Jesus Jeans--A Short Funny

RJ entertains me and often comes up with some good lines:

On sorting his various soccer balls, footballs, wiffle balls, etc.: "These are some curious balls."

I credit his knack for making me smile to his father, who on occasion has some good lines too:

On fashion: "You know, he wears those designer jeans. You know the ones...the Jesus jeans...[pause]...True Religion! Those are the ones."

I hadn't ever given it much thought. But logically, it does make sense. It still made me giggle.

I don't want to imagine

I get involved in the lives of strangers. I followed the rescue of each and every Chilean miner. I stayed up all night to watch the royal wedding. Recently, I started following the blog of a fellow mommy who was a high school acquaintance. We were never really friends, but we grew up in the same home town, and we both have two children.

That is to say, we both have preschool boys, and we've both been blessed with baby girls. My baby girl is fine, fat and sitting in her bouncer right now. The other baby girl was born with a heart condition. I followed her mommy's blog and rejoiced at the news that she was coming home tomorrow.

Until she wasn't. While I fed my baby girl apple sauce last night, another mommy mourned the unspeakable loss of her baby. While I watched GiGi play tunes on an iPhone, another mommy shed tears of grief I can't imagine. I can't imagine the grief. I don't want to imagine it. I barely know this mommy, but I cried for her this morning.

And I pray for her. I pray for her family and for her little boy who will, no doubt struggle to understand why his baby sister won't be coming home. I pray for understanding of all things "why." I ask that you do the same.

House, no, Home for Sale

Quick! Someone take a picture! (or two or three or four). For the first time in a month--or let's face it--a year, my house is clean. Not clean as in "the laundry is crammed in a basket under a cat's tail end," but clean as in "holy cow, we bought a house, sell, sell, sell!"

This house has a lot of memories.  We moved here right after we got married. We swore we'd live here for two years. We've been here nearly eight. We had some knock down fights. Thank God the walls can't talk. We welcomed two new kittens and said goodbye to our old Catty friend in this house.  We celebrated graduations and baptisms. I spent many a Saturday afternoon arranging and rearranging my shoe collection in the best walk-in closet I'll ever own.

I rocked my babies to sleep in the living room.

 and I sat delirious in the middle of the night on a laptop in the nursery praying that I could find a nanny to take care of them.

I learned to make a killer lasagna and a dozen cupcakes at the same time thanks to my double ovens, and RJ and I spent hours cooking together when we first brought GiGi home.

I cursed the weeds and the ants and learned how to find and hire every home improvement guy out there.

I taught RJ how to blow bubbles in the neighborhood pool and survived the hottest summer on record. Eight months pregnant.

But it's time to move. And so, the floors are shiny. The dust bunnies and cat furries are vacuumed. Thomas the Tank Engine is lonely because his friends are already packed, and Lightening McQueen needs a new highway because Radiator Springs is packed up too.


So, there's a home for sale. Ready for a new family and new memories.