Bye Bye Blackbird

Question:

Let's say a little black bird gets trapped in your fireplace and is unable (or unwilling) to fly back out the chimney to sweet, sweet freedom.

Do you:

A) Ignore it for two days until the Husband gets home from a business trip

B) Stand helplessly by and watch sadly as the Husband is unable to get the bird out after several hours and multiple attempts over the weekend

C) Panic come Monday morning when you hear it pecking maniacally on the glass door covering the fireplace

D) Open all the windows and doors, put on one of the kids' bike helmets, and stand with a broom at the ready while gingerly opening the fireplace door

E) Proclaim your awesomeness and rejoice loudly when the disturbingly large black bird comes tearing out of the fireplace and heads right outside as you had hoped

F) Sit down peacefully at your computer, but pause and feel a shudder of fear run down your spine when you hear maniacal pecking coming from the fireplace of doom once more

G) Shine a flashlight into the blasted fireplace and see, TO YOUR HORROR, that there is another bird inside

H) Don your fabulously sexy broom and helmet a second time, open all the windows and doors (even though it is freezing cold outside), gird your courage about you, and, once again, open the fireplace door

I) Shriek loudly when the large black beast decides to bypass the open doors and windows, opting instead to fly angrily around your kitchen

J) Scream, cry, and shout obscenities while chasing the @#$!! bird around your house with a broom that you are sure it can snap in one bite with its massive, car-sized beak before turning on you and your squishy, supple, delicious flesh

K) Call the Husband on the phone and curse him for being employed and out of town in your desperate hour of need, while also tearfully giving him instructions for your impending funeral

L) Firmly resolve that you will not relinquish your home to this black feathered beast from hell, gather your courage about you, and swat at him again and again

M) FINALLY watch as the talon-footed monster from Hades soars out one of the open windows, and fall into a sobbing heap of joy on the floor, sure that you have evaded death itself

N) Look up sheepishly to find your neighbors staring at you in your helmet/broom combination with a very puzzled look on their sweet elderly faces

O) Promptly shut your windows and doors and drown your shame in chocolate and diet coke

Or do you do:

P) All of the above?

I'm just wondering. You know, in case anything like this should ever happen to me. Ahem. Not that it did. You know. Just trying to be prepared.

Always be prepared

Recently, our church has been working on forming an emergency preparedness plan that would provide help and strategies for our congregation in the event of a major disaster. They've divided us into groups based on our geographic proximity to one another, and the Husband is our team captain.

So last night, we got our group together to help form our team plan. In true Stie form, I provided sustenance in the best way I know how:

In sugar cookie form:

In red velvet cake pop form:

In peanut butter cup cookie form:

In chocolate peanut butter chip cheesecake form:

And in my most favorite of all, coconut cake form:

I feel confident in saying we will be the most prepared group of them all.

Or the fattest.

Honestly though, either one works for me.

Twelve

Dear McKay,

Today, at 12:33 a.m., you marked your twelfth year in my life. You have been lamenting all week, impatiently waiting for your birthday to arrive. I sarcastically commented each day that had you been born remotely on-time like you were supposed to have done, you'd have already had your birthday.

To which you laughed, smiled sheepishly, and said, "Geez, Mom. I couldn't help it."

You'd think after 12 years together, I'd have forgiven you for being a week late.

But I couldn't help it, you see. I had waited four long years to even have a glimmer of you in my life, and another few days just seemed like torture. I was so ready to meet you, and hold you, and have you in my arms.

You changed me forever, Mack.

You made me a mama.

I was digging through scrapbooks this morning to find old pictures of you, and seeing some of the ones from your toddler days reminded me of what it was like to get you dressed in the morning. You were such a wiggly little thing. It was as though I was asking too much for you to sit still a whole three minutes and put on a shirt. Because those dump trucks, and books, and balls? They just weren't going to throw themselves, you know.

But one day, as we were having our daily wrestling match, I noticed you watching me. You didn't fight or wiggle this time. Your wide, blue eyes just stared at me - taking in my every feature as though you were seeing me for the first time. And then suddenly, and without warning, you threw your arms around my neck and held on tight. Your soft, dimpled elbows wrapped around me, and tears filled my eyes as it hit me.

You loved me.

You know what, kid? I still see that love today. I see it in your easygoing nature. I see it when you cheerfully do your homework and practice your trumpet without having to be told. I see it when you sigh and resign yourself to a game with Hannah, even though you'd much rather do something else. I see it when you let your brother have the bigger half of a treat you brought home in the first place.

You simply emanate love. You open your little heart wide and love everyone around you. It is impossible to resist. You make it so easy to love you back.

So, this morning, when your father pulled that big green gun-shaped case out of the closet, your squeals of glee left us no doubt as to your feelings on the matter. Against my better judgment, I let him buy you a big, scary weapon. Because I know that you are trustworthy. I know that you are responsible. And I know you'll always do the right thing.

Plus, I'm pretty sure this makes us even for any embarrassing stuff I may happen to do in the next five or six years.

Happy birthday, darling boyo. I love you more than you will ever know. Thank you for sharing a little bit of heaven with me. And if it's not too much trouble, could you make the next 12 years go by just a little bit slower?

Love,

Mama

Question: What do valentines and a blatant marketing ploy have in common?

Remember when I shamelessly stole these from Alyssa last year?

Yep, you guessed it. I'm stealing them again. And the entire time I am making them, I cannot help but wonder at the genius that is Alyssa.

Seriously. These are the bomb.

For the creatively challenged (like me), I thought I would include step-by-step instructions should you decide to steal the idea yourself.

(But if you do and decide to blog about it - please link back to Alyssa. She is the creator of these babies and it's only fair that we fully credit her for them.)

Step One: Take a photo of your child holding their hand out in a fist. Do not worry excessively what the child is wearing or looks like. After all, these photos are going to be handed to a bunch of sticky-fingered kids on Valentine's Day. Add your valentine's day message in photoshop or other similar program.

I ordered mine as press printed cards from the printhouse that I use because I wanted them to be a little better quality than just a 4x6 print. Then I rounded the corners with a punch. (Yes, Marta. I am totally stealing the rounded corner idea from you, my friend.)

Once you have the pictures back, these are the only supplies you will need:

Step Two: Take the x-acto knife and cut a rounded slit above and below your child's hand in the picture.

Step Three: Insert lolly-pop of your choice carefully into the slits. Swear under your breath if you accidentally rip a couple. Be glad you ordered a few extras.

Step Four: Secure lolly on the back with a small piece of tape.

Step Five: Admire your handiwork and, for the billionth time, thank god for Alyssa and her creative genius.

**And for you St. Louis peeps, I've got an offer for you.

Or a shameless marketing ploy.

Whatever you want to call it.

Call me this week and I will come take pictures of your kids for free, add the lettering of your choice, and order the press printed cards for you at MY COST (which, let me tell you, is about what you'll pay for the crappy princess/transformer cards at Target). The only thing I ask is that you let me put my logo and website on the back of the cards in small print.

You know. Getting my business out there and all that?

Plus you can brag to your friends how you had your kids' valentines done by a professional photographer. And be sure to pretend that you have a chef and a live-in masseuse, too, while you're at it. Just so they'll be impressed.

We have to act fast, though. We need to have this done before Friday to give the printer enough time to get the cards shipped and back in our hot little hands.

For the rest of you - happy crafting!

Note to self

When deciding to re-read a certain shameful teen vampire series that rhymes with Mylight, it is wise to not start book four at nine-thirty in the evening.

For, you see, three-fifteen in the a.m. will roll around before you know it, and you will have found yourself unable to put the book down due to the freak show that rhymes with Fenesmee.

And when that six o'clock alarm starts chirping, and you have to drag your exhausted self out of bed, your eyelids unable to support their own weight, you will realize that it was most definitely not worth it.

(Except for the parts about that wild and delicious honeymoon with someone whose name rhymes with Bedward. Mmmm....)

There. That is all.

Repeating history

I cut my teeth and learned to walk to the soundtrack from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Cary Grant movies.

I roller skated a lot.

But, sadly, I didn't play with dolls much.

I learned how to fight from my four brothers, though none of us was ever really good at it. I climbed a lot of trees. I became a master of hopscotch.

I learned about gardens from my grandma as I ate fresh, crisp peas on desert rose plates in her kitchen. I also learned the joy of butter.

I bathed in an ocean of familial love at noisy family parties. I played Red Rover and Easter Egg with many, many cousins.

I cried and laughed through the awkward pains of junior high. I got a lot of perms and hated my body.

I sang Air Supply songs at the top of my lungs while driving with friends in high school. I went to dances in Jessica McClintock dresses. I was very unsure of myself.

But I pretended otherwise.

I went to college and learned how to stand on my own two feet. I dated a lot of boys. None of whom were quite right.

I met a handsome man one night quite by accident and felt my heart skip a beat. My soul recognized him right away.

And so I said yes. Naturally.

We blinked and became parents of three. I got very little sleep and changed a lot of diapers. I put on Disney movies and took desperate naps on the couch. I went to the park and pushed little diapered bottoms on the swings.

I moved a lot, and made many new friends. I logged hundreds of miles behind a jogging stroller.

I made peanut butter sandwiches and wiped sticky fingerprints off the wall.

I cried when the school bus came for the first time. For about a minute and a half.

I blinked again and found them all in school. When the bus came that day, I cried for about an hour and a half.

Now I find myself pleasantly surprised that the story is repeating itself for them.

With musicals, cousins, desert rose plates, tree climbing, butter, hopscotch, and endless love.

Something tells me that this story will have a happy ending for them, too.