I used to like mornings. I still do occasionally.  If I’m able to get up early, go on a run with my friends, and come home and have a cup of coffee all before I hear the pitter-patter of little feet, mornings can be nice.  The comfort of a morning routine mixed with snuggly hugs, and little boy warmth can be a great start to any day.  But, lately, it’s been winter.  Cold.  Icy. Stagnant.  And that’s just me. The weather has been cold, too, and that means running isn’t an option.

the air hurts my face
Word. [Source]







Yesterday morning was especially rough.  The plan was that Jon was going to take our youngest, Greyson, to the babysitter on his way to work, which meant I had to physically remove Greyson from his warm, cozy bed. Meanwhile, he’s wailing, “I juuuuust want to staaaaay asleeeeep in my buuuuunk!” I took him downstairs, laid him on the couch and listened to him cry.   I wanted to lay down beside him and go back to sleep, but there was too much that needed to be done. 

I got the older boys their breakfast and was finally able to coax Greyson from the couch by telling him I needed help getting Conner’s toast out of the toaster. He loves that job. However, it doesn’t last all that long and then he was back to whining. He wanted cereal, but he didn’t want to sit in a chair. So, he laid down on the counter and ate his cereal while on his belly.  Because I stopped caring. 

I made Conner’s lunch, said goodbye to Jon and Greyson as they headed out the door, and started getting Rylan ready for his day at preschool.  After Conner got on the bus and Rylan was ready for the day, it was my turn to shower and make myself presentable. 30 minutes later, I got Rylan on the bus and I realized I forgot to give Conner his morning dose of antibiotic. “No big deal,” I thought. “I can drop it off at the school on my way to work. I actually have a little time to spare.” 

I grabbed my bag, headed toward the door and grabbed my keys…except my keys weren’t where they were supposed to be.  So, I looked in my coat pockets, dug through my purse…looked through Jon’s desk.  I’m notorious for losing things and I was dreading having to tell Jon that I couldn’t find the keys, so I turned the house upside down.  I went out to the car, thinking I left them in the ignition. Nothing. Finally, I needed to call Jon. No answer.  I sent him a text. Nothing. I started sending messages in all caps: “WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE ARE THE CAR KEYS?!”  No response.

Meanwhile, it’s now 8:45, my training starts at 9, and it takes me 20 minutes to get there. I turn the corner and head straight into panic.  I call the hospital where Jon works and ask for the IT department. An irritatingly calm voice answers stating that I have reached the IT Department. I asked for Jon and the nice, calm man said, “Let me see if I can reach him…”  As he looked up his extension, I stated in a nice, calm voice, “Please find him soon because I CAN’T FIND MY KEYS!”  He may have giggled. I may have sworn at him in my head.

I finally got through to Jon’s coworker.  “John, this is Kim. I need to find my husband because I CAN’T FIND MY KEYS AND I’M LATE FOR WORK.” John had the good sense not to giggle and he calmly said, “He’s standing here in front of me. I’ll hand him the phone while you take a deep breath.” 

Jon: “Hello?”

Me: “Honey, I can’t find the car keys. Do you have any idea where they are?”

Jon: “Oh dear. They’re in my pocket.” 


“Super.” [Source]








Things after that point are a little fuzzy. What I do know is that I had to borrow our neighbor’s van in order to get to work. What would the world be without neighbors helping neighbors?  Angry. The world would be angry.

I finally made it to my training.  I was the imbecile who walked in late at 9:15. They had to pass all of the materials to the back of the room where I was able to find a chair.  I sat down, took a deep breath, and looked over the agenda to see what I had missed.  Then, to my surprise, I learned that the training actually started at 8am, not 9am.  Isn’t that HILARIOUS?! [Insert hand slapping forehead *here.*]

For the record, Jon never does stuff like that. He’s a picture of responsibility and dependability.  He felt terrible…and perhaps a little concerned that his wife was going off the deep end. But, then he remembered who he married and that on the edge of the deep end is where she typically lives…unless she can go on a run.  Then the world makes sense to everyone again.  That’s why he is going to buy me this shirt: 

Truer words have never been written. [Source]







Here’s hoping your morning was better than mine!  Happy weekend!

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Starting 2016

Where does time go?  We are in our second month of the new year and last week, I started to write the year 2014 on a check. Apparently, my brain hasn’t caught up to our calendar quite yet.  My boys are now ages 3, 5, and 7.  I think they’re the reason my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders.  Do you know how many brain cells it takes to keep up with three little boys?  It’s a constant, head spinning game of “Who left this here for me to step on?” and “Who spilled this?” and “What is that smell?” and then, “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”  Fortunately, my anxiety about their physical well-being has reduced some since my Dad got the boys football helmets for Christmas. What he may not have anticipated is that I make them wear the helmets all of the time. There’s less crying this way. 

Boys in Helmets
Safer competition. And yes, Greyson does own pants…he just never wears them. I can’t wait to hear from his teachers and principal one day.










We’ve had our share of sickness this winter, too, and that never helps my ability to think clearly.  When kids are up during the night coughing, gagging, and crying, we all suffer.  It can be frustrating in the wee hours of the morning, but then when they look like this…

Sick G
Poor Buddy…







…it’s hard not to just lay around all day and snuggle.  So, Jon and I took turns staying home from work and doing just that. Watching movies and snuggling with our boys.  It was tough, but someone had to do it.

In other news, Jon and I are building a house in the country.  We have lived in town or on a campus for all of our married years, but we both decided it was time to return to our roots and give our boys the opportunity to grow up on a farm like we did.  The process is ongoing, but we do have a driveway now and we’ve been spending a lot of time on the computer and on the phone planning out some of the details. 

The new driveway…we can’t wait until there’s a house on the other side of it!





With the few brain cells I have left, I’ve been reading this book:

Relevant for work and home…









We have drastically reduced the amount of time our boys spend playing video games and on interactive screens such as ipads and cell phones. We found that their innocent racing games and competitive sports games were turning them into monsters who couldn’t deal with questions, problems, or decisions without throwing giant tantrums. It was exhausting and frankly, very tempting to walk away from them while yelling, “Whose kid is that?!  GET.SOME.CONTROL!” 

And last, but not least, I’ll leave you with some artwork created and named by our youngest artist, Greyson. 

Exhibit A: “Mommy Eating Corn on the Cob”

Corn on the cob
Eating corn on the cob without hands is a true gift.







Exhibit B: “Daddy Holding his Pants Up with his Mouth”

Holding up Pants
He had to hold them up with his mouth because, again, he had no hands.









So, life moves forward whether you have all brain cells firing or not. Fortunately, in my circle of friends and family, having brain cells that function is completely optional.  It’s all part of this exhausting beautiful stage of parenting little boys.  


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This is a Post About my Dog who had Diarrhea

Consider the title a warning.  Graphic content below.  Also a few swears.

When Conrad was approached with the opportunity to travel to Cambodia for nearly 3 weeks, I was very excited for him.  He loves to travel and I knew this trip would be an amazing one.  “Honey, go. The girls and I will be fine.  We can make it for 3 weeks, we really can.”

So he went.  One small detail that I neglected to take into account when I so enthusiastically endorsed this trip:  We have a puppy. 

Now, I feel a need to let you all know how much we love our puppy.  She was regally named Junia Phillipa, Junia is after the woman apostle named in Romans 16:7, and Phillipa because we liked the sound of it.  We call her Junie Pip, Junie Bug, June, Junie, Snuggle Bug, Cutie Pie, and whatever other sentiments we’re feeling at the moment.  Also, she is perfect.  Her personality is sweet, and she hasn’t had an accident in the house in months.

Conrad left for the airport on a Friday morning around 5:00.  I got the kids up and off to school, then with glee I got out my sewing machine and art supplies, spread the table out as far as it would go, and got busy on some projects I had been looking forward to working on while Conrad was gone.

About 9:00 a.m. I noticed our sweet puppy was acting a little funny.  Lethargic, not quite herself. 

By that afternoon, she still wasn’t quite herself, but she perked up when the girls got home from school.

Then, night fell.  I heard her whining in her kennel.  Around midnight, I hollered down the stairs for her to be quiet and settle in.  She did.  Ah, my perfect, sweet Junia.

When I woke up the next morning, there was shit everywhere. 

I feel a need here to apologize for using the word shit. It’s so unladylike, I know. The problem is, this was not poo.  It was not even crap.  It was shit, and there is no other way to describe it.

She had diarrhea overnight in her kennel, then slept in it because I told her to shush.  Her fluffy white puppy fur was covered, caked, and matted with this substance which was producing an other-worldy smell. 

Only 24 hours into Conrad being gone, I was still feeling strong in my independence and ability to be an adult.  I was not happy about this situation, but I cleaned her up and spoke soothingly to my sweet, sick puppy.  I assumed she got into some garbage or something that upset her belly.  I watched her closely for the day and she seemed to improve.

Next morning.  I got her out of her freshly clean and sanitized kennel and took her outside.  A few minutes later, the girls were eating breakfast when I saw Bryn startle and gasp, “Mom!  What is this?”  I looked at my dining room carpet to discover what can only be described as shit that looked like chocolate pudding.  And several piles of it.  I was undone. 

This is getting long, so I’ll cut to the chase:  Junia was not improving and in fact, the episodes were becoming more frequent and I was beginning to worry.  I called the vet and described what was happening.  “Yes,” they told me, “She should probably be seen, and also, could you bring a stool sample?”  Blink.Blink.

Turns out it’s hard to get a stool sample of something that leaves your dog’s hind quarters and soaks directly into the earth.

Sampleless and shame-faced I headed to the vet. After a thorough exam, the vet had these words for me:   “Honestly, I’m a little baffled.  I can’t find anything wrong with her.  I think it’s probably anxiety over her master leaving.”  Right.  Anxiety.  Master Conrad had left her presence.

The vet prescribed some pills to calm Junia’s nerves.  I asked if she could prescribe some for me too.  She looked at me funny but did not comment.

So, with strict dietary restrictions, some pills, and an enormous vet bill in my hands, we headed back home to see if we could get this poor puppy’s anxiety under control.  I fed her oatmeal and water for several days and her belly got better.  She still acted a little depressed, but at least she was making it to the backyard before she had more accidents.

In the middle of all of this, a friend asked me if I had told Conrad about it.  I think she was thinking,  “A good wife would not tell her husband about this very stressful situation when he is thousands of miles away and completely helpless.” But maybe I am just projecting that. 

“Um, YES.”  He was given a very graphic description of what was happening on the home front, complete with ALL OF MY EMOTIONS that went along with it.  And if you think I was going to somehow protect him from this stress, then you have overestimated my spiritual depth and emotional maturity.

Junia steadily improved and after the first week, her belly was back to normal.  She still didn’t act quite right, but at least I wasn’t waking up in the night to clean up after her. 

Three weeks went by and the girls and I survived to tell the tale.  By the time Conrad got home, the dog was back to normal, but the microwave was broken, the dishwasher smelled like sour milk, the back gate wasn’t closing right, the kitchen fan only worked on high speed, and the air in my driver side tire was perilously low despite the fact that friends helped me fill it up.

Needless to say, we were happy when he got home.  But nobody was as happy as Junia and her anxiety prone intestines.  I may never let Conrad go anywhere ever again.

You'll notice this is the only photo in this blog post.  You're welcome.
You’ll notice this is the only photo in this blog post. You’re welcome.



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