My Annie

There is just something about friends. They know you. They get you. They know just what you need, when you need it. I got a very timely package in the mail today from my friend Annie. Annie is the kind of friend that needs little, and gives a lot. She is wise, clever, witty, silly, and just plain fun. She knew just what I needed this week, and sent it in droves. Ever since our move to Cali, I keep saying to Josh, "There just isn't another Annie....I haven't found my Annie yet." And I don't think I'll ever find another one just like her. I'm not sure I want to...I just want access to "my" Annie on a regular basis. Something that 3,055 miles has made very difficult.

So cherish the friends you have, the ones you've lost touch with, and the ones you've yet to find. Friends are like family, only better because you get to pick 'em.

paper + glue + pictures = love

So I find myself with a new hobby...scouring blogs of fellow scrapbookers - professional and amateur alike. I could spend hours a day in pursuit of a new layout - I'm always looking for new ideas and pages to scraplift. I feel like a fly on the wall, peeking into the lives and creative minds of people who love this hobby as much as me.

Sometimes I find myself envying the professionals - women who I idolize like Cathy Zielski and Ali Edwards. These girls are my long lost best friends, and they don't even know it. They have taken their passion and found a way to get paid for it. It's the american dream, really.

There is something about the colors, paper, ribbons, embellishments, pictures, and journaling that inspire my inner artist. I can't decide if it's the self-satisfaction of completed pages or the actual creation of the pages that brings me the most joy. I find myself craving creation. If it's been a while since I've worked on anything, it calls to me. Paper waiting to be paired with colorful ribbon; buttons and chipboard begging to be used; pictures needing a home. Sometimes a picture will hit me in such a way that I know immediately what I will do to bring it to life. Other times, I will scour magazines, books, and blogs in search of inspiration. What I end up with is a little slice of me in paper form - preserving the artist buried inside for my posterity to someday love, treasure, or file away. I don't do it for them, but I hope that by my doing it, they get a sense of who I am and who I long to be. It's my version of art. It's me. Creating, loving, doing. It needs me; and I need it.

politically incorrect

My son, McKay, cracks me up sometimes. He was having a play date this afternoon at our new friends house. They just moved here from Boston, but are originally from India. They're so great - they get the whole "Boston" thing, from the 'god love yas' to the Red Sox, plus - just like us - they're trying to navigate their way through the idiosyncrasies that are California. Santosh (the mom) had a big container of those Danish butter cookies for the kids to snack on. McKay gets so excited, he says, "Are you Danish? We're Danish, too!" Santosh laughed and said that, no, they were not Danish, they were Indian. He then got excited and said, "Like the pilgrim Indians?" Um, not quite. She then gave him a crash course in Hindu, most of which was lost on him. So glad I'm raising such a racially sensitive son.

Cheers, Craig's list

So I've been adding in some extra exercise for the kids lately - we've been walking home from school. For them, it's only about a mile, but it adds almost two extra miles to my daily tally, bringing me up to about six miles a day. It's been great except for the limited capabilities of our less-than-desirable umbrella stroller. That thing requires more effort to push than it would take to just carry the little Hannah. But the boys are liking the daily trot so much, I decided to go looking for a used single jogger. Having kindly donated our double baby jogger-brand stroller to a friend in MA before moving (read regrettably!), I needed some new wheels. I decided to try the old standby, Craig's List. Love that website. I go browsing at least once a week just for fun.

So I found several jogging strollers per se, but was unwilling to shell out the $100 to $150 for a used baby jogger-brand stroller. I figure that I'm only using it for this year - next year when Hannah is in kindergarten, she's walking like the rest of us - and, therefore, didn't want to pay out a lot of money. I found a few no-name brand joggers, and sent out hopeful emails. I got several replies back (as no-name strollers are not in high demand) and picked the best looking one that had the closest location to me.

With my $40 in hand, I went to meet our new stroller. And to my delight and utter surprise, I found a baby jogger-brand stroller (in great shape, as those things are made to last forever) waiting for me. I quickly paid the stranger my money, and ran to the car with my stroller (lest she realize what a steal I was getting and change her mind). I am sure she did not know what she was peddling. For her, it was simply a stroller they no longer needed or used. For me, it's the find of the century. People pay big bucks for these brand of strollers - new and used. There are plenty of people that would be willing to pay at least $100 for a used baby jogger (heck, the new ones start at about $300). I am thrilled to once again be the proud owner of a baby jogger-brand stroller. I now have great visions of jogging to all my errands with Hannah, but am sure that even if it's only the walk home from school, we will more than get our money's worth.

For Shame, Audrey

Hannah came to me yesterday a little sad and said, "Audrey won't play with me."

I looked at her, sincere as I could, and said, "Who is Audrey?"

"My imaginary friend. She won't play with me."

It's a sad, sad day when even your imaginary friends won't play with you.

Paradox

It never ceases to amaze me, the paradox that is California. Last night for our YW activity, we went to the temple to hear the stake youth choir sing Christmas songs. I brought my kids along as Josh was working late. I'm sitting outside under the stars, in the shadow of the temple - all the palm trees were lit up with Christmas lights - taking in the angelic, youthful voices singing Christmas songs. It was picturesque, charming, sweet. I am in the midst of pondering on what a great activity this is, and how other wards we've been in have missed the boat on this one, when Hannah turns to me and says, "Mom, McKay is picking the flowers!" Oh, flowers. In December. Live ones. Yeah, that's why we've never had this type of activity in other wards - you'd be standing in three feet of snow, fighting below-freezing temperatures. Flowers and Christmas - who'd have thought they'd be a pair? Man, I love this place.