An Encore

In Regards To Lena: With The "Bad"/Patience Trying/Energy Sucking,

comes the good:

seriously.

I guess kids only get better with age.

*Her friend Ella fell off of the neighborhood zip line(? which made for two broken arms on one street this summer!) and this is her message to her. Apparently she spent the better part of an hour on my bed making various versions in Photo Booth, all equally and hilariously Lena-esque

Punch Drunk Photo Booth

Ever have one of those punch drunk moments where something outrageously hilarious happens that might not have otherwise been funny at all, you know, had it not been so late, or you not been so sleep deprived?

They usually occur between the hours of midnight and five in the morning.

Since my idea of fun is organizing my closet, I made Ryan come along to keep me company (closet organization really is something only its occupant can do)

But he obliged and hung shirts and while we ate 1000 leftover purple m&ms we had several of those punch drunk moments well into the night.

I haven't laughed that hard in SO long.

Not all of our sweet vids are shown here, but you get the idea.

And if they aren't funny to you, it's because...these things never are after they happen.

Then we heard footsteps heading down the hall for a middle of the night potty visit.

The trip back to her bed led her to my room where all the crazy laughter was coming from. She joined us for a few moments.

Then we watched all the videos the next day and the same laughter simply did not come.

Something about those punch drunk moments.

Priceless.

Mr. Marbles?

In between Ryan's back breaking labor we (too easily?) find ways to entertain ourselves.

Every child has one creepy/weird toy probably given to them by some distant relative, I know I did (can you say...porcelain doll that sat high on my shelf? chills.)

I give you ours,

Little Bear

Or what is supposed to be Little Bear. Because he certainly isn't the Little Bear (or known as dou dou in our house) we know and love.

I mean if you're going to manufacture a cute and cuddly beloved character like Little Bear maybe try it out on a test group of preschoolers first. You know, to be sure it doesn't make children afraid to fall asleep with it in their rooms at night.

Because nightmares are so un-Little Bear like.

At least they nailed his voice.

I Heard Kissing Noises Coming From The Living Room

Lily and Ari are our cross-the-street neighbor girls.

They are six and in the first grade.

They like barbies.

Their barbies like kissing.

Lena cannot contain herself over this. She instantly morphs into a giggly (pre)school girl.

And despite the fact that I tried to get Lena to not like barbies, she requested and pleaded and begged for one for Christmas. So I hunted down the most decent looking ones, bought them and changed their clothes into some vintage barbie dresses that were given to us forever ago.

I played with barbies when I was little and my body image is only slightly skewed.

Is that inevitable in this day and age?

Will it be the demise of the barbie doll?

Probably not, but I think some would agree that at least it should be.

The boys stuck with zombies on the ipad. (if you're out there- sorry Emily)

And when Ken's clothes started coming off I asked,

"Who wants play dough?!"

(and for the record it was my child who took off his tux)

we retreated to the kitchen to play with dough and have a snack.

Silly girls.

Stupid barbies.

Fu ManACHOO

where this season's runny nose meets lunchtime's chocolate milk

A Santa That Doesn't Sleep Through Any Night

Feel like decking the halls on your own baby/loved one's face?

It's called Picnik and it's a lot of fun.

Once, in law school, Jeff photoshopped his two friends' heads over the top of some frat dudes wearing ugly Christmas sweaters holding cups of cocoa standing with some random guy that had sweet Justin Bieber hair. It looked so real. Then he made a facebook page for the random guy with Justin Bieber hair and called him Trav. Then he enhanced Trav to have highlights because he thought that was something Trav would do.

He also put together an entire campaign for his friend running for Law School class president. It was chock full of eagles, apple pie and other iconic American things. I'm mostly sure it's what won him the election. That footage is kept deep in the depths of our hard drive for save keeping. It was like so unprofessional.

In fact we have an entire folder somewhere dedicated to the photoshop-your-friends artistic talents of sir Esq. Vaisey. But if you ask him about, he might deny the whole thing.

Anyway, the the moral of the story is, you don't have to be like law school Jeff who had way too much time on his hands to enjoy some sweet photo editing.

*And if you don't have as much fun putting realistic-like Santa whiskers on your baby/ loved one then I don't think I even know you anymore.

Have A Baby, All The Cool Kids Are Doin' It

They most likely get from xtreme point a. to xtreme point b. in one of *these.

If they're lucky, a little of *this.

*I've seen them, you've seen them, but it doesn't make them less funny.

Or true.

There's a Mouse About the House

The Scene last night:

It's 2 a.m. and I am fast asleep, warm in my bed beside my sick miserable 2 year old.

Suddenly I hear, "kelly.... hey, kelly...Kelly!"

I awake to find Jeff standing in our dark room in a tee shirt and sweat pants (the baggy kind cinched at the ankle), tousled hair, tennis shoes on, holding a swifter and meaning business.

"What is going on?," I ask him in a sleepy stupor.

He says (with a face full of serious), "I think...there's a mouse...in the kitchen!"

With this information presented before me and him standing there armed with shoes and a swifter I died laughing. I sat at the edge of the bed trying to figure out if he was seriously waking me up to investigate, in the middle of the night, a teeny tiny mouse that may or may not be nibbling on something in the kitchen.

Turns out, he was.

We headed to the kitchen to get to the bottom it, he stopping at the doorway, silently we listened. Sure enough, sounded like nibbling.

I opened the cabinet under the sink and see it.

All, light grey, 2 meesley inches of it.

Gross? Yes (who wants to be the people that have a mouse in their kitchen? I swear it's clean- remember?, I scrubbed it yesterday!).

Scary? Pshhhhh!

We headed to the basement for a trap, I peanut-buttered it up and placed it beside the trash can under the sink. Then I scratched myself, burped, escorted the little lady back to the living room by the hand to finish his late night work and I headed back to bed.

As I lay my head on my pillow I thought about the image.

The image of my scared husband standing there over my bedside in the middle of the night and how it will forever be a comfort of hilarity to me.

He needs me. If I wasn't before, now I'm sure of it.