hoarding hoarders

Dammit. I may be addicted to yet another tragically bad reality show: Hoarders. Watching the show is now one of our guilty pleasures. It's just so...gross. People who started with a couple of animals, a little collection of old magazines, a penchant for shopping the sale racks, a feeling that you have to keep things because you may use them "someday."

It makes me think...am I a hoarder? I mean, let's face it. I have a lot of shoes.
A LOT. And I don't like to get rid of them. They may come back in style, they may go with that one future outfit, they may get more comfortable. I have over a hundred pairs of shoes. This picture is just of the boot closet...the brown boot side. Hoarder.

Let's talk about Nature's Seasoning. Best spice EVER! It's THE secret ingredient in Mom's famous potato salad (which I now pass off as my famous potato salad). And over the years it's become harder and harder to find so when I see it at the store, I buy lots of it. Sometimes all of it. I probably have over 20 bottles of it. I like other spices too. If the apocalypse comes, I should be well equipped to barter with my Mormon pantry-loading neighbors. Trade you some oats and rice for some spices that makes your stuff taste good! Still...Hoarder.

And then there are bikinis, books, MAC eye shadow and lipsticks, photos, recipes...yep, I am a hoarder of many things. I'm not alone. Scott hoards boat stuff - ropes and fenders and life jackets, and motorcycle stuff and old Wasatch Marine logo t-shirts. And we both hoard episodes of Hoarders on Tivo.

So the question is, at what point are you an official hoarder as opposed to just a collector or a regular human being? Apparently, it's when your shit overtakes your life. That's it, shoes! You stay in the closet!

Footnote: I started this blog as a bit of a joke, and then when I saw the photos I thought...Oh my god! I may really be at the front end of a problem! Some serious closet cleaning is happening as we speak. And I need to organize my suits.

look-a-likes

I posted a new picture of Sloane on my Facebook account and several friends were like - oh, she's so cute! She looks just like you!

It got me wondering, because I think our kids look like us but does she really? So I pulled up some old photos (and I'm talking really old).

That's Sloane, my niece Harper (my brother's daughter who is 5 weeks older than Sloane), and me on my 1st birthday about a hundred years ago.

I think the answer is yes! There's a definite resemblance. I guess maybe that Chinese parable is true. Your family is connected by a red thread and it pulls at your heart strings until you are all together.

The funny thing is that it doesn't really matter. Does she have my eyes, or Scott's laugh, or grandpa's toes. It sure makes it a little easier since we don't have to field a lot of awkward questions because our kids don't look dramatically different than us (we expect that to change when they're both like 8 feet tall but we're good for now!). And some days it's hard when you see your friends theorizing about whether their little boy has mom's eyes or dad's, or where their daughter got her laugh. Our conversations are a little different. Unlike a lot of adoptive parents, we're lucky to know who and where our babies came from so we can answer some of those questions but, in the end, these are our children, our family, our heart and soul and like it or not they'll inherit things from us that go beyond hair color and a laugh.

So today, I look at these pictures of three little girls with the same lovely, clear blue eyes and I know that they may be separated by decades but they are bonded by love.

poop in the potty...please!

I was just re-reading my blog from December where we started Tagg on potty training. I actually said the words "potty training is pretty fun so far." Oh you silly, silly girl. Three months later and we're in pretty much the same exact spot. Except that Tagg won't wear his diapers or pull-ups during the day anymore so it's only underwear.

Sounds like we're making progress right? Well, in some respects, we are. He's peeing in the potty pretty regularly (by that, I mean he's also peed on the carpet, the couch and the stairs at different points during this adventure) and will even tell me when we're out and about that he needs to go potty. He's got the hang of getting his own pants on and off so those are all good things. He loves to wipe, flush and wash his hands. I'm feeling very proud of myself as a mother. If I could just ignore the poop.

Problem #1. Underpants on head, not bum.

He still refuses to poop in the potty. As a matter of fact, he's a stealthy little shit about it (no pun intended) I'll ask him if he needs to poop, or wants to try while we're peeing. "NOOO, mommy. I don't need to go poop in the potty." Got it, buddy. We'll try again in an hour. Please tell me if you feel like you need to go. And then I go put some clothes in the laundry or something. Two minutes later, he walks up to me..."Mommy, you want put my poop in the potty?" WHAT?!?! Are you kidding me? Sure enough, crap in the pants. Which he wants me to take off and dump in the toilet so he can flush it. You can see the disconnect here, right?

I know, I know. They (whoever "they" is...I'd like to meet "they" sometime and discuss their credentials for all of this parenting advice) say that you can start potty training boys at 2 and finish at 3 or start training at 3 and finish at 3. So I guess we've chosen the long road. We've tried bribery - stickers, candy, toys, movies. We've bought three - count 'em, three - different types of potty chairs, potty chair inserts. And I think we're on package 6 of little dude underwear. I'm not going to lie. Sometimes when the mess is just too crap-tastic, I just chuck them. It's gotta be better for the environment than diapers. At least cotton is biodegradable.

What else can we do? Nothing. Except have a ton of patience with a good dose of humor, and remember every time we're washing a big turd out of his Lightning McQueen underpants by hand that our poor, poor parents had to do this for us for years when cloth diapers were the only option.

it's all about the medal

can you believe the wall-to-wall people?!
as far as the eye could see...for hours and hours!

With the Pacific Ocean and Huntington Beach's iconic pier as a backdrop, almost 20,000 people lined up at 7am (most in front of the port-a-loos before they lined up at the actual race start) and ran 13.1 or 26.2 miles up and down the PCH. It was an amazing event. Perfect weather - foggy and probably in the 50s the whole time. The sun burst out about 15 minutes after we crossed the finish line and we felt pretty happy about that! 

Super fun people - a guy dressed as Steeler Paluapalooooooo. It was Super Bowl Sunday after all! And 35,000 spectators and volunteers singing, cheering and playing music along the way. It's always kind of insane to me that this many people are willing to get up on a Sunday morning and run 13 or 26 miles. All kinds of people - short ones, tall ones, fat ones, way too skinny ones, old ones, pregnant ones, ones who look like running really hurts (that might be me). It's just cool that this "thing" brings us all together to experience the same pain, rush, challenge, celebration. And we all do it together. I wish the whole world could be like that.

Even though we beat our goal time (2 hours 30 minutes...that's what happens when you don't train!) by...uh...40-ish second, we didn't exactly beat any records. The winner of the women’s half marathon busted a 1:17! So I only have to be twice as fast to be a winner. No problemo! 

friday night fun!

We decided head down to Huntington to pick up our race packets, have some dinner and a few drinks...you know, our version of pre-race carb loading. And we just happened upon a gorgeous SoCal sunset on the ocean. It was so lovely, and warm and inspirational. I think everyone should live on the beach. And carb load with cocktails.

Pom-a-rita, Skinny-rita,
Mango-rita, Diva-rita...Go!

let there be shopping

In spite of our best efforts, Natalie did
NOT buy this hat. I was thinking
Kentucky Derby.

After a few Diva-ritas (big, giant margaritas!), we decided to do some shopping on Huntington's Main Street. We found a super cute boutique with bikinis, bikinis, bikinis...and hats! Sure, there were a few bad judgment calls. Mostly by me, I think. That is why I usually have a strict no-shopping-while-drinking-tequila rule. 

I bought...well, a few dresses. One of which I now realize is a shirt. That should be worn with leggings or jeans. Especially when your legs look like mine. But at the time, the Diva-rita was kicking in and I was like, YEAH! I am going to ROCK this cute little dress. The Monday reality was, well, sobering.

post-race recovery

Big, giant screwdrivers at Mutt Lynch's (best beach bar, ever!) and an epic breakfast of eggs and french toast and stuff.

These drinks are bigger than their faces!

We watched the Superbowl at a little sports bar near our hotel. It was awesome, not just because the Packers won and the game was a good one. 

But the lady in green...out of control! She had the worst muffin top, complete with the thong underwear hanging out of the back. It was tragic. I am always super conscious when I have low-rider jeans on. You would think she would have noticed the draft and pulled her shirt down or something but nope. The people sitting behind her were in hysterics and by about half-time she was all drunk and belligerent and got asked to leave. Sadly, that was better entertainment than most of the commercials!

On Monday, me and Tiff walked about 3 miles down the beach in 75+ degree weather talking about life and dreams. It was so incredibly soothing and inspirational and just overall perfect.

Is there anything better than a sunset on the ocean?
So many miracles to enjoy!

my first hand me downs

Tagg, January 2009, 6 months

Sloane, January 2011, 8 months

...from my brother! Sorry, girl! You thought you were out of the woods on hand-me-downs what with being the only daughter and having a mother with a bit of a shopping addiction. Not so lucky! My favorite Aunt Kris gave Tagg these darling jammies when they met him for the first time in January of 2009. Of course, I saved them thinking they might have some sentimental value...more for me, than him I suspect but whatever! Sloane has been wearing these same jammies since she was about 5 months, and a couple of weeks ago I realized she was about to grow out of them and we needed a picture! She can't even straighten her legs! So it's a little forced, sure, but I wanted a photographic memory of those jammies on my babies. Because every time I put them on and snapped them up and laid them down in their beds in those green p.j.'s, it felt like my Aunt Kris was here, giving them a big hug, and a sweet kiss, and one of her boisterous oh-so-joyful-I-love-you laughs.

And, let's face it...it's kind of perfect that NEITHER of them will bust out a freaking smile for the camera. Seriously? Seriously!!

heart this

Valentines Day sucks. Okay, I'm not a romantic. Whatever. But this manufactured holiday totally bugs me. Shouldn't you just remember to say "I love you" and do nice sweet things for the people that you love all year long? Does it mean as much if someone (Hallmark and every other retailer) says hey! TODAY, FEBRUARY 14TH, you should tell someone you love them because today you obviously love them more than any other day of the year. It's so sweet and important and lovely ...  so DO NOT forget to give them overpriced roses, jewelry, chocolate, dinner, lingerie, yada, yada, yada...or it's obvious that you don't really love them, and you're kind of an asshole.

I think about all of my single friends who's single-ness is turned into something really sad and ugly on this day when really they should be celebrating their independence and the other love that surrounds them. And I think about my son, who may some day feel obligated to prove his love for some girl by spending money on a "thing" instead of doing all those cute little things that really make people feel special. And I think about my daughter and how she might feel if she doesn't get a card or chocolates or flowers when all of her girlfriends do. And I think about my husband who does so many lovely, wonderful, sweetheart things every day...does he really need to do something more on this particular day to prove his love? Not to me.

And what do you get your kids for this holiday? Chocolate? Candy? A teddy bear holding a heart? Have you heard this one?

"What says love to you? A teddy bear holding a heart. Available...literally EVERYWHERE! Because nothing says love like a teddy bear holding a heart." Hysterical. 

Yep, that's my anti-Valentines rant. Screw it! Every day should be Valentines Day!

like jerry sloan?

First of all, I found out that long-time Utah Jazz coach Jerry Sloane was retiring yesterday...from Tagg's baby daddy. Via text. Is that weird? I kind of think it is. It did make me the coolest chick in the office because I was literally the first to know the breaking news and all the guys were like "what?!?!" Yeah, boys, I know what's going on in the NBA. But I was wondering, is it strange the Paulie would text that to me? In the mysterious land of baby-family-birth-family-open-adoption, that was one I did not expect.

I think I had those shorts. But my
hair was way bigger.

Even funnier, he says..."random question did sloane's name come from the coaches name?" I said "no, but we get that a lot" ...twice, counting you, actually... "it's from Ferris Bueller"... shit, will a 19 year old boy have a freaking clue that Ferris Bueller is a movie? from the 80s, before he was born, or that I totally envied Sloane and those gray cord shorts, the cropped white leather jacket with the fringe and don't even get me started on those suede boots? probably not... "and Entourage. both had cute girls named Sloane"...good call on the contemporary reference, I'm thinking. Way to make it cool, although I can't decide if basketball-junkie Paulie would think the hot girls are a better name inspiration than the longest-tenured coach in not just basketball but FOUR pro sports. Didn't have to wait long...next text: "well, she's well on her way to being up there with the amazing sloanes." Awwww...right? Cute. I think. Right?

Although I am really sad about Jerry Sloane.