Things that Make Me Go Hmmm....

1. Why is it called "Summer Sausage" if it is mainly sold at Christmas time?

2. What's with the Christmas song "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus?" At best, a child witnesses her parents in some sort of sexual role play. At worst, it's a song about adultery. Does anyone else have a problem with this?

Little Drummer Boy

Henry has a new favorite past time. The drums. We're talking he sat still on a stool and played the drums for thirty minutes and cried when I took him away to eat dinner at his cousin Anderson's 16th birthday dinner. All night long, if he wasn't strapped in a high chair, he was at the drums. What killed me about all of this was that he was into it. Not giggling and laughing like he is when playing with cars, but I had the sense of watching someone actually perform. He was concentrating. Had he closed his eyes to "feel it"--I would not have been surprised.

Move over Keith Moon.

Even Isabel can join in on her own set. They're thinking of opening a dueling drum bar called "Henry and Isabel's." Ladies drink for free on Tuesday nights.
But the best part, Mom, is that I can watch myself play the drums in the window.

P.S. Please no one tell my parents that Henry likes to play the drums. He does not need a set of drums for Christmas.

The Pickle vs. the Pop (or Hey, Henry, Look this Way!)

So I'm slowly learning how to use the camera. And the software that Nikon "gave me." I say gave loosely considering the price of the camera. The interface is different than Photoshop so it is taking me longer to figure out what each control is and what it does, but I'm slowly getting the hang of it. Were I to read the instructions, things would probably go a little faster.
That being said, how in the heck to I get Henry to cooperate? No matter what dance I do or sound I make, the boy won't look at me or the camera. And forget trying to get him to just sit still and smile. My friend Mollie had the great idea of a giant candy cane lollipop for Christmas card pics. Since our card lists do not overlap, I stole the idea. Cute right? But only if a)you can find the pop, and b)your child doesn't bury the pop. Initially, I could only find a medium sized pop, but it had a Santa on it. Then I went to Cracker Barrel and found a giant Lolly. However, this morning, in between the time it took me to unwrap the giant lolly, put my camera on, and get Henry out of his high chair to go outside for pictures, I lost the lollipop. I thought I'd put it in my back pocket, but it's gone. Seriously. No where to be found. So we took the medium sized lollipop outside. Where Henry proceeded to use it as a phone. So I showed him that you were supposed to lick it. He licked it, then began pretending it was a rake in the leaves. Then he threw it and then covered it with leaves.
I was hoping to get the photo done today so I could take advantage of Ritz' 5 cent developing today, but I think I'm going to have to wait until Sloan returns and I can have someone else helping me wrangle the pickle and the pop.

Henry's Merry Godbrothers

Welcome to the world, Hudson and Will! If Henry were awake he would squeal with delight and probably try to stick his finger in your sweet tiny noses!

I'm so glad you decided to wait to join us outside your Mommy's tummy, although I'm still lamenting y'all not being born on my birthday. I was planning on having a joint 35th/4th birthday party with y'all at Chuck E Cheese's. Maybe we can still share a laser tag party sometime?

And to Shannon, one of Henry's Fairy Godmothers and an original founder of the Henry Marshall Phillips Fan Club and Facebook group, you ROCK!!!! Way to make it past 36 weeks carrying over 12 pounds of baby. No wonder that beach ball you swallowed was so danged big!

I guess Henry will have to find some other blonde cougar to cuddle up to as your lap will now be taken...

Any takers?

Thank you, Ferris

Life moves pretty fast.

If you don't stop and look around once in awhile,

you could miss it.

--Ferris Bueller*

Sloan is out of town until Thursday and he only asked one thing of me while he was gone--"Just enjoy Henry." You see, I've been threatening a full on cleaning smackdown this week in preparation for Christmas decorations. And I am cleaning. Slowly. But I'm also obeying my husband and enjoying Henry. And control of the remote control. Last night I stayed up past midnight painting Henry's Christmas present (a double sided train/car landscape thingy the exact dimensions of our coffee table--I know. It's awesome and I'm smart.) and watching House. Thank you USA for running a House marathon and thank you to whomever invented DVR.

But in addition to loving my craft time, I'm loving my little man. Today, I didn't rush him across the gym parking lot like I usually do. I don't know why I rush him. We're just going home. And at home there are chores to do. But I just let Henry take the lead (ok, as much of the lead as you can take while still holding your Mommy's hand). We strolled down the ramp then came back up the steps twice. We shook people's hands and waved at people. We pulled up grass, stuck our heads through each of the empty "U's" at both bike racks, hugged trees, picked up rocks and sticks, watched people start their cars, watched people pull out, touched headlights, and even sat down and played with the velcro on our shoes a couple of times. (And by we, I'm mainly meaning Henry. My shoes have laces.) It was probably the best 15 minutes I've spent in days.

So maybe I oughtta listen to Sloan more. Seems like I've said this before...


*In college, I wrote a paper comparing Ferris Bueller to Benjamin Franklin as sorts of colloquial spokesmen for their respective generations. I got a "B" with the following comment--"Elizabeth, it is a shame you are an A student who is content to receive a B. Perhaps your next paper, in addition to being well written and humorous, will actually pertain to American literature." My next paper was on Emerson and Walt Whitman. My thesis was that these two men did not think the university system could accurately measure my worth so what does my grade really matter?

Ashton Kutcher's Got Nothing on Me...

For my birthday/Christmas/Valentine's Day/Mother's Day present, Sloan got me a new fancy dancy camera--a Nikon D60. It pretty much rocks, except for that I'm still don't quite know how to work it. The last time I took a photography class it was with actual film. It is not so much the photography part I'm worried about, it is actually what the heck are all of these buttons and levers for. And when should I put on the extra lens that the salesman said would be great for when Henry is in a play? And what the heck is this software that came with it. I wish I had Photoshop--of course, the Photoshop courses I took in Art School out in Colorado were for Photoshop 6. I think they're on version 47 now or something.

But here are a few of my favorite pics from Thanksgiving. Nothing has been done to them, seeing as I can't even figure out how to crop them. The manual says I'm supposed to be able to do this "in camera". Yeah right. Thank God it came with free passes to photog classes at "Ritz Camera University."

The J boys enjoying their bottles.

Why everyone at a little get together of my high school friends kept saying, "My, Henry sure is busy."

The naked chef. Watch out Jamie Oliver.

Henry's cousin, Gigi.

Henry loves playing in Gigi and Papa's giant tub.

All dressed up to go out for Mommy's birthday.

(Note the scratch on his face from my wedding ring.)

This Charmed Life

I spend a lot of time complaining...

I don't get to sleep in anymore. My kitchen floor needs mopping. I hate cooking and apparently I signed up for KP duty in sharpie. My hair is about an inch too short. The rain makes it a pain to get to the gym. I want to lose weight but I also want to eat my entire birthday cake by myself. I feel guilty that I'm half way to eating the cake by myself (it's my grandma's chocolate chip pound cake)! I wish Henry would sit down once in awhile. And maybe learn to change his own diaper. And brush his own teeth. And put himself to bed. My husband travels a lot. I want a baby. Specifically a pink one. Lots of my friends are pregnant. My 43 year old sister is pregnant. With her 8th kid and for some strange reason, she won't promise to give me the baby if it is a girl.

But then, God blesses me with reality. The weekend before Thanksgiving I went to a fabulous wedding. The wedding was so awesome it took 2 states to contain it--Pennsylvania and Delaware. While hanging out at our friend's house before the wedding, my friend's father asked me a question that I haven't been asked since my senior year in college.

Dr. C: So, Elizabeth. What are your dreams? Your long term aspirations?
EJ: Huh?
Dr. C: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
(Long pause)
EJ: Well, I guess more of the same.
Dr. C: Really?
EJ: Yeah. I like my life. So just more of the same.
Dr. C: Hmm.
EJ: And maybe to have a maid come once a week to clean my bathrooms.

I'm very thankful for Dr. C's pointed, albeit awkward question because it made me realize, that when it comes down to it--I've got everything I need. Actually, I've got everything I want. I'm content.

It's a new feeling for me. Contentment. Maybe I'm growing up. I am 31 now. Seems like it's about time....