30 is bonafide

So yesterday was my birthday. 30. I don't know why, but I felt it necessary to tell almost everyone--including complete strangers--that I was 30. Leah's preschool teacher found out, the bagger at Safeway who wheeled my cart out to the car, and Elmer at DI who tried to console me after the fabulous mid-century couch that I came back to buy had been snatched up just 30 minutes prior. I didn't earn the nickname "emotional slut" way back when for nothing. Actually, I gave myself that nickname, but it caught on like wildfire around the inner sanctum.

I've never really dreaded these turning points. I know people who sobbed on their 30th because they felt some sort of loss and the need to grieve. I am happily saying 'hasta' to the 20s and the many interesting experiences of them. My 20s weren't bad, in fact they were a downright monumental decade (college, marriage, teaching career, two children, homes, starting a business), but I'm ready to settle into the 30s and realize that I probably won't have as many life-altering changes in this decade as I did in the last. And that is comforting, because although I crave and relish the little changes in life (hairstyle, furnishings, restaurant choice, etc.), I could win the WORLD'S LEAST GRACEFUL LIFE CHANGER award hands down.

I have a fabulous friend/soul sister/sister in Zion who turned 30 last month. She made it a beautiful and thoughtful occasion. She thought about what she wanted to do (i.e. have kids, make delicious food, buy a house) in the future and then celebrated each goal symbolically. I didn't have the forethought to make mine so amazing, but that's okay because it turned out pretty great anyway.

Although Jonnie decided that birthday week was preposterous, he surprised me with "birthday 3 days." So I received a beautiful bouquet of roses on Tuesday, a 4 gig nano ipod and the nicest card he's ever written me on Wednesday, and I think today is See's Chocolates. (Hoping, hoping, hoping.) I like 3 days for thirty. Maybe I'll get birthday week when I turn 70 . . .

Yesterday I talked to/spent time with many of my favorite people--you know who you are--and I think I kind of had this little smile inside all day, knowing that I had a secret----actually, it wasn't quite a secret because I felt obliged to tell everyone and their . . . , but you get the picture. It was cause for continual internal smile.

In the spirit of retrospection, I thought about some of my experiences over the last 3 decades and realized that I've experienced some amazing adventures, beautiful friendships, intense trials, hilarious escapades, and the comfort of a wonderful family from whom I came and a wonderful family of which I am co-captain. It's been a good 30 years. I have been abundantly blessed. Thanks!

And so 30. I woke up this morning and felt pretty grown up, but still pretty young. I'm legit, but I still have a few free-passes to be slightly foolish. No longer a 20-something wanderer? I feel re-inspired to live life to the fullest, and be deliberate in all of my actions. It's nice.

So I'm taking a deep breath and ushering in a new decade of renewed and continuing relationships, healthy lifestyle choices (although I don't think I'll be giving up my diet pepsi habit any time soon), deliberate decisions, exciting adventures, and renewed spirituality. It's refreshing. And although I'm perfectly pleased to be living in the here and now, I can't help but look a little forward to "birthday 4 days" celebration and what life will look like from that vantage point. Isn't life exciting?

orange is my favorite color.

 

fiesty girl

 

sisties

 

cute feet

 

Razor Blades and Birthday Week

Just a quickie. I have to capture one of Esther's more insane maneuvers in her whole lifetime from just this week:

I'm working on the computer, Jon is doing dishes. Leah is playing Pollys or ponies or Groovy Girls or making a CareBear motorhome out of blocks, and Esther, who doesn't really like to play, but rather explore and terrorize, was doing the usual. And since the only bathroom that currently has a toilet installed was closed up tight, I thought all was well in the universe . . .

Until I heard Jon scream bloody murder. He never screams, let alone a bloody scream. And then he said, "ESTHER HAS RAZOR BLADES!" My first thought? "What in the hell?" (Long e on 'the'---it sounds more deliberate and white trash.) I ran from the "office" to the scene of doom. Blood pools everywhere. Esther screaming. Four five-inch razor blades, covered in blood, on the floor. Me lightheaded and wondering if my child is going to bleed to death right then and right there. Is this 9-1-1 worthy? Jon says no.

I quickly got some slightly damp rags and we each took a hand and held her in a vice clamp (legs wrapped around her squirrely body) and applied direct pressure to her four bloody fingers. For one whole hour. They would NOT stop bleeding. Somewhere in that process I told Jon I had to leave for a few minutes. (Things like this make my anxiety issues flare--just a tad, let's say--and it brings out the 'flight' reflex in me.)

So, all's well that ends well. Esther's fingers finally stopped bleeding long enough for us to put some bandages on them. She stopped crying, and we were able to get her to sleep. She slept like a rock after the trauma of the incident.

And why, you may ask, did an 18 month old have access to five-inch razor blades? She's a rascal. And we're (Jon?) careless. During our bathroom remodel---which hasn't seen any action in over two weeks---"we" used razor blades and left them in a pretty accessible place. OOPS! Good thing it was just 4 fingers!

Funny sidenote: While this was all happening, our very concerned and very agro Stake Primary President called and left a message asking why I wasn't at a meeting that I was supposed to be at and had NO intention of going to. I didn't take the call because I was preoccupied, but after everything was taken care of, I called her back and left a short message on her cell, which I later realized seemed a little creepy: "Hi, J. I'm sorry I didn't make it to the meeting, but my daughter just cut herself with razor blades and I had to take care of that." Sure enough, I got a consolation phone call a few minutes later, in which I cleared everything up. Made for a dramatic excuse.

And then, because it was 106 freakin' degrees here, we drove to Monterey. Actually, it was just a coincidence that it was 106 degrees and Monterey was a balmy and beautiful 60-80 degrees. The real reason we went to Monterey for two nights? It's birthday week for yours truly. And not just ANY birthday. The dawning of a new decade. I'm turning 30. (Wait, do you not start the new decade until you're 31? I remember the whole Millenium debacle when everyone kept saying, "Actually, the new millenium doesn't start until 2001." I always wanted to say, "who in the--long e--hell cares? Let us have our excitement, ex lax." Or something of that nature. So, if you were thinking, "it technically isn't a new decade until you're 31" (or is it? i'm still totally confused), repeat the question about 3 or 4 sentences back and you'll see how much I care about your trivia.) Wow. That was abusive and downright negative. So birthday week begins, and I think I'm the only one celebrating. I told Jon of my birthday week idea, and he thinks it's absolutely preposterous. Well, too bad, because I'm just going to have to pamper myself since he won't. And I'm decent at that.

By the way, Monterey was beautiful, Carmel? fabulous----if you haven't been there, please GO. And our friends we got to see? Welcoming, hospitable, and very very very fun. (Hi Lolly Girl, miss you already!)

So don't cry for me Argentina, about razor blades or the jon's lack of commitment to birthday week, because I went to Monterey and that will keep me refreshed for about 8.5 hours from now, when I have to wake up and take care of the screaming gypsies (my lovely daughters). Woe is my wonderful life! Waaa, waaaa, waaaaa............................

oh yeah, one more thing: please join my prayers that we didn't get poison oak on our Point Lobos nature walks this morning. Leah and I were touching and naming all of the wildflowers we saw: "puffer bellies," "spikey soft," "purple dragon," "orange dragon," "white dragon," "yellow dragon" (do you see a pattern here?) until the cute little docent man showed us what poison oak looked like and we realized that it was the majority of plantlife on our hikes. I am itching, but praying that it is more of a mental state than a physical one.

*I just re-read sentence number one: "just a quicky." Oops. Guess I'm longwinded tonite.

The REAL Darlybird

I just sent several of you an email asking for a small "business" favor. But I don't have many of your email addresses, so I'm going to post my email here to see if any of you want to aid me in my venture. If you want a cute postcard sent to your home, or you know of someone who would like a cute postcard sent to their home, drop me a line with contact info at rachel@darlybird.com
(Please? Thanks.)

HERE'S the email:

Hi Friends~

I think most of you know that I am well on my way to launching my online business, Darlybird. I am writing for a couple of reasons:

1) To let you know that I'm getting there....my "office" can attest to it---boxes upon boxes upon boxes of merchandise. Really cool stuff. It's exciting.

2) Many of you have been my most ardent supporters along the way and have asked if you could ever do anything to help me. Well, here's where I'm going to ask a small favor. But please, oh please, don't feel obligated or bad about this in ANY way. I detest all pyramid schemes, and I'm not good at fulfilling chain letters, so know that I kind of dread this whole pimping-my-business-out process. If you are just too busy to answer this email, that's fine. I'm cool like that. (in my most gansta accent...)

I just ordered 2500 postcards and I want to start sending them out. I have attached a pdf of the design (thanks, Martha for your hard work!) Basically, I would love to send you a postcard, and either a) get the names/addresses of some of your friends/family/contacts that you think would be interested in fun, funky, functional (whoa, that's a lot of funs) products that are well designed, mostly VERY affordable, and unique or b) send you some pre-stamped postcards for you to send out yourself, if you'd rather do it that way.

Either way or no way, I love you all and hope things are going well for you if I haven't talked to you in awhile.

Take care,

RHS

And the image is actually two drafts of the same thing.....I just didn't have a separated jpg copy to post and I don't know if you can post pdf files on blogger?

Also, Darlybird technically has not landed, so don't be surprised if you go to the url and see "website under construction." Hopefully that will change in a few short weeks. (Fingers crossed.)

And, I assume that I don't know some of you . . . I don't need to know you to send a postcard to you. So email me.

and the toilet

 

the toilet paper

 

here's the monsty

 

Update on Estie

So, Jon just got home. Estie giggled her little guts out when she heard his voice entering the house. I explained what had happened, and J said, "did she put the whole roll of toilet paper in the toilet? because she already did that this morning." (while I was sick and sleeping.)

and just in case you're interested, here's a link to heath's overstock tile, complete with a listing of colors/sizes/finishes. drool, fools!

http://heathceramics.com/heath_pdfs/tileoverstock.pdf

Scuzzy Bathroom #2 NO MORE!

A week and a half ago, my Jonnie got a new job. He told his firm two weeks ago Friday, and they didn't want to talk about it till Monday. On Monday at 3:30, he tracked down the partner he was supposed to chat with to see how long they wanted him to stay, etc. He called me a few minutes later to say that he was packing up his office and coming home from that firm for the last time as soon as his office was dismantled. Hmmmmm, I thought.....what can I have him do before he starts new firm next Monday?

RIP OUT SCUZZY BATHROOM #2, OF COURSE

and rip it out, he did. and now, it's well on it's way to being a muy fabuloso bathroom instead of scuzzy bathroom #2.

Let me tell you a bit about scuzzy bathroom #2:

1) It had carpet
2) No matter what you did, it had a slight scent of pee (prior owners included 4 of the male persuasion)

QUICK INTERRUPTION:

I will now explain to you why I don't blog as often as I used to:
Esther came into my "office" all wet a few seconds ago. Hmmm, I thought. This is fishy. I walked into the family room, and saw an overturned bowl with the remains of vanilla soy milk dumped out if it. Ah ha! You little stinker, you! And then I happened to glance at the floor and down the hall. Wet clumps of toilet paper. Uh oh! I could've sworn that I closed the bathroom door. Nope. Open. More wet clumps of toilet paper all over said floor. And then I peak into the toilet:

A green froggy bowl from Ikea, a stainless steel spoon from Crate and Barrel, and more clumps of t.p. I grabbed the little monsty and set her in her crib. Lucky thing, cause I found the rest of the brand new toilet paper roll, sopping wet in the middle of her little flower rug. And more clumps.

She's still in her crib. With just a diaper. And if things go as well as they did on this day, I'm going to be loving life in a few minutes. But I just can't get her and clean up the mess. I have strep throat (for the second time in 3 months) and I think that earns me a GET-OUT-OF-CLEANING-UP-ESTHER'S-HUGE-MESS pass, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Don't you? Thank goodness Jon got a new job and they're amenable to alternative work schedules. Guess who's on his happy way home right now? You guessed it. He'll have a nice clean-up surprise waiting for his arrival.

Back to number 3:
3) Beautiful faux marble countertop (gray and white) for the "I'm not rich, but I'm trying" effect.
4) A toxic shower made of laminated particle board--or something close to it--complete with orange mold that wouldn't go away, a broken glass door, and the most disgusting track (for the door).

I still think that a carpeted bathroom is about the dumbest thing on the planet.

So now, I'll tell you what we've/Jon [has] done:

--Tiled the shower with white honeycomb tile
--Tiled the floor with variagated seafoom-ish tile from Heath Ceramics (supposedly one of the best and most artistic tile companies in America--I heard it from a very in-the-know realtor)---I went to their factory in Sausalito and bought overstock for $5 sq ft instead of $27.
--Spent a load of moolah at Home Depot Expo on the prettiest, sleekest vanity and faucet and matching showerhead/handle for the shower.
--Bought a new toilet that supposedly can flush 30 golf balls at once. HALLELUJAH!
--Spent hours looking at our beautiful half-finished non-scuzzy bathroom. Even if we never finished it and made it functional, it's still better than when it was scuzzy bathroom #2.

I'll post pictures when we're done.

I better go check on the Monsty. I hear interesting noises from the bedroom.

What the heck?

Take a look at this scientific finding:

http://dsc.discovery.com/news/briefs/20060612/sperm_hea.html?source=rss

And I thought they were just dumb swimmers.

Leah's Prayer

Leah: "Dear H.F., Thank you for this day. Thank you for our dinner----wait, I don't have any dinner yet!"

Me: "Keep praying. It's coming."

Leah: "Wahoo! Thank you for my dinner. Please bless Bryce. Please bless June. In the name of . . . . . . . Amen!"