8 months, some succulents, and a toothache

It’s been a pretty stellar week over here.

Hudson turned 8 months.

He likes to crawl everywhere and cruise on furniture.

He likes to chew on the dog’s tail.

He likes to eat orange slices.

And he super loves his sister.

I got a wolly pocket

It’s this crazy pocket thing that you fill with plants and hang from your wall.

It’s supposed to look like this when it’s hung:

But mine looks like this:

It weighs like 45 pounds and is too wet to hang. I got a little excited and I over watered the thing.

It’s drying out in the garage, and when it’s done I plan to hang it in my room.

And yesterday I had an emergency root canal. I didn’t take photos of me in the chair, but this is basically what I looked like:

Hot.

Sabbatical

I’m hitting pause.

I’m at a point in my bloggering life where I need to put down the laptop and focus on more important things…

Like finishing my morning cup of coffee without microwaving it 3 times,

and reading books,

and talking to my Maker,

and spending more time with my babies.

It will be a short sabbatical, I promise.

And in the meantime, I’ll try to update every once in a while with photos.

Cheers.

Puffy Painted Rainbows

I’ve always been in love with animals.

Except only the soft furry ones.

Birds look like half-dinosaurs, and snakes are icky.

But bunnies are precious, and so are pandas, baby lions, horsies and cheetahs.

I used to draw cheetahs all the time when I was young. I even did a report on cheetahs.

I once asked my mom for a cheetah.

She said no.

She listed off reasons about why it would be impractical and something about government violations.

Always with the ruining of perfectly good ideas, mom.

She got me a cat instead.

It sorta looked like a cheetah.

I used to dress her in doll clothes.

My cat did not appreciate this.

Apparently my cat was not a slave to fashion like I was.

I’d decorate tiny shirts for her with phrases like, “Puuurfect” puffy painted on. Then I’d do a rainbow, for no reason in particular.

I was just really good at puffy painting rainbows.

I don’t think my cat really “got me” on an artistic level.

Because she’d always resist me when I tried to put the shirt on. At the end of our struggles I’d be covered with bright pink scratches and she’d be in a Beckey-original creation.

It never seemed like a fair trade off.

After that I’d shove her in the drawer and shut it.

Just because I could. I had to show her that I was bigger. And bigger always wins.

Then I’d feel sorry for her and open the drawer and try to snuggle with her. Turns out that cats don’t really like to be snuggled after they’ve been humiliated by a wearing shotty puffy-painted shirt and then shoved in a drawer.

*Scratches*

*Tighter snuggling*

*Face and neck scratches*

*Even tighter snuggling*

*Severe loss of blood*

What my kitty didn’t know was the harder she resisted my squeezes the more I wanted to cuddle her. This ebb and flow of emotion later manifested itself in my dating relationships. But that’s a story for another time.

I was positive I out grew this compulsive need to snuggle soft animals until their eyeballs pop…

But this incriminating photo was taken yesterday by my husband.

I still love the cuddles. And although you can’t tell in the photo, Zoey is trying hard to escape and I’m practially pinning her down.

Zoey should just be glad I don’t still have my puffy painted shirt.

It would have fit her purrrfectly.

Berlyn-isms

It’s time we check in with Berlyn, with a segment I like to call, “Hey Berlyn, how ya been?

Berlyn is doing some pretty awesome things lately. She just celebrated her half-birthday. Something that never dawns on me until my good friend Sarah reminds me (our daughters were born on the same day), because Sarah loves herself some half-birthday celebrating, and seriously, who doesn’t love celebrating?

Except we celebrated by doing nothing.

But I thought about it. So in a way, my brain celebrated. I imagined cake, which is almost like the real thing, just with less calories.

Berlyn is pretty amusing lately, and she’s currently the midst of developing a rather quirky side.  Being weird is a fabulous quality, and I encourage her daily to be creative and imaginative.

Here are some amazing words she has coined:

Necky fries- are band-aids you wear around your neck

Menu beer-beer that you drink

Graguling-the noise that baby Hudson makes

Specking toons- (the name she gave her jacks game)

Net golder- a game you play

Weezer-the tree cutting tool the gardener uses to cut the really tall trees

happy jamb-o-lie-what you say when it’s someone’s birthday

no balines- when you prick your nose.

She’s also cultivated a few imaginary friends to hang out with.

After Hudson was born, she came up with Baby Lizard. She feeds and burps Baby Lizard. She puts him in the high chair and lays him down in the crib.

Then she came up with Clocky. He’s her best friend. He drives a black Volkswagen and has blue hair

And last night there was Moomie and Zoomie. They took a bath with her. And they brewed beer with her. I think I have to watch out for these two.

Plus, what is Berlyn’s fascination with beer?

And why are all her imaginary friends boys?

Hummm…
And then there’s the subject of her favorite songs.

Right now she’s on an early 90′s kick,  so naturally she’s been listening to

The Tootise Roll by the 69 Boyz

Pray by MC Hammer

and Ice, Ice Baby.

So let’s recap:

My daughter is brewing beer in the bathtub with boys, listening to rap music, and wearing necky fries.

Awesome.

Judgement Call

There were gnats in my wine bottle.

Drunken gnats to be exact.

I was making dinner when I poured some wine into a baking dish, and two tiny gnats floated out with the wine.

*It must be noted that the bugs died in a peaceful, drunken-stupor kinda way.

I think what happened was, I left the wine uncorked for a few hours when I used it the other day, and two thrill seeking flies took notice.

I’m pretty sure one of them, turned to the other and said, hey, you see that bottle over there? There’s a hot chick on the front. Let’s go see what that’s all about.

And the other one was all, Uh, okay.

Then I unknowing corked them up and threw the bottle in the fridge, and out they floated two days later; bloated with cheap wine from Trader Joe’s.

I looked around the kitchen to seek council from someone else to see what I should do, but the only person around was Hudson.

He just smiled and slapped his hand on the floor.

So I took it as a sign to use the gnatty wine. I mean, really. Wine is mainly comprised of alcohol. And alcohol kills germs.

PLUS, I’m baking with it, in a oven set to 350 degrees of bacteria-killing-heat.

So whatever, I used it. Phasshaw, you can all suck it. Don’t even tell me you’re above using wine with flies in it.

A few days before that, one of my kitchen drawers wouldn’t close all they way. I figured it was one of my 12 spatulas that probably fell down the back of the drawer, so I investigated and pulled out this fancy package:

A Chinese fork and spoon set.

Um, excuse me…it’s a Native American-Chinese fork and spoon set.

The old owners of my house must have left it.

I washed it, and handed it over to Berlyn.

She loves it. Especially since the girl in the picture is holding an axe and is smiling.

But is that gross? I gave my daughter someone else’s utensils?

What if they had a staph infection? Or herpes?

I washed it.

Whatever.

Oh, and a few days before that Hudson peed through his diaper on to my bed.

And I haven’t changed the sheets yet.

I’ve just been laying in dried up baby pee.

So apparently I’m making all these judgment calls, but my judgement keeps telling me, eww, that’s kind of gross, but do it anyway. It’s like my judgement is a 14-year-old boy with boobie posters on his wall.

And, somehow I’m totally okay with that.