I WASHED HULK'S HANDS

I'll admit that when I found out I was pregnant, I was kinda hoping for a girl. And I'll also admit it was completely based on the most trivial reasons. For one, have you seen the girl clothes at Target and Old Navy? They're so cute I find myself envying six month old babies. For two, I zoomed way into the future and imagined my lonely old self working my rocking chair on my front porch with no visitor in sight, because I've heard what people say about sons. You know, something about how he's only a son until he takes a wife. Ugh, even thinking about that saying makes me sad.

Then I had that 16 week ultrasound. A boy. The doctor circled the little blurry indicator and printed me and Luke off a copy to take home. It changed everything.

Then that little boy came into my world and I was smitten. Done-zo. White flag waived. What's a girl?

And now, 16 months later, I'm surrounded by hot wheels, Tonka trucks, and a mini Bobcat ... the heavy machinery kind. A quick trip to Lowe's turns into an hour long lawn mower amusement park for Desi, and I find myself excited to point out garbage trucks. Garbage trucks!

Oh, and then there's the hulk hands.

Big, green, cotton-stuffed hulk hands. One hand has a sound box in it so that when you hit it against something it yells out one of the following three sayings. All, coincidentally, perfect for moms. (And scary as crap when you forget the hands are in the back seat of your car and you hit a bump.)

- "Don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry."
- "Hulk smash!"
- and then just a loud and scary hulkish yell

In the last month, Desmond has finally built up the nerve to put them on. Now they're on often. His little arms weighted down, his toddler body swaying wildly from all the "smashing".

Just last week we were sharing some chicken nuggets with a little ketchup on the plate. Desmond decided that hulk hands were appropriate lunch apparel. Next thing I know the hulk hands tried to grasp a chicken nugget and dip it into the ketchup. It didn't happen, of course. Just smeared ketchup all over hulk's fist. I felt myself start to get hulkish inside, imagining everything he'd smash with ketchup before I could get the hands away from him. What the heck? Seriously, Desmond? Are you kidding me? Hulk smash!

Then I stopped and thought about it, laughed, and got up to wash the ketchup off the hulk hand. Did that really just happen? Never in my life did I imagine that scene playing out. But that's what's so great about life, the curveballs. The unexpected. The boy parts on an ultrasound screen. The sweet sound of a little boy calling me momma. All way better than anything I could dream up on my own.

I mean, I just washed hulk's hands.

DON'T FORGET TO WRITE

I think I've mentioned my love for books, right? Or as my husband would probably call it, "a problem". On days when the towers of books beside by bed are toppling over into toddler-tripping floor ruble, I might actually agree with him.

Just this past Saturday, Luke wanted to get out of the house. We got the boys ready and hopped into the car, he asks me where I want to go. Hmm ... I don't know ... used bookstore? His response, "So we can add to the stacks of books in our bedroom? And maybe start barricading ourselves in our house with books?" Well, no that's not exactly what I had planned. But now that you've mentioned it.

We ended up going to the Saturday flea market. And wouldn't you know, I found myself a book. Luke just smiled and shook his head. Hey, you can keep the girl from the used bookstore, but you can't keep the used books from the girl. I just find them. Or they find me.

In this case, I think the book was waiting for me. I mean seriously, it was a match made in flea market heaven. In a large building full of tables and tables of flea market doodads and vendors I see this one table with books sprawled across it, all different sizes and styles. Then I notice a simple piece of paper folded to stand up like a roof that states "books on this table $1". I get slightly excited just reading the sign. What cheaply priced treasures! Then I spot this book. Is it talking to me? I look from side to side, point at myself ... me? I mean, I have been wanting to write more often, and the reminder would be nice, and I do really like simple kitschy sketches, and I ... and I ... and I ... (flipping book over) ... author lives in Paris, writes for New York Herald Tribune as French contributor ... ooh la la, my dream. A writer living in Paris? I couldn't get that dollar out of my purse fast enough.

What's the point of this story? I have no idea. But I am writing.

THE SMALL THINGS

I can't believe it's 2014. I remember being little and thinking anything in the 2000's sounded really weird and futuristic. My grandpa, who turned 93 this month, said the same thing. I can only imagine it's even more weird to him. I think we're both slightly ticked about the lack of flying cars, but nevertheless, here we are ... 2014.

At my ripe old age I have already stopped doing New Year's Resolutions. At least, in the typical sense. I'm done writing my "things I am going, and not going, to do this year" list. Not that I've just decided to throw in the life towel this year, not at all. I'm actually just not feeling like riding the whole "resolution" wagon. I'm going a different route this year by working on the one thing I feel strongly about that I know will make waves in all areas of my life. It's pretty simple, really. Like silly simple. I'm just focusing on the small things. Which I've come to realize are actually the big things. The little things we do throughout the day become the bigger things. And that's how I'm looking at the New Year. I'm breaking you down, New Year.

My sweet husband got me a ukulele for Christmas. It was the perfect gift for several reasons. I've been wanting one, he wrote on it so it's extra special, and it makes me happy to call it "my uke from Luke." And to my delight, Desi seems to find it entertaining. I'm so thankful for his sweet smile when I pick it up to practice. There's nothing quite like it. His little innocent grin, like his momma's really playing something awesome when all I'm doing is learning how to strum. Talk about a supportive audience.

Another great thing, the uke is little enough to not get in the way, so I've been keeping it on my kitchen island where I won't forget about it. Although that trick doesn't work quite as well for the dishes.  Nonetheless, I've been practicing nearly every day sense I've gotten the ukulele. And I'm getting the hang of it, getting better day by day, and realizing that being obedient in the small things will create the outcomes I desire. Not exactly rocket science or breaking news, but this year I'm taking it all in and my small things are adding up, currently to the tune of "You are My Sunshine". Desi, this one's for you. And me.


"Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies."
- Mother Teresa

CARROT MAN

So this is a new member of the family, my son's "Carrot Man", as we have been calling him. Picked him up at a local arts and crafts show. I told Luke that it reminded us of him, what with the crazy baby dreads he's been working on, and we had to get it. Truth is though, it reminds me of one of my favorite books that I read to Desi all the time, The Carrot Seed. He loves this book.

Have you read it? You must. I'm a sucker for kids' books, plus I have a soft spot for simple and sweet, and this book nails it. The illustrations and writing are wonderfully simple, with a message about perseverance, facing adversity, hard work, and faith.

Basically, a little boy plants a carrot seed, and not once does he let what others think keep him from believing (and working hard at the task) that he'll someday see a carrot come up.

How great is that? I mean, seriously?! It makes me think of the kind of person I strive to be and the attributes I hope to instill in Desi - someone who believes and works hard towards a goal, the kind of boy who's unaffected by what others think or say, whose faith is unwavering.

Does anyone have any recommendations for other kick-ass kids' books?

Sidenote: I thought twice about using "kick ass" and "kids' books" together, but I feel good about it, and I really like the alliteration. And I think I just secured the title for a new reoccurring thing here on the blog : )

FRENCH COW

This post subject kinda sounds like it could be a put down. Like, "you're such a French cow." Which then makes me picture a really fabulous looking cow that's reading a copy of "French Women Don't Get Fat".

The French word for today is "la vache" which literally means "cow", but I've read it can have a lot of meanings and uses, but we're keeping things super simple. So we're sticking with the literal moos-and- swats-flies-with-its-tail meaning of "la vache".

These cows are not French cows, but instead good ol' Oklahoma cows. My Dad's cows. He started out about 15 years ago with just three cows, one named after me and my two best friends. We were flattered. And although he has a whole lot more cows now, he still has those original three, and can still pick them out of the crowd. I'm still flattered.

La vache = cow

BEING CREATIVE

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up."
       - Pablo Picasso

I can't help but think of Picasso's quote when I see this picture. That's my little Desmond. It was his first time "coloring". I broke out the big pad of paper and crayons. We got crazy that day. There may or may not have been a taste testing of different crayon colors.

I also can't help but think of my own life. I've always loved to come up with creative ideas, write, make stuff, and the such. My mom's an artist and when I was growing up she was always sculpting or painting. Still is, actually. It was normal to open the stove and see one of mom's masterpieces cooking. She was always good about letting me and my brother make stuff, too. She'd give us some sculpty clay and let us create little people. A couple of years we even entered our little people into some art competitions and won.  That year I sculpted my grandparents and my brother scuplted my dad. Oh, the memories. And I think it's clear from the pic below that I've always had issues with my hair. Dang you, Keri Russell from the Disney Club! Just FYI, a perm will not look just like Keri's hair, and I don't think you're supposed to brush curly hair.

Anyhoo, back to creativity. It's something that I've realized I need in my life. Like I need a good sweet tea. It just feels right. There was a time growing up, like Picasso talks about, where I was an artist. I loved to draw, and art class was my favorite. And then as I got older I noticed that I wasn't as good as some other people, and overall just got self-conscious. And I stopped creating like I did when I was young. Which is just kinda sad. I hate the fear of "is this good enough?" "what will people think?". And I still deal with those fears now, too, often. In fact, I just freaked out a few weeks ago when a sign I made for our fall festival got wet in the rain and smeared. Oh man, the fear of it not being good enough... me not being good enough... totally shot to the roof. My husband, ever calm with me, chimes in with what he always says in these moments "Everything's going to be alright". And I want to be like "bite me, Bob Marley!" Oh, the anxiety and fear, how they can mix to create a really-not-cool me. Bless Luke's heart.

Speaking of Saint Luke, he, like my mom, is a really talented artist. Something I realize is not happenstance. God knew exactly what he was doing when he put us in one another's paths. If there's one thing I'm sure of, we make an awesome team. Where he's weak, I'm strong. And vice versa. And he's so good at encouraging me and helping me follow my ideas. And he's good inspiration, too, that one. He's always trying something new, never afraid to fail or look silly. I wanna be a little more like my husband in that way. Yes, Luke, you read that right.

So, here's to writing more, dusting off the sewing machine, finishing those books I want to write, making those shirts ... and the million other ideas jumping around in my head. And if you don't have your very own Luke, let me be the one to say, You're idea is great! Just try it. What do you have to lose?

UN CHAPEAU

I have a ton of hats. I'm talking literally, not figuratively, because as a woman we all "wear a lot of hats", but in this instance I'm talking about all the hats that fill up my closet - ball caps, winter hats, fun hats, cowboy hats, summer hats ... ok, I think I've read one to many Dr. Seuss books lately. The Desi in the Hat.

It's funny though, I don't wear hats all that often but boy do I have a bunch to choose from when I happen to get a wild hair, pun intended, because that's typically when I want to wear a hat. Wild hair that's greasy, been in a bun one day too long, desperately needs a dye job, or it's decided on its own that "frizzy" is the new beachwave. 

Un chapeau = a hat