Whats in a name?

I know that it is a little corny "The Clumsiest Butterfly". It makes Steve cringe. It is not meant to be completely literal, although, lets face it, I am not the most graceful person ever. I have always loved butterflies, before and after they were briefly in fashion in the late nineties. This is not a desperate attempt to hold on to the past. Its all the things they represent, in Israli Butterfly and spirit are the same word, in Japan they are synonimis with stillness and self reflection. To me they are symbolic of metamorphisis, of taking flight, unabashed and original beauty. I would like to find my wings, I would like to close my eyes and sleep and when I wake up I would be exactly the woman I am meant to be. Alas, any attempts to take flight on my part, are often met with face plants. So, for now, I am the clumsiest butterfly, but one of these days I am going to get the hang of things.

Vintage Jill

My favorite part of this picture is that Jan is laughing hysterically at me.

Mon Petite Cherri

kissing my twenties goodbye.

Good bye dear sweet beautiful, horrible, twenties. My first ten years of adulthood, filled with all the realizations and angst I some how skipped over in my teens. I will miss your rash decission making, mood swings, wrinkle free face, insecurity, and unrelenting optimism, but i am a woman now. Thank-you for making me a student, a missionary, a wife and a mother. Thank-you for teaching me how to look forward to tomorow, accept my defeats and let go of the past.

Hello thirties, my lovlies. Welcome smile lines and sags. Welcome self acceptance I have been waiting for you for a long time.

New Job

I sit here pondering the great mysteries of the universe, like why do my crying preschoolers know how to time their hysterical sobs perfectly so that just as I crouch down to comfort them buggars and snot spray into my face, and why does it take me 30 minutes to drive to work when I am already late but only 15 to get home, and how many drive through meals can I force my four year old to eat in a month before it officially becomes child abuse. And for the love of everything holy why is it taking 30 minutes to download 12 photos to be printed at costco. Well, at least its giving me time to blog, ie: complain. So, in case you are wondering I have started a new job, teaching preschool, at a beautiful montessor preschool called "The dancing Moose Montesorri." It is great and challenging like teaching always is. There are lots of moments to smile at, some that make me belly laugh, and the occasional urge to pull out my hair and run screaming from the room. It is amazing for ella, she loves her class and teachers and the structure and challenge is perfect for her. On the other hand, working 40 hours a week and trying to be a mom and wife is a little overwhelming, does anybody hear me out there? What is the secret, how do all you working moms do it? That is my last cosmic question of the day, how do you even begin to catch up on that ever growing mountain of laundry?

The Sweetest Thing

Let me introduce you to Ella, the littlest love of my life. She is sweet and sassy and has some serious personality. You will probably be seeing a lot of her here, cause lets face it, she is pretty much my world. Being her mom is the sweetest thing!

What's Blog got to do, got to do with it baby?

Yes, yes, I am a self professed nerd. I am usually the last person to try something new, especially if that something has anything to do with technology. I didn't have an email account until 2002, it was just last year (gasp) that I bought my first cell phone, and to this day the thought of text messaging makes me sick to my stomach. Seriously, when I see you "texting" I want to rip your phone right out of your hands and fling it unceremoniously across the room. Usually about the time your grandma or your great aunt bessy is catching on to something, that's when I am getting on board. So here goes my attempt at being a blogger, as long as I can remember my username and password. I loose those things more than my car keys.