of my curves, and the fringe arced dangerously up my thighs. I was one HOT Native American Princess.

So, in my zeal, I explained to my mom over the phone that I was going to get even more mileage out of the costume by going as Tiger Lily. There was silence on the other side of the line.
“Mom?”
“You’re going to wear it?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with. . .Oh my heck! I GOT FAT!”

Ok, so I’m not fat. But we are talking about a twenty-five pound weight gain between my tiny “high school senior taking that flat stomach for granted” self and the “I’ve had two kids and my hips are now eight miles wide” body I’m now living in. Actually, since I packed on an instant ten pounds when I miscarried a few weeks ago, I am the heaviest that I have ever been without being pregnant and I hate it.

Do I have any intention of dieting? Not really. Should I? Yeah, probably. But tonight, I’m just going to go to the party as myself. . .and eat candy.

Last night I went to bed at eight pm. I did this because I was starting to feel really cranky and achey and I was hoping that a few extra hours of sleep would level things out for me, and I could go back to pretending that I was so totally kicking Fibromyalgia’s butt with my positive thinking and mad physical therapy skills.

As reality would have it, I had been having some very good days. The pain was minimal and localized. The crankiness, while apparent, wasn’t the kind that made me want to go pull my covers over my head and die. I could push through the level of exhaustion I was at, because it wasn’t all that bad. I’m not saying I felt great, but I was feeling average to decent symptoms, and I can live with those. In other words, I wasn’t kicking anybody’s butt, as I liked to think, I was merely enjoying a small respite while Fibromyalgia was off getting her nails done and her coochie waxed.

I can only assume that the waxing didn’t go well, because when I woke up this morning she was back, clearly skeeved, and going to take it out on me. It hurt to open my eyes. It hurt to lay very still. It hurt to put my socks on. It hurt to change Maggie’s diaper. It took me three tries to clean the kitchen, because I NEEDED A FREAKING BREAK between the crumbs and the dishes because it HURT to wipe up bits of yesterday’s dinner that I left on the counter because I went to bed early hoping to avoid this exact scenario. I didn’t even shower because showering requires effort and the thought of the streams of water hitting my back made me cringe.

So today: Over before it began.

Several months ago I sent a package of fabric to my gramma to make a quilt.

She just sent it back to me- isn’t it gorgeous? I am in love!

I thought I had a pretty solid idea of how the quilt would look, seeing as how I chose the material and Gramma sent me a block before she put them all together, but I was so unprepared for how gorgeous it was going to be finished and quilted. I opened the box and just kept saying, “Oh! Oh! Ohhh! Ohhhhh!”

Chris looked at me as if I had lost it and asked, “Are you going to have an orgasm over a quilt?”

“Yes, I just might!”

So there you go- my orgasmically stunning quilt! Made by my Gramma, who is better than your Gramma (unless of course you are my cousin reading this (Hi!) then you know we share in the coolness of the world’s best Gramma ever).

In the midst off all of my many, many doctor appointments, we found time to do a little allergy testing. The news was not good. I am allergic to every grass God ever planted. I am allergic to dust, which explains why I get sick every time I clean. I am allergic to my cats! And of all of the things they tested me for, what came back as the most severe allergy? Oh the cats, yup- they so won. 2007 gets yet another vote for suckiest year EVER.

So that sucks. I admit, I did see it coming, I was tipped off by the urge to tear my eyeballs out of their sockets every time I loved on Lissy or Gus, and then having a sneezing fit, and waking up wheezing after Gus slept on my pillow all night.

Because I have gone in to anaphylactic shock twice in the past year with no concrete reason why, we have to assume that I have a threshold for how much dander, pollen, dust, nuts, etc I can take at one time. And when that threshold is reached, my throat closes. Score! Fun times.

The responsible thing to do would be to get rid of both cats, tear up all of my carpeting (ha, wouldn’t military housing love that!), and breathe through a filtered mask until I can move to a place where allergies can be seasonal, California not included since it lacks the ability to have actual seasons.

The allergist is going to help me find some more realistic ways of dealing with things, which will probably include a new medication. The Claritan isn’t cutting it. However, I have to wait for two more weeks to make that appointment because they sent out several blood tests to determine which foods I can eat and by which insects I can safely be stung. I am waiting for the results before we create a plan of attack, since some of these allergies can really alter the situation.

I did bite the bullet and return Gus to the rescue because I really needed to reduce the allergens somehow. I feel like a total jerk, but my health? It’s kind of important. The ability to breath? More than a fleeting hobby.

The good news is that we got Gus from a rescue that has a lifetime commitment to their cats, so I know he is safe, and he will be extremely well looked after until they find him a new family. When I brought him back, Gus immediately picked a up a girlfriend, and this shocked the rescue owners because this tiny lady kitty didn’t usually take to other cats, but the minute she saw my sexy silver smoke, she jumped right in the kennel with him to love him up. That made me feel good. Plus, the people at the rescue welcomed him with open arms, oohing and ahhing over how completely gorgeous he was and how much they liked him, and remembered him from before.

Despite all of this, it wasn’t an easy choice to make. I cried over it for a week, and when I went to drop him off, I pulled up and just sat there in the car sobbing until the nice rescue people came out and got me. They said most people return cats are kind of “Here. Take him.” Then they zoom away, so having someone who really hated what she had to do was a little different. I felt a like a boob crying getting all snotty and emotional, but at least I was with people who got it and who understood.

Chris was bummed. Gus was more his cat than mine. But Lissy was here first and since she showed up starving after being dumped by her previous owners, she has no place to go. That and I owe this cat. She was with me through one of the worst periods of my life. I know God has a lot of angels, and some of them are in cat form. She didn’t show up at my door because she needed me; she showed up because I needed her. So I owe her, and I’m going to do everything I can to hold on to her. And, even though it makes me a little sad to admit it, Lissy shows no remorse at all over being a single cat again. She is back to her overly affectionate self and loves that all the food is hers and hers alone. I’m sure she is also loving the fact that I am feeling so guilty I’m spoiling the only cat I have left rotten, buying the really fancy cat food.

I am planning on trying allergy shots and checking into air filters. I’m doing the obvious things like keeping my bedroom cat free. I’m trying not to go outside too much until we can get me on a better drug for the grass. I am totally open to suggestions for how to manage this. My favorite one would be to hire a cleaning lady, but cleaning ladies? They like to be paid.

Hey people! The Scrapbook Nook has teamed up with Basic Grey to offer an awesome mini album kit- and each kit that is sold will benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation! Now, Basic Grey has created a class based on the kit. It is a darling date book, very simple to make. But, because I can’t leave well enough alone, and I’m big on offering choices to the people who buy kits from our site, I’ve done my own Baby’s 1st Year class- and I’m offering it right here for all of you. Please, please buy this kit if you can swing it!

You get:
1 bracket album
1 package of magnetic buckles
1 set of ribbons
1 6x6 Lily kate paper pad
1 set of rub ons
1 huge set of alphabet stickers and
1 set of die cut letters!

It is $40 worth of goodies for a very good cause plus, you get it for $37, so you save a little too.

Baby’s First Year Book: By Leah Killian

Overview:

You will require all of the supplies that come in our Kit for the Cure, less the rubons.
It is also advisable to use an emory board, sanding block, or other strong distressing tool for your edges. You will need 6 of the chipboard book pieces.

All edges will be distressed- so I will not make that distinction in further instructions.

All measurements are in inches.

Page 1:

1. Cover the page with the bamboo paper.
2. Cut a piece of the Vanilla to 3 ½ x 5 ½ inches, lay it over the bamboo, slightly above center, and hanging off of the right side.
3. Use three different ribbons to create a tiered effect from the right side.
4. Adhere the number one die cut over the ribbons using a pop dot.

Page 2:

1. Cover the page with Apple Blossoms paper.
2. Cut a mat from the Posey paper 5 1/8 x 4 3/8
3. Cut another mat out of the Chenille paper that is slightly smaller at 4 1/4 x 5 inches.
4. Adhere the mats to each other and then to your base, slightly above center
5. Run a length of ribbon across the bottom of the mat
6. Use the brown letter stickers to write “two” on the mat.
Also: I have inked this page in brown ink, in case you would prefer to ink rather than distress. Here you can see what that would look like.

Page 3:

1. Cover the page with Pansy paper.
2. Cut a mat from the Vanilla at 4 ½ x 4 7/8 - adhere (centered on the page) with pop dots.
3. Cut or punch three flowers using the Posey, Celery & Twinkle papers.
4. Cut three stems from the Chocolate paper.
5. Assemble and adhere 3 flowers on the right side of the page.
6. Center a #3 letter sticker on th e tallest flower.

Page 4:

1. Cover the page in Parasol paper.
2. Cut 1 3/4 inches of the Posey paper and put in across the bottom of the page.
3. Cut a mat out of the Twinkle paper (3 7/8 x 4 3/4)- adhere with pop dots.
4. Use the large letter stickers to spell “FOUR” Across the bottom of the mat.
5. Run a length of rick-rack the full length of the page where the Posey meets the Parasol

Page 5:

1. Cover the page in Queen Ann paper
2. Cut a 4x4 mat from the Chocolate and adhere to the left of the page.
3. Take the soar paper and cut it 1 3/4 x 6 inches, be careful to not cut off the bird portion of the paper. Cut around the bird so it sticks out from the paper.
4. Adhere this strip to the right side of the page.
5. Run the blue ribbon down the length of this strip, underneath the bird.
6. Secure the bird’s head and wing with a pop dot.
7. The small square on the right side is for journaling. Cut it however large you need it for what you want to say.

Page 6:

1. Cut strips of the following a line them up Neopolitan Ice Cream Style: Posey (6 x 2 ½), Vanilla ( 6 x 3/4), Chocolate (6 x 3).
2. Run a length of ribbon between the Vanilla and Chocolate.
3. Free hand cut out a large heart from the Chenille paper. You can trace the design first or fold the paper in half as if you were making a grade school Valentine. It is ok to fold it because you will be distressing it.
4. Adhere the die cut #6 in the lower right hand corner.

Page 7:

1. Cover the page in Mia paper.
2. Cut a mat from the Rain paper 5 ½ x 4.
3. Adhere mat centered, going off of the left side of the page.
4. Run a strip of ribbon across the bottom of the mat.
5. Use the green letter stickers to spell “seven”.

Page 8:

1. Cover the page in Wisteria paper.
2. Cut Celery paper 6 x 3 1/4 - run it through the center of the page.
3. Frame the edges of the Celery paper with the blue velvet ribbon.
4. Cut a flower from the Mia paper, have it growing out of the lower blue ribbon.
5. Adhere the word “eight” in letter stickers across the ribbon and over the flower.

Page 9:

1. Cut a strip of Bamboo and Chocolate paper 6 x 3 inches. Cover the page Bamboo on top.
2. Cut Mat from Posey paper at 3 1/4 x 4 inches.
3 Adhere the mat centered to the right of the page.
4. Use green letter stickers to spell the word “nine” at the top of the Chocolate paper.

Page 10:

1. This page’s base is created using scraps. Cut several scraps into different sized rectangles. Adhere one off center and build off of that added other pieces of paper until you over lap the edge and can trim it to fit the design. Toward the end you will probably have to trim one or two to create a perfect fit.

2. Cut a mat from Celery paper 4 ½ x 3 ½ . Adhere with pop dots.
3. Run a length of ribbon down the left side of the mat.
4. Use the large brown letter stickers to write “ten” under the mat.

Page 11:

1. Cover your base with Parasol paper.
2. Cut a strip of Vanilla nd Celery 2 1/4 x 4 inches, center them joined together to create one mat in the center of you page.
3. Run ribbon across the bottom.
4. Use the small brown letter “L” s as ones to create the number “11″.

Page 12:

1. Cover the page with Twinkle paper.
2. Cut a mat from the Wisteria paper 5 x 4 1/4 - adhere it centered with pop dots.
3. Cut a small rectangle from chocolate and place in the lower right hand corner.
4. Place the die cut number 12 over the brown.

To create the ribbon wrap:

1. Cut 12 inches of the elastic ribbon
2. Tie both ends to either part of magnetic buckle.
3. Cut a tag from the Celery paper
4. Run a small strip of Rain paper across the bottom of the tag
5. Punch or cut out another flower and center that on the tag.
6. Using a combination of letter stickers and handwriting write “Baby’s 1st year” on the tag.
7. Tie the tag to the face of the buckle.

Click here to get a kit!
And let them know who sent you

It is so nice to have my scrapping mojo back! I haven’t scrapped for myself in over a month, but I whipped this up yesterday. Enjoy! (You can click the pictures to see them bigger).

And because it is all in the details:

I used mostly the new Making Memories “Noteworthy” line.

I had possibly the worst migraine of my life two nights ago. I have had migraines off and on for years now, and since I’m a tough chick with a high pain threshold they usually don’t slow me down too much, but this bad boy stopped me dead in my tracks.

It started in the early afternoon while I was driving home from a doctor’s appointment. It was mild and I was trying to tackle my six page to do list, so I pretty much ignored the signs of impending doom. I got home and started cleaning my kitchen and it got worse. I moved on to the bathroom and by the time I’d swished the toilet bowl I decided I’d better take something for this, so I cracked open the Maxxalt and proceeded to get absolutely no relief.

At this point it was time to start dinner, and as the surges of headache induced nausea hit me, I decided that tonight was a great night for Pizza Hut. I breezed through their online ordering system, ordered the usual, and saw that I could pick it up in twenty-five minutes. Not bad at all, and I got to leave the house and get away from my exceptionally noisy brood.

I arrived at Pizza Hut and chatted with my mother on the cell phone for about fifteen minutes until I knew that it was at least thirty-five minutes past my order time. It didn’t matter though, because when I went in, the guy at the counter said my pizzas had about eight more minutes. Because of the clanging, pounding and bright lights, I opted to wait in the calm of my car, and Pizza Guy promised that he would bring my order out when it was ready.

I tucked myself into my car and watched the store though the huge glass windows lining the entire side of the shop. I watched four pizzas come out of the over, none resembling pineapple and pepperoni or olives, mushrooms and Italian sausage. The fifth pizza looked promising, and happily, the sixth definitely had pineapple and red spots so I was thinking that I was good to go. My pizzas sat there for five minutes while Pizza Guy loaded up his delivery bag and headed out the door. I was certain that he would snag mine on his way through, but instead, he hopped into his car and drove away.

At this point, some punk pulled in next to me blaring hip hop as loudly as his speakers could pump sound. He then opened his car doors and chilled against the side of his ride, clogging up the air with his torturous beat. I briefly thought about swinging my car door open as hard as I could and knocking him out. My headache had reached true migraine proportions and people, there was no longer a nice bone in my body. While I contemplated this, the noisy bastard had the nerve to run into the shop, leaving his tunes blaring, and walk out with his order- pizzas that had come out of the oven AFTER the two that looked like mine had sat on the counter for about ten minutes. The nerve.

Sensing that all was not well in pizza land, I re-entered the store to inquire after my dinner, the dinner that I had chosen because it was the EASY way to do dinner. Apparently, my order was not yet ready. I went back to my car to stew.

I watched as bread sticks and cinnamon sticks came out from the oven. Pizza Guy #2 spritzed the butter onto the sticks. I had a brief moment of hope as he squirted marinara dipping sauce in a to go dish, and then he took a phone call. And then he took another phone call. And then he helped people at the counter, people who got food. I bore holes into his head with my laser beam stare of death, and he finally turned around and shook some cinnamon sugar onto my sticks. And then he walked away.

By this time, I was in so much pain that I didn’t have the strength to go in there and rip him a new one as I should have. I could only sit, horror struck and watch happy, peppy people pick up their pizzas while mine sat on the warmer. FINALLY, he returned to my sticks and with much aplomb and chatting with his manager he cut my sticks in half- AND WALKED AWAY! The manager, who you would think would be on my side, used this little break to tidy her work space, wiping up the marinara pot and straightening while she should have been composing an apology while putting my darn pizzas into a box and walking them out to me.

I could take it no longer. As I walked through the front door, I saw my sticks go into a box. Upon seeing me, they put my pizzas in a box. I was seething, but in a quiet way so as not to cause myself any more pain. Pizza Guy opens the pizza boxes so I can verify my order. Dude, I have been verifying my order for forty-five minutes. I want to scream, but lack the wherewithal to do so. He asks if I want peppers and cheese and I nod yes. He then chucks them all helter-skelter onto my pizzas. My look was saying, “Ya gonna put those in a bag, buddy so they don’t go flying when I drive home?” But he is clearly not versed in Angry Women Studies, being such an ignorant young whippersnapper, so he blithely moves onto the next task, and I walk out the door liquid enmity seeping out through my pores.

I am shaking from pain by the time I get into the drivers seat. I crack open the cinnamon sticks figuring I’ll snarf a few on the way home, seeing as how it is an hour past dinner and eating something might help with my headache. I cram one into my mouth doing forty mph and discover that this stick thing? It ain’t cooked. Not even close. It is nothing but gluey nastification. Damn you Pizza Guy!

I stumble into my house where Chris knows immediately that his wife is not a well woman. I snarf a few pieces of pizza, praying that they don’t come back up, and then briefly consider eating the cinnamon stick frosting straight from the can, but figure that a sugar rush really won’t help the head. Chris watches my insane puttering in the kitchen and insists that I go to bed before I die. I crawl into my bed and get my shirt halfway over my head, covering my face when I decide that that is FAR ENOUGH, and I collapse onto my pillow.

This is no ordinary pain. Usually I can beat my migraines by cutting out all noise and light and holding a bag of frozen vegetables to the base of my neck and over my eyes. This time nothing helped at all. It was the kind of pain that made rocking back and forth in the fetal position totally reasonable and not cliche. It was the kind of pain where even the tiny vibration of a well mannered fart was total agony. It was the kind of pain that made sleep impossible and made me totally rethink my recent swearing off of narcotics, after they didn’t go over so well with my wisdom teeth surgery. If I had any percocet left in the house, I would have downed the entire bottle and been grateful for death, but there was no relief. I finally begged Chris to come and rub my back to loosen me up a bit, which did help just enough to take the edge off so I could mercifully pass out.

I have never been germaphobic. I will share forks with my children. I won’t do the hover thing over a public toilet unless there is something visibly nasty on the seat. My house is usually fairly clean, but I certainly wouldn’t advise doing anything rash like eating off of the bathroom floor or licking the windowsills. I wash my hands when the occasion calls for it, but I keep hand sanitizer in my purse primarily to entertain my kids during church services (They have clean hands and pure hearts). I believe that the general level of germiness surrounding me will probably help my children to grow up good and healthy since their immune system will have so many opportunities to experience things like cat hair and sneezed on toys. Or at least I did, before Thursday night.

I attended a little lecture on cleanliness, fully expecting the usual “wash your fruits and vegetables, wash your hands, avoid sick people” shtick that is the basis of good hygiene. It was so, so much more. I shall hit the highlights.

I arrived a few minutes late (funny how in the simple trip from the dinner table to the car I can get so distracted that I forget I’m actually leaving the house) and sat down just in time to hear about how disgusting movie theaters are, which I agreed with. After all, sticky floors are kind of icky. People, sticky floors are the least of your worries. Studies of average theaters have found that the theater seats have everything from mucous to hepatitis to vaginal secretions on them. Did you just say ew? Yeah, me too. So, always wear long pants and sleeves to the theater. You never know whose juices you might be sitting in.

Hand washing is the single most beneficial thing a person can do to keep from getting sick or passing on germs. What do I find totally irritating to do? WASH MY HANDS. Oh, I do it, I’m not gross, but I hate having wet hands. I hate the way most soaps make my hands smell, and I hate the time it takes to do it right. I have no idea why I loathe doing this so much. I had a friend once suggest that hand washing was just a moment of me time to focus on giving myself a little hand massage and a quiet moment. When I get the chance, I do try to do this, however, my children have figured out that if Mommy is in the loo the house is theirs for the taking, so I admit that I really rush through this step, and when you rush you don’t do yourself a lot of good. You should be able to sing Happy Birthday TWICE in the time it takes you to properly scrub up.

Another bathroom tip: Always put the lid down to flush because water droplets can splash as far as twenty feet away. Upon hearing this I thought, “Boy am I glad I keep my toothbrush in a drawer!” However, the next thing we covered was toothbrushes and how they really need to air dry and not be stuffed away or they will grow gunk. So you can have fecal flecked toothbrushes or oldie moldy toothbrushes. You cannot win. And now I know why Listerine is so popular.

The one thing that I kept hearing, through all of the talk on cleaning bathrooms and kitchens was that bleach kills all. I know a lot of people don’t like to clean with bleach, and to be sure, there were many other cleaning supply recommendations, but really, when it comes right down to it- you just can’t beat bleach. I went through an odd clean freak phase when I was expecting Jonas and I scrubbed my kitchen daily with straight bleach. I scrubbed my house until my hands cracked and bled, but I was not sick once during those nine months. Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?

I have now gone on a cleaning spree, disinfecting everything in the house, running the dishwasher and washing machine on empty loads with bleach, scrubbing counter tops, and planning full on attacks on my refrigerator in the near future. Everything must be cleansed.

So talk to me, are you germaphobic? What skeeves you out and gives you the germ willies? Do you have a favorite clenaing product or routine?