Trinkets of Thought

Life with the Littles-A lifestyle blog of living with five littles.

Footprints in the SNOW?

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Everyone remembers the ole’ poem Footprints in the Sand. Here’s my rendition.

Footprints in the Snow by Maren Boehm

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As Pierson gets older,
he may ask,
“Mom, in this picture, why do I have two feet in the snow?
Yet you only have one?”
And I will reply,
“Because it was too stinkin’ cold to make the other footprint.”

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And you thought this would be sentimental…

Now, before you report me to CPS with a crazy story like placing naked babies in the snow, I also REALLY did inflict the cold upon myself on BOTH feet as we were mere inches from the inside (Here’s proof). We only stayed outside long enough to make the footprints, make some yellow snow (just seeing if you were still reading…), and give Pierson a couple of seconds to ponder all the white stuff. And we both loved it, survived, and lived to tell about it. The end.

Truly, one day he MAY ask why I’m as crazy as I am, and I’ll tell him, “Because I like it that way.”

Potluck Schmotluck

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For some strange reason, I imagine (and expect) a world where getting ready for church on Sunday mornings should be peaceful and serene. It should be similar to a scene in a Disney musical where all sing merrily and whistle while they work. In my life, however, there is an abrupt collision of reality and expectations. 8:30 Sunday morning can be likened more to a freight train passing through the elephant’s quarters at the zoo. Imagine your most graceful, prim & proper friend. Hello, you’ve just met the antithesis.

Here’s my Sunday morning in a nutshell:

  • Below is a picture of my potluck brunch dish that I prepared (monkey bread).
    Word of warning: Pyrex accidentally placed on a hot burner will EXPLODE.

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  • A catastrophe of curlers–Curlers EVERYWHERE, including but not limited to the dog’s dish and toilet.
  • The What-Should-I-Wear-Snydrome
  • Female issues of epidemic proportions
  • And this…

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Thankfully, from this point forward, my day could ONLY get better…even if my dog DID gift me with three landmines upon my return from church.

I am fairly confident that I won’t be singing “Peaceful Easy Feeling” as I get ready on Sunday mornings anytime soon. However, I am thankful for the JOY I can have even in the midst of…well, crap.

Making sure we get our money’s worth…

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We received this OLD Johnny Jump up when Pierson was born.  This invention (antique version or not) is the greatest child product that has ever been–it is by far little guy’s very favorite toy!  Here’s what how the doorways look in our house quite often…

We’ve gotten our money’s worth out of this thing a thousand times over (never mind the fact that it was FREE).  Today, Pierson was literally asking me for it.  Okay, it came more in the form of fussiness.  The instant I put him in it, he transformed his fussiness into a smile!  I consider that a personal request for his favorite toy!   WHOOHOO for happy babies!

Brain, when should I expect your return?

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***Important to know for this saga: My insurance man’s office is at the end of my street and the busy road it intersects.   He passes by every afternoon after work.***

There once was a gal named Maren.
She lost her brain child-bearin’
Her ducks knew no row.
Her work had no flow,
If only she had smarts for sparin’!

Last week, I was hoping to deliver some homemade bread loaves to a couple of families who have been uber-gracious to our family this past year.  In order to deliver the gifts, I lugged Pierson, the bread, and my wallet to the car. I *momentarily* put the un-children items on the roof of my car while I finagled Pierson into the back seat (note to self: two door cars are NOT for people with kids.) Zippy, also invited on the excursion, was moseying in the yard.

We had previously been unsuccessful in delivering our neighbor’s bread gift, and I noticed them returning home. I quickly ran into the house, grabbed a loaf to share, and delivered their bread.  I helped Zippy in the car and drove away. Halfway to the first family’s house, I realized the bread was M.I.A. I frisked the front seat. No bread. I frisked the back seat. No bread. This initiated a prompt in-the-middle-of-the-road u-turn, to the irritation of local homeowner onlookers.

I sped home. Around the turn in my neighborhood, I swerved to miss an object in the middle of the road. Hmmm….my wallet. I jerked the car to a stop, rescued my wallet and then noticed my insurance man speaking with my neighbor using exaggerated gestures, my bags of bread in hand. I hollered to let him know I was the lunatic for whom he was looking and went to retrieve my bread. At that moment, I became a mind reader. I assured him that the doubts he was having about this particular insured client were indeed legit: I am scatterbrained. I am crazy. And he is my insurance agent. Lucky him.

I had a 2 second self-debate regarding whether or not to deliver the road kill bread to my friends. The 30 second rule (or a little bit extra) was enforced. It’d be fine.

Brain? Where are you? Can I expect your return any time soon?

Moral of this story: Road kill Christmas bread makes nice Christmas gifts. (Better than nothing.)

Below is a picture of the gift we delivered to my insurance agent before leaving town…Well, we attempted to deliver it.  He was off Christmas Eve.  I put it on top of my car to deliver to him later.

Hope your Christmas was merry & your new year hopeful!

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